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gET YOUR HAND OUTTA MY BUTT-WALLET

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When I was young I thought that money was the most important thing in life; now that I am old I know that it is.“

Oscar Wilde (via moneymaker-universe)

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“Fancy- is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Yet I am still very fancy.”

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“Queen of peons-- You can’t even afford a crown.”

“I’m the queen, you peasant.”

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“I was thinking something more along the lines of jester.”

“I’m the one who sits in a corner and doodles the proceedings. For posterity.”

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“Ha. Ha. At least now I know what role yours would be in a court room.”

“Then my work is done. I’ll pat myself on the back, since you can’t reach.”

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“I’m not sure what I believe about you anymore.”

“I don’t think you even believe it.”

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“I was.”

“Sure you were.”

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“Oh, I know. I was merely making an observation.”

“I have claimed to be exactly that how many times now?”

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“Those are the words of a seasoned liar.”

“You might be surprised to discover what truths are subjective.”

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Current Company

whatwouldprimusdo

Maccadam’s old oil house. Apparently, that was the place to be tonight. It was packed, tables taken first over the prime seats at the bar. It always seemed a bit strange that Blurr’s regulars tended to have seats at the bar– maybe he reserved them? Optimus never seemed to have an issue getting a spot, either. Today, that spot was next to Swindle, just enough around the curve of the bar to have a perfect view of the surprisingly crowded dance floor(which certainly explained the packed tables). It wasn’t his first choice, but given the distinct lack of options, the small mech wouldn’t be the worst company, or company at all. Hopefully.

Loud and rumbustious, as was to be expected of a bar where a good number of it’s regular customers were Cons. Rowdy as the place was, however, all optics were on the Prime the moment he stepped through the door. The noise never stopped, and the conmech’s fellow Decepticons were careful, inconspicuous with their staring. It helped that the dancing continued as well. Terrible as the music was-- It was new. Cybertronian in origin, unlike so many nights where all Blaster played were earth imports.

It was obnoxiously loud. With a too fast tempo. But that hardly mattered. Not to the half-drunkenly bunch who covered the dance floor. Cybertron hadn’t produced original musical content in well over a million years. And that, it seemed, was enough of a reason for a celebration. A party, Blurr had called it.

An aggravation, Swindle called it. 

He considered paying his tab and leaving. There wouldn’t be any quiet tonight, and with the crowd it was unlikely he would get in any private words with the bar tender.

Raising his servo, he readied himself to call the blue speedster over. Removing his gaze from that of the steadily approaching Autobot leader. Only to freeze. 

There was the scraping of a stool against metal, then a creek, followed by the sound of a heavy weight settling. 

He lowered his servo. And unable to stop the smirk from spreading across his faceplate if he’d tried, turned to the other mech and said--

“And here I thought Primes didn’t party.”

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“Go ahead- it doesn’t change the truth.”

“In that case, I’ll feel free to dismiss it.”

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“I’ll never willing step foot into a courtroom. So no.”

“Can you prove it in court?”

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“The fact that you are at fault. Don’t ask me how-- It’s one of those mysteries mecha were never meant to know.”

“On what factual basis?”

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“Somehow- this is your fault.”

“Only because you started it.”

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“... I don’t see the relevance of that question.”

“Who started it?”

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“Who was it that said they were arguing just for the sake of it?”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about. Blah blah blah, that’s all you do. About nothing! Quit bothering me.”