FLASHBACK - Helo Housecall - Closed

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<<OOC: Set when Megatron was still going by D-16 in the mines.>>

The flight deck of the Central Iacon Medicenter was in a state of barely-organised chaos. Since the emergency bay had been shut down for repairs following a med-evac accident, the high-priority transits were deploying amidst the couriers, inter-hospital transfers and district medics.

At least the general public were being kept to the ground floor entrances. Cleaver was having enough trouble shouldering out the doors without lost visitors cluttering her pedes, and her narrowed optics beneath the orange rim of her forehelm conveyed as much.

The helo had been an hour from finishing her shift in Crystal Heights when she got called to cover the first half of Siphon's shift. Grumbling wouldn't solve anything, but it had felt good to get it out of her systems while scrubbing oil off her plating from the last patient. Platelet malfunction had turned a hair-fine leak into a geyser-spray. Quickly solved with an application of retraining clotting nanites and a standard patch, but a slagstorm of a mess that had quite alarm the poor mech sat bleeding on the floor.

Finally out of the crowd and on the deck proper, Cleaver got into the short queue for takeoff. Klaxon, a cherry-red helo with silver accents, was in the line next to her.

She checked the itinerary and opened the file for her first patient, then cursed static when she saw how sparse it was.

Klaxon smiled knowingly from beside the younger medic. "Bit of a mess, isn't it?"

"Patient: Youngling. Dance injury - suspected hyper-extension," Cleaver muttered, shaking her helm. "WHo in the Pit's on Triage today? It doesn't even say what limb it is."

"Quickfix," Klaxon replied, shuffling forward as the med-evac at the front took off. He ignored the expression Cleaver made, frowning to himself. "I saw that one. That's... Gypsum Towers, isn't it? Bit out of the way for you."

"Covering for Siphon," Cleaver replied, flexing her rotors and clicking the hydraulics in her neck. After the femmes in front, they were the next to depart. "You?"

Klaxon sighed heavily. "Same old, I'm afraid." The femmes took off and they stepped up to the yellow line. He nudged her field with his own, smiling. "We'll have to catch up next time our shifts sync. Safe flight, for now."

"Safe flight," Cleaver called back, moving to the yellow circle when she was waved out. A quick proximity scan to check she was clear, and then the stock femme was shifting and folding into her flight mode.

Seconds later, she was out of the bay and high above Iacon's streets. She turned East, following the markers and the map towards Gypsum Towers. It took twenty minutes to reach the unfamiliar structure, and she had to round the spires having approached on the wrong vector to land. Her reflection followed her in the glossy windows, an orange and white smear that rippled along the many flats.

Cleared to land, Cleaver touched down and transformed with the swift efficiency of someone who wanted to go home to a recharge slab sometime soon. Consulting the file again, she recalled the apartment number and went hunting.

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Dancing injuries were not uncommon or the young femme, especially when the dances were still being learned. This particular dance? Well, it was one of the more difficult ones with the various jumps and turns. Which was how she got hurt, during a jump and the knee joint buckling under the pressure with the landing.

There had been a wave of concern from her fellow dancers, they were practically cohort despite rivalries that cropped up, but Rota did her best to try to brush it off. If she hadn't fallen so hard, maybe she could have? But the pain was there, and the simple medic that they had wasn't exactly skilled enough to tend to injuries that were simply beyond his skill set. So once she was escorted to the ER in Iacon, (there was just no way that she could have gotten there on her own) and after a long wait in the busy waiting room, she was seen by a frazzled medic who sent her home with a promise that someone would stop by later in the day for a home visit.

She went home with the help of a fellow dancer and she had been mildly disappointed in not having a solid answer of what was wrong besides 'it might be x it might be y'. At least between going into Iacon and waiting for this other doctor, she had several breem's of rest. It was always said that sometimes an injury just needed to be kept off of in order for things to work out themselves. That wasn't exactly the case for Rota but, it did ache less than when she was first injured.

So when there was a knock on her door? The dancer found herself being able to move with relative ease, until she made the mistake of putting weight on that side. A little yelp left the femme, who shook her helm in a silly little attempt to brush it off. “j-j-Just...one klik.” She called out to whoever was on the other side of the door, there was a frown on her face though, and her teeth plates grinded a little together for a brief moment as she limped herself over to the door. Which she pressed the control panel in order for it to get open.

Her optics raised to the doctor and she made an attempt to give the other femme a welcoming smile, but it failed miserably with how much the joint was starting to hurt. “Thank you for coming...” The younger femme really meant it too and she was going to be appreciative of the medic once this was all said and done.

{Ugh I hope this works for you Krax please let me know if I needa change or tweak anything DDx}

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Cleaver's optics snapped down from where they had been anticipating someone of equal height to answer the door, brightening on the small femme. She gave a short nod in return of the greeting, preoccupied with the fact that it was her patient that had answered the door over any social niceties. "Cleaver, CIM medic."

She hated house calls. Patients had certain expectations about visitors to their homes, just as she had expectations about clinics. Cleaver preferred to operate in her own domain, where she set the tone (efficient) and there was no question of who was in charge (her). The upper castes were often sparked as masters of their domain, and had the same socially instilled into their attitudes and perspectives. A medic coming to their home was there to serve their needs, nothing more, and it could make administering treatment and laying down orders to expedite recovery... prickly.

Cleaver understood it, sparked of the Iacon Towers herself, but cycles spent up to the elbows in mecha's innards instilled a practical sense of equality that the more insulated echelons of society simply lacked.

There was a timidity about this little flier, though, which assured a degree of obedience and compliance. Large optics, with pale halos indicative of pain and fatigue, continued to peer up at her. Cleaver tracked her gaze further down, taking in Rotary's posture and feeling the buzz of heat in her field.

"Mmm. You shouldn't be putting any weight on that," she said, stepping past the young helo and casting an optic about the space. "Isn't there someone who could have answered the door for you?"

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Rota gave the medic a very slight nod. She wanted to have a quick recovery, but she understood that some things could not (and should not) be rushed. Healing from injuries was one of them, and the little femme did her best to follow doctors orders.

After all, while she knew a thing or two about the basics (and how to tend to little bumps and scrapes) – she knew nothing about those little inner workings that a proper doctor knew about. Cleaver, certainly had that more authoritative feeling to her and the dancer appreciated it when a mecha knew what they were doing. Some members of the upper castes were stupid enough to not realize that just because they were sparked to be some sort of figurehead, did not mean they knew what was for the best. Rota on the other hand understood it and it was the same for many other members of her cohort, especially the dancers.

Of course, she still made little mistakes like putting weight on an injury when she shouldn't have. But, she was a young one and for what it was worth? She did mistaken the moment of not feeling any pain as being perfectly fine, it would be a lesson for her when it came to future injuries.

The dancer was getting the door closed as Cleaver spoke and entered the room, she let out a small little huff of air from her vents. “I know....I normally would not have done such a thing but well, after resting I thought it wasn't as bad as I thought it had been.” The femme explained, turning to limp back over to the little living room.

Her helm did tilt though as the older femme spoke and asking about if there wasn't someone who could have answered the door for her. “No...I live on my own...” Rota told her. “I have a maid but she isn't my servant, she also only comes by a couple times during the joor.” She was already making it to her couch. “Most of my cohort lives in Emerald Towers, and honestly I am glad for that.” Her helm shook a little as she paused to move her injured leg for a moment. “They would of constantly fretted over me like I was freshly sparked and still in my protoform stage if they found out I had a little injury during practice.”

Though given how delicate she was? She could understand their fretting to a point, but it wasn't like she was so fragile she was made of glass.

“I do hope it isn't completely horrible, and that what you can do will be all I need.” Rota mentioned, the strained smile was on her face again. “But you are the medic, you know what needs to be done – I'm just the hopeful patient.”

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Cleaver rumbled her approval.

A patient so keen to comply with their medic's instructions was something of a rarity. The femme came across as quite young, which was doubtless a part of her obedience. Time out in the real world would soon galvanise her plates.

"If you're managing to walk on it, in all likelihood the repair ought to be straightforward," she said, turning an arm out to the furniture in the room. "Please take a seat."

The apartment was of a modest size, with a small seating area shaped to comfortably accommodate rotary frames. There was a wide array of artwork: sculptures and images of elegant forms in flight and spins. Dancers, imbued with energy and vitality. Cleaver's boxy utilitarian frame was a stark contrast.

"What did you do to damage your knee assembly?" she asked, waiting for Rotary to choose her seat. One her patient was sat, Cleaver lowered herself to her knees directly in front. "In as much detail as you can."

Cleaver took the portable scanner off her back and set it to one side. The device was to corroborate the readings her integrated diagnostics suite took, and provide a secondary piece of evidence for Rotary's file should there be any challenge of idiosyncratic disparity in Cleaver's personal systems.

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Not only was Rota rather young, she had only just struck out on her own, but her obedience was more or less part of common sense. A medic knew more than she did in this matter, it would be stupid to not listen to what they had to say and it would be stupid to act like she knew what was wrong when she did not.

Hearing that she was able to walk on it likely meant that the repair would be straightforward, was a relief. It showed in her field, even if only a little. Her helm bobbed at the remark to take a seat, and she was did as asked. The seating area was filled with smaller furniture overall, but there was a chair that could comfortably accommodate a flier or larger mecha. Still, the main seating? It was certainly tailored to herself and those of smaller frames.

As for the question of how she damaged her knee assembly, and the request to give as much detail as she could, Rota thought for a moment or two. “I was jumping into the air and was working on what is call a brise? I do leg movements then land in a similar fashion to how I started...” A quick glance around her living room and she nodded to one of the sculptures that showed start to finish on a nearby table. “It was that move actually...” She explained before frowning slightly. “I missed landed, and my knee assembly just..buckled from the pressure.” A small slow huff of air left her vents.

“It was something so simple that I shouldn't have messed up, but it is a new dance for me and several brise's in a row – it had been the last one of that chain.”

{Hope the post works!}

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Cleaver nodded fractionally, taking the femme's petite heel in one hand and guiding her injured leg out. She cradled the damaged joint as she scanned, touching her thumbs into the slivers of exposed mesh behind the frontal cover to test texture and malleability.

The area was hot with Rotor's internal repair systems, which were had busily swollen the mesh to provide cushioning for the struts and expanded the fluid lines to deliver optimum amounts of energon and coolant. Testament to Rotor's design, the physical reactions hadn't crimped any lubrication points - a common side-effect of joint damage.

"The buckling was likely the knee assembly coping with the force of your landing, not the reason for the injury itself," she said, glancing up at Rotor beneath the rim of her helm casing.

Cleaver's scanners were behind her optics, and were detectable only in the way that motes of dirt in the air flashed a pale green. She supported Rotor's knee and leaned to one side to make a comprehensive scan, matching up the data to the schematics of the femme's frametype as she went. There were some discrepancies from previous repairs, upgrades and internal component settling, but nothing extraordinary.

"Nothing's showing as cracked or torn on my scanners; something's popped out of alignment and it's stressing the joint." Cleaver sat back on her heels, rotors reshuffling down her back. Ordinarily she'd leave it at that, but the femme's age was a constant presence in the fresh vitality of her field. Her expression softening a little, Cleaver gave Rotor a small, reassuring smile. "That's good news, though it doesn't feel like it. Straightforward repair."

Joints were simple in strut formation, but rather more complicated in the arrangement of everything else. Each mecha was a little different due to lifestyle and maintenance history, so pinpointing exactly which soft component was a few inches out of alignment was tricky.

Cleaver removed her hands from Rotor's knee to give her space to point. "Where exactly is the pain? On the side, front or back?" She opened a compartment in her shoulder and produced a small tool kit. "Is it constant, or only when you move a certain way?"

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Rotary watched the older femme carefully, though it was not in a skeptical or judging sort of way – it was one out of curiosity and mild interest. Given dancers were often times injured and had to rely on medics? Well, a little knowledge on how to treat the simplest of injuries and prevent them from happening again didn't hurt anyone. Granted, this injury was simple to a medic – not so much to a young femme or to her fellow dancers.

Her leg twitched slightly as Cleaver prodded the exposed mesh. That, did not feel like the greatest thing on this planet but it wasn't as bad as when she tried to put her full weight on that leg. At least if she was told that the physical reactions of the swollen joint hadn't crimped any lubrication points like they would have for other mecha? The young femme would have sighed in relief. Then again, her cohort were expecting the falls and when she expressed full blown interest in dance versus sculpting or painting? Well, they wanted to a certainty that nothing could be more seriously damaged by those little falls.

As for the buckling, it was nice to know that it was the knee assembly coping with the force of her landing, and it wasn't the reason for the injury itself. That was good, right? Rota wasn't one hundred percent sure about it, but it felt like it was good news. Especially when Cleaver spoke again, and her head tilted slightly in curiously until the medic gave her that little reassuring smile. Rota's own smile appeared. “So I won't have to worry about surgery or being kept from dancing too long?” She asked hopefully, and she let out a happy little huff of air from her vents once it was confirmed it was indeed a straightforward repair.

“Oh that is so good to hear.” She admitted before listening carefully to what Cleaver had to say.

“It does hurt more when I put weight on it, and when I try to stretch it out to walk properly..” the younger femme started before leaning forward and showing where it hurt the most. “It's mostly on the right side...and it moves a little from the side to the back...” Rota explained, showing the relatively small space that she talked about with her thumb and forefinger.

(ugh sorry this taken so long Krax Ddx hope it works for you! Btw I figured it's like..a couple of 'inches' buuut given how huge they are compared to ourselves...i wasn't sure how many feet that'd be XDD)

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Cleaver listened with half an audio to Rotary's description, simultaneously listening for any crackling or popping sounds in the joint as she gently manipulated it. Nothing sounded as if it was catching, and there was no resistance to suggest that the cables were locking.

The tactile exploration coupled with her scanners and Rotary's description confirmed her diagnosis. She opened the tool kit on the ground and took out one of the long, slender instruments. It had a hooked end with a bulbous tip.

"You've pulled a medial collateral ligament forward and it's gotten stuck," she said tracing the tool down the affected area without actually touching. "The cabling isn't torn or at risk of tearing, but it may have frayed with friction from the unnatural position. I'm going to manually pull it back into place, lubricate the joint and set a brace to immobilise your knee for the next orbital cycle."

It was a relatively minor injury that could turn into a major one with one wrong twist whilst the cable was loose and weak in its housing. Were Rotary a heavy labor frame, she wouldn't have bothered with the brace and just gone straight for the immediate, solid fix.

Towers mecha, though, and particularly artisans...

She frowned with a sigh, and touched her fingertip to Rotary's kneecap. When the femme looked at her, she held her gaze with an authoritative stare.

"I don't want to put in any kind of welds or stitching to secure it because of your profession, and I won't have to if you rest it. That means keeping the brace on, minimal walking and not so much as a twitch of your t-cog. Understood?"

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As Cleaver manipulated the joint, the younger femme tried now to show how much discomfort she was in.

Her head helm tilted some as the medic spoke, she nodded some when it was mentioned what was going to be done. It made sense, and while it was a relief it was a simple fix? Rota hated the idea of staying still for a full orbital cycle. She was used to constantly moving and running (or rolling when she was in her alt-form) around.

Still, being held up or a day, was far better than never being able to dance again. That, would kill the poor dancer.

When her kneecap was touched, her leg involuntarily twitched as the older femme held her gaze with an authoritative stare. Rota was nervous about that look, but she listened to the medic carefully. Her helm was soon nodding when it was asked if she understood.

“Understood.” The dancer piped up. “I will rest it, no twitching of the t-cog, and keeping the brace on.” Her optics flicked downwards to look at her knee. “I have the next two days off...” Which normally meant she would have been practicing her part and she would have been running about to do chores – but not with her knee needing to rest. “Will two orbital cycles be best? Or will one be enough...?” Rota slowly asked her.

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"One with the brace," the medic said, taking a firm hold of Rotary's outer leg in one hand whilst the other lined up the slender tool against the femme's knee joint. "Rest it as much as possible for the second day for your own comfort, and try to build up the intensity of your workouts gradually for the next few days."

Cleaver was optimistic that Rotary would make a full recovery. The dancer was pleasantly keen to please and obey, so the medic was confident that her instructions would be followed.

Finally satisfied with the arranged angles of knee and tool, Cleaver glanced up to meet and hold Rotary's stare. She was firm but mindful not to seem too hard with the youngling. "Hold sill, now."

Then she fed the hook through the narrow gap between the anterior plates of the helo's knee, navigating by sensor scans and a visualisation of the interior structure of the joint. It was the third ligament that had snapped out of alignment, and it was obvious as a thick ridge against the hook where it should have been smooth.

Slowly, her optics narrowing with concentration, Cleaver rotated the tool so that the hook curved over the top of the ligament.

"Alright, this'll feel strange, but it shouldn't hurt. If it does, tell me."

Then she began to pull back, increasing the pressure in small increments.

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Rota nodded her head as she listened to what Cleaver had to say. Really, if there were a handful of mecha the dancer would listen to? It would be those who were in the medical field. After all? Most of them knew what they were talking about, and she was raised to not question a doctor. It also helped that while her creators were not dancers, they understood that if there was a small injury – it had a chance to become a large one and they taught that to Rota.

At being told to hold still, the femme held onto the edge of her couch as a way to help keep herself still in case the sensations were painful. Thankfully they were only strange, not painful, and she was rather thankful for that. “You were underestimating when you said it will feel strange.” She told her softly, not wanting to interrupt her work too much, though as the pressure built? Her lips twitched slightly, the pressure was starting to feel just a little uncomfortable.

Granted, it wasn't like she was used to getting ligaments pulled back into place – hopefully it wouldn't be too much longer.

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Cleaver's helm had listed to one side as she turned her left audio to the joint, unconsciously leaning in closer. At Rotary's comment, she huffed noisily through her vents.

"Not a sensation you ought to feel, ordinarily," she said, wiggling the hook when she felt the ligament beginning to slide out of her grip.

The tool snagged the line harder, and she risked pulling with a little more force to get it back into alignment quicker. Because of the dancer's age, precision of build and level of fitness, there was more elasticity and strength in the cord than usual.

There was a sudden loud pop! sound as the ligament jerked over the cap of the strut and back into the groove it usually occupied. Cleaver had to wiggle the tool again to free the hook now that the line was firmly in place, finally extracting it and laying a hand on the femme's knee.

Her scanners flashed green, and she looked up with a professionally-reassuring smile. "There. It's re-seated and there's no sign of damage from the adjustment. Straighten your leg out for me and tell me how it feels. Slowly, now."

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Her helm bobbed silently as she watched closely up until the ligament was jerked back into place. Her hands gripped onto her couch, and she visibly tensed up for a moment or two before she slowly started to relax. A slow stream of air left her vents and she returned the reassuring smile with a small one of her own. “o-Okay.” In a way the femme really didn't want to straighten out her leg as it seemed like doing such a thing would hurt. Still, she slowly straightened her leg out like Cleaver had asked her to do.

Her optics narrowed for a moment in thought. “Sore, like I have been rehearsing for several breem's.” The dancer told her. “That is by far better than what it was like before.” She brought up, giving the medic a slightly brighter smile. “Thank you, Cleaver.” Rota told her. “And if you ever like to see a performance, let me know...I'll gladly give you tickets.” There was a cheerful note in her voice, it was an offer that she felt was appropriate.

After all, the care the medic had given her was insuring she would go on to dance another day!

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Cleaver snorted a reflexive dismissive, shaking her head with a smile. The sound was a shorthand response: thanks but that's not necessary just doing my job in a blast of air and pulse of her field.

The medic did like dance performances, though, particularly involving fliers. Tempest, her partner, had coaxed her into attending a show several years ago and she'd been a fan (and a quiet patron) since. Rotary's offer was momentarily tempting on those grounds, but ultimately it was a gratitude-triggered offer from a youngling in response to Cleaver doing nothing more than her job.

She planted a hand on her own knee and pushed to stand, resolved. As she rose, Cleaver gathered her equipment back to her. "It'll ache for a bit whilst the inflamation goes down, but better that you feel it and treat it carefully than I juice you on pain suppressants and you damage it for good."

Tough love, but this was Rotary's function and livelihood potentially at stake. And Cleaver didn't generally believe in coddling, anyway.

She produced a low-spec 'disposable' padd from her subspace and tapped a few glyphs onto it. "You're not usually in my district, but since I treated you, I'd prefer it if you called me direct if you experience any problems with that knee for the next few cycles."

Cleaver held the padd out. On it was her comm. frequency at the hospital, a list of physiotherapy exercises she should go through before resuming dancing, and a detailed summary of the procedure performed today for her troupe's records should there be issues or insurance in the future.

"Any questions before I leave you in peace?"