Manners Maketh Man (TFA! Various x Cybertronian! Reader)

Prologue

It was 2:17 in the afternoon, and I was in a small pub called 'Black Prince' in the outskirts of Detroit, Michigan. Reminds me of one somewhere in England back then, and I am in the same scenario Harry Hart was in when he reunited with Eggsy after seventeen years after his father died, which was about a century ago.

In front of me, across the table, is 16-year-old boy named Archibald Witwicky; quite the troublemaker, with an adventurous personality and a kind heart. Meanwhile, I was wearing my favorite frock coat with dark-blue jeans and color-matching low-heeled ankle boots and beret hat.

"So, before you were a tailah, you were in the army? Like an auffica?" He asked, his voice contained a Boston accent. "Not quite..." I answered, swirling the intoxicating liquid contents that the humans called alcohol. "So, where were you posted? Iraq or something?" He continued to ask, genuinely curious about me.

"Sorry, Archibald, classified." I informed. "But, my dad saved your life, right?" He brought up. "The day your father died; a colleague missed something. If it weren't for his courage, the colleague's mistake would have cost the lives of everyone present in that room... so, being his closest friend, I owe him. You father was a brave man, a good one at that." I spoke before sitting up straight. Although that was true, everyone in the room would've died, but I would be the only survivor of the group, again.

"And having read your files, I think he would be bitterly disappointed in the life choices you've made." I added. "You can't talk to me like that." He stated as he leaned back into his seat on his side of the booth. "Huge IQ, great performance in primary school, especially when it came to world geography. And then it went all down in smoke. Drugs, petty crime, never had a job." I listed. "Oh, you think there's a lot auf jobs going around here, do you?" He rhetorically asked, getting a little upset and annoyed with me. "Well, that doesn't explain why you gave up your hobbies. A first-prize regional under tens gymnastic two years in a row? Your coach said that you were Olympic team material." I said, messing with the ring on my finger; no, I have no spouse, if that's what you're thinking.

"Yeah, well, when you go around someone like my stepdad, you pick up new hobbies pretdee quickly." He said, slouching in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. "Of course, it's always someone else's fault." I said, which made him turn his head to the side, avoiding eye contact. "Who's to blame you for quitting the marines? You were halfway through training, doing exceptionally well, but you gave up." I continued.

"Because my mom went mental, banging aun about losing me, as well as my dad! Didn't want me to be cannon fodda fah snobs like you! Judging people like me from your ivory towers, with no fault about why we do what we do. We don't have a choice, you get me? And if we were born with the same silva spoon up aurr arses, we'd do just as well as you do. If not, bedda." He ranted; his patience was worn down to the final string with me.

That's when someone spoke up from the entrance with some friends behind him, "What the fuck are you doing here?!" A teen shouted, seemingly to be the gang leader of this little group. "Some more examples of young men who simply need a silver suppository." I muttered; my tone filled with annoyance before taking a sip of alcohol. "Nah, they're exceptions. C'mon." He calmly said, just about ready to leave.

"Nonsense! We haven't even finished our drinks." I dismissed as the group walked over to us, doing a terrible job at trying to seem scary and intimidating.

"After you nicked his car, Dean says you're fair game and I don't give a shit about what your mom says." One of the goons stated. "Listen, boys: I've had a rather tiring day. So, whatever your beef with Archi is, and I'm sure that it's well-founded... I'd appreciate it, enormously if you leave so we can continue our conversation in peace, until I finish this glass of Guinness." I requested in a calm manner, and they turned their attention towards me.

"You should get out of the way, little lady. You'll get hurt and all." The teenager said. "He isn't joking, you should go." Archibald said, warning me.

I hummed in thought before I sighed as I stood up from my seat in the booth, taking my umbrella with me. Just as I reached the door, one of the teenager's goons, the same one from before, spoke up, "If you're looking for another rent boy, they're on the corner of Smith Street." He chuckled.

I stopped walking just as I reached the pub's front doors as all emotion disappeared from my face. I looked over to one of the photos hanging on the wall and watched the reflection of what's behind me, and the gang looked like as if they were getting ready to beat up the young kid.

"Manners..." I started, reaching up to the first lock on the upper part of the doors, gaining the groups attention away from the poor lad. "Maketh..." I reached up to the second lock on the other door as the group made their way towards me, with only 7 ft. distance between us. "Man." I finished as I reached down to the lock by the door's handles.

"Do any of you have even the slightest idea of what that means? If not..." I rhetorically asked with a slight chuckle at the end with a small smirk. The group of troublesome teens gave each other confused glances as I adjusted my grip on my umbrella, holding onto the end tip of it.

"Then here's a demonstration."

I then set the U-shaped handle of my umbrella on a side-table and flung a cup of alcohol at the group leader's head, effectively knocking him out and shattering the glass, making him fall backwards.

I walked over to the group with a stride in my step. "Are we going to stand around here all day, or are we going to fight?" I asked as the group turned their heads to me, shocked.

(Here's what the fight scene looks like. Skip to 2:47 - 4:10)

After I shot the bartender with an amnesia dart, I looked over at Archibald, "Sorry about that. I needed to let off a little steam. Anyway, good day to you, Mr. Witwicky. Until we meet again." After I said that, I turned around and headed for the doors. "W-Wait! Where are you going?" He asked as he snapped out of his state of shock.

"I'm heading off to my next assignment. Why?" I asked, turning to him. "Aren't you supposed to like, I don't know, take me to this supa-secret aurganization aur something?" He questioned.

I laughed before I replied, "Oh, no. You got it all wrong. I'm the messenger." I said, before there was a pause and I spoke up again, "I hope that you won't tell a soul, 'cause I would have to do what I did to the bartender just now." As I said that, I pointed my watch at him, ready to fire the amnesia dart, making Archibald raise his hands in the air like I was a cop. "A-Asl the feds, I neva grassed anyone up!" He pleased. "Is that a promise?" I queried. "On my life." He swore.

I can tell he was telling the truth, to which I lowered my arm. " Much appreciated, Archibald." I said before I turned back around, unlocked the doors and left.

Yep. This is my life now.