Drinking Game

    “Hey guys!” Mace made entrances, Weathervane had learned. The drone practically burst into the hangar, abandoned by all but the newest recruit and their second-in-command. Shrapnel had been assigned to show him the specifics of the controls first thing, in case there was ever an emergency. 

    But Mace didn’t seem to notice or care that they were in the middle of something. Mace slammed his servos on the panel in front of him, making just one of the other two planes jump. 

    “I bet you both I can hold the most hi-grade!”

    Weathervane blinked. Shrapnel scoffed.

    “You try this every time, Mace.”

    “Besides, we’re all flyers, so it’s not like you have an advantage? And… you’re  the smallest.” The biplane gave a skeptical frown.

    “Oooh newbie~ Prove it,” Mace smirked. 

    “For the love of Primus...” the SIC muttered.

    “Uh, but...Why? Would we?”

    “Because! It’ll be fun!”

    Shrapnel and Weathervane exchanged glances.

    “C’mon! Fun?” 

    Weathervane laughed nervously. Shrapnel stared.

    “Ugh, fine. I’ll bet you both my entire personal unit stash.”

    That was how the two had found themselves allowing him to drag them along, down to the mess hall. Shrapnel went to fetch the stash of hi-grade he kept stocked; Mace had teased that it was so well maintained precisely for times like this, but the triple-changer had neither confirmed nor denied. The rec room was empty, which served Mace’s plans wonderfully,  because his fellow flyers were far too proud to have fun in front of other bots. Primus forbid anyone know they weren’t completely devoid of positive attitudes!

    They sat down with their stack, and each took one cube to start. The larger two swirled theirs hesitantly: Shrapnel out of disinterest and Weathervane looking like he thought his would bite him. Oh, this would be like taking Energon treats from sparklings! Mace, with a wicked grin, slammed his down without  warning, sticking his tongue out with his empty cube on display. That earned him a couple of competitive frowns.

    “Well? I’m winning so far!”

    “We just started-- don’t reach for another. Primus,” Shrapnel grumbled, drinking his own just as quickly. “Your big mouth is cheating!” and moving to keep pace. Mace was already mostly through with his second.

    “Weathervane, are you trying to be slow?”

    “No,” he snapped defensively, trying to take a big gulp and not making much progress. “Shut up, Mace, you’re so going down.” He tried to drink more and scowled.

    “Don’t tell me you don’t like hi-grade,” Shrapnel said.

    “I do! I’m just not used to it, okay?”

    “Should’ve been built a Seeker frame,” Mace teased.

    “Oh,  well gee, thanks Mace, I’d never considered that,” he huffed, forcing the contents of his drink down with finality. “Hand me another damn cube.”

    Mace happily did so, grabbing himself another too. Shrapnel was keeping up, at least. 

    “Don’t you do this with Bumper all day instead of making yourself useful?” Shrapnel mused, clearly not ready to leave Weathervane alone. “I’d think you an expert solely by keeping his company.”

    “Not more than one, when we do,” he said. “Not like I’m going to get myself tipsy on the clock.”

    “He certainly would,” the triple-changer said. 

    “Well, I’m not him. Don’t expect it to be a habit, anyways. I’ve only joined him once or twice.”

    Mace gasped. “Do you like him?”

    “Uh, I guess? I mean, I think we could be friends.”

    “No, no, no, like like.”

    “... What?”

    “He’s asking if you have romantic interest.”

    “Oh, what? No! Why would you assume that?”

    “Awww, too bad, you guys would be cute.”

    Weathervane grimaced. “I’m going to need this hi-grade after all.”

    An awkward silence settled. Granted, not for Mace, not ever, and Shrapnel was far too self-assured to let it bother him. So really it was awkward for Weathervane and Weathervane alone. He worried his lip with fang-like teeth. Not that it was anything new, but he felt intensely out of place with the two Autobots. He found himself fretting privately about how he let himself get roped into this situation and what they might be thinking and if they--

    “Okay, okay,  you’re like, three drinks behind. C’mon, Weathervane,” Mace set his cube aside and pushed an armful of them in front of the other plane. “We’ll wait!”

    Shrapnel nodded solemnly from his seat.  The biplane blinked at them, a twinge of relief at the silence being broken despite the newest pressures placed so unceremoniously upon him, now. He sighed, looking as terribly put-upon as possible. But he did as asked. He wanted those units, after all. 

    The smallest of them snickered, not missing the slight sloppiness in his movements. “Are you getting affected already?”

    “Shut up, Mace,” he snapped. “Why are you so eager to win, anyways? You won’t get anything out of it. Can’t give yourself your own units.”

    “I can, too!”

    “Bragging rights,” Shrapnel said.

    “Oh, yeah. That, too. I told you both I could hold more than you!” He pointed dramatically ahead, as if striking a pose. 

    “You’ve hardly won, yet.”

    “Ah,” Weathervane muttered. 

    While the empty air still bothered the newest Autobot, he had a task to complete now: drinking with whatever fervor he could muster. So really, it didn’t occur to him that he ought to be feeling awkward again. Shrapnel had seemed to settle on looking and acting bored, perhaps spacing out. Mace, for his part, was watching Weathervane with a twitchy excitement, and had the biplane not been so focused, it would have been making him far more uncomfortable than he already was. The uninitiated may have seen the drone’s energy as a side-effect of the hi-grade a few weeks ago, but he knew better by now. It was just his constant state of being. The mech simply had no off-switch. 

    “Hurrrryyyyyy,” Mace whined.

    “I’m doing the best I-- listen, you’re going to stress me out and then I’m just going to… to choke or something.” 

    “You’re lllllllame.” 

    “Stop! I didn’t ask for your opinion!”

    Shrapnel sighed deeply and grabbed another cube, despite what Mace had said. This was not his ideal company for drinking. 

    “Ah, but you like drama like this, don’t you, Weathervane?”

    He cocked his head. That had been a sharp turn, hadn’t it. Mace was a difficult conversation. 

    “Depends,” he answered carefully. 

    “Hey!  Who do you think is the strongest Autobot here? I think it’s Echo because of his guns, but he probably has weaknesses I didn’t even think about!”

    “Plenty,” Shrapnel said blankly. Weathervane wondered if the drinks had invigorated their usually stoic and silent Second to say so much. Though, speaking ill of the captain had never required him to be drunk before, so in the end, he still couldn’t tell. This was all so stupid, petty, impotent. Yet a hot flash of anger bolted through Weathervane’s chest at those stupid words.

    “That’s the problem with your hero complexes,”  he growled, before his brain could catch up with him. “You think being strong is a good thing. It’s not. It makes you incapable of empathizing with the targets of that strength.”

    “...What?”

    He hesitated, mouth suddenly dry. “Oh. S-sorry, that… wasn’t what you wanted.”

    “The hi-grade is getting to you,” the largest mech surmised.

    “Says you.” Weathervane sat back upright, trying his best to appear collected  and sober. His bashfulness forgotten, his claws curled against the tabletop and he grabbed another cube defiantly. “I won’t give up. You’ll  have to kill me.”

    The triple changer only looked at him in response.

    “Hey, Shrap.”

    “Don’t call me that.”

    “Since  you’re second-in-command, do you know any cool Autobot secrets?” Mace  leaned in, eyes surely sparkling. The other mech didn’t bother turning to him, because really, it was a stupid question, and Mace only ever wanted light, fluffy responses, anyways. 

    “As I’ve said before, if I did, why would I tell you?”

    “Ahh, you’re no funnn,” he whined. 

    The biplane tuned in silently with a shift of optics. They’d had this conversation before, had they?

    “I’m actually kinda curious, now,” he said, eyebrows arched up, body leaned in, expression plainly interested. Normally, Shrapnel wouldn’t notice how it suited him.

    “That is unfortunate.” He sipped his drink. They’d amassed a decent pile of empty cubes by then.

    “Surely there’s something interesting,” Weathervane pushed.

    “What do you want from me? The terminal passwords?” Shrapnel didn’t budge.

    “Well, I certainly… wouldn’t complain.”

    “I’m sure. You would use it to download alien music or something, wouldn’t you?”

    “W-- would I? Do I strike you as a musical person?”

    “Well, you were telling Bumper all about alien instruments the other day,” Mace added, leaning his head in his hand. Clearly, he thought there was something to say about the two, judging by the teasing look on his face. Jumping to conclusions, as he often did.

    “That’s because he asked,” the biplane argued.

    “That’s not the point,” Shrapnel said, tapping a finger on the table. “The fact that you knew any of that means you must have studied it.”

    “I read one book on it,” he said, looking far more affronted than necessary. “It  was just for the one planet, too. It’s just because the history of different tools and how each civilization created them is interesting. It’s how you fill the time. What are you going to do otherwise, walk  down the hall? Or-- or sit and stare into space? So that then, when you think back to that moment, you’ll think, ‘oh, why didn’t I do something  with that time? Now I just have memories of staring at a wall.’ But  instead, I have memories of learning the conceptualization and evolution of a viola and how to use it and what each string sounds like. Even if you never use that knowledge, it’s stimulating and new and worth learning because at the very least, it’s better than nothing”

    The other two, for the first time that night, turned to each other.

    “I’m lost,” said Mace.

    “He is much more talkative now, isn’t he?” Shrapnel almost sounded teasing. 

    “You asked! Don’t complain when you asked me!”

    In his defense, he wasn’t completely sober, himself, but Shrapnel felt  himself intrigued that Weathervane would ramble in such a way. It almost felt like some secret he was bearing witness to. The newbie could speak more than two sentences, who knew?

    “What kind of frame are you, anyways, Weathervane?” Mace jumped without warning to a new subject again.

    “Hm? Why does it matter?”

    “Well you’re probably not a Seeker like me, and you’re definitely not like Shrap. Are you Vosian?”

    “Of course I’m Vosian, I’m just made for mining.”

    “That explains the weapons,” Shrapnel said.

    “Aw man, I wonder if we ever met before, then? Since we’re all Vosian!”

    He almost seemed to snarl. “Not a chance. You upper castes wouldn’t even know where to find the mines.”

    “No, I mean like, out in the skies!”

    “Military is hardly that upper,” Shrapnel added.

    “Aren’t you Seekers super regulated on where you can and can’t go? We certainly were. We were expected to live in the mines working forever, so those damn upper castes didn’t have to do any work.”

    “If you didn’t do the work, someone else would have had to,” Shrapnel said.

    “Ohh, well now that you say that I feel so much better, Shrapnel. Even if we were never built and others took our place wouldn’t make it any more just. To say that ignores a perfectly viable third option, wherein energon miners regardless of construction are treated fairly, given freedom and compensation for their time. I know the politicians and scientists get those things. Why only them?”

    “Politicians and scientists have more to offer. Even a Disposable could pick up a tool and dig up some crystals. Those who present a unique contribution to society don’t have to justify their existence. The rest do.”

    “Is that really what you believe? That the system was functional?” Weathervane’s expression darkened. The larger mech huffed.

    “No system is perfect. And of course, only the lowest castes complained, rather than accepting their role. They should’ve been proud. They were crucial to the balance, after all.” 

    At that, Weathervane’s eyes sparked like fire.

    “Well, I think the revolution was inevitable. I think the people at the top got what was coming to them. They deserved it for being ignorant-- for being okay with how things were.”

    “Uhh, I’m not really sure what’s going on right now,” Mace interjected nervously. “Isn’t that something a... Decepticon would say?” 

    “You would know.”

    Mace started like he’d been burned.

    “More like something I’d have heard in a neutral camp,” Shrapnel said.

    “You... raided?” Weathervane tensed.

    “No, idiot, I lived in one.”

    “O-oh. Oh.” He tilted his head, seemed to get dizzy for a moment. “That sounds nice.”

    “It wasn’t.”

    “A-anyway, naturally the energon drought pushed everyone to get more aggressive in obtaining it. And neutrals, generally, aren’t so aggressive. But isn’t that simply fair, by your philosophy? That those who won’t contribute aren’t worthy of basic rights?”

    “My philosophy is that those who don’t work as hard shouldn’t expect the same benefits as those who do. That is not a denial of basic rights, it’s a rejection of the weakest link. Besides, now we’re discussing the entirely different issue of idealism, which is pointless now even with your best arguments.”

    Mace looked between the two with a nervous smile. All of this was going way over his head.

---

    “Where the hell is Shrapnel...” Echo hissed, to no one in particular. His second-in-command was supposed to be helping set the scanners and it was hours past when they’d started. Most of the crew was resting by now, and Echo wanted to do nothing more than follow suit and take his mind  off this tedious piece of scrap, Shrapnel be damned.

    “Dunno, Cap’n,” Bumper said, looking up from where he’d been helping in the triple-changer’s stead. “Y’don’t think he actually went off with Mace all this time, after all?”

    Bumper had noted when he’d approached Echo earlier that he’d seen the two with Weathervane, but he didn’t expect they’d have been getting along. Even if, by some miracle, Weathervane had gotten on the SIC’s good side, he sincerely doubted that would be enough to make him spend quality time with the drone. 

    Echo stewed for a few moments.

    “At this point, I don’t care where he is or what his excuse might be. He can’t just skip out on jobs, now. Meetings was one thing, but this--  He’s going to finish this by himself,” he stalked off, his direction being the only indication he’d actually heard Bumper at all. 

    Bumper frowned at the unfinished job, but shrugged and followed after, anyways. Where to look for them, that was the big question. The three Autobot flyers didn’t have many interests in common, from what he knew. Assuming Shrapnel was still with them, what could they possibly be  doing?

    ---

    “What you’re proposing is mass suicide, you understand that,” Shrapnel was  saying. He sounded slightly off. Too relaxed, and not-angry.

    Echo stood in the doorway, watching the scene before him, somewhere between furious and downright incredulous. There sat the unlikeliest of trios, a notable stack of empty cubes between them (Bumper made a distressed noise from behind him.) Mace seemed perfectly normal, but the same could  not be said for the other two.

    “This trajectory is just going to end with all us dead anyways,” Weathervane was arguing.  He was clearly inebriated, his words unsteady and his optics burning brighter than they should. A passion-- something Echo hadn’t seen from him yet-- clouded his expression. “We should at least be able to die trying to fix this Primus-forsaken hellhole we’ve made.”

    “We’re doing that. It is called surviving.”

    “No, by… Ugh. I just want to save a shred of morality for myself. That would be so nice…”

    “Are you always so depressing when you’re drunk?”

    “Okay,” Echo interjected sharply, and only the biplane jumped, “What the hell is going on here? Explain, Shrapnel.”

    “Competition. Whoever lasts the longest gets all of Mace’s units.”

    “And I’m winning!”

    “That sure ain’t healthy…” Bumper murmured, eyeing the aforementioned stack of empty cubes. “You even leave any for the rest o’ us?” He seemed a little downtrodden at the thought of the supply being low. Weathervane seemed to draw back, at that. He looked way more guilty than he needed  to be.

    “It was my idea, Captain! Don’t get mad at Shrapnel! Besides, we still have a lot of hi-grade left, it’s not that big of a deal!” Mace beamed.

    “That’s not what I’m mad about, Mace,” Echo said curtly, “But thank you for confessing, we will discuss that later.”

    “I’m not very pleased about it,” Bumper added. “But, uh,” he turned back to  the biplane, who looked upset- and more than a little frightened. If he was a paranoid drunk, this situation was only going to exacerbate his condition. He could practically see the steam coming off of Echo.  “We should take care o’ you, first, buddy. You’re not going to get back to your quarters in that state.”

    “Who won…?” His voice was oddly hollow, for the question. Though all things considered, it made sense that he wouldn’t make sense. 

    “Clearly Mace did,” Echo said.

    “What?!” Shrapnel exclaimed.

    “Ahh, risk not reward, hmm,” Weathervane seemed to grow sad. 

    “Woohoo! Told you guys! I was right!” 

    Shrapnel drew his shoulders up, as if to argue, but was cut off.

    “Clearly you’re even more of a joy than usual, Shrapnel. You’re not acting like yourself, and you missed tonight’s job.”

    “What of it, Echo,” he turned slowly back to the Captain. “It got done without me.”

    “No, it didn’t.”

    “Uh, well I’m gonna help Vane here back, but I’ll come back help with the rest o’ that, after,” Bumper interrupted. He’d already slung one of the other’s arms around his shoulders and supported his heavy leaning. Weathervane seemed to be getting more nervous.

    “Thank you, Bumper.” Echo didn’t look at him as he effectively dismissed him, focused on Shrapnel. He regarded him silently. Shrapnel stared back.  “... We’ll discuss this when you can think straight.” 

    “Can you say you deserve to be alive?” Weathervane blurted, turning around at the door to figure out where Shrapnel was and nearly knocking both himself and Bumper over in the process.

    “... Weathervane?”

    “What do you mean?” The largest mech tilted his head.

    “You… your arguments fall apart if you can’t tell me, guilt-free, that you deserve to be alive more than everyone who’s ever died,” he managed. “You’re wrong.”

    His intensity was tangible. A momentary hush fell over the room, as if  they’d all been blindsided by his words. Echo had to admit he was... surprised, his spark both twisted and impressed by the biplane’s sentiment. Perhaps his first impression of Weathervane had been… wrong.

    “You’re  naive,” Shrapnel answered, unaffected, voice still cold and precise. “Everyone who has offlined has made their sacrifice. They weren’t strong enough to survive, and their deaths decided their worth.” 

    Weathervane’s mouth clicked shut. He glared, unfocused, for a silent few moments. An insurmountable rage seemed to flare up in the spare moments. Shrapnel scoffed, had to have one last remark.

    “This is a war you’re in. Not everyone matters.”

    The other’s silence grew angrier, he almost seemed to regain a focus, something sharp and cutting he’d never displayed before. In moments he deflated, suddenly looking defeated and burdened. 

    “C’mon buddy,” Bumper interrupted gently. “Let it be.” The flyer was already too distraught for him to allow it to get worse. And Shrapnel was gasoline to a flame. The grounder coaxed him forward on wobbling legs and managed them both out of the room towards the suites.

    The captain and his second-in-command watched them go in silence; a silence that even Mace respected, clearly uncomfortable as he was.

    “You’re a fucking idiot,” Echo finally spat, turning on the largest mech. “You should be ashamed of your conduct.”

    “I’m not.”

    “I fucking know you’re not. Get to your quarters and rust for all I care. I want you on deck at cycle break and you are fixing the Primus-forsaken scanners on your own. If you’re not there, I’m throwing you out of the airlock myself.”

    The triple changer didn’t immediately move, challenging the optics glaring at him. Echo was only intimidating if one believed him, afterall. Nonetheless, the captain’s words impacted him enough to slowly stand. He didn’t sway like Weathervane had, but his steps were uncertain all the  same, leaving behind Echo and Mace without another word. Echo wished he  believed there was some regret in his silence. But he wasn’t that stupid.

    “Soooooo I guess I’ll just--” Mace was slinking out of his chair.

    “Clean up this mess? I agree.”

    The drone’s wings drooped and his mouth opened to protest, but after a moment, he thought better of it. He began collecting the empty cubes scattered on the floor, the containers quietly clinking together the only noise until the little mech started humming to his work.

    “So, uh, Captain? I--”

    “Mace, you still have the courtesy of my patience, but it’s thin.”

    The drone looked wounded, but got the hint.

    Echo left after the first two armfuls were disposed of, confident that the work would be done without issue. Mace was a chatterbox, but he pulled his weight, if nothing else.

    He went back to the main deck, staring absently at the mess laid out on the panels, and spent the rest of the cycle awake.

---

    “You gonna be okay?”

    Weathervane nodded groggily. It seemed that the crash had hit him hard now that the challenge factor had been removed. Bumper chuckled, in both humor and  relief, “Well, good. An’ I hope you learned somethin’ tonight. If Mace challenges you, it’s prolly ‘cause he knows he can win.” He chuckled to  himself. The flyer graced him with a little smirk at that, if tinged  with what he could only assume was disappointment, optics darkened and losing focus quickly.

    The purple mech stayed just long enough to make sure the newbie was settled, already in hi-grade induced recharge by the time he left the hab suite, and made his way back to the rec room as he’d promised.  Mace was still picking up; and by Primus there were a lot of cubes. He didn’t seem particularly upset by how things had ended, but he was alone all the same.

    “Need help?”

    The drone perked up immediately, spinning on his heel with an arm full of cubes. 

    “Phew, absolutely! I was getting lonely!” The grounder smiled-- it was hard to stay mad at the tiny crewmate-- before grabbing an armful himself. It was tempting, but it was too late in the cycle to have some himself. He was almost hurt he hadn’t been invited.

    “So…  What’d you start this whole mess for, anyway?” He prodded, dumping out his armful into the receptacle against the counter, “Weathervane, sure, but Shrap? You had t’ know that’d be bad news.”

    Mace almost looked hurt by his wording, but seemed to brush over it just as quickly.

    “Well, I really did just think it’d be fun. Flyers have to stick together, you know. Besides, those two are so wound up all the time. They’re gonna get stuck that way!” 

    Bumper laughed at that. “Guess so. Just might not be somethin’ worth messin’ with. Yer gonna end up on Echo’s scrap-list.” 

    “Yea, maybe not. But hey, I tried! Never say I didn’t try!

    “... I did win, though.”