Carbombya

The grassy hills and savannas in the east, bordered by ancient volcanos and sprawling lava fields, are the only part of Carbombya not made up of barren desert. Until recently, the country depended on meager livestock herding and subsistence agriculture, but upon the discovery of a huge reserve of very high-grade oil beneath the shifting desert sands, things changed radically. The struggling democracy weathered multiple coup attempts by greedy neighbors and other interested foreigners before finally succumbing to the tender mercies of a home-grown dictator. There are no refugees from war torn Ethiopia being taken in as slave labor, not here under the enlightened rule of President-for-Life Abdul Fakkaddi!

Contents:

Arachnae

Trypticon <T>

Carbombyan Palace

Obvious exits:

East <E> leads to Red Sea.

West <W> leads to Nile River.

Fly <Up>

Hook emerges from the city that is Trypticon.

Hook has arrived.

Mixmaster has arrived.

From somewhere among the crevices and alleys of the city-fortress of Trypticon comes the sound of trumpet music. This is not, however, one of the wild, untamed and somewhat insane tunes that Mixmaster is known for, but a more traditional, one might almost say grounded tune. The music is competent, if uninspired, although there is an off note now and again. The source of the noise is tucked out of immediate sight.

Mixmaster leans down as his legs fold up backwards. He falls down frontwards as he completes his transformation into a Green Cement Truck. His Cauldron begins rotating once again.

Cement Truck <Mixmaster> trundles back from one of the oil rigs with a mixing drum full of crude unrefined Carbombyan oil. Mixmaster's 2025 Private energon batch is going to be the best batch EVER, he thinks to himself. Well, that's when he once again hears the melodies can only be a Constructicon trumpet. But who, who could it be? Scrapper usually plays with his own spin on the tune. It lacks the heart that is missing from Hook's efforts, but it also lacks his precision. Bonecrusher is a more brutal method, and Scavenger's is more incompetant than this. No wonder he couldn't identify it.. he hasn't heard this in a while. "Huh. You're more out of practice than I thought." The Cement Mixer says to nobody as he continues listening.

Hook can hear the trumpeting as well. "Ugh." he mutters to himself, walking out of Trypticon's main access point. "Is he even /bothering/ to try and stick to a tune?" Probably not, he adds silently. For he /does/ recognise the style. That's Mixmaster's freestyle.

Cement Truck <Mixmaster> would cry if he heard a constructicon confuse his style with the style of one of his brothers.

There is a pause in the tune, and if anyone is near enough to the little spot of Trypticon from which the sound originates, grumbling can be heard. The voice general tempo of the complaining is familiar, but rather than being applied to cursing the fates for making him a transporter, it's being used to grumble about Mixmaster, and glue, and 'showing him who's a little behind.' After a moment, the music resumes, a different tune this time.

Hook peers towards the sound. "Mixmaster!" he calls out. "Can't you play something DECENT for once, without murdering it with improvisation?"

The sound stops very suddenly with a rather harsh note as the musician is shocked into a pause. "What the hell are y'talking about, Hook?" Long Haul shouts back from where he had been sitting and playing. "Mixmaster's not here!"

Cement Truck <Mixmaster> automatically falls into his usual defensive state after Hook has verbally accosted him. "At least it's better than your...!" When he realises that not only is he not playing a trumpet, but he lacks the fingers and lips in this mode to be playing. "Hey!" he snaps. "You think that is MY playing?"

"You mean it's NOT?" Hook replies. "But it's so awful, surely..." he trails off. "Wait wait... Long Haul, that was YOU? Oh.. Oh dear."

Oh, wait. Mixmaster IS here! What do you know? But he's not playing the trumpet. Long Haul stands up and grabs his case (lacking a handy built-in one like Mixmaster) before heading towards the source of the shouting. Well, the shouting that didn't originate with him, that is.

"HEY!!" The Cement truck yells, trundling to whichever voice is closer, probably Long Hauls. They'll meet up soon enough. "Now Hook, really. You don't see me confusing your soulless attempts at music with Scrappers, do you?"

Hook hmphs. Despite his practicing, Scrapper is a better trumpet player than Hook. "Well... shut up!" Hook calls in reply. Oh yeah. Smoooth.

By now Long Haul is within sight of both of his brothers, trumpet in one hand, case in the other, and despite his lack of a face, looking completely and utterly annoyed. "Yeah, it was me? What offit, huh?" he challenges. Although his stance is belligerent, he manages to keep his hands from clenching... that would not be good for his trumpet.

Cement Truck <Mixmaster> personally thinks that Scrappers trumpetting is just as bad as Hooks. Just different /kinds/ of bad. "He's just jealous that he can't play a tune without sheet music and a metronome, Long Haul!" he says as he transforms. Ah, yes. After Overenergizing and teaming up against an outside individual, the best thing to bring two Constructicons together is to gang up on one who insulted them both. But this state of unison is less stable, as the two will usually offend one another, and another team-up will occur. "Besides, my playing is nowhere near as unrefined as that!"

"For your information /Mixmaster/, my internal chronometer works perfectly as a metronome" Hook calls out to Mixmaster, then turns to Long Haul. "What of it? Who are you learning from? Mixmaster? Is it Mixmaster? It's Mixmaster, isn't it."

Cement Truck <Mixmaster> drily responds. "Yes, I'm learning from Mixmaster."

Cement Truck <Mixmaster> also transforms!

The Cement Truck's cab folds down and splits in two, forming Mixmaster's legs and feet. His wheels and part of his sides shift out into his arms, which push himself up. The Constructicon lifts himself up onto his feet and looks eagerly for something to smelt.

Long Haul looks back and forth between his two brothers, as first Mixmaster calls his playing 'unrefined' and then Hook accuses him of learning from Mixmaster. It's a little much for his poor processors to follow, so he takes a moment to sort everything out. After the moment's up, first he points at Hook, "NO! I'm practicing on my own, 'cos I intend to be /better/ than Mixmaster!" Then he jabs a finger at Mixmaster, "An' YOU got a lotta nerve calling /me/ unrefined, Mr. 'Oh, I'll just play any buncha random notes and pass it off as CREATIVITY!'" With that, Long Haul puts down his case and lifts his trumpet to his lack-of-mouth, somehow playing a random bunch of notes to no particular tune. Then he stops and mocks, "Hey, look! I'm being /creative!/"

Arachnae has arrived.

Arachnae slips quietly into the area.

Arachnae pads out of Trypticon, preparing to welcome another sucessful cycle not not having blown up her lab and is greeted by.. "What in the everloving pit is that.. that.. sound?!"

"Well that's admirable, although not too difficult" Hook remarks. "Although I would suggest getting lessons from someone skilled in... Oh, Arachnae. That noise is Long Haul practicing his trumpeting."

There's an Oh, Arachnae - skill?

Mixmaster has Oh, Arachnae as a skill.

Mixmaster would angrily swat Long Haul's trumpet out of his hand, but that would be sacriledge. The ancient greent texts of Constructicon trumpetting forbid it. "You just don't understand the difference between vomitting notes through a piece of brass like that and the ability to put LIFE into a song!" And with that, Mixmaster gets Clarice out of storage from his foot-piece, showing him what he means. He plays a tune. It is in fact the same basic tune that Long Haul was playing before, but with more rehersal, and his own spin on things. It's more upbeat, with a few creative 'additions.' It's still not a bad tune, though obviously Mixmaster doesn't expect two philistines like Hook and Long Haul to appreciate his art.

Long Haul THOUGHT we had already established the fact that he /doesn't/ get enough practice, what with others constantly sending him to go carry something about while they get the chance to go goof off. The transporter stares at Mixmaster for several long moments and once more must concentrate to keep his fists from clenching. Finally he brings his trumpet back up to his non-mouth and grumbles something like, "Not done practicing, is all," before returning to his exercises.

Arachnae makes a face, "Alright, if you say so." She nods politly to the trio while flexing wings out and in behnd her. Another start-wince as the noise is redoubled by efforts from Mixmaster and Long Haul once more. "Is this a new weapon?"

Hook chuckles. "It would be rather effective in combat, wouldn't it?" he says. "But it would probably result in all the Autobot's fire being turned on my dear brother. And that would be a real pain in the aft... so to speak."

Once more a note goes sour as Hook decides to make another 'Long Haul the ass' joke, since apparently, after millions of years, those NEVER get old. Long Haul lowers his trumpet to once more turn his gaze on Hook for a moment. "I'm /tryin'/ to practice! See? I was right! You guys /are/ always workin' to keep me from practicing!"

Long Haul is always the butt of the Constructicon's jokes. Mixmaster is currently not taking part in the verbal debate once more, issuing a challenge. His optics meet Long Hauls as he continues his tune, daring his brother to try and keep up.

Long Haul doesn't have /optics/, he has a single optic band, and now he's finally noticed that Mixmaster has issued a challenge. Not fair! Didn't the transporter just SAY he needed more practice? He growls softly to himself and once more raises his trumpet and somehow, without a mouth, causes what may be considered music to issue forth.

Arachnae smirks, folding arms across her front to watch the trio. Rather like a etomologist watches certain communal species.

Yeah, that never gets old. Just like jokes about Scrapper being a high-heeled shoe never get old. He's not about to join in this "challenge" Because he doesn't NEED to prove how awesome he is. "I wonder.. do you think the Terrorcons would be any good at percussion? They strike me as natural drummers.."

Hook says.

Mixmaster always thought that the visor was simply a shield behind which Long Hauls optics were kept! Nevermind. Mixy picks up the pace some more, hoping to exasperate his brother before too long.

Mixmaster also thinks that Soundwave would be great as a DJ. He could kick out some phat beats while the six of them play. At is, if they all didn't hate him.

Long Haul starts to speed up in an attempt to keep pace with Mixmaster until an idea strikes him. Interactions with his brothers aside, any being who can spend century upon century doing a job they hate must develop a fair amount of patience, a quality Mixmaster lacks. So after moving briefly upbeat he instead slows down, playing a tune with longer notes and a slower rhythm that still provides appropriate counterpoint to Mixmaster's faster paced tune.

Mixmaster once again picks up the pace.. only to notice that Long Haul has slowed his tune down. Mixy slows his down to match the pace. And he does, for about three notes. After that, Mixy's patience officially runs out and he starts picking up the pace again. He catches himself out, slows down, and plays a few more notes before getting tired and playing them too fast again. Mixmaster finally lowers his trumpet. Perhaps he lost this duel, but he can freak out Long Haul. A nozzle extends from his headpiece...

Hook winces. "...And THIS is why you need a metronome" he remarks. "It sounds like someone's randomly adjusting your speed setting, Mixmaster."

Arachnae hmms and offers, "I can check his speed setting..." polite smile.

Cheat! Cheat! But then, from a Decepticon, such is to be expected. Long Haul's notes go sour for a moment as he sees what Mixmaster is doing and panics. But... wait a minute! Long Haul's holding a TRUMPET! Surely Mixmaster won't glue up a TRUMPET! Well, hopefully. The transporter adjusts his stance so that his instrument is more directly between himself and his chemist brother (no crude jokes, please) and resumes playing, optic band steadily watching Mixmaster the whole time.

Hook grins. "That's an excellent idea, Arachnae" he says, carefully stepping sideways so that Long Haul is between him and Mixmaster.. just in case he decides to point that nozzle at HIM. "Perhaps you could also install a "Mute" button as well?"

Mixmaster wasn't going to glue him at all, that would be a waste of glue. But sadly, the threat wasn't enough. Mixmaster sulks, saying "You're no fun." He is about to retract his nozzle, when he notices Hook take a sidestep behind their brother. Hmm. Mixmaster glares evilly at Hook, and takes a confidant and exaggerated step to the side, leaving the line of sight between his nozzle and Hook clear. He just stands there, looking knowing at him.

Arachnae smirks, optics glinting dangerously, "There are all kinds of things I could install for remote operation..."

Long Haul continues playing for awhile longer before the realization has finally made it all the way through his processors that not only has he won, but Mixmaster has turned his attention elsewhere. He finally lowers his trumpet and looks around rather uncertainly, genuinely shocked to have achieved victory so easily. "I... I won?" Then he laughs and pumps the fist holding the trumpet into the air. "I won!" Too bad that means he'll probably have to get back to hauling soon.

Hook gives Mixmaster a lonnng look. Remote operation.... why, that reminds him of something. Hook suddenly grins. "Oh I wouldn't bother, Arachnae. After all, why waste time and resources on a...

RETARD."

Arachnae shakes her head.... she thought she'd disabled that thing.. And just grins at Hook.

And just at that moment, Mixmaster's optics bulge out slightly. He his grip loosens on his trumpet (Oh noes!) and Clarice falls to the ground. Mixmaster's hands tuck in nearby his armpits, and makes a flapping motion with his arms. Then he raises his hands, and for the same amount of time, open and closes them. Like some kind of BEAK creature. And then, he wriggles as he squats down, before getting up and clapping three times.

Yes, Mixy is doing the chicken dance.

Mixmaster's optics return to normal, as he apparently has no idea about what happened for the last eight seconds. "Who.. what the.."

Arachnae looks utterly.. confused.. "Errrr..."

Hook's smirk is almost as wide as his face. "Everything okay, Mixmaster?" he asks. Ah, he'd been waiting for this. And the best bit is that it came about due to a long forgotten suggestion/order of Galvatron. Or at least that's his excuse.

Uhm. Woah. That was weird. Long Haul just stares at his cRaZy brother for quite a good while before he just ROARS with laughter. He laughs so hard, it's all he can do to keep from dropping his own trumpet. "Gee, Mixmaster, glad yer takin' being beaten so well! Even doing a dance for me? That's sweet of ya!"

"Doing a what?" Mixmaster snaps at Long Haul. "A dance? Have you been drinking the blue energon I made or something? I didn't just dance!" Even as he says it, he starts to imagine what exactly might have just happened, and why his memory banks can't seem to recall the last few moments..

Long Haul stops and stares before bursting yet again into laughter, pointing one of the fingers on the hand that grasps his trumpet in Mixmaster's direction. "And he doesn't even remember!" he howls between laughs. It's getting to the point where one might expect that his vocalizer is starting to see a bit of strain.

Arachnae has a moment of clarity.. and shakes her head, "I'm not getting blamed for this one." Wings snap back behind her as she heads off of the ground, patroling the immidiate area about Trypticon.

"For what one?" Mixmaster yells at Arachnae's back. "FOR WHAT ONE?

Hook shakes his head. "I think you've been playing that trumpet too long, Mixmaster" he says, coughing as he supresses his own laughter. "Perhaps you should give it a rest for a while, hmmm?"

Arachnae calls back as she's flying upwards, "Check Sec-cams Mixmaster, then ask me again."

Scrapper has arrived.

Mixmaster, upon hearing Hooks advice, notices there isn't a trumpet in his hand. He searches the ground and finds Clarice quickly enough. "Huh? Why, what did my trumpetting do?

"

Long Haul finally finishes laughing with a pleased sigh. For once, he's having a good day! He beat Mixmaster in a trumpeting challenge, he didn't get glued, and he got to watch his brother do the chicken dance! He shakes his head happily as he mentally runs over the events of the last while and opens up his case to put his trumpet away (lacking, as he does, a handy built in compartment).

"I think it overheated your processor" Hook replies. "Or.. something. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Muah. Muahahahaha. "If you like, I could have a look at it.."

Scrapper exits Trypticon. He's just finished up a batch of reports and a round of duty in the medbay, and he wants to get out and... stare at all the stuff that isn't built out here. Grah.

Mixmaster puts his trumpet away lest he damage it some more.. and then Hook happily offers to look at something. Waiiitaminnit. "Hang on.. what are YOU doing offering me something all nice-like!" Mixmaster says, pointing an accusing finger at his snooty brother. "What do you know about whatever just happened?"

Hook puts his hands up in a 'who me?' position. "I just wouldn't want you to overheat... or something... while we were merged. It would cause no end of problems!"

Actually, come to think of it... "Weren't we once knocked out of gestalt because Scrapper had a different problem with... erm, that word?" Long Haul asks as he closes his case with a *snap*. "Maybe we oughta take care of that..." Not that he's one to talk about being prematurely knocked out of gestalt, given how that happened most recently.

Scrapper acks! Perhaps he can cleverly hide down that manhole... to the sewer systems... that they haven't installed. Blast! He shuffles on his feet and coughs, trying to think of some slick plan to save his day here.

"What word was that?" Mixmaster says, turning to Long Haul. "You mean when he got nerve pain whenever he heard the word Retard?" And, just like that, Mixmaster stops what he's doing to do the chicken dance again.

Hook can't help himself as he finally gives in and keels over laughing while Mixmaster dancces.

Long Haul starts laughing again as well, although this time not quite as long or hard as the last time. After all, it doesn't come as big as a surprise now. "Yeah, that word!" he answers cheerfully once he finishes.

Arachnae has disconnected.

Scrapper winces a little. Oh yeah, it's all fun and games until someone loses a mind! (Then it's a competitive sport.) He points at Mixmaster and asks aloud, thereby giving away his terribly obvious position near Trypticon, "What's with him?"

Mixmaster comes to once again, now a bit more aware of what is going on. He doesn't know /all/ the answers, but he knows enough. Hook is acting like someone who knows more about what is going on. Everyone else is laughing, so it's embarrassing. And it involves the word Reta-IT INVOLVES THAT WORD! DO NOT THINK IT! So Hook has probably done something to him, or knows who has. But he still doesn't know WHAT the deal is, just that he comes to at the sound of his own hands clapping together. "...I will get you all for this." He calmly states.

Hook takes control of himself, stopping laughing and getting back to his feet, grinning at Mixmaster before replying to Scrapper. "I'm not entirely sure.. I think Mixmaster has a minor systems glitch of some kind."

Long Haul looks innocent! Well, he looks expressionless, since he doesn't really have a face to make an expression with. "What?! I didn't have anything to do with it!" No, he's just enjoying the situation as best he can! After what Mixmaster did to him a couple of days ago, and /keeps/ doing to him, the pleasure he gets from seeing the (al)chemist being made the fool is without measure.

Mixmaster gets beaten up enough times from the others, so it all balances out, really. But he just hates this. He notices his brother Scrapper, in his terribly obvious position. "Scrapper, that's what I want to know! What was just happening?"

Scrapper tilts his head skyward. 'Mixmaster' and 'minor systems glitch' do not belong the same sentence! 'Mixmaster' and 'yet another systems glitch', yes, now that makes sense. He looks at Mixmaster and says, scratching the back of his helmet, "If I knew, why would I have been asking?"

"SCRAPPER JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!!" Mixmaster yells, clenching his fists.

"/I/ already toldja, Mixmaster!" Long Haul answers, raising his voice out of general reflex. "You danced! S'not my fault no one wants t'listen to me!"

Hook snickers. That's all. Just snickers.

Scrapper looks at Mixmaster like he... dangit, Mixmaster makes it so hard to think of implausible similes. He tosses his arms up in the air and grouses, "Yeah, dancing! Or whatever the smelt that was."

Mixmaster honestly didn't hear Long Haul say that. But that's okay, if he did he still wouldn't have cared. "Dancing..." He says, starting to strain his cranial processor.

Thus proving Long Haul's point about no one listening to him. Bah! "Yeah, dancin'! You were flapping yer elbows and stuff like that." He chuckles slightly. "S'pretty funny lookin'." Probably no one's going to pay attention to /this/ either, but Long Haul says it anyway.

Hook shrugs. "Something like that" he says to Mixmaster. "While you contemplate that, I just have.. something to do... over.. that way.." Hook waves his hand vaguely in Trypticon's direction. And walks off. Briskly. But does not run.

Long Haul watches Hook leave and nods his head after him. "Bet he knows," he says, observing the obvious.

Hook has disconnected.

Mixmaster chases after Hook. "Wait, I'm not done with you!" Sure, you could say that he is reacting to Long Haul, but he was probably going to do that anyway.

Scrapper watches his two brothers go, a 'What the...?' look plain in his pose and demeanour. He looks back at Long Haul, sighs, and shrugs. He tilts his optic band skyward again and says, tone resigned, "Life is full of mysteries."

Long Haul nods his head. "Yup," he answers rather cheerfully. Won a trumpeting challenge and got to watch Mixmaster make a fool complete fool of himself all in one day... why wouldn't he be cheerful? Well, there is all that work he's been putting off in order to practice his trumpet playing...

Mixmaster has disconnected.

Scrapper had better enjoy Long Haul-in-a-good-mood while it lasts, dammit! Well, okay. maybe not. With all the excitement over, it's probably time for the transporter to get back to work. He gives a final shrug and walks off. "See ya, Scrapper," he says as he departs, his good mood not yet squashed.