[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Breakpoint [Jazz, Patch]
Aug 15, 2023 15:57:25 GMT -5
Post by Patch on Aug 15, 2023 15:57:25 GMT -5
Week 3, day 6, episode 3.0.
Midday. Just a smidge closer to the afternoon than morning. The hot, dry sun above beating down, and glinting off just about anything shiny as far as the optic could see.
Not much, by the way of shiny things in the middle of the dry, red dessert
A soft breeze cast across Patch's dull white plating. Whispered over the bright red lines, that marked her as a medic. The tickle of a story on the wind from whence it came, shifted light over her face, and plucked softly at the indents at the gaps between her armor.
She couldn’t enjoy it.
Not quite, close to the edge, Patch sat. Legs about as crossed as she could get them with the thickness of her armor. Silver, stubby, articulated hands sprawled out behind her to hold her weight, red backpack tilted, but held off the ground.
What was she gonna do about Sundance… How would she talk to her- how would she Fix this? It was always hard to see one's allies damaged. To know them as friends, walking, and cheery, only in moments, at the sound of an alarm to rush out and find them leaking energon from twisted, mangled limbs.
Patch had a strong tank for such things. Last-sparked as she was, it was all she'd ever known. But to watch her friend, to watch Sunni wake up, and hold, such hope, about how she’d recover... And not to have such hope herself. What was harder, was to keep going back. Keep watching the yellow femme struggle. Keep trying to, maintain that hope of her’s, when, Patch really Didn't know, if her patient would ever fly again.
Maybe one day, long ago, such options that Suni had suggested would be available. Perhaps, once, their species could graft new limbs, or damn near replace old ones through repair. But that was through tools, and technology- instruments and resources they no longer had access to. An adept medic could still do a lot with little... But Patch was not a doctor. She'd never been trained to make treatment plans.
Would Sundance, recover? Would it be Patch’s fault if she couldn’t?
This had all been weighing on her. Heavily. Her mentor had been captured, and stripped of himself. Watching this, too. Seeing Ratchet, every day; the shell of him. Sure, he was full of, new, excitement for life, but he was missing what Patch had grown so fond of about him. His stalwartness. His crossness, his ability to take command… His wisdom.
He might as well have died.
Patch had struggled with sleep for years now, but as of last night… It had become dangerous again. She hadn’t, really managed to recharge all that much. Thanks to Avalanche, she’d had company in her misery, but-...
It was an understatement, to say the young femme was stressed.
And so she sat. And tried, to appreciate the… empty skyline, during her breath of a break. The miles, and miles, and miles of blue far off, in the bright, hot air. She tried to feel it on her face, and breathe, and-... Like, what she had liked about it the first day she had come here. Feel that, wonder again.
But it was numb.
Not gone, just, numb. Like a spot so badly wounded, after… After surgeon got to it, it was just… Empty. Dead, until the receptors could grow back.
Midday. Just a smidge closer to the afternoon than morning. The hot, dry sun above beating down, and glinting off just about anything shiny as far as the optic could see.
Not much, by the way of shiny things in the middle of the dry, red dessert
A soft breeze cast across Patch's dull white plating. Whispered over the bright red lines, that marked her as a medic. The tickle of a story on the wind from whence it came, shifted light over her face, and plucked softly at the indents at the gaps between her armor.
She couldn’t enjoy it.
Not quite, close to the edge, Patch sat. Legs about as crossed as she could get them with the thickness of her armor. Silver, stubby, articulated hands sprawled out behind her to hold her weight, red backpack tilted, but held off the ground.
What was she gonna do about Sundance… How would she talk to her- how would she Fix this? It was always hard to see one's allies damaged. To know them as friends, walking, and cheery, only in moments, at the sound of an alarm to rush out and find them leaking energon from twisted, mangled limbs.
Patch had a strong tank for such things. Last-sparked as she was, it was all she'd ever known. But to watch her friend, to watch Sunni wake up, and hold, such hope, about how she’d recover... And not to have such hope herself. What was harder, was to keep going back. Keep watching the yellow femme struggle. Keep trying to, maintain that hope of her’s, when, Patch really Didn't know, if her patient would ever fly again.
Maybe one day, long ago, such options that Suni had suggested would be available. Perhaps, once, their species could graft new limbs, or damn near replace old ones through repair. But that was through tools, and technology- instruments and resources they no longer had access to. An adept medic could still do a lot with little... But Patch was not a doctor. She'd never been trained to make treatment plans.
Would Sundance, recover? Would it be Patch’s fault if she couldn’t?
This had all been weighing on her. Heavily. Her mentor had been captured, and stripped of himself. Watching this, too. Seeing Ratchet, every day; the shell of him. Sure, he was full of, new, excitement for life, but he was missing what Patch had grown so fond of about him. His stalwartness. His crossness, his ability to take command… His wisdom.
He might as well have died.
Patch had struggled with sleep for years now, but as of last night… It had become dangerous again. She hadn’t, really managed to recharge all that much. Thanks to Avalanche, she’d had company in her misery, but-...
It was an understatement, to say the young femme was stressed.
And so she sat. And tried, to appreciate the… empty skyline, during her breath of a break. The miles, and miles, and miles of blue far off, in the bright, hot air. She tried to feel it on her face, and breathe, and-... Like, what she had liked about it the first day she had come here. Feel that, wonder again.
But it was numb.
Not gone, just, numb. Like a spot so badly wounded, after… After surgeon got to it, it was just… Empty. Dead, until the receptors could grow back.