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Goa Torque

A dusty green car seems to be scoping out this little plot of road. Goa has circled around the parlor a few times, now. A long drive is just what the doctor ordered, but this was peculiar... He'd not seen this particular building so active in any joyride prior. He pulls up to the exterior with a little huff of the brakes and creak of the armor, the purple Decepticon brand only now visible on the lip of his front bumper.

Today is a rather slow day for the Carwash and Repair shop, only a few bots standing here and there, though they're simply waiting for a wash. A security camera out front swivels in Goa's direction, focusing a few times before a grease-spotted femme peeks her head out of the open garage front. "Hm? Oh, hey there! Here for a wash or a fix? Maybe some detail?" Torque finally steps out into view and moves up to the curious 'con.

Interesting. That is definitely not a drone. "I uh... I was just seeing what was going on." The car sounds a touch squawky, high-strung compared to the prototypical image of a Decepticon warrior. "... do you do electroplating?" Goa inquires in a quieter tone.

Torque puts weight on one leg and a hand on her jutting hip as she tilts her head to the side a bit with a smile, "Of course. We do everything and anything here. Where d'ya need it specifically?"

Goa holds a moment, unsure, then the car's bumper flips down, tires folding out amidst countless other shifts as he transforms. He finds himself eye to eye with the femme, and his optics flicker a couple of times. "Gold, chrome plate on the heels." The mech clicks one heel against his leg -- it's a complex jumble of rocket, exhaust outputs and control flaps. "I... it's been a long time. What are your rates?" He stutters sheepishly.

Torque leans a tad forward, hand pushing her cable hair out of her other optic to see his heels better. "Hmm... Hold on, lemme just work this out." She pulls out a data pad that'd been clipped to her hip, pressing it a few times to crunch the numbers and rates. "I think this should do it. Look good to yah?" The femme hands him the pad that listed the overall price, which is way cheaper than other repair and medical garages.

Goa accepts the tablet and extends a stylus from his arm to pore down the list. The mech's optic ridges seem to be slowly rising. He hands it back to her, actually smiling a little. "It does." A quick glance over the other activity brings his optics back to Torque's, as he hands her back the pad. "When can you work it in?"

Torque gladly taps back the pad and taps a spot to clear the screen before sticking it back on her hip. "Right now, actually. Those mechs're just here for a wash, and I'm not waitin' for anyone. C'mon in." A grin graces her silicon face, waving a hand as she turns and makes her way inside. "The platin' might take a few hours, though. So you can drop 'em off or just wait. S'all good with me." Once inside she flips a switch on the wall, turning on some overhead lights and activating one of the few tables inside to raise up for him to sit on. With lights on Goa's allowed to see how little this place looks like an actual medical facility. The heavy scent of oil hangs in the air, grease stains covering the floor, and shelves of tools and parts lined the wall, though they were kept in proper order as well as the counters kept spotless.

Goa saunters in behind the femme, staring around and getting a good look at the place from every angle his neck allows him to. He doesn't seem off-put by the grunge, but he does seem very curious about it and everything else around. The order of things here, in fact, is what seems to most calm the mech's constantly scanning optics. "Cybertron's slaggin' dangerous without a muffler," he remarks, chuckling with a grim depth as he sits down on the platform provided. "... interesting." Goa crosses one knee over the other, armored boot rocking up and down slightly. "Can a wandering 'Con ask your name?"

Torque smirks while giving a soft snort of amusement at his comment as she moves over to a shallow basin, back turned to the mech. Pressing another button turned on the mini sonic-scrubbed hanging over it, the femme removing the deposits of grease and grime on her hands and arms. "A 'con, mm? Hardly noticed, but then again not many do here. Kind've all blends together, yah know? Anyway, name's Torque. Mech-ish, I know." She craned her head to the side to look at him over her shoulder, "And you?"

"No, I don't know. Hardly run into anybody except in Polyhex and Cubicron, save scavenger-hermits or empties." The mech looks either downtrodden or so lost in thought that his gaze has simply drifted to the floor. He slowly up and over at Torque, one optic ridge lowered, but it snaps open. "Oh. Goa. Is my name."

"Hm... I don't choose sides, but at least Polyhex is in more order than here." Torque looks a little saddened at the thought, but she quickly snaps out of it, focusing on the job at hands as she comes over to the table. "Feet on the table, if yah wouldn't mind. Gotta take off that armor." She smiles lightly, seeming to brighten up this dingy place a bit with her personality.

Goa stares into the space behind the femme a tick, then swings his legs up, reaching down and releasing each of the armor clamps on his shins to save Torque some time. A keen audial would hear a sigh in the interim. "Looks pretty orderly to me. What, you got some problems from outside?"

"Think yah know what I mean. Syk's runnin' this city into the ground, so to speak." She rolled a shoulder casually, voice hinting a bit of humor since Cubicron was already underground. "Crime's up, law enforcement's down. Folks get tossed into jail one day and are let out the next. Not exactly the best solution to solving our problems." Torque enjoyed small talk, especially with top-siders since their views tended to be different compared to her kind beneath the crust. She removes the armor from his feet, carrying the pieces over to the sonic scrubber again to remove any excess dirt and debris.

Goa gets a long look at his legs, committing the details to memory. He knew they were just tires on manifold-encrusted frame without the plates on, but he hadn't ever actually seen it laid out that plainly before. "Yeah... yeah, I do," he sighs, shaking his head dimly. "What do you mean, jail? Cubicron actually /has/ an extant police force?" The mech snorts an incredulous, but sad sound. "I don't know why Megatron didn't have the place bulldozed while I was gone. Don't slaggin' get me wrong, I'm glad he didn't, but I can't help but wonder what good it's doing /him/ having it dug in down here."

Torque removes the pieces connected to the hull of the armor that he wants plated, taking them near the back where she opens a lidded container to show several vats of bright, nasty looking chemicals, one of which she lowers the parts into gently to let it sit. "Yeah, their headquarters is down to the south. They guard that place like it's royalty or somethin'. Though s'pose they have good reason to since there's a lot of storage." Torque shrugs again, going back to the counter to pick up the plain hulls again and slap them back onto his feet sans the extra parts. "Alright, you're all set to wait. Though yah shouldn't be usin' your rockets or anything. Might scorch your insides." The femme chuckles softly as she smiles warmly.

Goa returns the chuckle. "Been there before. Just got out of the repair bay, actually." He takes a moment to test the transformative ability of the platforms of his feet, then draws his legs up to his body, draping his arms across his knees and his chin atop that. The mech's black 'goatee' juts forward. "When did you set up here? How'd you come from? Figures I'd get stuck topside for a few cycles and ev'rything down here moves around." Goa rubs at the side of his helmet and smirks, inadvertently revealing deep dents and scratches that his fingers settle in and out of.