Ep 1 - Patch Job - Closed
Jul 16, 2012 20:11:02 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2012 20:11:02 GMT -5
Missions followed predictable patterns. Preparation, action, extraction, report, aftercare. In missions that fouled up there might be a headcount before the report, or a plan B or C before the extraction, and the aftercare might be more or less horrific. This? Had not been a bad mission, however.
He had laid optics on Jazz and Bluestreak and Shadowrunner, assuring himself all three of his cohort were functional and well, barring a reasonable and not terribly noteworthy collection of minor wounds and - in Jazz's case - some residual smoking from what had looked like acid pockmarks marring the saboteur's topmost finish. Upright, on their pedes, and all three of them along with the rest of the Nemesis raiding party, charged up on success.
"Party!" Jazz had all but chirped at him, grin irrepressible despite how Ratchet had been laying into him at the time. "No, really, we've gotta..."
Ironhide had grinned and waved his cohortmate off. "Yeh go on ahead. Ah got a report t' file."
"But...!" Which was when Ratchet had threatened dire things if Jazz didn't hush up and let him finish. PARTY, the saboteur had mouthed over the medic's shoulder in exaggerated silence.
REPORT, Ironhide had mouthed back, with a comm burst of affectionate glyphs, before beating a hasty retreat from the medbay. It was technically true, after all, even if what little he had to report could be summed up and logged in less time than it took him to track down and check in with each of the rest of the team.
Which left him plenty of time while Ratchet still had a medbay full of minor wounds to patch up. All the more reason, Ironhide told himself, for him to pick an option that didn't add more to the medic's workload. Considerate of him, even. Really. And it was the best sort of luck that the severed hydraulic lines in his left arm had drained out by the time they had returned to base, leaving no telltale dripping trace of the damage unless one got a good look at his shoulder or noticed the way he was only minimally moving the arm. Neither of which Ironhide had stood still long enough to give prying optics a chance to gawk at.
So he pinged his cohort with revised plans - ::Coward! You're missing the party!:: Shadow shot back, laughing, while Jazz and Blue sent on their respective encouragements - that just mentioned a likely destination without mentioning why. Nothing wrong with skipping what promised to be a rowdy party for a quieter more personal one, after all.
Honestly, it wasn't any worse than the dings everyone else had taken. Nothing that splicing in a new length of line into his shoulder and topping off his fluid levels wouldn't fix, and it was a patch job he could do himself given enough time, even with the awkward angle. Ratchet just refused to believe he could do it himself and certainly wasn't going to let Ironhide make free with any of the supplies in medbay. Still - an injury was an injury, and he wasn't in the habit of calling on Cleaver in her medical capacity, which made the better part of politeness to give her a head's up before rolling in on her doorstep. ::Cleaver, love? This ain't - repeat, absolutely is NOT - an emergency, but would yeh mind meh grabbin' a spot of space an' some parts from yer medbay?::
He had laid optics on Jazz and Bluestreak and Shadowrunner, assuring himself all three of his cohort were functional and well, barring a reasonable and not terribly noteworthy collection of minor wounds and - in Jazz's case - some residual smoking from what had looked like acid pockmarks marring the saboteur's topmost finish. Upright, on their pedes, and all three of them along with the rest of the Nemesis raiding party, charged up on success.
"Party!" Jazz had all but chirped at him, grin irrepressible despite how Ratchet had been laying into him at the time. "No, really, we've gotta..."
Ironhide had grinned and waved his cohortmate off. "Yeh go on ahead. Ah got a report t' file."
"But...!" Which was when Ratchet had threatened dire things if Jazz didn't hush up and let him finish. PARTY, the saboteur had mouthed over the medic's shoulder in exaggerated silence.
REPORT, Ironhide had mouthed back, with a comm burst of affectionate glyphs, before beating a hasty retreat from the medbay. It was technically true, after all, even if what little he had to report could be summed up and logged in less time than it took him to track down and check in with each of the rest of the team.
Which left him plenty of time while Ratchet still had a medbay full of minor wounds to patch up. All the more reason, Ironhide told himself, for him to pick an option that didn't add more to the medic's workload. Considerate of him, even. Really. And it was the best sort of luck that the severed hydraulic lines in his left arm had drained out by the time they had returned to base, leaving no telltale dripping trace of the damage unless one got a good look at his shoulder or noticed the way he was only minimally moving the arm. Neither of which Ironhide had stood still long enough to give prying optics a chance to gawk at.
So he pinged his cohort with revised plans - ::Coward! You're missing the party!:: Shadow shot back, laughing, while Jazz and Blue sent on their respective encouragements - that just mentioned a likely destination without mentioning why. Nothing wrong with skipping what promised to be a rowdy party for a quieter more personal one, after all.
Honestly, it wasn't any worse than the dings everyone else had taken. Nothing that splicing in a new length of line into his shoulder and topping off his fluid levels wouldn't fix, and it was a patch job he could do himself given enough time, even with the awkward angle. Ratchet just refused to believe he could do it himself and certainly wasn't going to let Ironhide make free with any of the supplies in medbay. Still - an injury was an injury, and he wasn't in the habit of calling on Cleaver in her medical capacity, which made the better part of politeness to give her a head's up before rolling in on her doorstep. ::Cleaver, love? This ain't - repeat, absolutely is NOT - an emergency, but would yeh mind meh grabbin' a spot of space an' some parts from yer medbay?::