"I don't give one stripped bolt. It's gone." Instead of shunting his cannon to subspace or even disarming it, Swerve uses it rather than his free hand to point at Kup. Rude? Yeah. He doesn't care. "And like rivets, I brought it up! You were gonna start a recap! In the middle of a fight!" His ankles are gummed up, one leg feels like it's made of lead, they've been ambushed by whatever in the Pit that thing was, and Kup wants to tell a story.
"Hey, you were the one that said what made me think of it," Kup answered, now pulling himself up out of the much. "That's like startin' it. 'Sides, some of those 'recaps' come in handy!" Inverting polarities, anyone?
"How you doin', anyway?" he asks, tone less argumentative, taking a sudden subject-shift. He does this, perhaps, a bit more often around Swerve than around others specifically because he's noticed that they throw him off, and therefore serve, however momentarily, as a means of defusing him. "Thing didn't get you too badly, did it?"
Swerve has every intention of arguing the point as long as his vocaliser will hold out.
"You're just splicing wires now, oldtimer," he growls, lowering his gun only to point with his free hand this time, punctuating his words with successive jabs of his index finger. "Like starting it ain't actually starting it and– huh?" He blinks and backtracks fast enough to make his fans spin up, trying to parse the questions suddenly thrown at him. "Don't – don't try to change the subject!" he demands in growing confusion. First he kicks up an argument with me, now he's asking if I'm okay? "I'm fine anyway! You're the one who slaggin' got hit!" Even Swerve can't tell if he's mad, frustrated, or concerned by this point. He can't see the scrape across his hood, either; considering the mess that's been made of his Autobrand, that's probably a good thing. "And then it reminded you of something!" Swerve cries in disbelief. "Are you cracked?!"
"Why shouldn't I change the subject? Was it really that important?" Kup asks as he tries to brush some of the slime off himself as he checks his own status. He mostly succeeds in just smearing the slime around his body instead, so he gives up.
Kup then double-checks himself once more, this time in an obvious, exaggerated way, then grins, "And no, no cracks." There's a quirkiness to his grin that seems to suggest that he knows what Swerve was talking about and intentionally misleading him. Then he steps forward and his shoulder, still open from the crash, crackles. Kup winces. "Although, erm, I may be taking you up on your offer to get this thing looked at. Think that fight knocked water in where it doesn't go."
For a very long few seconds, Swerve just stares at Kup, optics narrow and bright, mouth agape, frozen in bemusement.
"You – NOW you want me to look at it?" he finally grinds out. "Now, when I could've taken care of it earlier and stuff wouldn't have gotten in it in the first place?" All the same, muttering furiously to himself, he discards his cannon to storage and hauls out his toolkit instead. He doesn't get Kup at all, but he'd rather the old truck be fully functioning than crippled if they have to keep working their way through this mud pit until they find somewhere the radios work.
So over he wades, not quite able to pick his feet up clear of the water. Kup's already asked and that's as good as an invitation, so Swerve makes no preamble before he sets to work, checking the damage now that he finally gets to have a closer look at it. He'll keep working right here, too, unless someone has a better idea.
"Eh, I thought my self repair system would be able to handle it before it got worse," Kup answers, moving his head out of the way and crouching to let the smaller robot get to work. "What with the time difference and all, there should be less to do now, anyway, right?" Except that Kup has spent the whole time using that shoulder in a damp and dirty environment.
"Besides, I've hard worse. Like that time on Strenaka Seven. Had to make my way 'cross a whole continent with my whole damned arm missing, there."
Great, here he goes again. Swerve grumbles a non-verbal noise of displeasure and irritation, huffing out a quick, gusty sigh of hot air and faintly shaking his head, before he starts prodding at the wound in earnest, peering into the crack in Kup's armour for a better estimate of how much slime eked in while the old mech was rolling around in swamp water.
…It's a mess. Swerve makes a disgusted face and curses quietly, then flicks a glance up at Kup, trying to catch his attention.
"I oughtta just leave you missing it a while here," he declares with a low growl from his engine. "Be easier to clean out." But he fishes up a couple of fine tools anyway to start picking out bits of muck.
Kup happily continues on his story for awhile, and is in the process of describing a particularly troublesome mountain range when he notices the glance that Swerve is sending his way. He quiets, then, to let Swerve talk.
When Swerve complains about leaving him 'missing it', Kup just shrugs both shoulders (a move that probably doesn't make trying to repair the shoulder any easier).
Somehow, the lack of concern grates just as much as the storytelling.
"Well, if you wanna sit around armless," Swerve snaps, "fine by me. Say the word and I take the thing off." A few months ago, he wouldn't have bothered asking to remove the limb, just whether or not Kup wanted his pain sensors shut off first. And all the while, he keeps cleaning, forcing his hands into steadiness for all that he feels like breaking things with them instead.
"Depends on how long you're saying," Kup answers. "If it'll speed up repairs by that much? Fine. But if any more of them... whatevers return, I'll probably need my arm."
He shifts his weight, another move that no doubt makes it harder to work on his shoulder, then looks skywards. After a moment, he mutters something like, "Wish you didn't have to deal with something like this on your first time traveling with me," it's almost like an apology, but not, "but it is a good thing you're along, all things considered."
"It'd probably be easier," Swerve mutters, distracted with prying out something thin and stringy. The whole thing finally slips free and he makes a violently disgusted face – the fragging thing's squirming! – before throwing it aside. "Shouldn't take too long either." Sounds like an agreement to Swerve and he hauls out the tools he'll need.
He stops rifling through his kit and grabs for Kup's shoulder, scowl deepening.
"Quit squirmin'!" he snaps. "I dunno what's worse, you runnin' off at the mouth all the time or you fidgeting when I'm trying to work!" And if Kup can oblige him and sit still, Swerve can get to actually detaching Kup's arm. "And what's so great about me being here, anyway?" he adds much more quietly. "I'm around to patch you up." And try to pull a gun on you.
"Well, look, if I can't talk, I'm gonna fidget, so you're gonna have to put up with one or the other!" Kup protests, irritated. Then he starts to shift his shoulder again, remembers that he shouldn't, and stops himself.
"Anyways, if it's easier and won't take to long, then go for it. I'll deal."
And finally, he adds, "And, well. I need patching, so it's good that you're around for it."
Swerve just grunts before prodding carefully to shut off a few receptors, then he loosens some fasteners, disconnects lines, and gives Kup's arm a firm tug to pull it free. Nothing drips out of the rotator, so at least that won't need cleaning, too.
"Fine, whatever," he mumbles as he crouches with the arm draped across his thighs. He pries at thick armour plates to loosen them so he can get a better angle on the interior. "Fidget all you like now. Makes no difference to me." He decides while he takes brush and cleanser to the stickier bits that it's probably a good thing Kup's built so heavy even if it does make him slower than cold sludge; if it'd been Swerve hit like that, he'd probably be in a couple of pieces scattered across the glade. It's a sobering thought for the racer and he pauses for a split second, just long enough for it to really sink in.
Then he shrugs it off with a scowl and goes back to picking swamp muck out of places it oughtn't be.
Kup chuckles without noise - the smile is there, and his shoulder (the one in place) shakes slightly in amusement, but those are the only giveaways. With his one arm, he trudges through the muck to a nearby tree, then leans his back against it and waits.
He's quiet for a good long while, letting Swerve work. But eventually... eventually the silence gets to him.
"Y'know... this reminds me of that time on Tyranni Beta Six..."
OOC: Timeskip ahoy. Nighttime is noisy with small animals and even in the moonlight, it's tricky to pick out where they're going, but at least it's cooler with the sun down. Not like on Tyranni Beta Six, apparently, where it's always sweltering hot no matter what time of day or night because of the atmospheric make-up. Swerve didn't even want to know about the climate of Tyranni Beta Six, or about any other place Kup's been, but Kup keeps talking and Swerve can only say 'shut up' so many times before the words lose their meaning.
And when the terrain changes from muddy, slimy swamp to tangled marshes, why, a whole new library of topics pops up. Swerve's getting sick of hearing about worlds he's never heard of and will probably never see. He's really sick and tired of grassy ground that looks solid enough only to sink underfoot. And he's starting to think he'll be glad for the break when they stop. If they find somewhere to stop where they won't just be sitting in water.
"I still don't see anything that definitely ain't trick ground," he mutters and swats at some flapping bug thing hovering near the small lamps mounted in his forehead. Then he pauses. "But…." That shadowy blob up ahead and to the right looks kind of like a stand of trees. He squints at it and leans forward enough to shine his headlamps that way.