[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Doctor, Doctor, I'm Allergic To Sympathy (closed)
Mar 1, 2018 14:16:26 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2018 14:16:26 GMT -5
(Week 2 Day 2)
"Hey Whirl, why don't ya just go see Ratchet da Hatchet and get yourself nagged for fallin' a touch outta shape what with bein' in prison for hundreds of years, Ay?"
Okay, that was not entirely what Bluestreak had advised him to do. Not even close in fact. Whirl had a tendency to ad-lib in his head.
Oh well, no reason he could think of to not go there. Whirl just headed to Ratchet's Med-Bay. Better than loitering around the halls, doing nothing. His wrists and neck were hurting again, and it wasn't like they got much treatment on the prison ship.
Since Ratchet wasn't there right that moment, he started poking around the med-bay to keep himself busy. Looking on shelves, picking up the tiny and delicate tools that he was no longer capable of using. A huge chunk of the tech was hideously primitive. It might even be more primitive than back when he'd had hands. He picked up a cube and started to play with it, not even sure of what it was. It wasn't alive, of course, and he'd seen enough of the insides of people to know it wasn't an organ.
He put it to one side and wandered around the med-bay again.
Ratchet was bound to ask complicated questions like "Does this hurt?" and if he was anything like the rumours he'd be able to tell when Whirl was lying. Once, Whirl had been a terrible liar. Now the Empurata made him perfect at it, and he didn't like it.
Still poking around the med-bay, he came across the medicine cabinet, which was locked. His wrists always hurt now. He hated to admit it, and Percy had gone nuts when he'd caught Whirl sneaking painkillers, especially since he would have prescribed them anyway.
"As if I don't feel bad enough about it already," he growled, poking at the cabinet, trying to find a way to open it. It was electronically locked, "Dey never worked, anyway. 'Oh Whirl, you're on da maximum dose already'," he mimicked one of the doctors he knew, "'How about ya let us remove dose rusty wires and up-grade?' Ay, y'know what happened last time I let a surgeon near my joints, buddy? Neither do I, cuz I was screamin' too loud!"
He slammed a claw into the wall, angry.
"I don't want frikkin upgrades..." he muttered, "I want my real hands back!"
It didn't hurt the dead metal claws. Just his wrists, and that was nothing new. Whirl sat on the table and picked up a metal cutter, turning it over. When he tried to turn it on, it was broken. The casing was already partly opened up, and he started poking around inside, trying to work out what was wrong with it.
"Hey Whirl, why don't ya just go see Ratchet da Hatchet and get yourself nagged for fallin' a touch outta shape what with bein' in prison for hundreds of years, Ay?"
Okay, that was not entirely what Bluestreak had advised him to do. Not even close in fact. Whirl had a tendency to ad-lib in his head.
Oh well, no reason he could think of to not go there. Whirl just headed to Ratchet's Med-Bay. Better than loitering around the halls, doing nothing. His wrists and neck were hurting again, and it wasn't like they got much treatment on the prison ship.
Since Ratchet wasn't there right that moment, he started poking around the med-bay to keep himself busy. Looking on shelves, picking up the tiny and delicate tools that he was no longer capable of using. A huge chunk of the tech was hideously primitive. It might even be more primitive than back when he'd had hands. He picked up a cube and started to play with it, not even sure of what it was. It wasn't alive, of course, and he'd seen enough of the insides of people to know it wasn't an organ.
He put it to one side and wandered around the med-bay again.
Ratchet was bound to ask complicated questions like "Does this hurt?" and if he was anything like the rumours he'd be able to tell when Whirl was lying. Once, Whirl had been a terrible liar. Now the Empurata made him perfect at it, and he didn't like it.
Still poking around the med-bay, he came across the medicine cabinet, which was locked. His wrists always hurt now. He hated to admit it, and Percy had gone nuts when he'd caught Whirl sneaking painkillers, especially since he would have prescribed them anyway.
"As if I don't feel bad enough about it already," he growled, poking at the cabinet, trying to find a way to open it. It was electronically locked, "Dey never worked, anyway. 'Oh Whirl, you're on da maximum dose already'," he mimicked one of the doctors he knew, "'How about ya let us remove dose rusty wires and up-grade?' Ay, y'know what happened last time I let a surgeon near my joints, buddy? Neither do I, cuz I was screamin' too loud!"
He slammed a claw into the wall, angry.
"I don't want frikkin upgrades..." he muttered, "I want my real hands back!"
It didn't hurt the dead metal claws. Just his wrists, and that was nothing new. Whirl sat on the table and picked up a metal cutter, turning it over. When he tried to turn it on, it was broken. The casing was already partly opened up, and he started poking around inside, trying to work out what was wrong with it.