Sep 2, 2015
The mnemosurgeon's going to press his own frame against Deadlock's own, inviting himself into the con's lap. Of course, Trepan hardly comes without his fair share of compensation for his living chair, as a cube of smooth high grade is pushed into Deadlock's servos. "Evening."
The bar was as shady as they came, energon tasted more like a ship fuel stolen straight from the warm tank. But he kept drinking until a rather familiar mech appeared leaning against his side.“I’ve told you not to pester me.” Deadlock snarled, but accepted the gift. His servo curled over the given glass of highgrade that smelled like everything but the drinks offered around. “You shouldn’t be here.”
