Nexus, By the Sign, Double Meanings
"Anyone wanna play War?"The question, posted by an obnoxiously pink femme in the strange place Lacerate had stumbled upon, caught the Decepticon's attention. As he approached, he noticed the femme had no obvious faction markings.
"Very well. shall I call my cohorts?" At the puzzled look from the femme, Lacerate's hopes for a proper battle were slowly beginning to fade. What was said next hurled those hopes into the ether.
"Nope! I've got the cards right here!"
"...Cards?"
The femme nodded, grinning.
"yup! Six decks!"
This would not end well.
---
"I. De. Clair. WAR!" Lacerate growled a bit as both he and his opponent made their moves, an ace showing up on the femme's side, countering his own King.
"Yay! I win!!!" Great. The pink git was dancing. Again. Things were not looking good. The glitch had most of the cards in the three decks she had handed Lacerate earlier, and had just won the last four cards he had.
"One more game. Only this time...One deck." The look of delight on the femme's face was almost enough to make Lacerate want to purge his tank.
As the femme shuffled the deck, Lacerate scanned it as discreetely as possible. This time, he'd memorized where the cards of higher value were, and where they were in the half of the deck he was handed. This time, he'd win.
*Ten minutes later...*
Lacerate stared, dumbfounded, as the femme gleefully relieved him of the last card in his hand.
"Wow, you're really lousy at this game...Even when you cheated, you lost!" That damned cheeky grin again. Lacerate could feel what little patience he had left towards the pink femme snap. The next thing he knew, he had the walking opticsore cornered in another room.
The look of complete and utter terror was worth the effort of chasing the glitch down, as was the quietly muttered, "...Oh, SLAG."
"Any LAST words, fembot?!" A brief moment passed, in which, Lacerate was expecting the femme to beg for her life, but what was spoken, instead...
"I'm...NOT a girl?"
"..." Lacerate's processor shut down in a fit of self-preservation, and the last trace he saw of the effeminate mech was the backside as the mech took the opportunity to run away, screaming.