[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]ICU (Closed for now, Ratchet, Patch)
May 17, 2019 19:17:39 GMT -5
Post by Ratchet on May 17, 2019 19:17:39 GMT -5
Helm tilted back slightly, Ratchet had a rather impressive poker face going on. However, it was hard to tell if he was being stoic and not responding to any pain or discomfort, or if his nearly unresponsive expression was a result of the exhaustion that was starting to creep back into his frame. Still seemingly gazing at nothing, at a point slightly above and behind Patch.
His tired processor, however, was going at full tilt, if a somewhat skewed tilt.
Ratchet was used to always doing something, and if he was sitting still, then his brain was working. He couldn’t rest without finding an answer, and there was no answer. Not for just what this was. And what was driving the old doctor crazy was the utter conviction that if he were just back on Cybertron, if he just had access to his old clinic in Iacon, with the modern tools and equipment, he would surely have solved all this by now.
Their kind didn’t get sick very often. Things happened, yes. Things broke down, programming went a little crazy. Individuals did things that caused their own troubles, like illegal substances or downloaded “cracked” coding. But aside from a few actual “natural” illnesses such as Zero Point, Cybertronian maladies were usually simple and easy to fix. If something was broke, you repaired or replaced it. Ratchet never envied healers of organic races. It always seemed to him anytime an organic became ill, you could never be 100 percent of just what the cause was or how to treat it. And many organics didn’t have the option of just replacing broken inner components.
He gave a faint exvent.
He continued to watch as Patch cleaned, almost idly making mental notes and approval with her actions and techniques. He started to find himself almost..drifting faintly. It had been a very long time since he had overlooked another’s work. How long had they been on the move? Ratchet couldn’t remember the last time he was with another Autobot medical professional.
Primus, he felt rusty.
His tired processor, however, was going at full tilt, if a somewhat skewed tilt.
Ratchet was used to always doing something, and if he was sitting still, then his brain was working. He couldn’t rest without finding an answer, and there was no answer. Not for just what this was. And what was driving the old doctor crazy was the utter conviction that if he were just back on Cybertron, if he just had access to his old clinic in Iacon, with the modern tools and equipment, he would surely have solved all this by now.
Their kind didn’t get sick very often. Things happened, yes. Things broke down, programming went a little crazy. Individuals did things that caused their own troubles, like illegal substances or downloaded “cracked” coding. But aside from a few actual “natural” illnesses such as Zero Point, Cybertronian maladies were usually simple and easy to fix. If something was broke, you repaired or replaced it. Ratchet never envied healers of organic races. It always seemed to him anytime an organic became ill, you could never be 100 percent of just what the cause was or how to treat it. And many organics didn’t have the option of just replacing broken inner components.
He gave a faint exvent.
He continued to watch as Patch cleaned, almost idly making mental notes and approval with her actions and techniques. He started to find himself almost..drifting faintly. It had been a very long time since he had overlooked another’s work. How long had they been on the move? Ratchet couldn’t remember the last time he was with another Autobot medical professional.
Primus, he felt rusty.