[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Withdrawal [Ratchet]
Apr 6, 2019 16:38:16 GMT -5
Post by Ratchet on Apr 6, 2019 16:38:16 GMT -5
Settling slightly in his chair, Ratchet had to nod, “They are creative, I’ll give you that. Perhaps it’s their shockingly short lifespan. Whatever it is, they throw themselves into creativity with a vengeance.”
He was about to speak again, when for a moment, he thought Windshield was having some sort of seizure. Remaining where he was, it only took a single minute for him to realize that Windshield was, in fact, laughing.
At him.
A slight arch of his optic ridge, a faint, exasperated sigh, and the doctor simply waited until the other mech got it out of his system. He supposed it was, in a way, amusing to those who didn’t really know him all that well. Even Optimus hadn’t really seen him in his youth. By the time Orion had come along, Ratchet was already falling into the more....annoyed and sarcastic way of life. He might have seen a slightly more relaxed version of the way he was now...the war had soured him even further.
But most who had known him in his youth were gone now.
When Windshield got himself under control, he spoke again.
“It was fun, I suppose, in a way. We didn’t really know anything about the outside world. Naive to the realities going on around us. We enjoyed our lives to the fullest, as we thought everyone did. Study hard, work hard, party hard. We met with high officials in fancy restaurants and at special events, rubbed elbows with the elite. Some of my cohort were the elites. Our lives were filled with light, decadence, and luxury.”
Ratchet raised a hand, lifting an invisible glass. His voice, though, suddenly grew angry and sarcastic.
“Oh, but weren’t we the fools? Living in crystal towers of brilliance, those same towers rooted in shadows and filth.
While I drank, others starved. While I listened to classical music of our people, others heard only the angry shouts of their keepers. While I sat in luxury in those same shining beacons of excess, others knelt in cramped, decayed hovels.”
His voice hardened still, raising in pitch and volume. His eyes weren’t focused on Windshield, but on the past, unfocused, yet focusing on something else.
“When I saw what my Cybertron was really like...when I saw what was going on....when I saw....”
There was a pause. Ratchet seemed almost frozen in place for a moment, images and memories coming back to him over the millions of years. After a long second, he blinked, seeming to come back to the present. His face looked aged, and he lowered his helm, using the chevron on his helm to shield his eyes for a moment. Silent, he picked up the datapad that had been sitting, forgotten, in his lap.
When he raised his helm again, he was just the same old Ratchet.
Avoiding optic contact, he shook his head. He was embarrassed at his outburst. At his show of...weakness. He could only blame it on the fact he was tired. Very tired.
“Ah...forgive me...it’s late, and I haven’t properly recharged in a while. Shouldn't have become so emotional.”
Making a throat clearing sound, eager to move on. His optics found Windshield’s, and for a brief second, there was an almost bemused half smile there.
“A drink, you say? Well...I suppose I can’t turn that down, though where we’ll find anything around here I have no idea.”
With a protesting creak from the chair...and a somewhat ungraceful half grunt from the doctor himself, Ratchet pushed himself to his feet. He regarded his datapad again, made another note for a second, then looked back to Windshield.
“I’ll see what I can do about finding you more things regarding human entertainment. I’ll ask the children what movies they think you might like, and will have someone bring them down. Is there anything else, before I go?”
He was about to speak again, when for a moment, he thought Windshield was having some sort of seizure. Remaining where he was, it only took a single minute for him to realize that Windshield was, in fact, laughing.
At him.
A slight arch of his optic ridge, a faint, exasperated sigh, and the doctor simply waited until the other mech got it out of his system. He supposed it was, in a way, amusing to those who didn’t really know him all that well. Even Optimus hadn’t really seen him in his youth. By the time Orion had come along, Ratchet was already falling into the more....annoyed and sarcastic way of life. He might have seen a slightly more relaxed version of the way he was now...the war had soured him even further.
But most who had known him in his youth were gone now.
When Windshield got himself under control, he spoke again.
“It was fun, I suppose, in a way. We didn’t really know anything about the outside world. Naive to the realities going on around us. We enjoyed our lives to the fullest, as we thought everyone did. Study hard, work hard, party hard. We met with high officials in fancy restaurants and at special events, rubbed elbows with the elite. Some of my cohort were the elites. Our lives were filled with light, decadence, and luxury.”
Ratchet raised a hand, lifting an invisible glass. His voice, though, suddenly grew angry and sarcastic.
“Oh, but weren’t we the fools? Living in crystal towers of brilliance, those same towers rooted in shadows and filth.
While I drank, others starved. While I listened to classical music of our people, others heard only the angry shouts of their keepers. While I sat in luxury in those same shining beacons of excess, others knelt in cramped, decayed hovels.”
His voice hardened still, raising in pitch and volume. His eyes weren’t focused on Windshield, but on the past, unfocused, yet focusing on something else.
“When I saw what my Cybertron was really like...when I saw what was going on....when I saw....”
There was a pause. Ratchet seemed almost frozen in place for a moment, images and memories coming back to him over the millions of years. After a long second, he blinked, seeming to come back to the present. His face looked aged, and he lowered his helm, using the chevron on his helm to shield his eyes for a moment. Silent, he picked up the datapad that had been sitting, forgotten, in his lap.
When he raised his helm again, he was just the same old Ratchet.
Avoiding optic contact, he shook his head. He was embarrassed at his outburst. At his show of...weakness. He could only blame it on the fact he was tired. Very tired.
“Ah...forgive me...it’s late, and I haven’t properly recharged in a while. Shouldn't have become so emotional.”
Making a throat clearing sound, eager to move on. His optics found Windshield’s, and for a brief second, there was an almost bemused half smile there.
“A drink, you say? Well...I suppose I can’t turn that down, though where we’ll find anything around here I have no idea.”
With a protesting creak from the chair...and a somewhat ungraceful half grunt from the doctor himself, Ratchet pushed himself to his feet. He regarded his datapad again, made another note for a second, then looked back to Windshield.
“I’ll see what I can do about finding you more things regarding human entertainment. I’ll ask the children what movies they think you might like, and will have someone bring them down. Is there anything else, before I go?”