[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]New Beginnings [Patch, Red Alert, Carbine]

[Patch]

Week 2, Day 1.
Jasper Nevada. Omega Base. 20:28 PST.

The control room. High ceilings, bright lights, stone walls. Sorta’ cozy, in it’s own special way; even with the more recent rooms and hallways added around the edges. With more levels beneath, with the medibay deeper… Even with all the new stuff, it was still a tight-knit little place. That same ol’ scuffed up air-conditioned smell, and the cleaner they used on the floor. The same ol’ pings, and quiet whirs from the green computer terminal, as it looked across the world, and watched over the soldiers outside. Displaying voices, and vitals, and searching for energon; a desperately needed resource, in this time of starvation.

The day thus far, had been semi-uneventful. A few newer faceplates roaming around. Some familiar ones going about missions. By all indications, it was altogether likely to bleed into a nice quiet evening- but ALAS. ‘Twas not what fate had in store… Indeed, a solid five, maybe ten minutes ago that calm, ever present terminal had exploded into a minor mechanical panic attack. One of the more distant proximity alarms flaring up and throwing a temper tantrum in response to a fragging space bridge, an unfamiliar life-signal, and a short -rather unprofessional- message from the Decepticons themselves detailing just why they were dumping an Autobot on earth; the truce…

Codes were sent, (by them) and quickly cleared by the Autobot’s systems. The soldier in question, evidently a last-sparked femme, a combat medic -with quite a bit of field experience, for such a short life- who’d opted to stay behind on Cybertron during the exodus. The child's face was stubby, in a single word, deducing from her ID picture alone. Impurity spattered silver metal, freckled and scarred up and down her rounded features. A defiant smile upon her face, in the intentionally serious picture. A long gone silver-blue smear of a gash upon her chin, from a few hours prior to the photoshoot, it seemed.

With a warbled rumble, and a flash of green and blue, the miracle of engineering- courtesy of Ratchet- that was the ground-bridge burst to life. A few seconds of churning, humming light, as it swirled, and sliced through time and space. Then a figure emerged. Bumblebee’s height, if not taller by an inch. White, with red accents. Still freckled, still round, though with no gash, and more scars than the picture. She had a mesh-pad on one knee, a bit of a scrape out the other one, paint gone via-abrasion from one outer thigh, and both elbows scuffed. In her arms, in front of her chest, she cradled a box of supplies. Her modest, bright red Autobot insignia peaking out from above.

And very much unlike the picture, the young femme was not smiling.

She looked quite determined- if not slightly apprehensive. Lost, for lack of a better word; especially as her attention turned up, to see that not only was this base well lit, they had a roof. A real, solid, functional roof, THREE TIMES as tall as she was at least, and (as far as she could tell) not broken, leaking, or supplemented by a tent flap.

This was, officially, above what Patch considered her pay-grade.

[Red Alert]

Just once, Red Alert would have liked for a new arrival to show up on Earth without any fanfare, without crashing or being discovered by humans or intercepted by Decepticons mid-transit. Just once, he wanted to be able to do his job and process a new arrival without having to make a whole production out of it.

As things stood, poor Patch was in for a much more intensive screening process than she otherwise might have, simply because of the way she arrived on Earth and everything that followed after. Yes, her Ident. codes had come back clean - Red Alert had verified them himself no less than six times - but that meant very little to him, considering how the young femme managed to make it to Earth in the first place. It was completely absurd, the idea of the Decepticons assisting her the way they purportedly did. Yes, there was technically a truce in place, but Red Alert had absolutely no faith whatsoever that the Deceptcions would uphold their end of the bargain.

(They were called Decepticons for a bloody reason.)

Assuming the Decepticons were, for the time being, holding to the terms of the truce (which Red Alert sincerely doubted), their only obligation would have been to not immediately hunt the young femme down and snuff out her spark. They had no reason to assist her, no reason to send her to the people she had meant to contact. To do so was entirely out character, completely counter to everything Red Alert expected them to do and knew them to be. The very idea of the Decepticons helping a young Autobot soldier on her way, even under the terms of the truce, was so far fetched that Red Alert simply could not help but question its legitimacy.

Of course, there was no point in questioning what was presented as the truth without presenting alternatives of equal or greater likelihood, which is is why Red Alert had stood outside the control room, wondering what those alternatives might be, ever since he was informed of Patch's arrival. He had his theories, his suspicions, but mostly he just had a hunch. A feeling that something wasn't right, that something was off. He knew better than to listen to it entirely - a feeling wasn't a proper argument and he was under no delusions that it was - but he also knew better than to dismiss it outright just because he couldn't explain it quite yet.

He wasn't about to say that Patch was an undercover spy, that sort of accusation was thus far baseless and entirely uncalled for - but he couldn't deny that it was convenient that the Decepticons had sent her to them, claiming she was one of their own. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, perhaps everything really was just as Patch claimed - Red Alert would be glad if it was. But he wouldn't be doing his job if he didn't question it, if he trusted everyone at their word.

And that's what he intended to do - his job. Even if that meant giving a potentially innocent young femme a bit of a hard time instead of rolling out the welcome wagon.

The moment Patch stepped through the bridge, Red Alert gave her a quick once over, his keen optics raking up and down her frame to take note of every little detail there was to be seen. She seemed awestruck, like she couldn't believe where she was. Whether that was because she was in an Autobot base, or just a base that was far beyond her expectations was yet to be seen.

"Patch?"

God, but she was a young thing, wasn't she? Red Alert flatted his mouth and set his jaw, willing himself not to soften his stance just because he had a weakness for young mecha, especially the Last Sparked.

"I'm gonnae have to stop you here."

[Carbine]

While Patch ogled the base like some sort of masterpiece to behold, Carbine's curious outlook on such an environment had long since died off. To him, it was a base. Just that. Stone and metal, rough woven hallways and some twists and turns thrown in to avoid particularly stubborn rock or just to conform to the pre-drilled guide the human's original base had initially... He didn't really care about the details. The point was, it simply was what it was, and he didn’t so much as pause to give it all a once over as he exited the Ground Bridge soon after the little femme.

Loping legs carried the black and white mech forward and around Patch as she stopped, his angle crooking as he did so to an extent while keeping roughly on his initial course. It appeared as if he were now twisting his upper torso to peer back at her, observing her little determined expression while his broad arms looped back to fold along his lower spine beneath Bolo's harness. Carbine looked over her features a moment, trying to read what must be going through her processor during this introductory period, trying to piece together if this was her first time in a solid base or if her amazement was simply with the fact this was her new home... only for the cracked visor to gradually turn and lock down onto who else was in the room.

Oh, this was expected, there was no way that she would be permitted into this base without being downright GRILLED alive to force out any deception or less than good motives from her. Red Alert was going to beat her to the ground and rip her to shreds if experience had told him anything. The first time he and Thunder had been looked over by the over serious little freakshow it had been an arduous adventure of repeated questions at different angles and continuous jabs about what their affronts were to land them in trouble to begin with. It had been a torturous experience Carbine was shocked he stomached as well as he did without being flung off into a rage of screaming 'I already told you!'.

Oh yeah, Patch was in for a ride.

"Stop for t͡h̵e n̕ext f-few hours͜ ìş m̛or̛e like it."

Carbine mused this with a low chuckle slipping out afterword's, the laugh jittering and modulating weirdly through the glitch to make it pop somewhat. By the time he said this he had already crossed the room, his frame fully turning around so that he could ease his back up against the wall. His arms slipped out from behind him after this, re-crossing alongside his front just under the white plating that acted as a makeshift 'ribcage'. He settled into place lazily with a crook of his right leg folding slightly over the left, yellow eyes watching curiously to see how Red Alert approached this and how the little femme would react. He half expected her to do a little salute or who knows what, Carbine wondering if she even knew who she was dealing with due to the mech's notoriety of being a psycho.

"Want me to͝ ̸get̢ ̶her a little cha͟ir̴?"

He teased this out while his attention locked down onto Red Alert, the bottom edge of his eye projections crooking up to imply a smile.

[Patch]

Though they were well installed -and well concealed- A practiced optic would likely see that Patch had… Something surgically integrated with her forearms. The position denoting that whatever it was, folded out above her wrist, without drawing her servos in. A scanner, perhaps, given their position and her’s, though… Considering the symmetry, it wouldn’t be unfair to assume they were firearms… Which… they were.

She heard her name.

Patch’s attention flicked to the mech like a rabbit’s to a gunshot. Optics observant -if not a bit wide- expression flat, as she took but an instant to flick her gaze across his frame, then back up to his own. Did she know this mech?

“Yessir.” Practically an automatic response, at having her name called. Light and quick and looking to please. Voice low-ish in tone, though young nevertheless. She may not have known who this was by look alone, though the white and red paint wasn’t lost on her. Maybe this mech was a medic. Possibly in security. Either way, likely an officer- and even if he wasn’t, the Last-sparked figured it was safe to assume he outranked her.

A command.

Patch’s peddes froze where they were, still above the warm glass of the groundbridge. Upper frame hesitating a bit more with the hault, though halting nevertheless. Small, dotted, silver servos gripped a bit tighter on the edges of her box, as she watched Carbine pass her. A few hours? What the frag were they gonna do for a few hours? Was this some sort of initiation? A bit of a additional confusion and stress fell over the femme. She wanted to make a good impression so badly. Had she already fragged something up? HOW!? She’d been here for 0.3 seconds!

Without missing a beat, Patch bent down at the waist to set the box down at her left pedde. A light rattle as the objects shifted inside, a sharp whir of young joints, and muscle cables as she moved. Popping right back up, shoulders square, back straight, into a salute. Crisp, and clean and very well practiced. Expression a bit harder- more confident now, as the young femme did something she knew.

“Field-tech Patch Sir, one hundred and forty fifth Autobot infantry, reports.”

The soldier held her digits to the center of her brow, until met with either a nod, a salute of Red’s own, or she was instructed to do otherwise. Diligently watching straight forward in front of her now, with a ramrod frame, and easy optics. The white plating upon her shoulders, settling nicely into practiced-place. Remaining still, without locking anything as not to pass out if he kept her here a while. Though she was still quite anxious -her sparkpulse raised, blue optics brightened- at least she felt a bit more oriented now, with the routine.

The 145th. The most recent unit of three Patch had served in. Frontliners, the lot of them. Tanks, jets, heavy hitters and just about anyone else they could scrape together by the time Patch had been stationed with them. Plopped to defend the trenches during the last stand for Iacon. Heavy casualties, though not an inappropriate amount of deaths, considering where they’d been placed on the chess board at that time.

As Carbine continued to muse, yet another slight wave of helplessness fell through the young femme. An urgency, a desperation to be good, and to prove that she was good. A chair? What did he mean a chair? What were they gonna do to her? A ‘little’ chair, she didn’t appreciate that very much either. A light, half nervous, half annoyed flick of round blue optics over to Carbine then back again.

[Red Alert]

The moment Carbine opened his mouth to speak, Red Alert felt a piece of his soul physically leave his body. He looked up to the ceiling, watching the imaginary spark ascend to the heavens, presumably flying back to the Well but more likely disappearing into the ether, breaking down into molecules which would spread endlessly across the ever-expanding universe before it inevitably collapsed in on itself and reformed in a second Big Bang.

Red Alert entertained that little thought journey for the five or six seconds it took for Carbine to finish speaking, before finally lowering his gaze from the ceiling and fixing the ex-cop with a bland, unimpressed look.

“If you would.”

Truth be told, he had planned to move things into a proper sitting room if they dragged on long enough, but Carbine had offered up an opportunity to vacate the premises for a few moments, and Red Alert wasn’t going to turn it down.

He turned his attention to Patch then, hoping that Carbine would drag his heels and take his time returning from wherever it was he was going to procure a chair. He gave Patch his usual once-over, looking at her from top to bottom and back again, taking in every little detail there was to be gleaned. She was young, a bit worse for the wear – no notable injuries, but she clearly hadn’t had the easiest time wherever she had been stationed last. She also seemed mildly frustrated with Carbine and his commentary, which -potential spy or not- was a point in her favor.

“At ease, lass. You can spare the formalities.”

He paused, his optics briefly darting to Carbine to confirm he was getting a move on, before returning to Patch. He tried not to stare directly at her optics, knowing that his own were broadly considered to be unnerving. They were designed not unlike targeting reticles, each optic having three concentric rings that expanded and contracted as he broadened or narrowed his focus.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, or what you’ve been told to expect, but I’m gonnae take a shot in the dark and assume none of it was especially flattering.”

He was well aware of his reputation, how it proceeded him. He also wouldn’t have put it past Carbine to preemptively fill the poor kid’s head with teasing horror stories to get her all keyed up before her debriefing, so it was in everyone’s best interest that he clear up any potential misconceptions before they could manifest.

“Under normal circumstances, under someone else’s jurisdiction, your identification codes would have been enough to get you clearance. Now, I want to believe you are who you claim to be. I’m not accusing you of lying, I’m not suspecting you of forging your codes or being a spy. I’m just being careful, alright?”

He paused, not because he expected an answer, but because he wanted to give Patch a moment to process his words.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and if all’s well once I have the answers, you’ll be free to go on your way – after you pop by the Med-bay. Ratchet will wantae have a word with you, get you sorted.”

[Carbine]

Oh, so very formal!

Carbine let the bottom of his optics crook up some into a smirk as Patch flung herself full force into a proper introduction and practiced salute. She had the act down to an art, a honed movement trained well into her by repetition. In a way, it looked as if it hadn't gone lax in any way since it was taught to her, taken to spark and truly respected for what it was. Carbine knew his own salutes had gotten sloppy... Eons of doing so in front of varied trainers, bosses, and leaders of all sorts. To him it became a hollow motion, one he didn't believe in any longer with any level of sincerity. This showed, but he took care not to make it so sloppy that he would be singled out by the average individual. Not worth the bother...

Or so was his typical goal.

Whatever the case, Patch seemed like she took everything plenty serious, and he didn’t know if it was refreshing, amusing, or sad... though such things varied drastically on his particular mood on the situation. He was for sure leaning onto the idea of it being amusing however, which meant that when Red Alert turned against him to accept the chair, his 'smile' only grew further. In a way, Carbine hadn't expected that offer to be taken up, and he instantly let his rotor posts hike slightly instead of letting himself bark out with a laugh.

Red Alert was going to actually accept a chair?! He was going to plunk little Patch down here to interrogate? He hadn't asked for two chairs... so it meant he would be standing around the femme, adding to the interrogation vibes. While he may have been attempting to disarm the situation with a more lax approach to his words, Carbine couldn’t help but paint his own narrative birthed from personal experience. Because of this, he permitted the faintest titter of a laugh to chuckle out, before he pushed away from the wall.

"D-Don't tea̶r ͜h̕e͜r͜ ̨up too much before I get ̡b̕ack!"

Chipper, happy... As if to mock the earlier salute his own hand rose, two fingers extended that he clipped to his forehead before flicking out. It wasn't a formal situation, so he didn't even remotely adhere to the framework he would have in a soldier lineup... but boy, it sure was extra informal on all levels. To pair with this action he simply crooked into a turn, and began to walk away, deciding that they were too far from his spine to really give him any level of real threat. He would hear them charging long before they could strike his back. While this was as likely as winning the lottery, Carbine couldn't help but let those dark thoughts snake in at the back of his processor with a high level of paranoya.

While taking long loping steps to the hallway's entrance, he spoke again.

"Be back ̢so̢on!"

He would then stride away.

[Patch]

A surge of nervousness took over the femme as this stranger continued. What was he about to do? Notions of physical poking and prodding fell through Patch’s young mind. Worrying thoroughly on what was in store. Everyone kept hinting that this would somehow be invasive- would it hurt? Whatever it was?

The tension rose only ever so slightly as she felt the officer looking her over. The weight of optics on her frame. Not fear, but it was hard to not notice the pressure. Would she be adequate? Would the mech be bothered by her presentation in some way? She continued looking forward with her servo to her brow. Spark in her throat as she manually ventilated at as close to a normal rhythm as she could while thinking about it.

Young optics flicked back and forth between the stranger and Carbine as they went back and forth. The laugh grated on her young, tired nerves, though the mock salute. That pushed it over the edge.

A sudden burn of fear and shame pulsed through the femme from her spark, to her throat and her optics. The formality, the routine, the pride Patch carried in both; that was her last remaining lifeline in this situation. Her last remaining technique to feel she was in control. She felt like that had just been ripped away and stomped on by Carbine.

She still kept it together, of course. The pathetic quiver to her field quickly stamped out with a straighten and a swallow; though her desperate expression and overbright optics remained.

Her optics only brightened further as the words “D-Don't tea̶r ͜h̕e͜r͜ ̨up” scooped out her spark and squished it. Widening like a wild rabbit’s as though this could possibly be literal. That last little quip bit her too, optics shutting for a moment. Flinching as though she’d just been nipped with a needle.

Once released, by the officer, after all that lot, Patch sheepishly lowered her servo from her optic ridge. Blunted, rounded digits tips curled in as she fell to parade rest and looked to him. ‘Lass’ Patch hadn’t been called that in a while. She made the quick decision that it was meant to be a term of endearment. She liked it. It eased her. A slight drop of her guard, her shoulders, her spark temperature. Primus the effect a tiny little act like that could have...

Patch hadn’t heard anything about this mech already. She took a breath to tell him this, though, it was caught in her throat as the mech kept going...

SPY!?

Her optics remained steadfast on Red Alert’s, growing wider with every word. Patch wasn’t a SPY! How could she possibly be a spy!! The very notion someone could imagine her a traitor stung her hard and deep in one of the proudest corners of her spark. Being an Autobot was Patch’s whole identity. She had nothing from before the war to cling to- this was who she was; ALL she was!

“...Okay.” An exceptionally unsure whimper of a word. The young femme’s optics were thoroughly confused now, as she looked slightly up at the mech. Chest up, chin down as the child blindly groped- not even for answers anywhere NEAR so much as something to TRUST. Something to place her faith and feelings in that it would be okay.

Go to the medical bay... AFTER this…?

“Wait, just- sorry.” Patch’s servo broke from behind her, and waved hello, as her round helm shook to match it. “So you’re not a medic?” … Which now that she figured it made a lot more sense. A medic wouldn’t worry that she was a spy anywhere near so much as they would that she was bringing in foreign contaminants; evidently that was not the current predicament, as she’d somewhat jumped to at first.

[Red Alert]

Red Alert had to stifle a sharp, long-suffering sigh as Carbine stuttered out his parting words - of course the mech had to say something to make the young femme more nervous than she already was. Of course he couldn't have just left without making a jab, setting him up to be some sort of boogeyman. Of course.

He cut his optics back to Patch, his ire melting away as he switched his focus from Carbine's retreating back to her openly worried face. It was impossible to ignore just how young she was, and Red Alert silently cursed himself for being so soft-sparked that little baby-faced femme looking scared was all it took to make him break out the kid-gloves. It was an unacceptable bias, completely unprofessional in his line of work. Patch's age had no bearing on her capacity for mutiny, on the possibility that she was a spy or a sleeper agent or a secret trouble-maker who was damn good at playing the sympathy card. Personally, he wanted to go easy on the poor kid; practically, he knew better than to let his feelings have any say in the matter.

The most he could do was give Patch a somewhat sympathetic look, one that (hopefully) said that he wasn't exactly thrilled about what he was about to do either.

Before he could launch into the standard routine, however, Patch went and threw him one hell of a curve-ball. 

"...What?"

The word came out flat, almost rhetorical, and was accompanied by a slow, incredulous blink.

"Lass. Do you...not know who I am?"

He spoke slowly, his brows knitting together as he tried to wrap his head around such a novel concept, before abruptly straightening as a sudden, irritating thought occurred to him.

"Did that bloody nyaff not tell you what this is?"

[Patch]

Patch was someone who’d literally been living under rocks for the majority of her life! It wasn’t as though they NEVER got steady streams of information out in her neck of the frontlines… But morale could be a remarkably fragile thing! Living your life to survive one day to the next was hard enough as it was; carrying others along with you was a whole other challenge.

To be perfectly frank? The femme had been a LOT more focused on pushing painkillers through their virtually non-existent supply line than reading up on the latest gossip on big brass mecha who simply weren't her then and there.

She knew the NAME Red Alert and little else from conversations; though this mech in front of her had still not said his own. The strange, foreign someone assigned to the title of head of security mentioned in passing by bored soldiers with nothing else to do or discuss. Best in the business, he must have been to be working so close to the Prime. Apparently nutty for whatever reason but who WASN’T in one way or another!?

There was a blind, wide optic’s shake of her helm. No words fell out. Just a quick quiver of her chin back and forth to verify that NO, she did NOT in fact know who this was. Nor had she been told a single damn thing about the base, or what would occur when she got there. She’d been warned that a few at this outpost liked formality- (hence the slagging salute she’d jumped into helm first.) But the last-sparked was currently flying utterly blind besides that.

Which she supposed might… On some level have been a good thing if she really were trying to infiltrate the base… But-… But she was only infiltrating to try and sleep and serve here! Patch didn’t mean any harm!

Though very aware of the curved structure of the bridge above her, and the glass beneath her peddes- though her mind wandered to the objects in their little box beside her on the ground, the last-sparked absolutely refused to break her focus. She was being addressed, it would have been rude; even if she felt it would grant some small relief from the weight of the authority in front of her to flick away a moment.

She may not have recognised the specific words ‘bloody nyaff’, though the implication was more than clear enough. “No sir.” A softish phrase, though one with at least the slightest bit more confidence. It felt as though whatever negative was directed at her, was suddenly thrust in the other mech’s direction- at least partly.

Her quiet gaze remained carefully trained on the officer’s face. Waiting. Curious.

[Red Alert]

Patch need not have answered his question out loud – her expression alone confirmed his suspicions as handily as any verbal affirmation ever could. Setting his jaw, his mouth pressing into a thin line, Red Alert turned the weight of his sharp gaze away from Patch and stared hard into the middle distance as a sudden flare of irritation threatened to push a flood of colorful dialogue past his teeth. He would be doing his already poor reputation no favors if he indulged in a bought of cathartic swearing in front of a new arrival – especially one who would likely (but incorrectly) assume his frustration was directed at her – so he did his best to reign himself in and assuage his temper with the assertion that this little breakdown in communication was (possibly) not intentional on Carbine's part. As the saying went, one should never attribute to malice that which can be explained by stupidity – though considering the mech involved, Red Alert considered both causes equally likely.

Shaking his head, Red Alert resolved to have a few words with the other mech later on, once he had finished his business with Patch – who was still standing in front of him, lost and confused and likely wondering if she had somehow given an unacceptable answer to a yes-or-no question.

“Right. Of course he didn't.”

His tone maintained the irritated quality it had held moments before, but now it had an additional note of self reproach – annoyance with the situation, but also with himself for having not anticipated it in the first place.

“Most mecha have the decency to warn our new arrivals about the mandatory debriefing before they throw them to the wolves, but Carbine is a special case.”

He raised his brows, sparing Patch a dull, half-lidded look to communicate just how amusing he found the other mech's antics to be, before gesturing to himself with a loose wave of his hand, which sported several thick, faded welds that truly had no business scarring as neatly has they did – a testament to the unparalleled skill of the medic who applied them.

“My name is Red Alert.” He paused a moment, both so Patch could process this information and so he could gauge her reaction to what most mecha considered terrible news, before continuing as though he hadn't just ruined the poor kid's day with an introduction.

“As the chief of security, I wouldnae be doing my due diligence if I let you have the run of the place without a background check.”

His firm expression softened fractionally as he spoke, offering Patch a wry look to pair with his dry tone.

“Young as you are, it should only take half as long as it usually does - so about three days, give or take.”

There was a long, heavy pause as Red Alert waited until a sufficient number of seconds had passed, before his mouth worked itself into its closest approximation of a smile - a faint, ghost of a thing, an apology for making the poor kid sweat.

“--That was a joke.” He added, just in case his deadpan delivery hadn't given it away.

[Patch]

Ahhh. A debriefing.

Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner! Surely they would need to double check the backgrounds and service records of those who intended to join the team! If not only for the sake of ensuring their identities, to know what they did, and what they’d done, and how well they tended to do it. An effective team would play to each individual’s strengths after all.

“So I gathered, sir.”

She said, loosely glancing in the direction Carbine had gone.

“Though ‘special case’ seems a strange way to pronounce the word aft.”

This was spoken slightly lower with no smile, still looking off before turning back to try and evaluate the officer’s response. Despite the joking nature of the phrase, it seemed the femme was prepared to defend her reasoning.

The young femme glanced at the welds inquisitively as the officer referred to himself. Just a quick flick of the optics. Perhaps unconscious- almost as though she were trying not to, and couldn’t stop herself, her gaze just as quickly returning to his face. Fighting to listen, almost.

By all indications, this name meant very little to Patch beyond the standard fare of ‘meeting a new person’. A slight flick of her optics off to the side to mentally log the officer’s mildly familiar name, before a ghost of a nod, and a return of her gaze.

“Ah, naw, that makes sense.”

Oooookay, so this wasn’t a personal thing. Good to know.

Patch went to laugh at the further comment- though caught it on her glossa just before it escaped. A sudden touch of horror that perhaps he wasn’t kidding. The young medic was left in this state of sort of, half-laugh limbo… Until her temporary petrification was released. She took a small breath in and huffed a sort of “huh” a courtesy laugh lacking in the original enthusiasm. Bleeding her awkwardness, a bit.