[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]In Vivo [Flatline, Nokta]
Jan 20, 2024 0:16:19 GMT -5
Post by Flatline on Jan 20, 2024 0:16:19 GMT -5
As Nokta slept in an artificially induced recharge to recover, the surgeon who had worked upon him also lingered in unconsciousness.
Sitting across the room, Flatline was slumped forward upon the dinged slab that he used as a small work area, resting in a way that was far too common even before his entire world was turned upside down. It was unhealthy, which he recognized as much, though there was little that he could do, and the fear of being away from where he needed to be had become a crippling shackle. Despite all of it, no matter how worn he was, he had made certain that the Medical Bay was restored as much as possible. Line fuel was removed, metal shavings were swept away, and tools were cleaned and ready to be used at a moment's notice. Only then did he permit himself a second, to which his helm was burrowed so far into his crossed arms that they almost obscured it.
Yet even then he didn’t fully sleep.
Within his field of work, certain beats and markers were expected background noises. A steady pulse of a monitor, the drip of a slow line, or the rattled wheeze of an external ventilation system that aided in regulating internal temperatures... It was a sort of rhythm that hummed into an even baseline that bled to a point where it could be no different than silence at all. Ignored. Perhaps even neglected in the opinion of others who could only view it from an outside perspective. Appearances aside, this steady sound was still heard, of course, picked up on in some more abstract portion of the processor outside of coherent thought, which was why when Noka started to stir, and the faintest of hoarse sounds creaked out, Flatline's helm was already raising, turning to look slightly in the other mech's direction.
Once brighter red optics were darkened due to pure unfiltered exhaustion, the thin pinprick lens of white in its center standing out more because of the diminished surrounding glow. They were simply one more sign upon many that betrayed just how haggard and worn he was, normally sunken features seeming that much more so, a level of inexpressive neutrality that did not even flicker with any level of differing emotion while taking in what had been heard. There was some sort of illusion in play too as well, as even though his features were a light gray, there was somehow still a sense of a sickly paleness.
The first thing that was registered was the fact that the monitoring devices still sounded normal which was what was most important to his waking mind, the noises of one's systems were far more valuable than whatever nonsense was ever thrown out of their mouths. An individual could lie, they could whine, they could say it was the worst pain imaginable just to get a medic to work faster in trying to remedy it, however their body could generally not. It worked as it needed to, the Spark pulsed with their standard patterns, fuel pumps tried to keep things moving, and systems regulated temperatures in a certain bracket range.
That was what he listened for.
And it all sounded functional and normal.
Exhausted optics started to close again after a handful of beats to make sure everything sounded right, a sort of darkness returning to them as his helm started to lower again with a silent wish to let recharge return... yet it was not meant to be, as a hoarse sound was then picked up on next that was unable to be missed due to his part lucid state. It resulted in his eyes opening more, recognizing then that his name was woven within a general noise of protest from his patient, which was a noise part mirrored by him in turn, a low grumbled croak that ended up muffled at the end when he rubbed at his face.
He was so tired... He should have kept Nokta in stasis perpetually until he woke and could get some form of rest, however he knew he couldn't afford to do so. It was a conflict between what was best for the two of them, both patient and doctor alike needing their recharge, yet to do so beneath the demon's gaze was only going to result in more torment than could ever offset what boons they could offer. It was with this thought his hand smeared down his features, stopping just below his eyes to tiredly look out at the other mech with a level of disgust and resentment.
"Hkk-En...er...gon..."
Letting his forearm flop down onto the desk with a rattle of the numerous small tools on its corner, Flatline pushed to get to his legs beneath himself so that his chair would get moved aside, his weight primarily upon his good limb as he tried to then transition into a full stand. It hurt. A great deal. The immobilization upon his knee had done well to prevent it from collapsing under pain, however, it did not fully remove the agony that came with it, his leg stretching back slightly before he grabbed his cane and started to walk over.
There was no rush to Nokta's side, only the eased click of a cane that was followed by two taps of pronged peds. While he wasn't in a hurry, however, it did not take him long to move into the other mech's line of sight, the back of his knuckle tapping once on the screen of the diagnostic machine to get it to fully activate its backlight.
"Given you are choking just speaking... you can wait until you are more lucid."
Flatline's voice was his own mirror of hoarseness, a level of misery leaking into the first cracked words.
"Your fuel levels are good."
The mech wasn't starving. He didn't need a cube of Energon offered out instantly so that he could remain functional... No. He was in a controlled environment, being actively monitored, with decent parameters, functioning internals, and a slowly waking processor that’s idle thoughts were starting to pulse higher on the screen as consciousness took further hold. A casual glance was offered to this readout again, before he opened a quiet Comm.
::Lord Megatron, Nokta is waking, though is yet to be cognitively aware::
Sitting across the room, Flatline was slumped forward upon the dinged slab that he used as a small work area, resting in a way that was far too common even before his entire world was turned upside down. It was unhealthy, which he recognized as much, though there was little that he could do, and the fear of being away from where he needed to be had become a crippling shackle. Despite all of it, no matter how worn he was, he had made certain that the Medical Bay was restored as much as possible. Line fuel was removed, metal shavings were swept away, and tools were cleaned and ready to be used at a moment's notice. Only then did he permit himself a second, to which his helm was burrowed so far into his crossed arms that they almost obscured it.
Yet even then he didn’t fully sleep.
Within his field of work, certain beats and markers were expected background noises. A steady pulse of a monitor, the drip of a slow line, or the rattled wheeze of an external ventilation system that aided in regulating internal temperatures... It was a sort of rhythm that hummed into an even baseline that bled to a point where it could be no different than silence at all. Ignored. Perhaps even neglected in the opinion of others who could only view it from an outside perspective. Appearances aside, this steady sound was still heard, of course, picked up on in some more abstract portion of the processor outside of coherent thought, which was why when Noka started to stir, and the faintest of hoarse sounds creaked out, Flatline's helm was already raising, turning to look slightly in the other mech's direction.
Once brighter red optics were darkened due to pure unfiltered exhaustion, the thin pinprick lens of white in its center standing out more because of the diminished surrounding glow. They were simply one more sign upon many that betrayed just how haggard and worn he was, normally sunken features seeming that much more so, a level of inexpressive neutrality that did not even flicker with any level of differing emotion while taking in what had been heard. There was some sort of illusion in play too as well, as even though his features were a light gray, there was somehow still a sense of a sickly paleness.
The first thing that was registered was the fact that the monitoring devices still sounded normal which was what was most important to his waking mind, the noises of one's systems were far more valuable than whatever nonsense was ever thrown out of their mouths. An individual could lie, they could whine, they could say it was the worst pain imaginable just to get a medic to work faster in trying to remedy it, however their body could generally not. It worked as it needed to, the Spark pulsed with their standard patterns, fuel pumps tried to keep things moving, and systems regulated temperatures in a certain bracket range.
That was what he listened for.
And it all sounded functional and normal.
Exhausted optics started to close again after a handful of beats to make sure everything sounded right, a sort of darkness returning to them as his helm started to lower again with a silent wish to let recharge return... yet it was not meant to be, as a hoarse sound was then picked up on next that was unable to be missed due to his part lucid state. It resulted in his eyes opening more, recognizing then that his name was woven within a general noise of protest from his patient, which was a noise part mirrored by him in turn, a low grumbled croak that ended up muffled at the end when he rubbed at his face.
He was so tired... He should have kept Nokta in stasis perpetually until he woke and could get some form of rest, however he knew he couldn't afford to do so. It was a conflict between what was best for the two of them, both patient and doctor alike needing their recharge, yet to do so beneath the demon's gaze was only going to result in more torment than could ever offset what boons they could offer. It was with this thought his hand smeared down his features, stopping just below his eyes to tiredly look out at the other mech with a level of disgust and resentment.
"Hkk-En...er...gon..."
Letting his forearm flop down onto the desk with a rattle of the numerous small tools on its corner, Flatline pushed to get to his legs beneath himself so that his chair would get moved aside, his weight primarily upon his good limb as he tried to then transition into a full stand. It hurt. A great deal. The immobilization upon his knee had done well to prevent it from collapsing under pain, however, it did not fully remove the agony that came with it, his leg stretching back slightly before he grabbed his cane and started to walk over.
There was no rush to Nokta's side, only the eased click of a cane that was followed by two taps of pronged peds. While he wasn't in a hurry, however, it did not take him long to move into the other mech's line of sight, the back of his knuckle tapping once on the screen of the diagnostic machine to get it to fully activate its backlight.
"Given you are choking just speaking... you can wait until you are more lucid."
Flatline's voice was his own mirror of hoarseness, a level of misery leaking into the first cracked words.
"Your fuel levels are good."
The mech wasn't starving. He didn't need a cube of Energon offered out instantly so that he could remain functional... No. He was in a controlled environment, being actively monitored, with decent parameters, functioning internals, and a slowly waking processor that’s idle thoughts were starting to pulse higher on the screen as consciousness took further hold. A casual glance was offered to this readout again, before he opened a quiet Comm.
::Lord Megatron, Nokta is waking, though is yet to be cognitively aware::