2UPDATE 23JUN14: Totally overhauled this chapter, so you might want to read it again if you're one of the few and the proud that looked past my terrible summary and gave it a chance the first time.
I figured I'd give some semi-plotless AU/OOCness a go. :) It's like a writer's vacation. I've had this rattling around in my head since I saw some provocative fan art on DeviantArt a while back and wanted to dig more into what it's like for a femme to have sisters. Then, I've had a gyrating baseline stuck in my head since Monday, and I've had strippers on the brain. I'm not normally one for song fics, but here's the track list in my head, if you're interested.
They're all by Muse.
Arcee's song - "Undisclosed Desires"
Chromia's song - "Supermassive Black Hole"
Firestar's song - "Uprising"
Also, I realize Firestar isn't traditionally Arcee's other sister. I just didn't want to have to write Elita and her boyfriend. AU is my excuse … that and I'm lazy.
Oh sure, no one would check half a million units of exotic, high-friction piston oil. Last time she checked, Iacon was currently in the process of going to war and NOT starting a city wide orgy – with a serious lubrication problem, no less. The smugglers were either getting very lazy, or they wanted her to find it.
The firebot beside her whistled, impressed. He couldn't help but smirk down at her. If it was any other mech, she would've tased him.
"Look, I just fly the space barge," the captain defended when the very-annoyed pink femme arched a brow over her datapad at him.
She vented a sigh. This was why they paid her the big credits, right?
"I want a copy of your license and military permit, and unlock all the restrictions on your cargo records and payment transactions."
"But …"
"AND," she added with icy finality. "I want every one of these drums opened for an inspector."
"But, I've got another drop off on Velocitron in three solar cycles!"
"Then you'd better get your aft in gear. When the cargo matches your manifest, and your accounts match your payments, I'll sign off."
"Don't count on getting off that easy either," Inferno put in. "If that really is half a million units of lube, you're about ten thousand tons over what this ship's rated to transport in combustible cargo. So, after she signs off AND you pay your fines, you can be on your merry way to Velocitron."
"What?! But … you can't just …!"
Arcee stepped between the accusing finger and her safety inspector. Nevermind she barely came up to the firebot's bumper. "Would you like to add assault of a city official to your charges? No? Then you've got some containers to unlock."
"You thinking what I'm thinking, Boss?" Inferno asked after the other mech was out of audio range.
"I hope you're thinking something along the lines of this being some sort of diversion, and we've got a long-aft day ahead of us tomorrow rechecking EVERY other ship that docked today, tomorrow, and yesterday," she warned, turning to look up at him.
The mech smiled innocently, setting the bottle of lubricant he'd been reading back on it's shelf in the cargo container. "Yup! It's like you're reading my processor."
Arcee rolled her optics, but couldn't keep from smirking as they walked back to the exit.
"Looks like the Xantium's home for the night. Feel like stirring up another scraplet nest?"
"Are you kidding? I live for being the only thing standing between Wreckers and highgrade, but …" he caught her shoulder to make her turn and face him. "Your shift was over four megacycles ago."
Arcee waved his servo off dismissively. "I'm fine. I need the overtime."
"What you need is recharge. Do I need to detain you for reckless endangerment?"
"I think that's out of your jurisdiction," she scoffed.
"Not in an emergency situation," he smiled, but it sobered. "Are you having trouble recharging again?"
The femme bristled defensively. Did the whole damn port know about her problems?
"No!" The firebot was undeterred, crossing his arms over his grill to look down at her and effectively making her feel like a tiny sparkling caught lying. "It's none of your business anyway."
"Good night, Boss," he dismissed.
Arcee vented an annoyed huff at him defiantly but decided it wasn't worth the effort of going over Inferno's helm and probably having the same argument with her superior.
"Maybe a nightcap will help," he called after her. "Check out the bar called Sassy Brass. It's right up your alley AND on your way home. Tell them Fern sent you; they'll take care of you."
She dropped to her wheels without acknowledging him.
Arcee was in fact exhausted. Three days without decent recharge would do that. And, she was already a few cycles into a fourth, but Inferno didn't need to know that.
Somewhere, out in the city night, femmes were curled up on their mates or with their sisters, and she couldn't help but hate them for it. All she had to look forward to was a cramped domicile and her unforgiving berth.
The femme's system ran slower than hot-engined mechs, and her programing longed for the comfort of another energy field no matter how she tried to fool it. A heated berth in a lonely dorm only cut it for so long. Any more, recharge was spotty at best, uncomfortable and broken up with shreds of nightmares.
She sighed. There wasn't any point going home without some company tonight.
The lone femme had little in common with the rest of those of her more pampered gender. Born in the military sector, she'd lost her carrier early in the riots, and her sire had raised her the only way he knew how in the safest place he knew – a military base, surrounded by guns, fast alt modes, and lewd mechs. Too late, he'd realized his daughter's lack of interest in music and dancing, history lessons, and turbofox hunts had slightly isolated her from her peers.
Maybe he'd counted on her settling for a mech and not having to worry about finding a place in a clique of bachelorettes. It didn't matter now. That plan had backfired even more horribly than the original.
The pink two-wheeler cruised the streets for several cycles, looking for a pleasurebot interested in a paid vacation, but she knew there were two dozen space cruisers in port right now, and half the base was off duty tomorrow. If there was a pleasurebot out, she was on her second or third round and making too many credits to give Arcee a second glance.
Cold, tired, and irritated, she started back for home with empty servos, resigned to her fate. But, she spotted the sign for Inferno's night club that she'd passed a thousand times before. Normally, she'd go out of her way to find a bar outside of the military sector so she'd not have to face any coworkers the next day after any number of possible bad events had transpired. But, it was too cold and too late for that. 'Sassy Brass' sounded like it was bustling with activity. Maybe a nightcap would help. Pit, what did she have to lose?
The place wasn't exactly up to her standards, but she found a stool and a cube of highgrade. At least Inferno had been right about one thing though. The femmes here were more tolerable than your run-of-the-mill city femmes. They were still high strung, arrogant, overly confident … but these were very easy on the optics. They still did dancing and music too – just here, there was a pole and credits involved. Who was she to judge? She'd been about to pay a prostitute to keep her company.
A flier with the bad – or maybe it was good – fortune of a gray and purple color scheme was doing a Pit of a job shaming the Decepticon cause, and the mechs were eating out of her servo. Primus save them if Megatron ever learned their weakness. But, she wouldn't kid herself. Somewhere in Kaon, a red, white, and blue ground-pounder was dong the same thing and gladly taking a bunch of overheated Cons' paychecks.
Arcee felt optics on her but ignored it. The only thing better than a femme willing to prostrate herself for your credits was the chance of a warm valve to tuck into while your energon was running hot for the price of a drink.
And predictably, another cube of highgrade had materialized on the counter when she'd emptied the first. There was a coaster beneath it. Arcee arched a brow. That was quick. It would've been a fun game to pass the evening with if she had the time or desire to play. She had neither, but at least she only had to buy her first drink.
The rules were the same in every bar. Every mech thought his team or squad was the best, so on every coaster under a 'free' drink was a picture of their badge – an invitation to claim the honor of 'facing a mech from fill in the blank~ team. If a femme was interested (Primus help her), she sent it back with her comm number under another drink. If not, she wasn't out anything. Many femmes made a sport of collecting them.
Defense Team, Police, Troopers … Arcee had even gotten a senate badge once. She hadn't even known the senate had a badge. If it had been a fake, she wondered how much the mech had bribed the bartender for it. Since, of course, that wasn't unheard of.
She took the drink, expecting the 'help a rookie out' badge a femme could always expect to get from Elite Guards trying to help a new recruit with his initiation, but was surprised to see a new face and almost choked on the high grade.
The coaster game rules had a special amendment for this situation. Every femme knew the Wreckers' badge. Wreckers were very protective of it. No amount of credits could bribe a barkeeper into putting their badge under a drink. If the Wreckers found out a non-member had used it, not only was the mech in for a surprise meeting in a dark alley, but the bar was scheduled for wrecking as well. Even real Wreckers didn't use it. By their official definition, a real Wrecker didn't need the team's reputation to get fragged, and if the team found out the badge had been used in such a way – including forgetting to take it off armor before a night out – they beat the Primus-loving slag out of the culprit.
However, this rule contradicted the Wreckers' take-no-slag-from-anyone' mantra and would've been seen as a challenge.
In short, it was either a fake, and it was Arcee's duty to report it to the nearest Wrecking authority, OR the nearest Wrecking authority was the mech that had risked having his oversized ball bearing handed to him by his buddies because he thought the femme was worth it.
Arcee tapped it on the bar, considering, as she avoided looking around. Primus, she hadn't wanted to get mixed up in something like this. All she'd wanted was a drink before she crawled into her berth and pretended to recharge. Thanks a lot, Inferno.
"It's a test," a stunning blue femme whispered as she walked up and sat a tray on the bar beside her for the bartender to place more drink orders on.
Arcee glanced over at her. "Yeah? What should I do?"
She shrugged. "How should I know?" She smirked. "I never got one."
"Then how do you know it's not a fake?"
"Because," the orange and red femme behind the bar giggled conspiratorially, "there are four of them sitting at the back table. Don't look!"
Arcee snapped her optics forward again.
"That's what he wants you to do," the femme hissed. Arcee couldn't help a snicker with her.
"No one would send a fake if there were real Wreckers in the bar," the blue femme concluded
"Not unless the mech was especially glitched in the helm," the barkeeper concluded. She slid the coaster over to look at the blue insignia closer then pushed it back. "A good little femme would just send him her comm number like it was her coming onto him."
"Or, you could be a real glitch and turn him in in front of his friends."
"I could just keep it."
"And not turn him in?" the barkeeper asked with mock disgust. "I wouldn't want that reputation with the Wreckers. Besides, prissy little tail-shakers don't come to military bars to drink," she reasoned then smiled. "They come here to take mechs credits and make an honest living at it."
Arcee smiled, turning on her stool to watch the stage with her companions. The blue femme gestured toward the door, offering her a cover for looking back past the table. They were all mechs she'd seen at the space port more times than she could count. She recognized Broadside immediately as well as Kup. And, she knew their commander, Springer, better than she wanted to.
"My creds are on Whirl," the barkeeper commented. "You need special training to frag Broadside, and Kup's panel rusted over sometime before the Great Cataclysm killed the predacons."
She nodded along with the ruse.
"What if I didn't come here looking for a mech or free drinks?"
The femme arched a brow at her. "Well … the food tastes like scrap," she smiled.
Arcee chuckled. "Maybe I could push a couple of drinks off on you?"
The blue femme waved the offer off, but glanced back behind Arcee for an instant at the barkeeper.
"Sorry, Sweetie." But, she moved quick to recover the desperate femme's pride. "We can't since we're on the clock, or I would."
Arcee shrugged. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." She brought up her account on her HUD to pay the bill and leave a decent tip for the entertainment then paused.
"Wait. Do me a favor," she said before the other femme walked off. "Got a scribe?"
"Sure." She produced one from her subspace.
Arcee turned the coaster over, but instead of putting a comm number on it per tradition, she neatly penned 'One of you boys should've had the bearings to ask me. Thanks for the drink.'
"Send their table a round on me," she said, setting it on the femme's tray with the badge face up. "Make sure they all see it."
The orange femme beamed. "Well … I think you passed the test," she snickered. "Want to wait and see if one of them fesses up to the crime?"
Arcee shook her helm. "No thanks. I don't want to hang around if the whole place is about to erupt."
The other femme turned to deliver the tray as Arcee got up to leave, but paused.
"You know what? I'm out at 0300 – if you haven't given up by then."
"I've got an early shift tomorrow," she dismissed.
"So do we," the barkeeper explained. I'm on dispatch and Chromia's got server room guard duty." She rolled her optics with a sneer.
"Wait. You're soldiers?"
"Surprise!" the blue femme called Chromia smiled. "I know. All this …" She gestured around the bar. "Better creds, juicier gossip."
"Maybe you should get in here," the other femme smiled.
"I … don't think so," she said warily.
"Oh, don't be a rusty old prude," she teased. "It only looks humiliating and demeaning from down here. Up on stage, you're busting a gasket trying not to laugh."
"I've got enough mech problems as it is," Arcee continued to defend. "I was just looking for some company."
"And me and Star are looking for a roomy on the same schedule. Come on. It's worth a try."
"I can't dance," she tried again.
"Psssh …" the orange femme called Star scoffed. "No one's 'dancing' on that stage, Sweetie. It's just moving what the mechs want to see to a beat. If you've got what Wreckers want to see – not to mention those perky little winglets will make some high-roller Praxians foam at the mouth – you'll do fine."
Arcee sighed but finally held out her servo. If it meant having other femmes to come home to that didn't care about her stress and long hours, she was willing to try anything.
"I'm Arcee."
The blue femme grinned and took her servo. She felt surprisingly strong.
"Chromia. And this sexy bot is my sister, Firestar."
It really wasn't that bad, Arcee would have had to admit. Chromia was right. Overcharged mechs blathered like second frame school femmes, and the credits … Primus. The first few shifts, she'd only waited tables and had made as many credits as she would have working double overtime at base.
And, the recharge was nothing short of amazing. That was, after the two femmes had given her the best overloads she'd never imagined existed and fallen into recharge with their arms around her. Sparklings didn't recharge this good in the Well.
The only issue was she couldn't abandon ship as soon as she was fed up with a mech's antics. Miraculously, she was getting better at dealing with that, slowly but surely. But, now the honeymoon period was over, and it was her time to start doing some real work.
"So, you ready for tonight?" Firestar grinned.
Their shared time together, however brief, was enough that Arcee's nervousness had been making the other two restless, but she'd taken twice as much confidence from them in turn. Hard as it was to imagine, she might have actually found sisters at last.
"No," she admitted.
She would've been fine waiting tables indefinitely, but almost every femme here did time on stage. According to Chromia, it drummed up better tips. Arcee could imagine, but that didn't mean she liked the idea of a bunch of overcharged mechs gawking at her aft.
"At least you're honest," Star snickered. "I wouldn't have believed you if you said otherwise."
"Well, I work with half of these mechs!" she reasoned. "I won't be able to look them in the optic tomorrow."
"Oh, it'll only be awkward for a little while."
"Sure! One or two vorns tops."
"So change your paint. You can train them to disassociate Sexy Arcee with Serious Arcee."
Arcee laughed. "Train them?! Primus, Star. If you didn't have Inferno, I'd swear you were sexist."
"Are you kidding? You can have a mech and still be sexist," Firestar reasoned. "You should try it."
"I am not fragging a mech to prove your point."
"No, no! I meant changing your paint, Dummy," she said. "Silver paint for the stage. Pink paint for work."
Firestar considered it a moment then her paint shifted. "Sexy Star. Serious Star." She shifted back. "Sexy. Serious. I like it. I bet Fern wouldn't even notice he was losing more arguments and spending more credits."
Arcee rolled her optics. Like the poor firebot didn't already spend everything on Firestar and yield at the slightest sign of any disagreement.
"My other color's blue."
"Sexy. Seri … hmm?"
"I'm blue. Not silver. It isn't very sexy."
"Please," she pishawed. "If Mia can do blue, you can pull it off too. Let's see it. Maybe we can work with something."
She humored her, changing to a dark blue plating with pink highlights. It felt like she was wearing a different protoskin, but Firestar squealed, clapping her servos.
"It's perfect! It's bold! It's bossy! It's authoritative!" she growled. "It's … I love it!"
"Then maybe I should be using it at work."
Firestar gave her a bland look.
"No one at work is tipping you. Trust me! I know these things," she assured. "Now …" She straightened her up in front of her. "Let's work on plating. This needs to come up. Way up."
"I don't want my modifiers showing!"
"They won't!" she promised. "Perfect. Now the bottom … just above your panel …"
"Primus, Star …"
"Shush! I'm working," she chided, raising the armor to show more of Arcee's black thighs. "Alright. Leave the peds and these bits in front and back – they'll cook some CPUs – and … perfect. You look like you belong on a cushioned plinth in some war machine's berthroom."
She purred her engine appreciatively, running a servo up Arcee's silver midriff as she admired her.
"Didn't know that was the look I was going for," Arcee smirked, catching the red and orange femme's servo.
"Never settle for less."
"Have either of you seen …"
They stepped apart when Ironhide returned from the backroom, but the mech paused, stunned for an instant.
"I'll uhh … don't mind me …"
They watched him back out again then met each others optics and cut up laughing.
"Pit," Arcee finally swore.
"You know … if you stick around, Mia's going to talk us into fragging him eventually."
"Me?! I don't have a mech she can blackmail me with."
"Not yet you don't. Give that get-up a few shifts, and they'll be beating down our door."
Arcee chuckled, pulling her Autobot badge off her breastplate and reaching back to stick it on a winglet.
"Bring 'em on. I love the taste of broken sparks in the morning."
"You're calling me sexist?" Firestar huffed.
Arcee scoffed as she bent to clean off an already-clean table.
"Arcee?" she pressed. "You HAVE been with a mech, right?"
She vented softly and shrugged. "I have."
"And?"
"And nothing."
"Who was it? Did he fall into recharge on you or something?" she teased.
"I just … wasn't impressed," she reasoned. "Femmes are so much more satisfying."
The other femme studied her for a sober moment, but was interrupted.
"Hey, you two," Chromia scolded, making her entrance from the backroom. "What did you do to get Ironhide worked up?"
They snickered, sharing a glance again, and Chromia picked up on the dirty amusement in her sisters' energy fields.
"You do realize we have to work with him," she reminded. "Two different jobs, no less. And, what are you so tickled about?" she grinned, turning on Arcee. "The new femme always goes first."
Arcee felt her tanks suddenly churn with unpleasant heat at the thought.
Chromia checked the chronometer unnecessarily. "Better get shaking if you want to beat the crowd. Those Wreckers you riled up are never late after their last shift." She grinned.
"What?! You planned this!" Arcee accused.
"Well, yeah!" Chromia laughed. "It wouldn't be much of an initiation if it was easy."
"Oh, Mia," Star cooed. "Don't scare her off. I like this one."
"She's not scared," the lighter blue femme assured. "Just nervous. Like all of us were. After this one, they all feel easier. I LIKE this look, by the way," she smiled, picking the buffing rag out of Arcee's fingers and fussing over her armor. "You look like a pin-up model."
"Here," Firestar said, setting a cube on the counter and filling it with top shelf highgrade.
"I'm on the clock," Arcee reminded.
"Just take it. Gantry won't get too glitchy about it. He'd rather you be a little relaxed than have you freeze up the first time."
It did help a little, but as the place began to fill up, Arcee began to wish she had about six more of them in her.
Firestar and Chromia had taught her as much as could be taught and given all the advice they had. Even Cadence and Pinion, two other more seasoned dancers, had had more tips and tricks than she could remember. But still, the greater part of the act had to be felt out on her own and built around her own style and confidence.
Two beats into the song they'd picked for her, Arcee was already catching herself breaking a big rule and had to force herself to look patrons in the optic instead of trying to pretend they weren't there. To her surprise, she realized she did want to laugh. It was hilarious how a smoldering look that felt so fake to her or the right twist of her hips as she turned could make these lonely mechs melt. She'd have to pay closer attention to the others tonight to see what they did.
For a barely half-full bar, she was impressed to find twice the amount she'd make waiting tables for a shift in her account when she returned to Firestar at the bar.
"More wing action," she critiqued. "And, I know it's fun, but save your smiles for waiting tables. It's what they want – they just don't know it."
"You think?"
"I know," she grinned. "It's a delicate balance. The better you look, the more you have to remind them you don't need to be here. Then surprise them and make them feel special when you're happy to see and serve them. It's …" she drifted, looking for a better explanation. "Oh, you'll get it."
"Mia says I took your table," Pinion announced, setting a tray of empty cubes down beside Arcee. "For the love of Primus, take it. If I have to laugh at one more seeker bait joke, I'm defecting to the Decepticons."
"Poor Pin," Firestar pouted, setting more drinks on her tray. "Tasteless jokes, randy mechs … What kind of awful place is this?!"
"Get fragged, Star," the flier chirped merrily. "Good show, by the way, Arcee. More wing action next time."
They watched her glide off.
"Cute kid, really," Firestar sighed then shrugged. "Well, she just topped them off, so you've got a while. Chrome's up next, so I'll try to push off the next round on Cadence. Then …"
"Stop. Stop …" Arcee sighed. "Just … let me get it over with before Chromia gets back to gloat."
"That's the spirit!"
A servo snaked around her waist and pulled her into a broad lap of the same color. There were only two mechs who would dare to try such a move.
"Someone givin' you trouble, Darlin'? You just point 'em out."
Arcee tolerated it because Ironhide made Chromia happy. Though she knew that he knew (along with any other mech) that if he could win over two out of three of their little clique, the third was bound to go with the flow to keep her sisters happy.
Firestar was the definition of indifferent toward him, so Arcee was his one and only chance at the sort of thing school mechs had leaky dreams about.
"I can handle it," she promised as sweetly as she could manage. "Chromia'd never forgive me if I got you hurt."
"Please," he scoffed. "Mia knows me better than that. An' she'd never forgive ME if somethin' happened to you or Firestarter."
"We are trained soldiers, Hide," Firestar reminded. "Give us a little more credit. And, soldier or not, I'd bet Arcee could defuse an overcharged Wrecker faster than you could."
"Well, I won't argue with that. Just know ya got a backup plan."
He patted her aft as she slipped off, and Arcee only barely managed to keep from slapping him – no thanks to Firestar egging her on with a grin and a spiteful energy field.
Thankfully, Chromia gave her the distraction she needed to slip away with her orders. Her blue sister made it look like an art. She was a military brat, same as Arcee, and it showed in her confidence, her demeanor, and her strength. It took a special kind of femme to make thick plating look sexy, and Chromia had given that femme lessons.
Ironhide was powerless, and Chromia got a rush both of her sisters felt when he watched her. She didn't have anyone to impress but him. She was doing this purely for fun and loving every moment on stage. And, her two sisters in close proximity only drove Chromia on. Gantry, the owner, may as well have had a license to print credits.
Arcee could watch her all night, and more than a little of the hot, charged excitement she felt wasn't entirely all Firestar's.
"Hey, Space Case. Drinks." Firestar snapped her out of her trance, and she looked down at the tray of filled cubes dumbly for an instant. "Your table," the barkeeper grinned.
She felt her and then Chromia bolster her confidence.
"Don't forget to smile."
It was the same four mechs. Springer. Broadside. Kup. Whirl.
Remembering Chromia's evaluation, Arcee stepped up to the table between the old veteran and the giant mech. Of course, the conversation stopped as soon as she'd approached. No amount of reassurance from Firestar and Chromia could keep her plating from heating and her tanks from clenching up with the old dread.
Her sire had once warned that trying to impress femmes always got you in trouble. Arcee knew that by 'you' he'd meant his younger self and all other mechs, but after her stupid stunt with the coaster, it certainly felt like it applied to her.
She could feel Firestar watching her with concern. Something like regret and anxiety was in the older femme's field, but she was trying to cover it.
"Drinks, bots," she announced.
All of them were the same, she realized. Just sweet mineral oil. And, all of them were on coasters.
Scrap.
"It's a little early to be sobering up, isn't it?" she smiled.
It was Kup that leaned back and grinned up at her. Arcee realized too late that he was probably the only mech in the whole place that Ironhide wouldn't even attempt to dissuade from touching the femmes. The old mech snuck an arm behind her, trapping her between himself, Broadside, and the table.
"Nah, the night is young, Sweetspark," he agreed, and gestured around the table. "We're all good on energon for now. But … we thought you could use another drink – after a show like that."
"Or four," the one called Whirl put in with a snigger.
The others smiled rakishly.
"Oh … I …" She was going to politely remind them that she was on the clock, but mineral oil wouldn't give her a charge. She didn't have to look to know what was on every coaster.
A servo slid down her thigh to the back of her knee joint, and she fought to keep from shaking.
"Since … one of us … disappointed you last time, it's only fair you get the pick of the litter tonight," Kup consoled, tickling at the sensitive joint.
Icy panic began to creep into her circuits, and Arcee struggled for the right thing to say or do to escape the situation.
"You mechs aren't scaring the new help, are you?" Cadence interjected, cheerily as ever, coming up on Kup's other side, between him and Springer.
"Of course they are," Firestar laughed, snaking her arm around Arcee and trapping Kup's servo between them. The veteran arched a brow at her, but his smile didn't falter. "There's bound to be sharkticons when there's fresh energon in the water. Right?"
"Does that mean you're already bored with me?" Pinion sulked, appearing on Broadside's opposite side.
"Of course not, Seeker Bait," Whirl assured, reaching to console her, but she smacked his too-pinchy claw while still managing a flirty smile.
Feeling Firestar's warm touch at her back thawed out Arcee's locked-up systems, and she finally found her voice again.
"They're just being friendly," she explained, "since I wanted to buy the Wreckers a round last time, they were returning the favor. Right?" She smiled, offering the tray to Cadence.
The white and yellow femme took a cube with a smile. Then Firestar, then Pinion.
"Absolutely," Broadside rumbled, raising his own drink. "You femmes work too hard."
Arcee raised the last cube with her coworkers and the mechs and downed it, wishing it was more highgrade.
"I misjudged the Wreckers," Firestar apologized. "Here I thought for sure you mechs only ever had fighting and 'facing on the processor. Arcee, be a sweetspark and put a round on my account when you get back to the bar."
Arcee felt her wrap her servo around the mech's, and she sidestepped away into Pinion and Cadence's waiting honor guard, leaving Firestar to slide into the old mech's lap. She relaxed into the two femme's gratefully, but she was still aware of optics on their retreating backs.