Welcome, Everything is Fine: After Credit Scene
Hi all, I thought everyone might enjoy a brief visit back to a part of the GPAU concept that never made it onto the page--the last missing piece in Starscream's backstory, you could say.
So here we go, one more scene for the road.
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They get all kinds at Thundercracker’s bar.
Regulars from the neighborhood, sure, and trucks passing through after deliveries, and of course the endless trickle of slummers. Some of those come in bold as brass, take up a table all to themselves, and order the waitstaff around like personal drones. Some of them come in hunched up in temporary paint, looking over their shoulders. Regulars are maybe 30-70 on whether they want a handjob in the back along with their engex on draft. The tourists, though, nine times out of ten, that’s why they’re even here.
The big son of a bitch ducks through the doors like he won’t even fit under the lintel, and Starscream has to do a double take, because that is not a truck. He’s seen trucks that big, but never shaped like that.
Starscream props himself up on the hostess stand, giving the guy a blatant once-over as he comes marching up with steps like minor seismic events.
“Hello there, big bot,” Starscream says, “never seen you in here before. Table for one? Or are you hiding the rest of your party behind those thunder thighs?”
The big silver mech gives him a kind of unimpressed half-smile. “I’m looking for Starscream of Vos,” he says.
Can’t stop the wings from flicking, but other than that, Starscream plays it cool. “You a friend of his?”
“Not yet,” the mech says. “But I could be.”
“Uhuh. Well, Starscream isn’t serving today, but you can still sit down if you want to.”
He holds still until the big galoot is seated in a booth on the other side of the room before opening the group comm.
:Skywarp, take table seven. If that absolute tank of a mech turns out to be bad at taking no for an answer, I want someone who can disengage fast.:
:No slag. You think he’s a tourist? He’s got an accent, but I don’t know where from.:
Thundercracker cuts in, :He looks like manual labor to me. I’ve never known manual class to get vacation days.:
:He’s probably just out on delivery,: Starscream interrupts. :Look alive, some idiot is trying to climb the bar again.:
It’s not so much that he forgets about the mysterious patron as he firmly convinces himself it’s Not His Problem and moves on. That lasts for a bit, until Skywarp comms him again.
:Screamer, he’s asking about you.:
:Tell him I’m beautiful and brilliant and you don’t know me.:
:Uhuh. Sure.:
The comm line is quiet, and then, with much more unease, Skywarp adds, :He’s asking about the show.:
Starscream stands there, grimacing at the door, for a long moment. :Skywarp, take over hostess.:
He leaves the stand and stalks across the floor to the booth where the big mech is waiting, as if he expected this, with a shotglass of something rich and purple in his hand. Starscream slides into the seat across from him and flattens his hands on the table.
“Alright, you’ve got my attention,” Starscream says, narrowing his optics.
“And you have mine,” the mech replies. “Starscream, I presume?”
“Who wants to know?”
A smirk plays around the shape of that mouth. “Should I be less cautious with my identity than you are?"
"You'll have to be, if you want to get anywhere with this," Starscream sniffs. He sits back, feigns boredom. "This is my territory, which means you play by my rules."
Red eyes, a cruel mouth. There's a glinting there that speaks of plans already forming, the machinery of ambition already trying to slot Starscream into the spot he'll fit best. It would be flattering, if Starscream cared what some pushy rando thought about him. Which he doesn't. Obviously.
The mech slides his drink aside and offers his hand. "They call me Megatron," he says. “I hear you play a wonderful villain. And for what I’m going to need done, that will be important.”
