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| Total Scare; Closes for Crankcase | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 24 Jul 2016, 08:17 AM (35 Views) | |
| Jumpercablebabe | 24 Jul 2016, 08:17 AM Post #1 |
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Helloooooo Nurse
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How many scalpels did one ship need? In all seriousness, First Aid almost swore that there has been an increase in quantity since Ratchet's return. Maybe it was just his mind trying to tell him he was over working himself, that it was the same number as ever and it just felt like more because he hadn't sat down in... ... When was the last time he had sat down? Even for five minutes? Sighing, he checked the time only to realize he had been on his feet at work for the last twelve hours. No. That couldn't be right. He had just come in, sure it felt like a long time, but that's it. It always felt like a long while regardless if he just came in or he had been there, well, today for twelve hours. Turning off the water, letting the over head nozzle drip down into the sink, First Aid immediately pressed his damp servos against his helm. Tension headache was starting to settle in and, well, it was due time for a break. Shaking his digits dry, flicking the drops of solvent into the basin, Aid decided to leave the remaining scalpels to soak while he went for a drink. His tired processor was running ragged, train of thought racing all over from one place to another. Maybe he should comm Rodimus and see if the captain wanted to go for dinner. Yep. Captain. Totalllly not someone who he may or may not be tempted to send some very private comms to. But dinner did sound good. As did a drink. There were always soooo many drinks at swerve's to order, even excluding the ones he was intolerant to, but he still always started with the same one every time. By now swerve should know his order the second he steps pede into the door. Wonder how swerve is doing, if the tiny barista feels better from his last medbay visit. He'd have to ask. Only he didn't get the chance. For a drink or dinner. As while First Aid was making his way down the hall, very much like a zombie, when he saw one of the worst sights he'd ever seen in his life. Laying eyes on who would eventually be known to him as Crankcase, Aid hardly even noticed his faction (not that it mattered to him) as his eyes were glued on the gaping hole in the mechs helm. Panic levels rising, First Aid nearly wailed and screeched as he pushed past mech's far larger than him. His true medic strength was coming out, and by time he reached Crankcase he was absolutely mortified. "H-hello!? Hey, hey!! Are you alright!? Of course you're not alright, oh scrap, I need to get you to the medbay!" Aids squabbling only became more frantic as his optics, wide with fear, looked directly up close to the wound. He mentally started to go through a list of supplies in the medbay, trying to think of what would be a suitable replacement since the wound was so large. His servos immediately touched on the other mech's shoulder and forearm, gentle and delicate with his touch, comforting and concerned. Optics were busy scanning helm to pede, toe to tip, assessing the full amount of damage. "Do you know your name!? Are, you certain you are able to walk!?" |
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| Deleted User | 24 Jul 2016, 02:32 PM Post #2 |
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Deleted User
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Krok had been easy enough to agitate since the crew had taken up a temporary residence aboard the Lost Light. A fact that was understandable given the circumstances surrounding said temporary residence - the W.A.P. had been utterly trashed - That fine little topic was still a tender subject for Crankcase seeing as how nobody understands the pain of being a pilot and losing your ship to a bunch of stupid space rocks (”Betcha’ can’t fly through that asteroid field.” Misfire had challenged. “Please, you can’t just fly through an asteroid field. You have to do it in style, now watch me do a spin.” Crankcase had accepted, like a fragging moron.). And apparently, nobody understands the pain of a captain attempting - and failing - to keep his crew in line after finding themselves on a ship filled with unhappy Autobots. Not that Crankcase was any help in that matter, dry sarcasm and general pessimistic mood doing nothing to alleviate Krok’s anxieties about being on an unfamiliar ship with an unfamiliar crew in an unfamiliar part of the galaxy. Couple that with Fulcrum’s cowardice, Misfire’s rampant need to keep babbling on and on, and Spinister constantly challenging inanimate objects to fights and you’ve got a captain on the brink of off-lining his own crew. Which is a normal everyday occurrence for the Scavengers, now that he thinks about it, Krok attempting not to jettison each and every one of them out of an airlock while all pit breaks loose on their ship. While spacing your entire crew is generally frowned upon by most Autobots, Krok had settled for locking them out of their shared habsuite in order to find some semblance of peace. “The war’s over. Be polite, this isn’t our ship.” had been the only reassurance Krok had given them before slamming the door in their face. Crankcase, completely used to being tossed aside, immediately set out on his own to either case the joint out for perfectly salvageable parts, or to get completely overcharged on high grade. Or both. Yeah. Both is good. For a moment, he considers inviting Fulcrum to have a cube with him. Drinking alone, or being alone in general, never really appealed to him despite his abrasive and cold nature, or his insistence that he wants to be left alone. And Fulcrum seems... less annoying than the others so that’s always a plus. Then again, the way Misfire had latched onto him almost immediately after he’d joined their little motley crew of broken down mechs suggests that he should stay away from them. Crank grimaced, ducking around a corner to hide his face from passing mechs. Thinking about Misfire and Fulcrum always made his tanks twist, made him feel nervous, made him uncomfortable. The less time he spends thinking about that, the better. He’ll pressure Krok into drinking with him another time, right now, however, drinking alone seems to be the only reasonable option. Or, he would’ve been on his way for a drink -maybe he’d have brooded and scowled the entire night away in a dark corner- if it hadn’t been for a smaller framed medic currently causing a ruckus in the halls. Before he could even register what was happening, the smaller mech had pushed past a group of larger framed mechs, his focus clearly set on Crankcase as the medic fretted over him, voice reaching a panicked high pitch with all of his questions. Crankcase leaned away from the medic’s intensity, discomfort leaking through his field as he tried to put distance between himself and the red mech. “I - what? Of course I’m fine? Why wouldn’t I be fine? I’m fine! Right? Why are we going to the medbay?” The medic leaned in closer, inspecting his head wound and- Oh. Right. Outside of the Scavengers, he hadn’t considered how dire his helm looked to others who weren’t familiar with him in the first place. With an annoyed grunt, he pulled away from the mech, putting distance between them again. He needed Krok to explain his situation to the medics aboard this ship. A quick comm. to Krok should fix everything. ::Hey boss. I’m being hounded by a medic right now.:: No reply. ::Krok? Come on, I need some help here.:: No reply. ::You know how I feel about mechs digging around in my helm, Krok!:: Delicate servos found their way to his arm, the other resting gently against his shoulder and Crankcase backs away immediately, irritation and discomfort rolling off of him in waves. The panicked questions never stopped despite his obvious growing agitation and he snapped, louder than he wanted to. “Look! I’m fine, alright! I don’t need your-” His processor crackled softly within its’ confines, the stress of the situation causing it to overwork itself and, without his command, caused his optics to offline right in front of the medic at quite possibly the worst time. “-help.” |
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| Jumpercablebabe | 25 Jul 2016, 07:44 AM Post #3 |
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Helloooooo Nurse
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When Crankcase has backed up, First Aid had realized he made a grave mistake to charge straight at him. It was inevitable though, that would was more than enough reason to cause First Aid to panic. Rightfully panic. Still, he had to work fast and smart if he was going to get Crankcase into the medbay. First thing was first, Aid needed to get his field regulated. The distressed waves of concern and worry we're most likely overwhelming at the least to the poor injured bot. Nipping it in the aft, Aid forced himself to transition into a calming wave, trying to assure Crankcase that things would be alright. Ordinarily this is how his field would have read had First Aid not saw the gruesome hole in the others helm and flew off the handle. Next thing in order was to slowly retreat his hands, not pull them to his sides, but retract them enough that they were still presented palm out, about chest height, but in a display to show crankcase that he was not going to be harmed in any way. Jumpy mech this was, jumpier than Aid himself it seemed. A little twitch with his servos did show he was antsy that he couldn't touch his patient, but optics were already scanning him more closely than before, HUD cluttered with one of the worst reads he'd ever picked up. It made his own tanks churn, nervousness as to how long this fella had been hurt really settled in. "F-fine? You're MISSING a large chunk of your helm, excuse me if I may but that is far from fine...!" First Aid could work wonders with his field, broadcast any emotion almost at will with the proper concentration. Now was one of those times where despite being an internal mess, he was able to front being collected within. The only betraying factor was how nervously his optics moved, a dead give away to crankcase about just how concerned he was. "I, if I promise not to touch you again, will you promise to follow me to the medbay? I, I noticed your faction. It's okay. Nobody is going to hurt you. I, I just want to help." Words were as sincere as ever, frustrated that he couldn't just reach over and drag him off himself. "But do understand there is no way I can possibly let you walk away after, after seeing your condition. I don't want to have to comm in for help. I promise that I'm the only medic in the bay right now. The others are off on leisure time. I'm, ah, now would be the best time unless you force me to comm them for assistance..." He hated to play dirty like this, but to him this was a dire circumstance. That gaping hole really haunted him, a swirl of emotions bubbling within. Pharma's shot off helm. Ambulon sliced in half, hole where his spark should rest. Pipes's crushed up and mangled corpse. Tripodeca's bent and twisted frame. Even teebs. Especially teebs. His brain module smashed to the inner workings of his panic bubble. Aid knew he couldn't let this one walk away. |
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| Deleted User | 25 Jul 2016, 08:08 PM Post #4 |
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Deleted User
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His visual feedback flickered offline with every vent he cycled, HUD going completely black and rendering him sightless. It wasn’t the first time his busted up processor had kicked his optics into shutting off without his consent; but, it always left him feeling weak and vulnerable, anxiety pulsing through his frame. Every command to online them had been met with failure, and he ground his denta together, jaw locking just a bit in an obvious tell that he was distressed. He wasn’t supposed to glitch out like this, not when he was so far off from his own crew and not in front of some mech that could exploit him in this vulnerable state. Krok (his Krok, anyway) had always pressured him into seeking medical attention, always nudged him towards Spinister’s medbay on his bad days, and always fixed him with a disappointed glare when he’d skulked off to hide away in the quantum engines room. The idea of Spinister playing around in his open helm wound made his frame crawl, despite their medic’s surprising expertise in the field. The idea of any mech touching him made his frame crawl and this obnoxious medic was no exception. If he could get away from this mech then perhaps he could find a room to hide in, his optics being offline would prove to be difficult in navigating the halls; but, if he could just lay low in a quiet room for a little bit, just ride out his current affliction, then it would eventually pass and he could continue on his way to get so overcharged he forgets his own designation (and general depressing outlook on life.). Crankcase edged away a bit before freezing in place, completely caught off guard by the calming field that had brushed up against his own high strung one. The sensation had left him mentally staggered, his vents hitching in surprise before he could stop himself, intakes drawing in a sudden breath. Static had temporarily flooded his mind, white noise sifting through every nook and cranny of his body, locking his frame down to the very spot. It was unfamiliar to him. The comforting pulse of anothers field pressing it’s way into your frame with the intent to soothe instead of harm. Without much thought, his own field had reached out tentatively towards the medic before slamming back tightly against his own frame. The medic was babbling again but all Crankcase could focus on was the sudden need to be anywhere else but here. Without any warning, he raised a servo and roughly slammed it into the uninjured side of his helm, optics flickering back online. The sight of the medic holding his hands out non-threateningly was the first thing he saw once his optics stopped shuttering. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” His voice was clipped, discomfort still present in his stance,”I’m used to this.” The medic’s optics were flickering nervously from his face to his helm and then back to his face again. A nervous medic was not somebody he wanted to be around. As much as he didn’t trust the bot, the desperate plea the other had presented him had caught him off guard. “Decepticons don’t usually survive Autobot medbays.” Everybody was out to hurt somebody in this universe, a fact that Crankcase had learned the day he’d been constructed. The war was over, but that didn’t mean scrap to most mechs nowadays. He was going to keep his (wounded) helm low as much as he could, keep himself out of trouble, and no pint sized mech was gonna stop him. Although, the subtle threat of bringing in reinforcements to drag him kicking and screaming into the medbay -against his will- did have the cobalt blue mech reconsidering his options. On one servo, multiple mechs fragging around in his helm would be a horrific experience. On the other servo, one mech fragging around in his helm would be a slightly less horrific experience. On a third -more appealing- servo, they could just put a bullet in his helm and call it a day. Then again, a functioning Crankcase was a slightly less grumpy Crankcase. “Do you really need a posse to bring in a wounded mech? I’m pretty sure I have the right to refuse treatment.” he paused for a moment,”Wait. I do have that right, right? I mean, there’s no stupid Autobot law forcing me to this torture, right? I’ve got rights, ya’ know!” There was a finality in the way the medic stood there, palms held out, optics still flickering nervously but the severity in his voice had been sincere. He didn’t seem like the type of mech to go back on his word, nor did he seem like the type of mech to back down so easily. And although he wanted to run from him -a joke, considering their frame sizes- the idea of a group of mechs searching for him, forcing him into the medic’s care, made his tanks churn. The idea of mechs staring at him, poking around in his helm, judging him, made him even more nauseous. Maybe he could still salvage this. it was clear that his only option would be to follow the medic without a fuss; but, if he were to set up some ground rules... Yeah. He could make this work. “If I go with you, we’ll be alone, right? You’ll be the only one poking around in my helm? I don’t like too many mechs staring at me. For obvious reasons.” |
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| Jumpercablebabe | 11 Aug 2016, 07:25 AM Post #5 |
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Helloooooo Nurse
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To a normal mech, the sight at hand would be u comfortable. Watching Crankcase falter with basic functions, only stressing his systems further into malfunctioning. Unfortunately, First Aid was no average mech. The scene before him was almost that of a horror holo Vid, the difference being that those were fake, stomach able, not before his optics and tangible. He wanted to help, reach over and out, assure the other that he could fix him. Aid had no time for self doubt, if it was too late to do work on such bad damage, he had to try. He'd never sleep again if he didn't at least try. Thankfully Crankcase couldn't see the jump that said had physically made. The response to his field was astronomically not what he has anticipated for. While he was thrilled to see the split second of him reaching out with his own field, Crankcase had still reeled back pretty fast. Maybe it was too intense. Maybe he was too forwards. Calming field still in place, First Aid made point to lessen the intensity, a softer hug with his field in attempt to soothe more comfortably. Crankcase has clearly been through trauma, and Aid's worst nightmare would be to make that trauma worsen. There was no need for Crankcase to Yelp in pain as he slammed one servo into his helm. Aid had done that for him, completely mortified and a accompanied by a new found tightness in his intake. "You might be used to this, but you don't need to be used to this. I, you deserve more than this." The words were soft and to the point, feeling his own intake tighten uncomfortably with each syllable. Ordinarily it was easy to stay calm in extreme conditions for First Aid, but that's because usually extreme conditions came to him in his medbay. Not after a long, long day and looking for a drink to numb the pain. "This might be an Autobot ship, but our medbay is neutral ground. I'm the ship's current head, the CMO, and while I'm sure I did a piss poor job at a first impression, do understand I wasn't expecting to... Encounter such an untreated damage such as yours on my way to overcharge myself into an miserable tomorrow morning." "N-no, I don't need a posse to drag you in. Honestly I could lift you myself, but I just, it hurst me to see you this way. I mean, you do have the right to refuse treatment I suppose I just, it's the medic code all of us follow to not let anyone go unharmed. For me to not do my all and just wave you on your way when you're hurt, I, I don't feel comfortable just brushing you off like you're worthless. You're worth more than that injury and you should be able to walk around without the worry of your optics going out, at the very least." "The medbay is empty right now. Just me. Admittedly, I've been the only one all day in there. Nobody till tomorrow morning. I won't touch your helm on the way down, but may I least step a little closer? Should someone tip or fall towards you, I'll be able to respond faster to ensure you get no damage. You're far from glass, but it would be counter productive for you to get hurt on our way down." "You have every right to tell me to stop during this checkup. I don't. I don't wish to harm you." |
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