Log Title: A Passing Encounter

Characters: Ar-Gent Silverfinger, Spike

Location: Portland, Oregon

Date: February 12, 2019

TP: Evil Inc TP

Summary: Ar-Gent stops by Portland and mails some packages.

As logged by  Ar-Gent Silverfinger

Log session starting at 19:53:21 on Tuesday, 12 February 2019.

Ar-Gent Silverfinger strolls through the streets of Portland, smoking an enercig in defiance of the zeitgeist of the era even as he peers into various shop windows and checks a card in his hand.

A random person on the street yells, "Put it out!" to Ar-Gent.

Ar-Gent Silverfinger crouches down and raises his index finger. "Now, now. I'm legally a private aircraft, so this is well within emissions standards." He gives the person a cheery salute in the face of their sour expression and continues on his quest.

Spike is taking in a brew at one of the many microbrew establishments in Portland. He's been keeping up to date with all of the goings on with the situation with the Joes. However, his heavy thoughts are quickly fluttered away as he sees something he doesn't see every day. And the robot in question is very familiar, it's the one who nearly killed him and DJ Fairborn. He runs out of the brew pub along with other frightened citygoers. He looks up in disbelief. "The hell?!" he mutters.

Ar-Gent Silverfinger isn't acting like an evil robot at the moment. Instead, he spots the storefront he was looking for and squats next to it, tapping gently on the doorframe. When someone peers out the door, the dapper Junkion is all smiles, stubbing out his enercig and making it vanish into subspace. "Ah! Are you available to accept delivery requests? I'd bring my packages inside, except I'm afraid the establishment just isn't made to accomodate someone of my size."

Spike uses his powers of...being a civilian... not call attention to himself. He moves a block away and crouches behind a building and pulls up his communicator. Radioing the Autobots, he says "'re not going to believe this..."

the Spike of old may have been all gung-ho 'let 'em be, Decepticreep!' - but the Spike of today.. .who's had more trips to the hospital than he can care to count...far more pragmatic.

Ar-Gent Silverfinger exchanges a few words with the person at the door, and eventually gets a manager. He seems entirely understanding and willing to wait while they sort things out.

Spike says into his radio ""That Junkion that came for Dr. Arkeville...he's like two blocks from me. He's stopping at a Portland...."

Ar-Gent Silverfinger seems to come to an agreement with the manager, and begins to produce a slew of medium sized, wooden boxes out of subspace, all exactly the same. They're about half a foot wide, half a foot deep, and a foot and a half long. Ar-Gent also presents a small paper list. "That's all the addresses. Just let me know what the costs are. I assure you I'm good for it." He reaches for a compartment (rather than subspace) and slips out a human-sized card wallet, extracting a mostly ordinary VISA card from it.

Spike continues to say hidden, looking/spying on Ar-Gent Silverfinger. He squints, trying to study what the hell he's getting. He radios in about Ar-Gent Silverfinger getting boxes. But boxes for what? He'll have to check it out when Ar-Gent Silverfinger leaves.

Ar-Gent Silverfinger carefully sits, checking behind himself for hapless humans before settling in to wait as the manager gets their employee and the two of them cart the boxes into the store. Ar-Gent winks his visible optic at one of the people staring at him and flashes a smile around. "I do autographs," he offers. "I don't even charge for them."

Spike mumbles "Jeezus, this guy is as arrogant as he was when I first met him." That split second he met him before he was nearly vaporized (but in truth, it was a smoke bomb).

Ar-Gent Silverfinger does get the chance to smile for some pictures. A few daring sorts even go for selfies with him. But then the manager returns, and Ar-Gent signs the bill and accepts his VISA card back. "Ah, excellent! If these all arrive safely, I'll be sure to send more business your way!" And with that, he stands and begins to stroll away, his business apparently concluded.

Spike is in no shape to start a fight for this guy, so he waits patiently for Ar-Gent Silverfinger to leave before asking questions to the shopkeeper.

It's a pretty ordinary storefront. 'Paragon Cargo Solutions', a private courier service. Basically the hipster version of UPS.

Log session ending at 20:52:41 on Tuesday, 12 February 2019.
