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Swerve’s. The best destination for getting hammered and to hang out with friends and not-so-friends. Whirl loved it. But something seemed off. Swerve’s was much more livelier.
Everyone was loud and drunk (when are they not?) but something seemed different. Was it the fact that everyone was slightly more drunker and unintelligible than usual? Was it that Cyclonus was a lot less somber and Tailgate a little more cheery and huggy? The fact that a lot of bots were hanging up the towel and stumbling to their seats or out the door was weird. When did they ever do that on a large scale?
Oh. Whirl could only guess that Swerve had definitely brewed something much stronger. A lot stronger than what Whirl could hope it to be. Maybe if he asked nicely, he could get actual bottle instead of the diluted stuff they were usually served.
He clacked his claws, as he made his way to the bar top and ushered Swerve over.
“New brew?” Whirl wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.
“Yep. I call it, ‘The Last Resort’.” Whirl liked that name. “And I am legally obligated to have you sign a waiver if you’re going to drink it straight from the bottle.”
“Boo!” Darn Magnus and his lack of fun. Whirl couldn’t believe it. “Since when were you a stickler for rules?”
Swerve shrugged as he slid a datapad to him. “Rules are rules, and Magnus and the Caps said so.”
“Party pooper.”
“Lobster with a death wish.”
Whirl tried to muster up a sad face. The most convincing face that sometimes worked on Cyclonus and always worked on Tailgate. Swerve crossed his arms in disappointment. Damn.
Whirl sighed. “Where do I sign?”
“At the bottom. I’ll give you some copies for the others to sign.”
“Am I really that obvious?”
“Yep. Call Ratchet if you feel your insides start to melt.” Swerve said as he pulled a locked box from underneath the bar top. He then put on gloves before he unlocked it and removed the bottle.
Whirl let out a long whistle.
The bottle was even more impressive, a clear bottle easy to handle with claws. A very bright purple energon that was probably slightly radioactive swirled at the bottom. Warning labels, side effects, the whole shebang were slapped on it. Red and purple symbols of all kinds in four different scripts. Skulls. Biohazards and environmental warnings.
“Nice,” Whirl whispered in awe. This was definitely one of Swerve’s best works.
“Thanks. And I’m serious about Ratchet. And put the glasses in radioactive waste after you’re done,”Swerve warned.
“Aw, you do care.”
Swerve, rolled his optics, “Yeah yeah.”
Today was going to be fun (or at least hilarious if he gathered the right bots). He just needed some way to get the right people involved.
“WHO WANTS TO DO SHOTS?”
Nailed it.
Whirl gleefully looked around at those that turned their heads. Chromedome had ducked his head down. Brainstorm looked like he was already hammered, and wasn't that disappointing. The rest, Rung, Skids, Nightbeat, Velocity, seemed like they were ready to pack up and leave. Except… Nautica. And the poor unsuspecting Ravage.
Nautica. She had good taste in engex. Triple filtered. And she was nice, from what he remembered from the B.E.D. incident. Might be a good future drinking buddy, even.
Ravage? Meh. Whirl had worse drinking buddies in the past. He was a Wrecker once upon a time.
He made his way to their booth, a slight bounce in his gait as set the waivers on the table. “Nautica! Ravage! My favorite quantum mechanic and second favorite ex-Decepticon!” He cackled as he set the bottle down carefully.“Us versus ‘The Last Resort’. You in or what?”
The two of them looked up at him in surprise (more Nautica than Ravage), the poor fools he’d roped up in one of the worst ideas he’d made in… days? Weeks? He couldn’t remember.
Nautica gave a thumbs up. He liked her spunk. “Yeah. I’m in.”
Ravage scoffed, looking over the waiver. “It better be worth it, Autobot.”
Whirl cackled. It was going to be worth it.
“FIM chips. They off?”
“Off,” Nautica said cheerfully.
Whirl narrowed his optic in suspicion.
“You can check,” she gestured at the back of her head, and leaned over the table. The copter prodded at the back of her neck, carefully poking at the chip. It was off. Good.
As Nautica got back in her seat, Whirl turned to Ravage.
“It’s off, Autobot.” Ravage did not look pleased.
“Your word won’t cut it,” Whirl reached for Ravage’s neck,”Gonna prove it or what?”
Ravage grumbled. Whirl’s claw hovered above his head. There was a questioning glance from Whirl.
The feline sighed. “Fine.”
The Autobot seemed proud for a moment and then with precision prodded at Ravage’s FIM chip. Once Whirl seemed satisfied, he retracted his claw.
“Alrighty,” Whirl was too excited for this game. It felt as if he was vibrating with excitement as he poured the drink into the glasses. (Thought it might have been the radioactivity that made it feel like that, who knows.)
“No turning back now, my new friends,” there was a muffled “uh oh” from behind them. Whirl cackled, and reached for his glass. Nautica and Ravage followed suit.
“¡Arriba! ¡Abajo! ¡Al centro, y pa’dentro!”
He opened the channel that led to his intake and carefully poured it in. Whirl ‘coughed’ as it went down his intake, and he could’ve sworn Ravage had cleared his.The first shot was sickeningly sweet, and he could’ve sworn that Nautica winced.
So it wasn’t that bad. Whirl huffed in disappointment. “Thought there’d be more of a kick for all that paperwork,” he mumbled. He’d poured another glass for each of them.
He’d raised the glass towards Nautica and Ravage. “Second round. Cheers!”
“Cheers.”
“Likewise.”
The second had no flavor. Which was weird and maybe one of the side effects that he should have looked out for.
Well. Third times the charm.
Whirl had many engex related regrets. Like the one time he drank the Impactor’s homebrewed engex and woke up magnetized to the outside of the Debris. Or the time he took a sip of energy cells (a good vacation spent bothering the medics though) on a dare. Or was it that one time he blended some of the solid treats he found hidden away in the vents that were likely older than the rust on the bottom of the vents.
But yeah. This. ‘The Last Resort.’ This defined the very meaning of regret. He swore his insides were gurgling.
Nautica had grown to like it. The lucky bot seemed unaffected by the sixth (or was it eighth) shot. Ravage was wasted (and out of the game by the fourth shot). He was a poor sad mess. A very tired Earth cat from one of those ‘Earth memes’ Swerve like to reference came to mind. Pity Rewind wasn’t here to take a vid of it.
His claw shook as he poured another drink into Nautica’s glass. The bottle seemed a lot emptier than he last remembered. He lost count somewhere, probably.
Regret. Yeah. He was getting off topic for a moment there. Whirl regretted this with his entire existence.
“Ya, ’m done.” He admitted as he poured the last of the contents of the bottle into his glass. He was going to feel this in the morning. “Someone should call Ratchet.”
“Yeah. I can do that.” Blessed be Nautica. She doesn’t even look buzzed. He checked her FIM and everything too. She must be a heavyweight, might even beat Trailbreaker.
Whirl laid his head on the table hand and hummed, content.“This was fun.”
Nautica grabbed his glass from his claw, and then downed the contents in one fell swoop. That was badass. “Yeah.”
Through the fuzziness, Whirl pondered. “Wanna do it again sometime?”
“Only if I get to choose the next drink.”
“Hell yeah,” Whirl whispered. “Choose something with a kick. This one sucked.”