Cubicron is no place for a mighty Decepticon. And so it may be. But Goa is hardly a mighty Decepticon, at least as far as the other military mechs are concerned; Nor is he a masochist. A green hawk-nose peers, shuffles, and makes his way into the El Sleazo, hardly under the radar, but not far over it either. His scuffs and dents can only hint that he's been doing his job -- little more. The drinks are hardly good, more like decay suspended in liquid, but it was, against all design, more /something/ than Polyhexs' own 'tina. Not more like home -- not nearly worthy to call Cubicron home -- but altogether something more enabling to unwind. Or maybe it's just that time he got blackout overcharged here. Goa, for once, doesn't make his way to the bar, but finds an isolated booth, twitching, scanning constantly like he's looking for someone.
Shark enters some minutes later, heading straight for the bar with a wave to Foz-E. He bellies up to the bar and puts down a few credits, ordering a ener-beer for himself. Patiently waiting, he scans the immediate area surrounding the bar. Then Foz-E approaches and sets the beer in front of him, warning, "You know the rules dontcha?" Which gives the Autobot pause as he picks up the glass mug. "Of course I do." he replies. Foz-E nods and shuffles away.
Goa misses little, and his optics flare a shade more fiery. He could've been blissfully unaware, less self-conscious of whatever emotion just latched onto his neural net... be it fear at the mech that beat him half to death, anger at the same, embarrassment for bringing it down here, all of the above... But no. No, no, he was designed with a helmet that shaded and bounced back light from his optics. If there was no embarrassment before, there certainly was now. The Decepticon shifts to the edge of his seat and laces his fingers together on the table, staring at the bar. This wasn't who he was looking for -- well, sure, it could be, it would fit the job description -- no. Absurd. At any rate, Goa observes Shark quietly. Keenly. None too subtle in the attunement of his tracking antennae. His audio is barely discernible -- "This'll be interesting..."
Shark sips on his drink, just listening to the various conversations that dominate the bar as well as those at the various booths. Then he turns on his stool, facing out toward the rest of the bar. His optics taking in all here studiously. This is when he looks right at Goa. There's a little flicker of his green optics. He won't cause trouble of course. Foz-E assured the rules were to allow a peaceful enough drinking experience without having to worry about a bar fight. He just offers the fellow grounder a little nod, then takes another sip of his drink.
Goa waits for Shark's attention to fall away again ... and then allows himself a smirk. So there's something on the Autobot's mind as well. He's gotten enough scuffles to be as aware of the same rules ... the rules which would allow him to ask a few questions. If Torque liked him, he couldn't be a high-and-mighty holier-than-thou Autobot. Doesn't make him not an Autobot ... Goa emplaces a few locks, encrypts a few links. He has no desire to repeat his last information-leaking blunder, even if was never pinned on him -- no reason to help the odds, right? So he rises to his feet and slips into a bar seat aside Shark's for a closer, curious look, scanning over him, then immediately motioning for a drink from Foz. It's hardly a cover, so the only real possibility is -- maybe Goa actually likes the taste of the stuff? His stride, posture stays low, diminutive.
Shark watches Goa approach, saying nothing, only moving to sip on his drink. When the grounder takes the seat next to him, he swings around to face the bar again. The mug meets the bar top and the Autobot says, "So we meet again." Tone not friendly, but not hate filled either. He continues, "I think this may become a habit." then another sip of his beer, which is by now half drained. "Did Torque put in your antennae?" he asks, "If so, she did a good job. But then she is good at her job."
"She did." Goa hunches in his seat, hands gripped just upon the edge of the bar, and his helmet twisted aside to face Shark. His mouth still hangs ajar, as if ready to continue his sentence at any moment, but he doesn't. Just scanning, picking up the subtle cues. 'Not hitting me' is listed among these cues. When Goa's drink is slid practically into his lowered jaw, with a moment's glare from Foz-E, he gets back to that whole continuing thing. "... and she is. I'd still be shambling around like an Empty otherwise. I suppose you saw." The Decepticon lifts himself up, sitting properly and taking an all-too-eloquent sip of energon. Extended pinky and everything. "So why didn't you try to draw me away?" Goa inquires, orange optics framed by the violet below them.
Shark nods to the responses, then hms to the question. He looks thoughtful for several moments. "I would presume you mean when we were fighting near Trypticon. So my answer to that is because I needed to back up my leader. Drawing you away would have not served that purpose. Then there was the fact you guys had set traps up. I wasn't exactly eager to trip anymore than I had to."
Goa keeps sipping, sip, sip... then switches gracelessly into a full-on chug, finishing the entire thing in a few gulps and shoving it back across the bar. This guy was willing enough to talk, it was going to require some inebriation to keep from thinking too hard about it. Or about the consequences. Hey, look, it's Goa, the peacenik ground pounder that accidentally found and blurted out all our important files, sharing a drink with the enemy that just looks so much like him. Oh, look, there he goes again groping all the air force's wings off. Yeah ... no. No, that was pretty funny. That means it's working. "I was kind'a stopping you from doing that, though," Goa replies, through a growing grin, "You could've finished me off and had more to show."
Shark notices the chugs and smiles a hint. Taking it as a case of possible nerves. He could make use of that, but he's not feeling inclined to do so. Why not figure this mech out, see what makes him tick. "Yes you did indeed, gave me a face job and blindness for my trouble too. Effective grenade tactic, but painful as a dip in the slag pit." he murmurs, another sip of his drink. Then he states matter of factly, "Why would I need to finish you. What would have that proven? I'm not in this war to put notches on my pistol to show off to the vets how many kills I have."
Goa's expression chills as Shark speaks. The arm he had thrown on the bar, fidgeting with a cup, slowly freezes mid-movement. "... didn't mean to cause any undue pain and suffering," he says, with a slowness to his speech that paces more like calculation than any effect on his processor from the charge. "It would've taken one mech out of the Decepticon roster. I don't like it either, but I thought that was the whole point -- attrition." Goa's antennae droop to the sides... Then pop right back alert, with a questioning look down his conical nose. This wasn't the time to be questioning /that/. Not now. "You and Torque. She seemed ... only a little put-off when I stumbled in all shredded up." Seems the soldier has odd repair priorities. "What's your take?"
Shark notices the expression change, then nods to your words, "Right, well it’s done and over with and I got a new set of optics and a new face on top of that, so really it’s not a big deal." he shrugs a little, "Price of war and all." a sip of his drink and he nods to the attrition comment, "Ah went to see her after our fight huh? Thought I heard something along those lines on the neutral radio channel. I've no problem with it."
Goa turns in his seat to face the Autobot, fingers lazily pressed against each other, one elbow on the bar, other draped in his lap. "I'd hope as much," a waver of fear -- fear somewhere else, not here -- barely slips through his vocalizer. "Lifeline charges more. I was just wondering why she didn't seem /that/ bothered we'd been fighting." He looks away, processing. "I guess you get used to it. Neutral. ... most of us wouldn't be nearly as permissive. Most of us don't understand the word. Didn't before. But there's some." Goa would seem like he's smiling, proud of himself -- whatever he was half-mumbling about, but the coldness in his optics clarifies the expression as forced. Every answer brings more questions, very unwanted questions. "So if it isn't a war of attrition, what is it?"
Shark finishes off his drink after another couple of sips from the mug, he hmms softly and nods. "She does charge, but for good reason. Getting parts, having tools, possessing energon all costs credits. She does what she can to survive and help those she works on to survive. Perhaps Torque is more thrifty or better able to use her charms to get a better deal, I honestly am not sure which it is, could be both." he states with a hint of a chuckle. "It's a war over the differences of opinion when it comes to our race and how we go about seeking resources to keep alive."
The Decepticon finally relaxes just a smidge. He angles backward in his seat and becomes very fascinated by the scaffolding of the Sleazo's far wall and ceiling, as it would seem. "Charms," he mumbles, with a similar chuckle. And the lack of comment -- that was all he needed to know. "Ah." Goa looks back down at Shark with far less intensity, like something has been put at ease in his mind. "... ideology. Makes it look so good on the data pad." He smiles -- no fang-bearing this time -- and gives Shark's empty drink a far-off look before getting the picture, snapping back to attention, as well as his guard. "See you next time, Autobot." The green mech's voice is playful, but there's a sigh of regret to it, as he hops off his seat and shuffles straight toward the exit like he got what he came for.