“What you called peace I called complacency. The council would not have allowed anything to change, and still you-” The further along that train of thought went, the deeper his claws gouged into the wood. It takes a few heavy, shaky ventilations for the warlord to collect coherent thoughts. Optimus was right; his systems would fail soon if he couldn’t calm down. Pathetic.
"Injury… not insanity. You trained your scout well, if that matters to you. The scar he left may never heal properly, you should be very proud…” Averting his optics worked only for a brief time. That deep voice and blazing EM field wouldn’t let him forget who he was talking to. May as well look him in the eye, despite the burn in his overheating chest.
“Even thinking too hard about you gives me physical pain, isn’t that such perfect justice?” That cube of high grade is starting to look very inviting…
A harsh sound rattled through his frame as he looked away dismissively towards the too-large mirror that hung at the back of the bar. The reflection was comical to say the least: A Warlord nearly doubled over in pain, scratching deep into the polished surface of the counter, and a weary-looking Prime who’s paint had faded with time. Eons had not been kind.
“What damage Bumblebee caused, it was not by my command,” Optimus stated. “Since I assisted in the coup of this Universe’s Tyrant, I have not exercised the commanding power I once held.” He glanced at the cubes of energon that Megatron was eyeing, and with a nudge of a black hand, scooted one closer to his nemesis.
“Whomever the Council saw in me… Has long since retired.”
Megatron took the cube with a sneer, but opted to glare into the drink rather than consume it just yet. As he listened, the ache subsided slightly. It would be easy not to believe a word the Prime said, to disregard his attempts to relate and shut out his enemy. But what would be the point? If the old warrior kept that up, they’d be stuck in this purgatory forever, or until he keeled over from the scar pulsing in his chest every time he lost his temper.
Optimus would do and say anything to end their animosity. However… both of them had, technically speaking, succeeded in killing the other. Now they both had the chance to recreate Cybertron, in the fashion they each envisioned. What more reason did Megatron need to cling to, simply to justify his hatred?
The warlord forced down a swig of his cube, and sat heavily, before reaching over and pulling out another stool for the Prime. “… Good. I never liked him.”
Megatron's back up 