* * *
"It's too early in the day to be drinking the hard stuff," Octane commented.
Blitzwing glanced sidelong at his trine-mate, wondering where the jet tanker had come from. He hadn't been there a couple of hours ago, and he definitely hadn't been there when Astrotrain had stopped by a week ago. So... Sudden arrival or overcharge-induced hallucination? "When did you get here?"
"Astrotrain sent me down. Said you'd been here for three weeks, and you had six months work of leave stacked up."
"Yeah." Blitzwing growled as Octane reached for his cube of laced energon and hunched over it protectively.
"Way too early," Octane muttered.
"Shut up. It's five-o'clock somewhere."
"On the other side of the planet!" Octane bit his lower lip. "Have you been drinking this hard for the last three weeks?" He turned towards the hot pink jetcar bartender and gestured sharply. "Has he been drinking like this for the last three weeks?"
The bartender muttered assent. His armor-colors swam gently.
"... Okay." Octane gently took hold of the tank triple-changer's wrist. "Blitzwing, you need to talk to a chemist. Now. I'm surprised you haven't managed to kill yourself."
"'m fine."
"You're not. I can't even guess what the frag you've been putting into yourself, but if it's as hard as this stuff and for the last three weeks...!" Octane's grip tightened and he yanked Blitzwing away from the bar. More because his trine-mate was limp as a puddle than anything else, but he didn't complain. "And don't you dare-"
Blitzwing promptly curled around Octane, despite the other's protestations. He knew full well that he couldn't walk in this state, much less be trusted to fly.
"I can't carry you! Support some of your own weight, Blitzer!"
"Ngh."
"This is why you build up so much leave, you know. Imperial Accounting refuses to give you any until some newbie gets to make the call and he doesn't know any better than to deny you."
End