[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Walk of Shame [Closed]

[Knock Out]

There was the tiniest scoff as Flatline didn't immediately move over to the now filled sink. Then again maybe that was to ensure the water truly was room temperature by letting it sit for a moment. Honestly, was Flatline that picky? Knock Out knew he was overly and annoyingly pedantic but still. Surely a few degrees wouldn't make that much of a difference, even Knock Out would let something like that slide!

Or maybe Flatline was just planning ahead so they didn't have to wait.

Probably that.

“Ten minutes?” he gave a hum of thought, loosely folding his arms across his chassis. Could do a lot in ten minutes! Not that Flatline would humor him with anything he suggested – even casual conversation would probably be pushing it. “That isn't too long at all.” he gave a gentle smile at that, casting a slow glance around the room as Flatline continued speaking.

“Having the Chief Medical Officer in tip-top condition is an honor for these metals.” he chuckled, knowing full well that sentence would probably annoy the other mech to no end “I'm sure once the, ah, time restraint is no longer in place, I can see about doing something more with it, though – maybe I'll come by again for more help since your lab is better equipped for that sort of thing!”

Joy.

The next sentence pulled his gaze away from the Vehicon arm across the way and he'd look back to Flatline.

“Oh I am very much aware, but I'm sure between myself and Breakdown we can get it looking fabulous in no time at all. Breakdown may be large and imposing but he sure knows his way around a buffer – maybe if we go through with our little 'job trade'-” he made a point of unfolding his arms and giving those two words some air-quotes “-you can see it first hand! Always relaxing after a hard days work, you know.”

That and Flatline desperately needed it. How did he walk around looking like that? Utterly shameful.

[Flatline]

"Considering the temperatures and metals involved? No it is not."

Flatline simply agreed to what Knock Out had said, continuing to rub at his fingertips a bit. They annoyed him a small amount, but it wasn't anything to draw attention to, his right hand then lifting to idly rub beneath his eye while he listened to the following words the arrogant mech felt like spewing out. There was a sharp snort of a noise before he responded with a sarcastic swing to his words.

"The Chief Medical Officer should not have been damaged by such foolishness to begin with. You would think someone of such rank would not be so senselessly careless."

A sharp jab back of his own.

If Knock Out was going to boast and be a pain, than Flatline would turnaround and dish it right back. He still honestly could not believe how the mech had gotten injured to begin with, such a thing blasphemous as far as he was concerned. Flatline could never imagine sassing someone in high command other than the cherry mech that was standing across from him. Sassing Megatron himself? That was a death sentence.

While Flatline was ready to quip back some more, he wasn’t too prepared to the small compliment that was made in regards to his laboratory. It caused a bit of pride to flick up inside him, the quills on his back twitching slightly before smoothing back down again. Any pride at having his work area complimented though, was cut into as Breakdown was effectively offered out like a common non-sentient Vehicon to perform a task that Flatline considered... honestly he didn't know what he considered it.

Having an injury buffed out was one thing. It was something done to finish up the repair and make things primed and ready to be painted and finished later should the individual choose. However buffing out ones armor for visual appearance was almost a personal thing like changing filters or doing basic maintenance as far as he was concerned. The idea of having someone ELSE buff out his armor like that, almost seemed lewd, and it showed on Flatline's face as his features twisted into a bit of aghast.

That and weren't the two weirdo's a 'thing' or something?!

"I thought Breakdown was a professional assistant and nothing more. That is highly inappropriate!"

[Knock Out]

“Aah, no, he shouldn't have – but lesson learned! If anything, it shows I'm useful to Big M after all!” he chuckled, flippantly waving a servo. He probably should've cared a little more about the earlier events that'd gotten him into this mess, and far later from this moment he'd no doubt realize that how stupid and how equally lucky he had been, but for now there was a cocky sense of pride in talking about it.

Not everyone could give Megatron such a... well, backhanded compliment and live to tell the tale. Of course the next time – if there was a next time – it happened, Knock Out probably wouldn't be so lucky. But at least he'd managed to walk away from this one mostly unscathed. The only thing that really hurt was his pride in having to ask Flatline for assistance in fixing it.

But it wasn't so bad, he'd gotten to snoop around Flatline's lab a little, and gotten to watch how Flatline worked. There'd been brief moments where they'd been civil and had a conversation, too – and if it weren't for the petty hatred between the pair, they'd probably get along a lot more often.

Not that he'd admit that.

But alas, those moments of civility did not last long. It didn't take much to rile Flatline, it seemed. Granted Knock Out seemed to enjoy pushing him subtly – it was rare he could have a battle of wits and be on equal ground with his opponent, and having someone who could sass him back as good as he gave? It was honestly refreshing. Megatron and Starscream were obvious with their levels of intelligence, but given all it'd taken was one wrong thing said to Megatron to get him into this state? Well, he wasn't about to go have a sass match with either. He wasn't that stupid.

But Flatline was fun to taunt, even if his latest comment hadn't been made with the intention of riling him.

“Inappropriate? Please.” he scoffed, “Not sure where your processor went, there, but I assure you it is nothing but professional. Keeps my servos free while I catch up on the days logs, and makes Breakdown feel useful. You should try it sometime – it's totally relaxing. Maybe then you'd stop being so uppity about everything, plus you'd look amazing with a bit of shine to your frame!”

He chuckled, shaking his helm.

“With all the work I do, do you think I'd look this good if I had time to buff myself half the time? Please, Flatline, do try to think before you open your mouth.”

[Flatline]

What a pretentious piece of...

"I swear to Primus, one of these days I am going to wring your scrawny neck."

Flatline declared, his helm tilting back slightly with an over exaggerated roll of his optics. The action was paired with a sneering look, exposing his sharper teeth once more in a sort of grimace. After this was done, he walked over to the work table and began to clean up some of the supplies they no longer needed. His thin secondaries reached forward and plucked up some of the smaller objects, bundling them in the crook of the narrow elbow, while larger hands clutched larger tools.

"Well' forbid I question if you even DO any work and not just polish yourself all day."

He quipped back.

"But no, I don’t need to look shined, and I don’t DO pampered."

As if it wasn’t abundantly clear anyway...

While patches of Flatline's armor did have a standard shine to it, a look that came simply from keeping himself clean, there was no gloss to the surface, and there were a myriad of tiny dings and scrapes that flecked into the topcoat in areas and actually went past the black paint itself in others. Small burrs and scuffs, a couple dings here or there... he was a hard worker and despite not being on the battlefield he sported his labors on his metaphorical sleeves. The most egregious slight however, was something that Flatline himself did not even know, and that was a smear of neon paint that was splattered in narrow flecks along his lower back.

It was evidence from a paintball battle that had occurred some time ago. Foolish individuals baited into an internal warfare with toys... so much of the ship had been spattered in bright tones, and the Vehicons had to work hard to clean it all up after the fact. Flatline himself did not want to participate, but he had gotten caught in the crossfire. While he thought he scraped and washed all the paint off, some remained in the grooves and slats that permitted free movement of his spinal struts, clashing violently with the charcoal tones there.

"Too busy anyway, even if I did want to fix my paint, I would just think about the time lost on my work."

Workaholic much?...

His brows furrowed at this, turning to start to put supplies back in their rightful homes.

[Knock Out]

“Oh?” he purred, “Now, now... Don't threaten me with a good time there, Flatline.” he replied coyly, smirking – knowing the sentence would probably rile the other mech up, but honestly? Flatline had walked right into that one. He was being hypocritical in a way, since he'd accused the other mech's processor going to less than pure things and now he'd done the same, but... He really couldn't help himself. Flatline was just so fun to mess with sometimes. The sentence wasn't even that bad, hopefully not to the point of grossing the other mech out to the point he stopped working on the wheel, anyway.

He tsk'd softly, rolling his optics at Flatline's little quip.

“If you came by my Medical Bay like everyone else on the ship, you'd see firsthand how much work I do. In a perfect world I could sit around buffing myself constantly, but alas...” a wistful sigh followed, which tapered into a laugh at Flatline's comment.

“You should try it sometime! It'd do wonders for you, I'm sure.”

Maybe getting pampered would relax Flatline a little. He always seemed to be so riled and unable to loosen up – but then again that was partly due to who Flatline was, he assumed. Either that or he had a stick shoved somewhere he shouldn't, but Knock Out wouldn't know – given Flatline seemed to avoid his routine checkups, no doubt doing them on himself for whatever reason.

Knock Out wouldn't push it though or try to hound him, simply marking on his file that yep – once again he hadn't turned up, and let the higher ups deal with it if it ever became an issue.

At least Flatline did have some medical knowledge though, so it wasn't quite the same as a clueless Vehicon going without maintenance for a while.

Another lull, and his gaze had wandered again, looking around the room. This moment of downtime seemed to drag on for a while, and part of him wanted to stir things up again with conversation – but what would they talk about? The things he'd seen in the room that he so obviously wasn't allowed to have snooped through? The weather?

Whatever that was?

As Flatline turned to put away the supplies and leaned up at juuuust the right angle? The flash of something... neon.. caught Knock Out's attention. It was hard not to notice, the color standing out harshly against the dark color scheme of both the mech and the room itself.

Paint?

Oh... He remembered, and knew there was only one explanation for the neon that marred Flatline's frame.

Knock Out had thankfully avoided the mess that day – he'd heard the shenanigans as they were happening – word had traveled quickly, and even Megatron had gotten involved – or so he heard. Knock Out though? He'd made the smart choice to get the heck out of dodge the moment the words 'neon paint' had been involved. Okay so he'd been cowering under a desk with a bunch of boxes rammed up against the door to prevent the lunatics with the paint targeting system or whatever it was from coming in and ruining his life, but.. he'd luckily avoided it all.

Flatline though? Wow, he didn't seem the type for fun and games!

Yikes, though – that was so long ago now and yet the paint was still evident. Granted it was in an annoyingly hard to reach spot and he could see why it'd gone unnoticed for so long, but... Geez. Had nobody pointed it out?

He realized Flatline had said something, and he hadn't replied. Too focused on staring at.. well, basically? Flatline's aft.

“Oh, uh. Well, that's why you should get an assistant! So you can work at the same time!” he smiled brightly at this, folding his arms across his chassis with a certain... smugness.

He wasn't going to tell him. It was too hilarious – and it was evidence that even serious mechs like Flatline did enjoy fun now and then.

Even if that was unfortunately rather far from the truth.

[Flatline]

Good time? How was being strangled a- ...oh

A piercing look of disgust was thrown in Knock Out's direction, Flatline far too prudish to even remotely understand that kind of thing. He couldn’t try to apply it to his life, he couldn’t 'get into the other's shoes' to try to piece it together... Really, he had to just cast it aside and label the other Cybertronian a freak before he dwelled on it too long, opting to move on and continue to shelve things.

Flatline simply let Knock Out ramble then, absently listening to the way he tried to explain his laziness away. The few times he had ventured into the other Mech's domain, it always felt like he 'happened' to catch Knock Out in downtime, working on paperwork, or somehow simply just absent. It was very poor timing on his part, but it cemented Flatline's negative judgments in his processor and made him feel further validated, even if the other Medic truly was a hard worker and earned his keep on the Warship.

Whatever the case, Flatline spoke a bit more, further detailing his issues against getting properly buffed up and getting his paintjob re-done. He essentially expressed his uncertainty and how it would make him self-conscious of his missed work, but instead of there being a sharper quip in reply, there was a sort of delay that gave him pause.

Pulling back from placing the scrap metal back into its slot, Flatline hooked his helm up to try to peer over his shoulder as best he could. It was somewhat awkward, given his larger sloped armor and the harpoon turrets mounted on either side, but he turned enough to make it work, trying to see what must have caught Knock Out's attention.

Was he staring at his aft...?

Features twisting a bit in confusion, Flatline's processor scrabbled with this a moment, his brows furrowing in uncertainty if what he saw was what he saw, or if Knock Out's previous words corrupted his perception. Choosing not to comment, he awkwardly followed up with a response, turning to shelve the metal.

"Yeah no, not doing delicate work. There would be no 'same time' there."

Turning, Flatline shifted his weight, lifting one of his pronged peds to stretch the sharp hoof like toes, before he glanced down at the mold, trying to consider if it had been long enough.

[Knock Out]

The look of disgust that was thrown his way? Aaah, Knock Out wished he had a camera. It was a look he’d treasure forever, though. Flatline was so easy to rile up, and he couldn’t help but coyly smirk, shaking his helm.

Even though there wasn’t a verbal response, he’d take it. That look said more than words ever could - although he wouldn’t push it further with another comment, not with his wheel so close to being done. The last thing he needed was Flatline to throw him out of the lab with things unfinished!

Flatline was weirdly quiet after that, whether that was because of Knock Out’s earlier comment, or because he was trying to focus remained to be seen, but every time he turned away from Knock Out - the Chief Medical Officer’s gaze went riiiight back to that spec of neon paint.

That was, until he was busted! Again nothing was said - which was rather odd, he would’ve thought that would’ve garnered a comment or two, but there was another disgruntled look and nothing more.

“I didn’t mean while working on projects - Primus do you think I stand there doing delicate surgeries with Breakdown buffing my frame- actually, don’t answer that, but no - I don’t. I meant more along the lines of, well-” he waved a servo “paperwork, things like that. Surely you keep logs of everything you do? Moments of downtime? Yes?”

He shifted his weight, standing up a little straighter as he peered across at Flatline.

“How’s it looking? The uh, the mold. I mean.”

[Flatline]

At the accusation, Flatline's mouth opened, ready to reply, ready to cry out an 'of course I do' in retort, but he was not allotted the time to do so past a huffed scoff, as the smaller mech cut in and told him not to answer that. This caused the black and red mech to close his mouth with a twist of his jaw, red gaze settled upon him a moment in judgment, before finishing up his task and fully turning back towards the center of the room to consider what were to come next. Thankfully, the next question that was thrown his way actually was in need of a response, but being their personality clash, Flatline wasn't going to let the previous taboo pass by. Not that it was REALLY a taboo... it only offended because of who it was coming from.

"Is that a real question? Or a rhetorical one?"

He quipped back, tilting his helm up a bit as if to look down upon the other mech, before he continued.

"Of course I keep logs, everything digital with nightly backups incase of corruption of a drive."

He flipped his hand in the direction of the work terminal. It appeared well used and battered with some scuffs along the floor from peds scraping on the surface, but whether that was from being used for some time before falling into Flatline's care, or whether it had been tampered and used aggressively enough with his work that it only now looked like that remained unknown. Whatever the case may be, both of their attention then appeared to drift in the direction of the mold, Flatline eyeing the container warily.

"As far as I can see it looks acceptable."

Which wasn't saying much because of the fact it was sealed up and the true end product was out of sight. There were darkened patches of the mold, places where the material was thinner and became a bit discolored from the heat, a few speckled dapples of metal that missed the mold's opening, and other such tiny details, but it didn’t really share anything of note. Time was going to be their worst enemy now.

"I mean... it is likely set enough to be removed, but handling it is questionable at this point."

He warned.

"It is likely still rather hot. If I were making this on my own, I would go get my ration for the day, or run another errand to pass the time."

Flatline's fuel runs were often rather random. While they would happen during somewhat predictable blocks of time, the actual moment he would leave his small domain to seek it out depended entirely upon what place in his project he was on. Anytime there needed to be a break in time, whenever he had to stall for a bit or wait like they were forced to do now... he would check to see if another day had slipped out from beneath him, and that it was time to seek fuel once again.

"This will need fine sanding once removed. Do you have 'Knock Out Friendly' buffers to work on this? As I don’t need to wait later on once you deem mine inappropriate."

[Knock Out]

Knock Out wouldn’t answer Flatline’s question, merely rolling his optics in response. Of course it was rhetorical - everyone kept some sort of paperwork. Even the Vehicons probably had little logs on their datapads they filled out every now and then. Some had more than others, though - and while a lot of it was luckily very automated, it still required time and effort.

“Oh look at you, being smart.” he droned, leaning back on the bench with one servo. Backups came as standard - it was automatic, a safety net put in place just incase but it could be done manually, and go figure Flatline was that pedantic about everything that he probably did that.

Talk about making extra work for yourself.

His helm and gaze followed the direction of Flatline’s servo, looking at the work terminal. It looked well used, that was for sure - although he was unaware that Flatline had had to scavenge most of his supplies and equipment from elsewhere on the ship, so had no idea that it could’ve just been a little worn because it was old and unused prior to finding its new home here in Flatline’s lab.

He gave a quiet hum of thought to Flatline’s usage of the word ‘acceptable’ and would lazily turn his attention back to the other mech, nodding.

“By all means, if that was a hint to go get your ration for the day or go and do something else while we wait for it to cool down, don’t let me stop you.”

Was probably a little too late to be getting any sort of ration, especially how Flatline appeared to be getting ready for recharge when Knock Out had first arrived, but hey - maybe he was the stress eating type.

“Knock Out friendly?” he couldn’t help but chuckle, sucking air through his denta in a soft ‘tsk’ - “I suppose I could go and get something from the Medical Bay. Unless you want to show me what you have on hand, and we go from there?”

It probably wouldn’t be good enough, Flatline was right - but the thought of leaving this room with only one wheel? Horrific! What if he was spotted! He’d never live it down! He was a mess!

[Flatline]

Flatline was EXACTLY that pedantic to want to do manual backups. As far as he was concerned, automatic backups could just fail one day, and then not go through the next because of the previous error... creating a cascading effect where when something did happen to go wrong you lost not just one day, but months of logs and data into some kind of great abyss. So yes, manual logs were taken, and yes it did take a fraction of his day to do, but it was smart! And Flatline didn’t like to cut corners when he didn’t have to.

While he wasn't as particular about aesthetics like Knock Out could be, the corners cut this day were a tad bothersome all things considered, though he bolstered his confidence and tried to ignore the annoyances with the fact he was fairly confident it would all work out just fine. Knowing logically that wheel would pop out of that mold with maybe just some tiny patches of rough spots, the small chance of a couple pinholes, and some flashing? Well, it was going to be a lot nicer than other methods.

When rations were mentioned again, Flatline flicked his wrist out and away from him, a low grumble filtering through.

"It was just an example, but no, I can prep tools instead."

Red eyes slid back over to look at Knock Out, the sneer from before tweaked up at the edges some in a knowing look.

"You just want to see them so you can deem it inferior and boost your ego."

Instead of just brushing Knock Out aside and labeling his request foolish to the core, and also not sending Knock Out away to go get his tools at the moment, Flatline opted it a good waste of time and distraction to simply play along for now. It would allow the metal to cool further to a safe to handle temperature, and it would keep the other mech somewhat entertained so that he didn’t complain and whine like some kind of sparkling the entire time who was not being given their way. That small train of thought, caused a small snort of a laugh to form, though it was rather abrupt, short, and muffled, almost a hiccup as he redirected his focus.

With a rolled turn of his weight, Flatline's sharp hoof like peds clicked against the ground, maneuvering him over to where some of his tools were located.

"I see right through your little game!"

A tough of amusement snaked back into his voice, as he pulled out a modest case that had some basic supplies in it. Moving back to the part cleared off table, Flatline sat it down beside the other mech and opened it to reveal some rather simple tools. They were functional, more mechanically derived than anything for beautify or looks. Some buffing wheels, fine grit rasps and polishing stones, an assortment of different grit paste to polish a surface smooth, and then some cloth wheels and pads to use with it as well as a couple other tools. For gently buffing down gears and parts to create tight fits and scour off problems, it would be more than functional... for getting the most reflective shine of a finish in the Decepticon ranks? It was rather lacking.

[Knock Out]

“Mm. If you’re sure.”

There went his chance to have Flatline leave again - although he probably be wouldn’t that lucky again for a long time. Even if Flatline did leave to get his ration, there was no way he’d be gone for half as long as the previous time. Knowing his luck, he’d be rummaging through Flatline’s personal quarters when he’d come back, and then it’d be goodbye new wheel, and all of this would’ve been a complete waste of time.

“As for deeming your supplies inferior, you seem to manage just fine with what you have, even if they are vastly worse than my own tools and supplies. If this all works well and doesn’t end up a mess, maybe I could arrange to give you some of my spares. As a thank you.”

A hum of thought, he’d smirk, waving a servo.

“Well, a thank you on top of the smug satisfaction of knowing you actually pulled this off.”

It was commendable, even if Knock Out didn’t want to admit it.

“As for my ego? Flatline my dear, I already know they’re of worse quality than what I’m used to. No ego inflation here. If anything, I feel sorry for you.”

He didn’t really.

The offer of giving away some spares seemed to be genuine, though. He wouldn’t hand them over straight away, not wanting to make Flatline’s life convenient in the slightest, but he’d get around to it one day. Far, far in the future.

As Flatline began to move, he’d ‘tsk’ softly at his words about seeing through his game, shaking his helm with a subtle smirk. He wouldn’t move over the moment Flatline pulled out the modest case of supplies, not wanting to seem too eager in seeing how the peasant lived - but after a moment he’d push off into a casual walk, making his way over to inspect the goods.

“Eesh. I mean, it’s a start, I suppose. I’ve seen worse.” back during his time on Cybertron in the midst of the war, of course, but it counted. Right?

That was about as nicely as he could put it, but he couldn’t help but show some of the distaste that dripped in his tone.

[Flatline]

"Oh, consider me more than honored."

Sarcasm dripped through his words.

Flatline didn’t really think he had need for the type of polishing stuff Knock Out had, since most of what he worked on tended to end up under external plates of armor, but... try as he might to play it off flippant and uncaring at the possible gift, it probably would be at least interesting to work with some of Knock Out's supplies as experimentation. Someone THAT transfixed on a good finish probably had to try out an abundance of different materials to come up with what worked best. Exploit his experience.

"Oh I am sure you have. While it isn't to YOUR standards, I don't exactly equip myself with trash."

Mused, though not expecting more of a compliment out of Knock Out. As far as Flatline gathered from their interactions, he could have the most magically perfect buffing kit the galaxy had to offer, with pure gold flake abrasive powder or other flippantly excessive nonsense to pamper a prissy perfectionist, and the other medic would deem it nothing more than sewer paste and 50grit sandpaper cloth. Because of this, Flatline took the statement as a sideways compliment in its own right, amused.

"So, Knock Out... while we wait for it to cool-"

He placed his elbows down against the table, elongated limbs hooking up so that his long talons clicked and wove together to lay at rest. The pointer finger on his right hand crooked slightly, so that the bladed tip gently eeked along the other digits, a sort of idle movement while his processor considered his next words.

"-You can go retrieve PROPER tools... or you can elaborate on how a trip to the mines requires your wheels? For I am rather curious of your work..."

A knowing smirk, eyes half lidded as he looked over at the smaller mech, cornering, but offering an escape to 'save face' should he wish to go run a menial errand.

[Knock Out]

The dripping sarcasm wasn’t lost on Knock Out. He was, after all, a master of the art himself! Despite this, however, he wouldn’t grace Flatline with a response- his gaze and attention on the tools that’d been offered.

Mm.

Maybe this was part of why Flatline was the way he was. There was nothing like being pampered after a long day. A chance to relax, unwind - nothing compared to getting a decent buff to get ones already pristine finish to that extra level. Flatline was so highly-strung and it was beginning to become apparent as to why.

With tools like these...yikes. How could you practice any sort of self-care with these things? They were borderline torture devices!

Okay maybe not quite. But Knock Out was used to the finer things in life, and these certainly were not even close to the caliber he was accustomed to.

I don’t exactly equip myself with trash.

Hold your tongue, Knock Out.

The faintest of smirks crept onto his faceplate - betraying the fact he was probably thinking something not-so-nice. He’d remain quiet even so, not wanting to annoy Flatline in these crucial moments. The other mech could still ruin the entire evening by not handing over the finished wheel, and the cherry-red mech wasn’t sure what he’d do then.

“Hm?”

Flatline was attempting to make conversation? Or was this something else.

...Ah.

It was something else.

“No third option? Standing here in silence would suit me fine!” he nervously laughed, standing up a little straighter and clearing his throat, looking over at the other mech.

Retrieving his own, proper tools sounded amazing. He could show Flatline what he was missing out on! He could make sure things were done properly - the first time, at that! But it meant walking from here to his Medical Bay in this state, and- well. He had his pride to keep! He wouldn’t be caught dead like this! What if someone saw?!

But- explaining to Flatline and possibly getting caught out in a lie? Then again, if Flatline was- ah, yep. There’s the smirk. He knows.

Asshole.

Optic-contact successfully averted. Gaze shifting back down to the mediocre tools.

“Well it’s the whole walking around looking a complete mess, thing, for a start. Then going from point A to point B inside the mines, much faster to drive! You know Megatron, have to be punctual and on time!” frag, what had he said earlier about the mine and why he was supposedly even going? He couldn’t remember. “What kind of impression will they get if their CMO arrives injured, hm? Clearly, I need it fixed to keep up appearances!”

Screw it. He was going to milk this lie to the very end - and he hoped he sounded at least somewhat convincing.

What was the worst Flatline could do? Hold it over him forever?

Probably.

But that was a problem for future Knock Out!

[Flatline]

A nervous laugh from Knock Out.

Flatline's knowing smirk growing.

"Oh yes, I am sure the roads within the mines are perfectly suited to your sporty flair."

Flatline had never been to a mine in his long life. The closest he got was reporting to the exterior of one to work with a couple of the Vehicons there, before returning to the warship to make repairs to the tools that had been damaged. Because of this he had no TRUE idea what the paths within were actually like. For all he knew they were paved and leveled, made smooth for fast travel of carts or machines... but... something deep down in his makeshift gut told him it was far from it.

Rough hewn paths, jagged rock and twists and turns chasing down Energon in its woven veins through the Earth... He imagined them far from pleasant to drive across, suited to those with off road capabilities, and not so much road savvy individuals such as Knock Out.

"You know, you can simply say your ego was the problem."

Amused, trying to call the lie while praying the mines truly weren't super clean cut and refined.

He hoped he was right.

"I would jokingly declare that I wouldn't give half a scraplet's leg if I was suddenly tasked to report to duty without one of my wheels to undermine your prissiness... but... that would be a lie considering my structure."

Knock Out's wheels were in areas that would not be a grand hindrance if lost. Perched on the back of lower legs... mounted high on his shoulder blades... when they were removed it simply was aesthetic and an imbalance if you ignored what it did to his alt-mode. For Flatline, it would be an absolutely crippling experience. Two of his wheels basically created his thighs, while the other two composed of his biceps. To suddenly lose a wheel would amputate something rather vital to function by taking out an entire arm, or leg and leave them dangling off of thin Energon lines.

Ok... so... the loss of an arm wouldn’t destroy him since he had three more, but it was still awful since two were small and piddly.

"Do you need help mounting your tire back on the hubcap?"

Cocky, still speaking in a 'holier than though' tone, Flatline's hand rose to point a long hooked talon at the hubcap that had been used to create the master mold for this project.

[Knock Out]

“No, they absolutely aren’t!” he snapped back, tone higher in pitch - defensive almost “Why do you think the Vehicons who come back from the mines are such a mess!”

He’d been to an actual mine exactly once in his time here on Earth. A smaller mine, but he’d cling to that experience and knowledge and run with it, hoping Flatline was none the wiser. While in the larger mines, care may have been taken to form smoother roads for carts and other equipment, the one he’d been to had been anything but. It wasn’t his area of expertise, though, nor did he care too much.

Just enough to pass off this lie, anyway.

“All the more reason for me to get this fixed, nothing to do with my ego thank you very much.” he scoffed “The roads - if you could call them that - are borderline death traps at the best of times, I dread to think the state I will be in upon my return.”

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic, but he wouldn’t be Knock Out if he wasn’t lamenting over his appearance.

Maybe it’d be easier to just tell the truth, that he planned on going racing tomorrow as he was so very overdue for some fun, but aaaah… Flatline wouldn’t have repaired him so quickly if that were the case.

Obviously, if he were to be caught out in this lie, there would probably be serious repercussions, but that was absolutely a problem for future Knock Out.

“Honestly we’re both above going into the mines. You for your… structure... and me because, well, I’m valuable! Why they don’t just send Breakdown I don’t know. I suppose it’s just additional punishment for the backhanded compliment I gave to our Lord. The mangling of my wheel should’ve been enough.”

A huff, he’d scowl at Flatline’s holier than thou tone as he asked a question.

“Please, I think I’m more than capable…” The repair was almost complete now, so the niceties were crumbling, it seemed.