randomplaces | Armada 'verse. Team headquarters in Cyber City. Morale building exercise

Ironhide appears in the room where he and his sister have been taking their recharge since they arrived here, and looks around carefully to make sure that he's reached the right place this time. He'd intended a quick trip to the Nexus, just to see if he couldn't catch some word of Bumblebee. But instead he'd wound up in another, smaller nexus lined with lockers and littered with human clothing. One of the rooms of this place had been stacked to the ceiling with energon.

There was blue energon there. There was green.

Ironhide's arms are full, and he walks carefully as he goes to the empty common room and arranges his armload neatly on the table before vanishing and reappearing with more. This also arranged to his liking, he grabs a cube of the green and walks out the front door to trade for the last thing that every perfect drinking party needs. It takes a little while to find a mech who has what he wants, but if he still had emotions Ironhide would be very pleased as he returns to the laden table with packets of various-coloured minerals in one hand. He hasn't had this much energon additives since before he'd first left his native Cybertron. And the person he'd traded them from seemed to think they were paint pigments!

Rumbling, he settles down and mixes careful doses of several different powders into a cube of blue, then sips appreciatively as he waits for some of his new teammates to show up.

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"I warned him," notes Ironhide emotionlessly, shrugging one shoulder. "How do you like your energon?"

Armorhide takes another couple of sips, mulling it over before he gives an answer. "It's good, as I said. Different to the stuff I usually get, but I like the taste and it goes down easily enough."

The Autobot's optics flicker slightly as the reply doesn't seem to match his question, but then he understands.

"I meant what way do you like it. What flavors do you like. What vintage."

Yes, those are questions. No, they don't sound like it.

Armorhide frowns for a second, then gets thinking. "Oh, right, right. Well, my old favourite’s the bitter red stuff they stock in Kaon – I was stuck there the first few vorns of the war, probably the best place to be back then. I don’t think it’s as strong as they like to make out, though, you could probably get the same result with mid-grade and a couple of additives…” He looks at the packets speculatively as he remembers. “But R- my partner used to get in this yellowish-pink stuff back when the fight was on Toluene. Never let on where he got it, the old fraghead, though at least he was willing to share…”

He blinks, and frowns at his drink. That went off-course. "I must be closer to cratered than I thought," he mutters.

"Yes. If it's the red I'm thinking of it's mixed." Ironhide looks at the packets himself, then picks up three. "But it's made with pink mid grade."

-Which is conspicuously absent from the table today.

The old Autobot sets the packets down again, and takes another sip of the singer. "Do you mean yellow and pink swirls?"

He's got no comment on how cratered he thinks Armorhide is.

The Minicon looks up, disregarding the nasty gargling noises from Stormcloud's end of the room. "It didn't look that pretty when I got it, but who knows what it started out as. There wasn't much of a kick to it, but once it got to your tanks it set down and stayed for a week." He grins despite himself. "I admit, it grew on me."

One might suspect he means that literally.

"Ah. That stuff." He picks up smallish, slightly battered and stored looking cube of green and turns to Nightscream. "Will you take this and try to trade it for plain mid-grade?"

It's been awhile since he tasted that bitter-red.

Nightscream is rather closer to hand than one might expect: while the ssorted 'Hides were talking he abandoned Stormcloud and slipped back their way, drifting into an energon-assisted reverie as he listened.

When the Autobot turns his way he starts, looking close to guilty for a fraction of a nanosecond. And then he snatches the cube with a self-confident whistle. "Yeah, no problem. This is the best time for it: it's getting dark out there now."

"Thank you. I'll mix you something else when you get back." Ironhide once more selects the three packets and sets them aside, then pokes at another that shimmers slightly before holding it up and showing it to Armorhide. "Do you know what this is."

"Suits me." Nightscream shifts the cube as he takes off out the door at full volume.

Armorhide frowns seriously at the packet before his sensors and coaxes his memory. "Nothing I've seen anyone try to ingest before. Looks like mica, though."

"Opal. Praxian fire opal."

The blue mech looks disgruntled for a second, but he's too mellow for the irritation to last. "Shows what I know about the makings of this stuff," he says, amiable again.

Armada 'verse. Team headquarters in Cyber City. Morale building exercise

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