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

[Flatline]

Flatline's brows hooked up as Knock Out snapped back in reply, his tone of voice much higher than before. It seemed he had guessed correctly however, that the mines were not a very pleasant place to be, but in the process he hit a sore spot? It made Flatline question whether or not Knock Out had a particularly nasty experience with one, or if it was just his egotistical superficial self. That fact alone made even guessing which answer was correct rather impossible, as Knock Out would probably embellish anyway to skew perception.

If the roads were pretty much nothing but death traps in the mine, why wouldn’t individuals simply walk instead? Knock Out was making his lies that much more problematic as they didn’t seem to add up to Flatline. Perhaps the mine he was going to was exceptionally large, and walking would be illogical... that had to be it, the short stature of the red and gold mech simply turning a casual walk into a horrible hike through the wilderness.

Hah... pipsqueak...

"Throwing Breakdown to the scraplets?"

He mused, taking note of how Knock Out didn't think either of them should ever have to go to the mines, but Breakdown evidently would be well suited? In Flatline's option it gave a good snapshot of what he guessed their relationship was like. In one corner a pretentious diva, in the other a tolerant mule who has to do all the heavy and dirty work. It would be interesting to speak with Breakdown on civil terms, but they simply did not cross paths often if at all really.

"Whatever the case..."

A flick of the hand paired with a roll of the wrist, Flatline cast the idea aside, glancing at the wheel.

"You may be capable but I was offering to help, by all means however... make life harder for yourself one quip at a time."

Amused, perhaps playing the game just as he hoped. He tried to orchestrate that small event so that he looked like the better person, having offered to help but got denied. Now Knock Out would have to do the hard labor, unless he knew any of the tricks to get it on himself. Flatline wanted to bet he just made Breakdown mount tires on a normal day, but who knows. Maybe Knock Out would leave with his hubcaps attached, but the rubber not installed yet.

[Knock Out]

“Scraplets? Hardly. His frame and altmode are far more suited to the mining environment than my own. Plus he actually gets along with the Vehicons, Primus knows why.” he scoffed “Takes the time to learn each of their designations, too. Not worth the trouble if you ask me, given they’re merely cannon fodder at best.”

That was the harsh truth of the matter, as mean as it was to say out loud. It was a horrible way to think - why bother leaning someones designation if they had a far shorter than normal life expectancy? There were some that he had learned, of course - but not from choice. Just from how often they seemed to be in the damn Medical Bay. Tsk, some of them couldn’t stay away from danger it seemed.

Knock Out gave an indignant huff at Flatline’s comment.

“I assure you, I have this handled. Please, I can put my own tire back on, how inept do you think I am.”

Cocky, a sense of pride. Flatline had already helped him enough today in getting this new wheel made in record time - it’d be held over Knock Out for a long, long time, that much he knew. He didn’t want Flatline to help him with this, too.

With a confident stride, he would make his way over to the rubber that'd been used for the mold. It was just a case of mounting the tire back onto the hubcap, and while he’d never actually done that to his own wheel, given the awkward position of it? How hard could it be! He was flexible!

“You can probably start cleaning while I do this, mm? Get a head start on that before you retire for the night.” he hadn’t forgotten that everything had been shut off and dimmed for the night when he’d first arrived. That, and it was an attempt to distract with the disguise of some helpful advice - Flatline could clean and have his processor focused on recharging at the end of all of this, while Knock Out worked out and no doubt struggled to put the wheel back into place while the other mechs attention was hopefully elsewhere.

Hefting up the tire, he’d give a quiet hum of thought, looking it over. Technically all he had to do was reach up and back, then with a little bit of effort? It’d just be a case of pushing it into place and making sure it was secure.

Easier said than done, as he was quickly finding out.

Another hum, this one a little more frustrated than the last.

He didn’t want to make it obvious that this totally wasn’t going to work, but he also couldn’t just stand here in awkward silence while he mentally tried to figure out how to even go about it.

Wait.

“You know, speaking of things that are hard to reach…” he started, glancing over to Flatline then.

“You have neon paint on your aft, and by the looks of it? It's been there a while. How about you scratch my back, I scratch yours - and we never speak of this again?”

Blast, there he was hoping to keep that secret for a while longer, letting Flatline walk around like a fool. Ah well, at least this way he could get the help he needed - and it would totally count as his good deed for the day.

Win win?
 
Probably.

[Flatline]

"Well you better appreciate that 'cannon fodder' more, as if it gets wiped out then there is nothing between the cannon and you."

Flatline thought about contesting the phrasing of cannon fodder to begin with, perhaps warn with a 'such phrasing isn't the best', but he assumed such a warning was pointless. If Knock Out wanted to throw the soldiers down to a lowly rank of disposable, then so be it. It could be his funeral.

Flatline had made such a mistake around the ship already, he had made an offhanded comment when trying to understand the situation and how Vehicons were becoming sentient... belittling the troopers in a way... and it was that low blow at them that got wrath to beat him down. It shook his confidence, landing him on unsteady ground on the ship overall. It probably also attributed to why he remained reclusive, but that was also part of his personality in general. Whatever the case, perhaps Knock Out would say such a statement in the presence of the wrong person to get another beat down which could be funny in a messed up way.

While Knock Out picked up the original undamaged wheel to try to put it back into place, Flatline simply watched with a sort of smugness at the order in which the red mech was actually trying to do things. It was true it was late, it was accurate to say Knock Out probably was coming down off a long shift working and needed recharge, but there was still a superiority feeling in play to watch him not only fail putting the hubcap onto the post on his back, but omit to put the rubber back on the hubcap at all before doing so.

"I will clean fully after work is concluded."

Smug. Not about to miss this mess.

While watching this fiasco, the black and red shifted his weight to get more comfortable, loosely crossing his left arm under the right elbow while his right hand lifted up as if to rest his chin upon the knuckles. A smirk crept into formation, the top edge of his lip crooking up a bit to reveal jagged teeth once again. This only faltered into a partial sneer when Knock Out stopped and tried to misdirect, pointing out something that gave Flatline pause.

Paint...?

This was a good deflection, the revelation drawing forth confusion at what was happening and how such a thing could be there. Or more... how it was STILL there. Flatline broke his stance from before at this, his left arm rising up while his body crooked around some to try to peer as far back as he was able. He could see some of the back of his legs, and part of his hip arch, but seeing his true back or the spinal strut that wove up its center was fundamentally impossible no matter how much he strained unless something were to actually break.

Straightening back up, Flatline let out a snort.

"Now that I know of the paint I could get a mirror and contend with it myself. Are you saying you are incapable of assembling your wheel?"

A bit more aggressive, perhaps defensive. He was not happy to learn that there was paint stuck on his plating for what has been... way too long at this point. It was truly set in by now, and would be a pain and a half to actually remove properly without stripping off his actual body paint in the process. The last thing he needed was to approach Knock Out for black paint, and he should play nice to attach the other mech's wheel so a professional could fix the issue on his back, but he needed heir CMO to admit he needed help still!

Pissing contest in 3... 2...

[Knock Out]

“Please, we may be unable to make more Vehicons - but they’re hardly going to get wiped out any time soon, so I think I’m probably safe. There’s a handful of Autobots that we know about, and while MECH are indeed a threat, I doubt even they would waste their time on them.”

A hum of thought. That was a little mean to say, but- the Vehicons were a dime a dozen. Same frame type with nothing really special about them to set them apart from the next. Sure, some were seemingly gaining sentience and breaking the norm a little, but it wasn’t enough for MECH to take any real interest in them, he figured. Someone like himself, or even Flatline with his unique frame? That’s where the interest would be.

“I do appreciate them, however. They provide an ample source of gossip - and they keep me busy. Do you know how many Vehicons I see in a day? Far too many.” he chuckled.

He didn’t notice the smug look on Flatline’s face as he struggled some with the wheel - his attention on what he was doing.

“Was just a suggestion. I like to clean as I go - and especially with how late it is, wouldn’t you want a head start on things? Unless you’re the type to leave things overnight...”

He had taken up a lot of Flatline’s time. He hadn’t forgotten that Flatline seemed all but ready for recharge when he’d first opened the door - and it’d been many an hour since that moment. Time had gone relatively quickly though, which had been unexpected. Then again as much as he disliked the black and red mech, he did provide a certain battle of wits that not many could.

It was refreshing, it was just a shame that they did clash so much.

The snort drew his attention briefly from what he was doing, and he’d tense his frame at the words spoken. No wonder this wasn’t working. Primus, was it that late already? He’d been trying to fix this himself long before he’d given up and resigned to asking Flatline, and- well, he was tired. Would that be enough of an excuse, though? Probably not.

An indignant huff was given in response as he lowered his arms - setting the hubcap down onto the bench once more and shifting his servos to his hips.

“Not at all!” he squawked “I was just seeing if I could put it back into place once I reassembled things! I am perfectly able of doing this myself!”

He must be tired - his sass game was a little off, and he’d snort out another huff as he snatched up the rubber tire, but made no motions just yet of sliding it onto the hubcap itself.

“As for the mirror, I didn’t know you even had one.” deflect deflect deflect… “That paint has been there for months if it’s from the event I’m thinking of. I didn’t know you were capable of anything remotely fun.”

[Flatline]

Flatline rolled his eyes at Knock Out's boast about how many Vehicons he got to assist in a day. He saw the subtle jab, he saw through the idle commentary to the bite behind the remark, and he reacted with a sarcastic motion. Though, deep down it did truly sting a bit, he wasn't going to show as much. Not wanting Knock Out to realize that he wasn’t just envious but he truly hungered for his job.

A flip of the hand, another sarcastic response, Flatline also chose to cast the remark about cleaning aside, focusing more on the wheel situation and the Paintball incident.

"As if you delusional fool."

Knock Out was just trying to save face as far as Flatline cared.

"AND, I was caught in the crossfire! I hardly participated!"

Spat back, defensive mode on high alert to contest against Knock Out's own riled stance.

A spray of color, a splatter of paintballs that ran in long lines from burst fire, rainbows of colors that streaked the dining hall and surrounding corridors... The paintball fight had been HARDLY professional for the Decepticon fleet, and while one could argue it was a morale booster for a bit of fun, it had a nasty side effect of looping individuals into it that hadn't wanted to be involved at all. Flatline had gotten far more than the little splatter on his backside, but the other marred marks were easier to get to and notice.

Primus. It had been MONTHS and no one said a thing... Flatline was almost impressed Knock Out had saved this bit of information as long as he had, as the mech no doubt had noticed it the very first time he turned his back upon him. It would be nearly impossible to miss considering its neon nature, and the fact his plating was all black and charcoal tones.

A huff, a snort of dismay, Flatline finally turned away from watching Knock Out to move over to the cooling mold, wanting to get the other mech out of his laboratory more than ever now. A sharp but not too hard kick snapped out at the mold, hoof like prongs of a ped slapping against it for a split second. There was no burning sear, no sense of heat from the brief strike, so he whapped the prongs down again, leaving the two plates crooked over the top edge while the heel spike that supported them rested on its side.

The mold was warm, but not blistering so, cooled to a point it could be maneuvered and removed from the mold without causing bodily harm. There was bound to be some insulating properties in play, the actual metal likely a few notches hotter, but well... it was still within functional ranges.

"It's time I get you out of here."

Hissed, he grabbed the mold and lifted it off of the ground, before slamming it down with a solid THWAP, the previous fissure splitting open with a pop and a small rush of warmth. Prying his talons within the gap, Flatline pulled with a snarl, the mold cracking open and falling to the side to expose half of the freshly produced wheel.

It was the proper shape; it was a perfect replica of the old wheel except for a couple issues. First was the fact it was silver. Needing paint, needing that glossy finish... that would be Knock Out's doing, as Flatline wasn’t going to electroplate this thing with gold. Secondly, were a few tiny pinpricks on the surface. Miniscule, small, easy to be filled in and smoothed with a bit of sanding. As Flatline grabbed the warm wheel and pulled it fully free, the last flaw was visible, the flashing raised edge of metal that etched around the entire thing where the molds connected to one another.

[Knock Out]

“Delusional?” he scoffed at that, although he did sound genuinely insulted by the word. Flatline had the luxury of having his living quarters slightly off to one side of the room and the ability to work on his own projects unsupervised. If he wanted to leave things slightly messy for one night, it wasn’t like he would be judged for it.

“Rude.”

His forced charming personality was faltering some, field bleeding from a mostly neutral stance to one that was getting quickly riled with irritation. As Flatline tried to defend his position in the paintball battle he’d roll his optics, scoffing again.

“That explains so much. Primus forgive you actually let loose and have some fun for once in your life!” he snapped back.

Then again he couldn’t talk - nor judge - he’d made a point of barricading the Medical Bay door closed and hiding under a desk the moment talk of neon-colored paint had been screeched by a Vehicon in the hallway. He’d not wanted to be involved because well, neon was so not his color (even if he could rock it!) and he didn’t need his entire Med Bay contaminated by the stuff!

A huff of his own, an annoyed growl of frustration - he stopped what he was doing to merely watch Flatline as he moved over to the cooling mold. Too annoyed now to reassemble the wheel right here, he’d rather take all the parts as-is and storm back to the Medical Bay to do it in private. Sure there may be some finagling needed to reattach the wheel without the need of another pair of servos, but he would make do somehow.

“Agreed.” He sneered back.

This would normally be where he’d comment on the fact that Flatline had honestly managed to work a miracle. The time he’d been allotted, and the final product that’d come from just a few hours of work? It was amazing, really. Knock Out doubted he would’ve been able to do it himself so quickly - and if it weren’t for the fact he was so over Flatline and this room, he probably would’ve thanked him.

“So that’s it? All it needs now is some tidying up and paint?”

[Flatline]

Pleasantries were wearing thin, and tolerances could only go so far. This interaction was a tedious one, one that had frankly drawn on far too long despite the impressive speed in which a duplicate was produced. Snarled bitter remarks growing passive to pleasant chatter, only to fluctuate and bounce between anger and forced conversation, it had all run its course and it felt like the only thing left was to claw at one another's eyes if they were to remain caged around one another any longer.

For a fleeting moment, Flatline had an absolutely wicked thought. He considered the crucible that was still hot inside its housing, and the metal that was likely still plenty hot to be pliable. While it wouldn’t flow and splatter like liquid when first melted, he could oh so easily pull it from the wall... and pour it atop the wheel to decimate its surface and abolish everything.

Pride of his own work, arrogance at his craft kept him at bay, that and the possibility of Knock Out having to pay him back was far too valuable for him to do such a thing. That and... well... he knew he would get a blistering headache from the shrill screams from Knock Out that would undoubtedly come soon after. Whatever the case, Flatline eased upright, holding the warm to touch wheel in his grip to look for any glaring flaws.

"That’s it. Like I said it will be heavier than the original, but that is the cost of using higher end metals that have applicable strength without tempering."

If only Knock Out had fifteen hours to spare, than he could have had something closer to a perfect replica. As is, this thing was... notably chunkier in weight. To Flatline who hardly drove it would not be much of a concern, but to someone as keen on racing as Knock Out was it may be more problematic.

"If you temper this, which should take quite some time... it will become even stronger, but shouldn’t be necessary for your little... excursion."

A sarcastic purr, a sideways glance of narrowed red optics.

With a turn and a couple tapping steps of hooves against flooring, Flatline approached Knock Out and held out the wheel for him.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out was sick of looking at Flatline.

Even if he wasn’t talking right this second or doing anything that could be considered even remotely annoying, Knock Out was getting more and more irritated by the second simply by his mere presence.

Thank Primus this whole thing was almost over.

At least this portion of it, anyway. There’d still be the fact that Knock Out would owe Flatline for this - after all, it was a huge favor - even he couldn’t deny that (unfortunately). He just hoped that when it came to repaying the favor it was something mundanely medically related. That way it could be considered part of his job, rather than having to actually go out of his way to do something nice.

With a hum, he tried to mentally work out how to best carry everything back to the Medical Bay in one go so that he didn’t have to make a second trip back down here. Not only did multiple trips increase the risk of being seen in this state, it meant interacting with Flatline more - and he was completely Flatline’d out.

“ I’m sure I’ll barely notice it in my day to day work. Of course, I am skilled at driving, so I’m positive it won’t be an issue should I be in my altmode. Or at least, not for long.

As for tempering, I probably will once I have a spare moment, just to make the most of the materials used. Running the Medical Bay takes a lot from my day - not that you’d know. Even though I am not thrilled about this ‘excursion’ as you put it to the mines, orders are orders.” he replied coolly, not taking any of Flatline’s shit. He was tired, and so very over this evening.

It seemed Flatline's words may have gotten to him a little - and it was with a huff that he'd rather rudely snatch the wheel as it was offered out. He hadn't intended to be quite so rude, and would awkwardly clear his throat. 

“Mm. Thank you again, Flatline. I’d say I owe you, but that’s probably a given…” he droned this, and deep down was possibly hoping that his side of this bargain could simply be never interacting with Flatline again.

Ah, one could dream.

[Flatline]

As the wheel was snapped out from his hands, Flatline's fingers would flare out, before slowly curling in the void where the wheel's core had once been, the talons catching onto the light slightly to run across their honed edge. He wasn’t intentionally baring them to be menacing, and it showed in the almost disgusted and passive facial expression that was being made to pair with it. He was more or less off put and further disgusted by Knock Out for being so rude as to SNATCH the wheel away.

"Hnn... yes."

A hollow response to Knock Out's awkward throat clear, his arms lowering gradually to his side in a sort of stilted movement. After a brief pause, Flatline would then move towards the primary door to his laboratory. Sharp clicks, light taps of the heel spike, the long quills that protruded from his back flicking slightly... The plates of metal faintly rattled in his irritation, tapping noises that were easy to bleed into the general ambiance of the room and the hum of the warship. Once he reached his door, he would turn about face to look back at Knock Out.

"Indeed. Now if you don't mind I need to clean up."

To pair with these cold words, further feeding into the fact both were plenty well done with today's interactions, Flatline would lift his right hand and gesture towards the door, as if Knock Out were too incompetent to know which door was the exit and which would lead to his living quarters. In any other day based on how well they had momentarily gotten alone, Flatline may have offered to help the red mech take the parts and pieces back to the Medical Bay, or even helped him assemble it all, but because he was so rude, he could fumble and try to carry it all himself.

Maybe he'd scratch his own plating trying to clutch onto three hubcaps and two tires.

Beautiful.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out could only tsk softly at Flatline’s short response. It seemed they’d drifted from the forced niceness portion of this evening into… well, whatever this was. He clutched the wheel carefully after the initial snatch - wanting to be careful with it, especially after the work that’d been put into making a new one.

That, and he didn’t want to have Flatline help him again. Owing him for this was bad enough.

He’d watch quietly as the black and red Mech made his way over to the door, rolling his optics as it was gestured to. Please, he wasn’t that incompetent.

“Indeed.”

Awkwardly, he’d take a moment to try and gather up the various pieces. He didn’t want to scratch his chassis, taking the time to buff himself after the hours wasted in here, not to mention the time it’d take to reassemble everything on his own? It’d be well into the morning before he got everything done!

But it seemed being delicate and dainty wasn’t doing him any favors - and his pride was keeping him from admitting defeat and asking Flatline to assist in helping carry. A quiet rumbled growl of defeat escaped him as he decided screw it, and awkwardly wrapped his arms around the hubcaps and tires, holding them close to himself.

He could feel them scratching his cherry-red finish, and internally he wept. But he would make his way over to the door - which thankfully slid open at his approach.

“Have a nice night, Flatline.”

That was a little forced, but it was better than saying nothing at all. He wouldn’t wait for a response, making his way down the corridor as quickly as he could despite the awkwardness of his cargo, doing yet another walk of shame back to the Medical Bay.

Twice in one day? Eh, not even close to his record.

-End