They don't have a set schedule for these gatherings.

(There's totally a schedule.

They generally occur in the aftermath of one of Red Alert's more spectacular breakdowns—the ones where he's not merely fritzing over pranksters screwing with the cameras, but where he's actually On To Something. The suspicions that result in things like Jazz planting knives in the sparkchambers of a subverted Ops cell while Wheeljack reports there's enough explosive payload planted in the reactor core to crater Iacon and it's all set to go off in a joor. It doesn't go over well with Prime, and it just frags the rest of the command chain off. They have to investigate for deca-cycles and Jazz gets the added bonus of getting his struts busted by Prime because "damnit, he's supposed to have a leash on the bots in his division and Primus, it's like they're nothing more than Decepticons that figured out how to occasionally play nicely with others, except no, not really, congratulations on the fine job you're doing, Jazz". It makes everyone stressed and irritable, and if they don't take time to cool off, the next bot to blow the base will be one of them, and none of the other officers will stop them because frag you, and frag this slagging war. Ironhide refuses to come, though he has a standing invitation. Ironhide claims it's because he'd rather spend time with Chromia (who also has yet to take advantage of her invitation). Chromia says that their free time is for them. Red Alert is convinced it's because Ironhide and Chromia can't cheat to save *anyone's* life. They all kind of agree with that.

Of course, if necessity doesn't mandate they all have a gathering, there's a standing date every stellar cycle. They try very hard not to think about the fact that they have yet to go a full stellar cycle without Red having one of those aforementioned epic fritzes.)

They get together in an unused room on base

(The only unused room on base is a supply closet on the lower levels. It's too small to hold all of them, and it doesn't even have lights. They usually call an officer's meeting and descend on Jazz's office –it has the space, a rather large conference table with surprisingly comfortable seats and soundproofed walls. Surprisingly, in fact, Jazz's office is almost completely bare, in full defiance of the expectation that his would be covered from floor to ceiling with who knows what. Instead, the only thing in the room besides the furniture and a computer system they all suspect has never even been turned on are…trinkets. Not a lot of them, nothing particularly strange or even messy.

There's a few orbs spread about the desk, and the only thing spectacular about them are that they are all pure Praxian crystal. When they inquire, Jazz just gives them a lazy smile and says there's a story behind them; no one's managed to pry it out of him yet. There's also a conductor's baton—now a converted stylus—that Jazz keeps close track of, and though a bit unusual, it makes perfect sense once they remember that Jazz was a musician. There's more to that story too, especially given the way Blaster and Mirage will stare at the baton sometimes, as if expecting something amazing to occur any moment. What though, they haven't quite figured out. There's a piece of polished marble on the desk that they can make out now-faded etchings of sheet music on it—and that's apparently got a story too. The last time anyone asked though, Jazz got in one of his Moods, and they never dared ask again. It was Smokescreen who eventually let them in on the fact that it was a bit of stone from one of the guild houses in Protihex, and no more needs to be said. They learned a long time ago there were things you just didn't ask a bot about. Not asking Jazz about Protihex was added to the unspoken rules that reminded you to never ever mention Tarn to Wheeljack, and bringing up Airachnid to Elita-One was practically a killing offense.

So, Jazz has a couple of trinkets and nothing else in the office. Smokescreen's running a bet on the side about where Jazz's work is actually stored, because the sheer sterility of the office indicates it's nowhere inside that particular room. They lock the doors and turn off all the comms except for the emergency channels, and no one on base knows that Prime's command staff isn't hard at work protecting justice, freedom, and the Autobot way.)

and play a friendly game of Hexian Five Card Blitz.

(There is nothing friendly about Hexian Five Card Blitz. The game is a high-stakes nightmare where cutthroat is for amateurs, and terming it nicely at that. None of them are amateurs, and they've taken cheating to new heights.

Not that cheating is exactly discouraged in Hexian Blitz.

And they do cheat.

Brazenly.

Prowl counts cards. Elita-One stacks the deck and uses shifters. Ultra Magnus stiffs the pot and steals from the bank. Red Alert taps into the camera feeds around the room to spy on everyone's hands. Ratchet gave up bluffing a long time ago and switched to dire threats of impromptu physicals and virus screens that none of them have the struts to try him on. Smokescreen has cards up his plating and Wheeljack hasn't added up a score properly since they first started playing. Jazz owns a set of ceruluean crystal dice—Praxian crystal and loaded of course—that never fails to produce the most hysterical mix of amusement, horror, and disbelief on Prowl's face. No one can figure out how Jazz has so much of the stuff, come to think of it...)

They have a drink or two

(They aren't quite sure what Prowl and Jazz are drinking. They've been experimenting with it for at least seven stellar-cycles. Prowl says it's safe and an old recipe besides, but that's complete and total slag. Whatever it is they're drinking, it cratered Superion. Grimlock pilfered a cube of it once and spent the next mega-cycle hallucinating and blowing fireballs at the wall. Wheeljack's managed to work out that it's one part mercury, one part cyanide, two parts refined Hexian ultra-grade and one part something else. It's that one part something else that makes them all wonder and gives Grimlock random processor flashbacks. Ultra Magnus and Elita-1 usually kill off a bottle of Helix Premium Label together. Wheeljack sticks to his own experimentations, but he brings enough to share. He gives each concoction its own name, like 51 Guns or Vos Sunrise, and they're usually spectacular. Every now and again he goes off into left field, however, and it ends in tragedy. Rather like his experiments. They'll sell their own parts for cubes of his Stormbreaker, but his Tarpit Blitz can stay there. Smokescreen has a stash of Old Fortran that was diverted from Axiom Nexus, and no one can figure out how he got it. Ratchet has been extorting bottles of energon wine out of Mirage for vorns now, ever since an unfortunate interface with a mech he refuses to name led to a rather embarrassing round of virus scans. Red Alert claims he needs to stay sober just to keep up when they play Hexian Blitz, so he sticks to cubes of high-grade confiscated from Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They aren't sure if they should be horrified or impressed with the tolerance level that indicates.)

and make up stories about each other.

(Elita-One claims that Ultra Magnus waxed poetic and blew up a planet. Wheeljack swears Smokescreen used Prime as ante in a card game and actually dared to lose. Ultra Magnus accuses Elita-One of being secretly afraid of energy-spiders. Prowl swears Smokescreen fragged Soundwave and Jazz proclaims that Prowl is terrified of Firestar. Smokescreen throws in that Jazz and Prowl were fodder for celebrity gossip. Things…degrade when Jazz claims Prowl defaced the Crystal Gardens. )

Things are okay afterwards.

(Well, yeah actually. Not a hundred percent okay because of the war and all, but give them time. They're Autobots of exceptional quality, and the one thing a good Autobot learns early on is to cheat death and disaster. They've got this nailed down. )