We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Ironhide tried and failed to keep from exventing a short burst of laughter, leaning down - out of Ratchet's way - to press his forehelm briefly to the other mech's. "Handsome as ever," he assured Dusk, chuckling, "if yeh like th' scuffed up barely painted look. Gonna have t' get yeh t' th' washracks when Ratch's done with yeh - yeh look like th' fifth rotation in a three rotation station break."
His glyphs, however, belied the affectionate tease with brief notes of concern and Ironhide slanted a look at Ratchet as he straightened up. "He is okay, right?"
Ratchet huffed an exasperated vent at Ironhide's proximity, though the frontliner knew enough not to foul up the space for Ratchet's hands. "Everything looks fine," he allowed. He flicked a finger against Dusk's collar faring and the medical port tucked beneath it. "Open up. I want to run a second level response diagnostic."
Primus, it was nice to have someone know exactly what he meant without endlessly having to explain or simplify. Dusk let Ratchet plug in, his systems unfolding to the senior medic's scan with professional ease, neural and processor threads lighting up one after another in a rapid cascade of ping and response. "Clear," Ratchet told him gruffly, knowing that Dusk could already see it but habit made him verbalize the diagnosis out loud. "You're lagging in neural response by a few nanokliks, but it's nothing a proper defrag cycle-down won't fix. Which," he added, pointing a blunt finger at Ironhide, "means do NOT drag him down to that sorry excuse for a still you cobbled together. Not today. I want a full down cycle of rest, and then I want you back in here tomorrow for baseline scans and to go over the duty roster."
He paused infinitesimally before continuing - medic or no, the other mechanism was a Guardian, and there were some subject medics didn't bring up lightly with those mechs - keeping his voice and field carefully professional and devoid of judgement. "You've done most of your code work yourself?"
Monitors, mixed with the soft hum of their engines were the only sounds in the room for a long pulse of a spark. Ironhide had pulled back his helm long before then, but Dusk could feel the minute twitches of that mobile blast plating; feel the conflict between flaring protectively around his brother and clamping as tightly and flat as his field. He could feel it because his hand remained over Ironhide's shoulder, still leaning just close enough for it to be possible. But where before he kept it there as quiet thanks to the contact, now he returned the favor. Calm - steady
Dusk turned his attention back to Ratchet, shuttering his optics as if to call back the moments of bantering. He wanted to melt into the thoughts of washracks and berthrest and not leaving the warmth and comfort of Ironhide's field… but the field was tight and unreadable and Ratchet's face wasn't changing. It's not that he was unprepared for it; in fact he had planned to come to Ratchet with all the details, all of his personal case study notes and be discuss it at length. But his logic, his analysis, his experience-- it only made things manageable. A coping mechanism for him personally.
It never made it any easier to admit openly that you were glitched. 'Crazy'.
Since it was brought up, might as well address it now. "Most of it, yes. Some was written by a close colleague of mine a… long time ago. But it's still strong; good, clean work you'll notice." Exventing, he lifted himself to swing his legs over the berth before continuing. His tone became more professional - precise - even if he continued to lounge like he was sitting on a couch. "You'll find a secondary file in th' data package I sent you earlier. It contains everything including entries from before the very first episode, and everything thereafter. Symptoms, severity, time lasted, time between episodes-- all in detail, including treatment to head off further… deterioration." He motioned to Ratchet as if to revisit the Magic Word. "Code work-- success, failures… dates time logged for every entry, of course.
"All that said, it has been only me for quite some time. A secondary opinion, " He waved a hand, as if to dismiss that, "An extensive examination would not only be necessary, in my opinion, but…," He paused here, to catch Ratchet's optics. No it was never pleasant. But he'd cope with it like everything else. "…appreciated." A short pause was given, for all said to sink in and to clear the air for a new point. "None of it has proven to interfere with my work in the Med Bay yet." He didn't say it, didn't follow that sentence, but it was left hanging in the air… if only because he figured Ratchet would get the drift of it anyway. If there were problems, it was in Ratchet's hands, Ratchet's decision, now.
Dusk kept himself carefully schooled, his field focused with vorn of practice, so as not to betray the anxiety beneath. He wondered if he was fooling anyone.
Ironhide kept the immediate flinch out of his field at Ratchet's initial words, but couldn't stop the drawing back and tight furl of his own plating. Knew that Dusk saw it, recognized it, but couldn't stop it, or the shiver that ran through his struts. 'Code work' was like the scraplet phrase lurking in the shadowy spots of the corridors, waiting to lunge out at a mech.
His own code word was well in hand, settling bit by bit, but the feel of it was still gratingly new in his spark and processor and the need to cringe back and try to avoid the medic's gaze was strong. Don't look, his flinch said, don't ask, don't drag it all out into the light again, leave it alone.
Broken. They were all broken, every last scrapped one of them, Guardian and Enforcer and civilian and every other function any of them had ever been sparked to. The Guard wasn't the only ones suffering, they were just one of the most blatant textbook cases, and it sat in Ironhide's inner systems like an accusation, stark and ugly and painful to poke at.
He swallowed it down, kept his optics on Dusk rather than Ratchet, and when the other mech sat up kept a not-quite touch of support pressed close to the other's back. Dusk would be fine. He would be fine. What other choice did they have?
Ratchet kept his optics on Dusk, didn't twitch or look away or so much as fluctuate the steady professional hum of his field. He accepted the data without question, filed it for looking through more in-depth later. Ironhide's tension, behind the other frontliner, he noted and then passed over. They were both tense, and there was little he could do about that, but the best he could do was not to acknowledge it or make a large debacle over it. There was nothing here but professionalism.
"You've done excellent documentation," he said instead, crisp but honestly grateful. "I'll review the records; we can schedule an examination along with your followup for tomorrow. In the meantime..." Ratchet flicked his gaze up to include Ironhide, optics narrowing in a more normal display of his infamous temperament. "No still," he decreed, raising one finger after another as he ticked off points. "No highgrade of any sort. No roughhousing, and you're not cleared for leaving base to find an alt mode yet, so just sit tight. Full tank, full defrag cycle, report any power fluctuations, unexpected fuel or power drains, or errors immediately. Barring that, I'll see you tomorrow at 9 A.M. local time for that followup and we can examine anything you think needs looking at then. Understand?"
And just like that, Dusk let the air trapped in his vents go quietly, instead giving himself over to the easy 'Sir, yes, sir' that followed Ratchet's orders. He was grateful for it, partially wondered if Ratchet knew what he was doing, and then afterwards just didn't give a damn. Because 'Hide had his hand on his shoulder and Ratchet was giving him purpose and rules and Primus he just wanted to hit the washracks. Slip back into the easy long wave and stop thinking about how broken all this slag was.
He found it easier, now with the topic somewhat behind them all, to do just that.
"Aye, aye, sir! 9 A.M. sharp." He confirmed. That lop-sided grin stretched into place all warm and excited; took a little jump off the berth and flexed his arms as he turned the berth, catching Ironhide with a firm clap to his shoulder. "C'mon, 'Hide, help me fill m'tank wit non-high grade."
A high wave was given over his shoulder, just before they showed themselves out. "Thanks, Ratch."
<Fin>
Last Edit: Sept 1, 2013 15:28:53 GMT -5 by Deleted