[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Patch Job [Blackframe]
Jul 7, 2017 22:53:03 GMT -5
Post by Flatline on Jul 7, 2017 22:53:03 GMT -5
Episode 2 | Week 3 | Day 5
Ugh... this was awful.
Flatline stood in front of a mirror within his personal quarters that were attached to his laboratory. The area was small, modest, hardly really a living space considering the majority of it was loaded with extra supplies and scrap metal, but it was his one bit of true solitude on this ship, where even intruders such as Breakdown wouldn't smash into. Or... he hopes they wouldn’t be so bold. Actually, no... Skywarp intruded on this area... yeah... he wasn't safe anywhere, but there was an illusion of privacy while he looked over the injury he sustained a couple days prior.
The punch had been solid, and Flatline wasn't really armored to take on such things, it leaving its mark that seems to have grown more agitated as time went on. If his faceplate was typical and even, he would be fine. Discoloration, a bit of crimping and a buckled pop that made it rise off the inner workings before self repair would kick in, but his faceplate had a seam in it. Two long lines ran from just under his optics, down to the top of his mouth. They stayed together, moved with his expressions, but it meant the panels were technically three, and the punch had split the seam under one of his eyes.
The split ran half way down to his mouth, growing thinner as it went, dappled with discolorations on the gray panels. The widest point was just under his optic, where the silver metal below was visible that exposed some of the fiddly mechanics that rotated the orb in its socket. Self repair would fix it, he didn't need to try to shift the panels or weld them down or anything drastic... the pieces just needed to be affixed together or else they would stay parted, but tape wasn't cutting it. The adhesive slipped over time, leaving the break visible again.
If this was someone else, Flatline would take his time and work on it with care. He would use an underlying liquid adhesive that wasn’t immediately visible, and do some tiny welding lines to secure it together nicely. He would do what was needed to repair it, and show off his talents.... but... he didn't so much care about his own superficial looks the same way Knock Out did. Small dings, scars, weld lines, they flecked over his frame sporadically where rough patch jobs affixed old body parts to new, or fused together wounds obtained out on the field.
Growing agitated that the seam wouldn't just stay put, and wanting to get back to his work and not be distracted by it any longer, Flatline roughly grabbed onto a staple gun that he had sitting on the countertop. With a sharp 'TAK' he slammed a staple into his own faceplate, features twisting and lips peeling back to expose gnarled dental plates that ground together in response to the pain that shortly followed. With a slam, he whacked the tool back down to the table, and departed his living quarters just as abruptly as he decided to mess up his own face.
Flatline stormed down the dark hallway of the science wing with determined purpose. Just about anyone looking at the mech would know he was not in any great mood to be spoken with, and that your best option was likely just to get out of his way. Each step was sharp, punctuated by a clicking impact of the small pronged hoof like peds, his loping arms held down to his side with fingers curled so that the talons rested against his palm. If the path wasn’t blocked off for maintenance, he would try to take the side hallways and stay out of the main channels of the ship, so he could avoid as many people as possible.
He was going to get his ration for the day, and return to work, and nothing was going to get in his way.
Ugh... this was awful.
Flatline stood in front of a mirror within his personal quarters that were attached to his laboratory. The area was small, modest, hardly really a living space considering the majority of it was loaded with extra supplies and scrap metal, but it was his one bit of true solitude on this ship, where even intruders such as Breakdown wouldn't smash into. Or... he hopes they wouldn’t be so bold. Actually, no... Skywarp intruded on this area... yeah... he wasn't safe anywhere, but there was an illusion of privacy while he looked over the injury he sustained a couple days prior.
The punch had been solid, and Flatline wasn't really armored to take on such things, it leaving its mark that seems to have grown more agitated as time went on. If his faceplate was typical and even, he would be fine. Discoloration, a bit of crimping and a buckled pop that made it rise off the inner workings before self repair would kick in, but his faceplate had a seam in it. Two long lines ran from just under his optics, down to the top of his mouth. They stayed together, moved with his expressions, but it meant the panels were technically three, and the punch had split the seam under one of his eyes.
The split ran half way down to his mouth, growing thinner as it went, dappled with discolorations on the gray panels. The widest point was just under his optic, where the silver metal below was visible that exposed some of the fiddly mechanics that rotated the orb in its socket. Self repair would fix it, he didn't need to try to shift the panels or weld them down or anything drastic... the pieces just needed to be affixed together or else they would stay parted, but tape wasn't cutting it. The adhesive slipped over time, leaving the break visible again.
If this was someone else, Flatline would take his time and work on it with care. He would use an underlying liquid adhesive that wasn’t immediately visible, and do some tiny welding lines to secure it together nicely. He would do what was needed to repair it, and show off his talents.... but... he didn't so much care about his own superficial looks the same way Knock Out did. Small dings, scars, weld lines, they flecked over his frame sporadically where rough patch jobs affixed old body parts to new, or fused together wounds obtained out on the field.
Growing agitated that the seam wouldn't just stay put, and wanting to get back to his work and not be distracted by it any longer, Flatline roughly grabbed onto a staple gun that he had sitting on the countertop. With a sharp 'TAK' he slammed a staple into his own faceplate, features twisting and lips peeling back to expose gnarled dental plates that ground together in response to the pain that shortly followed. With a slam, he whacked the tool back down to the table, and departed his living quarters just as abruptly as he decided to mess up his own face.
Flatline stormed down the dark hallway of the science wing with determined purpose. Just about anyone looking at the mech would know he was not in any great mood to be spoken with, and that your best option was likely just to get out of his way. Each step was sharp, punctuated by a clicking impact of the small pronged hoof like peds, his loping arms held down to his side with fingers curled so that the talons rested against his palm. If the path wasn’t blocked off for maintenance, he would try to take the side hallways and stay out of the main channels of the ship, so he could avoid as many people as possible.
He was going to get his ration for the day, and return to work, and nothing was going to get in his way.