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Post by Swerve on Mar 16, 2011 13:42:43 GMT -5
OOC: Week 1 Day 1. Semi-private.
Swerve, not much of a people person and with a bedside manner most Autobots find repellent, has left much of the front-end work to those capable of tolerating the patients' foibles and complaints; he's available if an extra pair of hands is needed. Meanwhile, he's busied himself in the back, fabricating and assembling, pulling stock. It's all very basic, mechanical work. He prefers it.
"Nobody to glitch at me 'cause their arm's off," he grumbles as he sets the fabricator to cutting a plate and ambles over to the press with a sheet in need of shaping. "Acting like it's some big slotted deal. Only a basic wound, easy to fix." He pauses, leaning against the side of the press brake, then makes a scornful noise and throws his free arm wide in some sketch of an exasperated shrug. "Primus, I've reattached my own arm more than once." He all but flings the sheet into place, pulls the die he wants and loads it to the press brake with a slam they can likely hear clearly all the way to the medical ward's front door, then punches in the specifications with more force than necessary; a button snaps off the control panel as if to protest his rough treatment. He glares at it as though this is a personal insult.
The rest happens in a Velocitron minute. Like the ping of the press firing up is a start klaxon, he stoops and snatches up the offending button, spins on his heel, and with a curse, pitches the blasted thing in whichever direction he's aiming when he brings his other foot down. He doesn't bother to check whether or not his throw will send the little bit of plastic flying through the doorway and into the medical ward. It might even hit somebody.
For his part, Swerve just curses again and turns back to the press and the fabricator, leaning against a table and drumming an impatient, erratic rhythm with his fingers.
"I hate sitting around waiting."
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Mar 16, 2011 17:29:04 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron shouldn't be back here, but the noise got him off the berth where he was waiting and up onto his feet. The broken button bounces off his nose and lands near his feet. His composure doesn't break, but he does bend down a bit stiffly to pick it up.
Bending down makes it manifestly clear that he was hit in the back with a missile, which likely accounts for most of his stiffness.
He holds the button out to Swerve and remarks wryly, "You're waiting? I'm waiting, too."
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Post by Swerve on Mar 17, 2011 12:48:55 GMT -5
Since he hadn't expected company for a while, Swerve turns abruptly, startled, when Xaaron speaks. Surprise gives way soon enough to his baseline irritation and he ignores the proffered button. He's still mad at it for breaking.
"What, still busy out there?" he wonders, glancing toward the front of the medical ward. Nobody asked me up…. Then he shrugs. "They'll get to you and you aren't dying." The fabricator chimes at him, so he lifts the guard and removes the cut piece, setting it aside so he can sweep the unused portions into a bin for recycling. Another, similar plate goes in promptly after; he closes the guard, locks it, then recalls the pattern on the console and starts the machine again. Only then does Swerve pause and glance backwards at Xaaron. "…Are you?" he adds, sceptical.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Mar 18, 2011 18:57:02 GMT -5
"They? I assumed you were a part of 'they'," Emirate Xaaron observes mildly, casually grouping Swerve with Botanica and Perceptor and all of them, including Swerve despite his attempts to distance himself.
He sets the button down on the nearest flat surface and moves in a bit closer, observing, "If you're bored of waiting, you could get some of us out of here. I would never dream of telling Botanica how to do her job and assign her men, but if you're not feeling challenged..."
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Post by Swerve on Mar 21, 2011 13:08:38 GMT -5
"Gonna guess you aren't dying, then," Swerve says caustically, crossing his arms. Why bother explaining? He scowls at himself while he watches the fabricator go to work. In one lane, he's tired of people cringing when they see he's their medic. In the other lane, he's the cranky one. But he's himself. Am I supposed to just make myself be all… like Perceptor? That conjures an image of his old self, when he was slow and bulky, only softspoken and stammering. He curses at the thought. Like Botanica? He doesn't know the first thing about plants; all he can picture is something very much like Botanica, but with more spikes. That sets off more cursing.
The press brake finishes and Swerve hoists the guard up so he can pull the completed piece. He turns it over in his hands, checking it for flaws or stress damage.
"Fine. Since you don't care that it's me," he mutters with the slightest emphasis on 'you', "sit down at that table there." He absent-mindedly hooks a thumb over his shoulder in Xaaron's general direction, indicating the table where he deposited the button.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Mar 21, 2011 23:17:16 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron is probably not dying. If he is, he's more chipper than he has any right to be.
He does sit down on the table, but he frowns and asks, concerned, "Have folks been giving you trouble?" More likely, Swerve has been giving folks trouble, but Swerve's phrasing bothers Emirate Xaaron.
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Post by Swerve on Mar 22, 2011 22:27:04 GMT -5
Swerve makes a derisive sound at Xaaron's question, then sets down the shaped metal now that he's satisfied with its condition.
"Trouble? Yeah right," he says with a humourless snort. Nobody gives him any trouble; they just trouble him. He doesn't elaborate, in his typical fashion, and gets to work instead. "This it?" he wonders, not quite prodding Xaaron in the back but coming close enough that the heat radiating from his hand should be all the indicator needed. He's already weighing the task in his mind, selecting tools and debating methods.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Mar 22, 2011 22:47:00 GMT -5
If Swerve wants to leave it at that, Emirate Xaaron will leave it at that. Swerve is running hot already. So Emirate Xaaron plays the fool and asks the obvious question, "You're entirely repaired already, I trust?"
Repairs won't fix what's wrong with Swerve.
"The missile strike to the back is the most of it. I think there are some bullet wounds, too, and some cricket rattling."
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Post by Swerve on Mar 24, 2011 1:44:32 GMT -5
"Didn't really need work," Swerve says candidly. He still sports some cosmetic damage, nothing serious. He tests the edges of the missile wound carefully, with an expert if not very gentle hand to see what, if anything, of the plating can be saved. He expected the smooth, metallic sheen to be just an outer coating, some high-quality paint or other; that the golden colour runs true from surface to base as far as he can tell beneath the scorch and char surprises him. He quashes the feeling with brutal speed. "Gonna have to– what? What rattling?" He scowls at the back of Xaaron's head. "What," he demands, "in the name of my first ruptured head gasket are you talkin' about?"
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Mar 25, 2011 22:01:21 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron doesn't flinch. He's used to dealing with rough and tumble Autobots. He lived in a sewer for millions of years.
"Noisy crickets," Emirate Xaaron replies perfectly innocently. "Little insectoid robot drones with a sonic attack." He holds out his hands, gesturing to the size or lack thereof of them. "They were let loose by the Decepticon Junkion on the bridge. Clipper said she was female, and Clipper would know, so I hazard that it was Screwdriver. I suspect we'll have teams hunting for them for weeks to come."
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Post by Swerve on Mar 28, 2011 11:19:45 GMT -5
Swerve minds the explanation, then audibly grinds his jaw and makes a resigned noise.
"Great," he mutters. He steps back then and sets down his toolkit with a sharp thud on a nearby counter. "As for you, this shouldn't take too long once I get something to fill in what I can't knit back together." Then he scowls and asks as he skims over the stores in his head for some appropriate material, "Why in the Pit is your armour so thick anyway? No, save it," and he steps away to pull a sheet. Weird alloy… how do I replicate it? That's the speedbreaker here. He's still scowling as he comes back with a sufficient-looking piece in hand.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Mar 28, 2011 22:48:49 GMT -5
When Swerve comes back, Emirate Xaaron explains, "Because I'm a tank, Swerve. It's a sort of vehicle with two sets of treads and a big cannon, typically used for warfare."
He explains this because Emirate Xaaron is pretty sure they don't have tanks on Velicotron, and they are... kind of light on tanks around here. Weirdly. It's a simplified explanation, but he thinks it gets the point across.
"I'm a different model than Guzzle or Ironfire," he adds, helpfully.
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Post by Swerve on Mar 30, 2011 9:09:59 GMT -5
Swerve can only be described as scowling blankly while Xaaron details the matter of his armour. He remains that way for several seconds, processors almost audibly working away on this bit of information. Finally he moves again, setting the plate down.
"You transform," he says in a flat voice, not really making it a question.
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Post by Emirate Xaaron on Mar 30, 2011 15:52:19 GMT -5
Emirate Xaaron stares at Swerve, much like a human would stare if another human suggested that he doesn't breathe but is still walking around normally and showing no signs of sickness or lacks a beating heart. He finally manages, "Well, of course, I'm a Transformer. We all do."
After a moment, Emirate Xaaron amends, "Unless we're ill. Or those really old models from Kup's reality."
Or that wheel from Jetfire's reality.
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Post by Swerve on Mar 31, 2011 12:30:50 GMT -5
"Not like I've ever seen you do it," Swerve fires back. He ploughs on as if it's part of the same conversation string, "I suppose you want the pain receivers shut off?" Once Xaaron answers yea or nay, Swerve complies, then subsides into a typical silence and gets to work. He pauses here or there to check a measurement or damage to underlying circuitry and structures or some other detail, but otherwise maintains a steady pace.
He doesn't miss the fact that Xaaron is a lot of old parts under that shiny armour, with signs of relatively recent work.
"You get banged up more than I thought?" he grunts.
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