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Post by Perceptor on May 14, 2011 22:14:02 GMT -5
Month 1, Week 2, Day 5. Public "mess" - Open
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Just because there are interesting events afoot in Perceptor's personal life, does not excuse him from his duties. Certain of those duties, however, do not require the use of his lab, which might explain why he is currently ensconced at a table tucked away in an out-of-the-way corner of the main mess with half a dozen data pads scattered over the table, and half a cube of energon mostly forgotten at his elbow as he reads through those aforementioned data pads.
Most of those pads are filled with line after line after line of deconstructed programming code, which Perceptor appears to be deeply engrossed in reading. Occasionally, he highlights a section and transfers it to another pad which isn't quite as full, but otherwise, he appears to be engrossed in comparing the contents of all the pads scattered before him at the same time. A working lunch, apparently, as he seems to periodically recall the cube sitting at his elbow to take a sip.
Appearances can be deceiving, though.
He is working, slowly bulldozing his way through pages upon pages of coding. But that is not all he is doing, nor all he has been doing for the many hours he has been seated at that same table in the cafeteria. A table, it may be notes, that is not readily spotted from the door until one has walked all the way into the room, and, even then, one must be looking at the tables themselves, rather than the energon dispenser area to notice. Tucked in the corner as he is, however, Perceptor has an excellent view of anyone who does head for the dispensers, and his attention is... not as riveted upon his work as it may seem.
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Post by Drift on May 14, 2011 22:32:18 GMT -5
Drift...has been laying low. Well, as low as he can, being white, alien looking and with a sword nearly his own height with him at all times. He's been spending most of his awake time dodging mechs. After meeting his roomies and the disaster with Perceptor, Drift's decided that the best way not to utterly frag up and get murderered--or forcibly un-armed--by these Autobots is to stay the hell out of everyone's way.
Still, a mech's got to refuel, so once a day, he lets himself slink into the ship's mess.
Okay, not 'slink'. That's a wussy word. He, uh, employs tactical stealth. Right?
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Post by Perceptor on May 14, 2011 22:38:38 GMT -5
Ah, wonderful. The long hours of staking out the mess have finally paid off; target acquired. Perceptor smiles faintly to himself, and then empties the rest of his cube in a series of quick gulps before Drift can notice him. Once the white mech is fully committed to his course toward the dispenser, Perceptor calmly rises from his table, empty cube in hand, and heads over for a refill.
"Greetings and salutations, Drift."
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Post by Drift on May 14, 2011 22:43:11 GMT -5
Drift twitches. And by 'twitches' it's mostly 'combat-trained reflexes all going off at once.' It probably looks a bit...nervous.
BUT IT'S NOT NERVES. Drift is totally not scared. Or startled. Or anything like that.
It's...a tactical display of skill, as the cube he'd picked up goes flying and he has to lunge forward to catch it.
Which he does, because he is awesome like that.
"Uhhh. Hi."
He clutches the cube in his fingers hard enough that the hand servos whine.
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Post by Perceptor on May 14, 2011 22:51:31 GMT -5
The servos of Drift's hands whine a little louder in one than in the other. Probably because of the missing plate that Drift still hasn't had replaced. How fortunate that Perceptor has the original in his subspace.
He pretends not to notice the nervousness as he moves up to the dispenser and refills his cube. "I have a table over in the corner, if you'd care to join me," he offers with a genuine smile, daring Drift to be rude enough to refuse. He pulls a familiar bit of plating out of subspace and holds it up. "I can complete your repair, as well, if you will permit me."
Just an ordinary day. Just a coincidental meeting. Not like Perceptor has been hiding out here just for this exact reason for most of a day now.
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Post by Drift on May 18, 2011 14:31:45 GMT -5
There are plenty of other open tables, and Drift honestly hasn't been planning on staying--just sucking down his ration like a combat refuel and heading back to the closet he's adopted as his Fortress of Solitude.
Or, really, the Fortress of At Least I am Not Pissing Anyone Else Off Here.
And he's frankly confused at why Perceptor's offering. But he stammers, "Sure," before he can really think through what a bad idea this was. HOW many bad things had happened already from letting Perceptor get too close to him?
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Post by Perceptor on May 18, 2011 14:50:06 GMT -5
Define... "bad things". He's gotten protected from Cosmic Rust, his maintenance updated, and a hopefully-not-terrible kiss. Perceptor is the one who has been accused of being a sexual predator, sent to the morgue, and walked out on!
And if the smile he offers Drift is anything to judge by, Perceptor doesn't seem to be holding any of that against Drift, either. "Wonderful!" Getting just enough of a refill to justify getting a refill, he turns and heads back to his table in the corner, trusting that Drift will follow. "I hope that you can forgive my presumptuousness, however, I had checked with the medical logs and noticed that you had not seen anyone else about completing the repair to your hand. I have everything with I will require with me, so as not to inconvenience you."
You know, more than having a too-cheerful scientist nattering at you would, anyway. But look! Perceptor is even letting you have a whole table to hide behind, Drift! He can't get too close from his side of the table, after all!
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Post by Drift on May 18, 2011 15:24:15 GMT -5
Well, if you're going to be all...you know...logical about it, yes. That doesn't change that Drift's acutely aware of, well, who he is and what he's good for. And friendship does not seem high on that list. Perceptor's better off safely away.
He trails after Perceptor toward the table, like a leaf caught in an eddy, helpless. "I...it isn't a big deal." Because if he made a big deal about it, someone would ask some Incredibly Inconvenient Questions about how the injury had happened, where the plate was, etcetera. Would Drift die out of sheer stubborn pride?
D-do you really need to ask that?
He sets his cube down awkwardly on the table, littered with datapads. How long had Perceptor been here? Who needed this many datapads? You only had two optics, after all and these outnumbered Perceptor's optics by a factor of three.
He edges himself down onto a seat, sweeping his scabbards clear, the Great Sword hanging between his shoulders. He clutches at his injured hand--hot to the touch, it was, but...well, no big deal. "Been, uh, been busy, I see?"
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Post by Perceptor on May 18, 2011 15:55:12 GMT -5
Drift is biased; he should have a scientist re-evaluate the data and provide a more objective report regarding Drift's purpose and use. Fortunately, there's a willing scientist right here.
Perceptor stacks the datapads up, pushing them and his cube off to one side to clear off more of the table. "Hm, I beg to differ," he replies, placing that hand plate on the table and pulling a few things out of his subspace. "Given the nature of your melee abilities, your hands are as important to your function as mine are to my own." The container of cleanser and the soft cloths should seem fairly familiar, and there's the micro-sprayer full of lubricant. All that's really missing is Kup, scowling off to one side.
He holds out one hand toward Drift, specifically toward Drift's injured hand, obviously waiting for the swordsmech to hold it out for him to inspect. Perceptor spares a quick glance toward the stack of pads and shrugs faintly. "Nearly always," he replies with a thin, bashful little head bob. "It, um, is what I do, I suppose. I find it difficult to keep my thoughts still."
Especially when he's trying to distract himself from unpleasant memories. Those long, dark hours, alone in his lab after Drift had left had been the most mentally inactive he can recall ever having been, and even then, he had not been able to escape his thoughts.
"I, ah... prefer being useful," he admits, picking up one of the cloths as he waits patiently for Drift to offer access to that hand.
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Post by Drift on May 18, 2011 16:18:53 GMT -5
Drift will pass on the Side-Garnish of Kup, please? He's had enough Green Glower to last for a while....and he hasn't even run into Springer yet!
He opens his mouth to argue and then...shuts up. Because Perceptor's right. He needs his hands.
Then again, that's how the nerd got at him last time, all that 'but your shoulders will function better' stuff. He flattens his mouth, determined to be on guard. Doubly, this time, to protect the big red nerd from him.
"Oh. I...don't...have that many thoughts." Mostly they fall into a few main categories: how to win the war faster, who is up next on the Must Stab list, ways to piss off Turmoil (okay that one's been languishing a bit, because he figures the whole 'stapling to a wall and becoming an Autobot will fill that quota for a while), and general resentment at anyone who had a better life than he did (which is just about everyone.)
"Useful's good." He sweeps his good hand over his helm. "Think that's part of my problem. Not really...needed here."
He realizes he still hasn't offered his hand. He lays it along the table, noticing for the first time the dirt that had gotten in under the joints. He winces, embarrassed.
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Post by Perceptor on May 18, 2011 16:39:01 GMT -5
Perceptor could do with a little less Kup oversight, too. He keeps getting punished every time he's seen Kup lately.
"I'm certain that most everyone here would tell you that they wished that I had far fewer thoughts," Perceptor remarks as he slides his hand under Drift's to draw it up closer for inspection. Concentrating upon the hand, he fails to notice the wince, and merely uses the cloth he holds to begin working some of the freshly accumulated debris free. "Or at least that they wish that I would keep them to myself." He forces a little laugh.
He lays the cloth aside long enough to apply some cleanser into the open servos, flicking a brief look up at Drift's face for a moment. "That would depend, I think, upon what 'need' you were attempting to fill." He picks up the cloth and shifts his gaze back down to his work again as he adds, "I find your presence to be, um... quite, ah, appreciated."
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Post by Drift on May 18, 2011 17:02:10 GMT -5
One thing they can agree on: Minimal Kup!
"Depends on what the thoughts are." Because if they're anything like 'Drift isn't as awful as he seems', Drift will tend to agree. That's a bad thought. "Some of your thoughts probably saved some of their afts." Drift is pleased to deploy his grumpiness in your defense.
Drift tries really hard not to give in to the...nice sensation of the soft cloth over his damaged hand. Nice was another way of saying 'weak'.
"I'm here to win the war. It's the only thing I'm good for."
Drift stiffens at Perceptor's words. "...can't imagine why." Seems to him, every time he's come near Perceptor, the big nerd's gotten into trouble.
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Post by Perceptor on May 18, 2011 17:26:35 GMT -5
"And endangered others. And tried the patience of nearly everyone in my vicinity at least once," he replies wryly. He really doesn't mean to be annoying, honest. Right now, he's aiming for persistent, but even at his most irritable, he doesn't intend to annoy. It's just his special skill.
The cloth is set aside once again, this time in favor of a small brush which Perceptor employs on the joints, working loose bits that had settled into the tiny crevices of the joints. It is, perhaps, a little more thorough than is strictly necessary, but... it's soothing work, and selfishly, it prolongs the repair just a bit more.
He darts that brief glance back up at Drift's face again, daring a smile as he offers, "Character flaw upon my part?"Before Drift can respond, he's dragging his attention back down to the brush, and to working out the last particles from the open casing. "You are, after all, not the only one at this table who did not initiate functions with blue optics."
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Post by Drift on May 18, 2011 17:47:59 GMT -5
Drift shrugs. "Have to risk something to win." Endangering others was...kind of how war worked. "Patience? Whatever." Trying a mech's patience was nothing compared to shooting his head off. These Autobots were so...fraggin' fragile.
He sits in silence for a long moment, watching Perceptor wield the brush into the plates of his hands. He huffs at the pleasant ripple of sensation, as if blowing it away.
"You seem to think you have a lot of those." Drift frowns. Perceptor seems to think everything's his fault. Sure, trying to get too close to Drift was the nerd's fault but all this other stuff? No. "Don't think you'd have the rank you do here if you were that fragged."
Then again...he'd been Turmoil's SIC.
His gaze sharpens. "You?" He snorts. "Kind of doubt you have my death toll of Autobots, though."
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Post by Perceptor on May 18, 2011 18:01:22 GMT -5
"Hmmm," Perceptor murmurs, a thin smile blossoming upon his features. "Then I suppose, the only other reasonable conclusion is that you simply are not that disagreeable."
The cloth is back now, but only for a moment, before Perceptor takes up the micro-sprayer and begins working his way through the joints one by one. " Directly, no," he replies, the smile fading. "Although, I do bear responsibility for... a great deal."
"You are correct, though," he pushes on, guessing that Drift will argue - or rather, continue to argue - the point. "Still, if all the past is useful for is as a millstone about our necks, then what would be the purpose behind self-reflection anyway? Why seek to change, to atone, if there can be no success or failure?"
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