What was he doing?
Dealing with confusion and something close to the effects of shadowplay in the way his personality core seemed to be shifting away from ‘deadly warlord’ and closer to ‘even-tempered diplomat’, and it wasn’t that he minded the change so much as he did not understand how to let go of his former identity in order to adopt the new—a conversation far too in-depth for the level of discourse one normally had in a bar full of drunks.
A conversation he wasn’t sure he wanted to have with an Autobot, even one like this.
“I never liked drinking alone,” Megatron said with a silver smile. “Not many mecha want to be seen sharing a booth with the leader of the Decepticons—fear and uncertainty keep my subordinates distant, which is how I prefer to run my ship, but it does make downtime uninteresting.”
He could always ask Starscream, or Soundwave, or any of the officers, really—Nightfall was always up for a drink, but she was also always up for a frag—but he couldn’t deny that drinking with one’s subordinates was inherently different than drinking with the enemy.
There was the element of danger and the prospect of conversation unrestrained by the social constructs of Decepticon hierarchy. There was the promise of transparency, which Megatron looked forward to. Only Starscream gave him what he wanted, but now there was the bond and he wasn’t sure he could trust anything that came out of his Second’s mouth for entirely different reasons.
“And you,” he continued, raising his hand to signal for another cube, “you find my alternate so detestable, yet myself less threatening? “
Fear and uncertainty, huh?
Hide took a sip of his drink, just a sip. He still didn’t know how the foreign highgrade would affect him and getting overcharged with the leader of the Decepticons was nowhere near the veteran’s list of things to do. Much less his bucket list. Getting drunk now would render filling out the damn thing pointless. Making a whole afternoon spent with Ratchet ‘reevaluating’ his life and future, being told he wasn’t cleared for duty until the stupid thing was filled out, a bigger waste of time than it already had been.
With Ratchet hermitting away in the medbay, Wheeljack spending his time building Primus knows what, and all the other officer’s being a bunch of young hoodlums, Ironhide was a little short on drinking partners. No, wrong way to phrase it. There plenty ‘bots on base he could share a cube or six with. But there was a difference between a good time drinking and partying. Something the youngsters on base had yet to learn.
"If ya wanted ta kill meh, ya wouldn’t o’ brought meh ta no rinky dink bar ta do it," he finally responded.
Ironhide wanted to say Megatron would have just lifted his leg a little higher if the ‘con had wanted to offline him, take one wrong step, but the veteran had too much faith in his own abilities. Millions of years fighting a civil-war and he wasn’t about to go down by getting stepped on. One well aimed shot from that canon though…
Fear and uncertainty, huh?
It would take more than a forty-some-foot pointy toothed slagger to frighten a seasoned war vet. here was plenty uncertainty in Hide’s EM field, however. He kept it wrapped around himself, refusing to put the confusion he felt on full broadcast for the Decepticon to feel. On the Ark no Autobot beyond Spec-Ops and Prowl kept their fields to themselves. In such close nit quarters there was really no point in it.
"S’ides," a corner of his lip components quirk up. "Ya jus’ finished a whole sentence without shoutin’ curses, so Ah reckon ya’ve got a bit more processin’ power an’ mah Megatron.”
Which makes ya a Pit o’ a lot more dangerous.