[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Welcoming Madness [ Open ]

[Deleted]

     Two for three. That's where Prowl was at right now.

     "Strategist, huh?" Was he gonna regard Prowl as someone who actually should be respected? The strategist who led the army into the heat of battle with the best configuration of how to get from point 'A' to point 'Z'? "So they finally decided to give the desk warmers an official title."

     That answer was a definite nope.

     "I've known since I came online that I could drop off the roster at any point. That scrap doesn't spook me at all," he said with a sarcastic hmph mixed with a scoff. "And it's not about being 'special'. It's about being skilled. The fact I'm still here after all the stuff my team went through while you were too busy playing with your pawns in your little game is clear evidence of that." His left shoulder shrugged and he gave a tilt of his helm that suggested he really didn't care about the apparent 'threat' or 'reminder' that had been tossed at him. If Prowl was trying to get some rise out of him from it it didn't work. Truth was, Wheeljack knew each cycle he spent with the Wreckers could have been his last and he was surprised he still functioned at the capacity that he did.

     "This badge got nothing to do with Optimus. I just happen to like ruining a Con's day more. Call it whatever ya want, but Wreckers don't follow the same set of rules as the chain of command does. Or did you forget that we had our own little set up?"

     Wheeljack didn't spare Patch a glance as she interjected in their little tizzy, knowing better than take his optics off of his opponent. There were a lot of things that could go wrong if he did, and at least if he saw it coming he could react. Mainly, Prowl had pushed his two free hits and wasted them on tiny pokes to his chassis. He would not get a third. It was probably a bad idea that he had the crate again, because if Prowl went for that third strike he'd be out- and more than likely Wheeljack would start with hurling the crate of scraps at him and end with him needing to visit the medical bay and having his limps reconfigured. The little medic between them would probably be collateral damage. It would suck, but Wreckers didn't really stop what they were doing just because someone stuck their nose in the wrong place. If they didn't have enough sense to get out of the way when the heat was on, then it was their own fault if they sustained injury.


     Autobot or not, he certainly did not regard the black and white mech before him as a 'fellow' anything.

     Freckles said something to him but he didn't respond. He was too busy keeping his optics locked on Prowl, especially when the other revealed his optics for whatever reason. It seemed that the Enforcer just had a whole bunch of tricks to try and get him to back down and the fact that it wasn't working really must have just been getting under his plating in all sorts of ways. 

     The fact that she called him 'sir' did draw his attention, even moreso when she turned to face him and hinted to being granted her directive. Was she really that young? Wheeljack knew she was physically, but something about her did hint that she'd seen her fair share so there was no way he would let himself believe she was too naive to just loosely throw that around. It made his optic twitch slightly. Oh boy, was this mech NOT the one who deserved to have that sort of title bestowed upon him. 

     "If you're the type of help that Optimus keeps around, then it's no wonder the Autobots are stuck on this chunk of rock. Guess ya didn't do so hot in your role since we lost Cybertron." A pause as he thought it over before offering another suggestion. "Though that could just be blamed on poor leadership." That could have been addressing the Prime AND Prowl, considering he thought so highly of himself.

     "Funny how that works out, huh? You post someone incapable of doing their job in charge and suddenly everything goes to the smelting pool. Let me count the ways." He shifted the crate to go under one arm again as it had been at the beginning. Now with his free servo up, he started.

     "Optimus gets put in charge." Index digit.
     "The Great War happens." Middle digit.
     "Megatron becomes a household name." Ring digit.
     "Cybertron goes dark." Pinky digit.
     "Exodus." There was the thumb. 

     There was more somewhere in there, but he only had one servo free and he didn't feel like tossing the crate side to side just to prove his point. Those points probably pretty much covered his point. The Wreckers were keeping things in order for a long time before Optimus took over. The fact that it seemed that everything had just collapsed after this 'final Prime' came around had put Wheeljack's processor on notice.

     "Seems like a great example of a 'sore lack in leadership qualities' to me."

[Prowl]

He was a millisecond away from doing something he regretted when that chipper voice brought him back around. Soon they were being moved apart by a surprisingly strong medic, and Prowl came back to himself.

He actually blinked once before looking over at her, at a brief loss for words. Once he recovered himself though, his visor slid back down into place over his optics.

“Fine.”

He nodded before turning back around, his fists clenching as he made his way back to the console. He left most of Wheeljack’s statements unanswered mostly because they were announcements of the judgements he had decreed upon himself during the past million years.

He had tried to do everything he could to save Cybertron, but no matter what he did, it was never enough. Long ago he had come to the realization that the so-called Great War wasn’t a war at all. If he was being honest with himself it was more of a riot. A riot that had been brewing for millennia, and when it finally hit the breaking point there was no stopping it.

Though that could just be blamed on poor leadership.

That caused Prowl to turn back around as the Wrecker listed off the rest of his indictment. If he was being completely honest, Wheeljack wasn’t completely off in his assessment. From what he knew about Optimus Prime, the mech had little military training besides what apparently was stored within the Matrix of Leadership. That’s why he had mechs like Prowl around to offer formalized strategies and help him run the war machine.

But the Wrecker’s comments were also wrong, it was easy to always blame command when things went wrong.

“Easy to think that when you don’t have to burden yourself with decisions besides what order to shoot the vehicons. Who do you think put you in position to shoot them?”

He turned back around and returned to the console.

[Patch]

He wasn’t looking at her, but at least he took the box. That was good. Getting hit with a crate was better than taking a sword… Probably. (Depended on how hard he threw it) THOUGH, the young medic did have her servos free now.

As the fight continued, though it still wasn't physical… Patch found herself taking crossfire.

Those words stung.

Patch had never seen Cybertron in it's glory days. She'd never had the chance. And no, nothing could ever begin to replace it deep down in her spark, But… Earth was the first place Patch had ever really seen peace. Genuine peace, even if not for her own people, for the people who lived here.

She didn’t like to listen to the events hashed out all over again- especially not that bluntly. Optimus had just… Always been in charge, as far as she was concerned. There was no alternative. And yeah, the Autobots had suffered a lot of defeats, but as far as she knew… As far as she’d been told- and gathered on her own, that was much more because of the Autobot’s size; How many people they had, and their collective reluctance to use dirty tactics.

Patch was loyal to the bits of her cause this guy was throwin’ slag on.

Right now was not a time to let that in.

Technically speaking, everything this Wheeljack guy had just said was… Sort of true. There was SOME opinion to it- they weren't Patch’s opinions... But the facts were TRUE, so why would she be mad about them? It WAS how things were, being angry wouldn’t change it… Naw… Patch was angry. But she wasn’t mad at this guy.

He may not have been making a Great first impression of himself- but she wasn’t MAD.
...Okay maybe she was a little, but right now she had to pretend like she wasn’t.

After all, Both these mechs had extended a sort of courtesy to her, in their own special way. Least’ that’s how Patch was pickin’ ta see it. The first guy had defended her voice from the second, the second was defending her beliefs from the first. This situation may not have been about her- She wasn’t even sure it was about either of them… But it helped the young medic to see both sides. To WANT both people to succeed.

In her opinion, there was only one REAL way for them to do that.
Time to keep nudging…

As the strategist turned back around to face the console, Patch quietly chipped in “Thank you sir.” She turned back to the other, and attempted to lay a servo- not on him, but on the box. Silver digits covered with small dark flecks spread flush as she carefully tried to angle the other mech’s frame to trace along with her own. She wouldn’t leave the space between them unless it seemed he was willing to follow.

As she moved, she lifted her helm to his, and lightly quirked it in the direction of the medical bay. “Come on.” A light and quiet phrase. A casual question. A suggestion. A desperate hope this… Evidently quite dangerous warrior would be willing to listen to someone so small.

[Deleted]

     "I'll remind ya that the Wreckers were around a long time before the Autobots and Decepticons were even a thing, and we were doing just fine keeping everyone else self and risking our pistons while you tried to figure out the difference between your heads and your afts. Then it all goes to the Pits, and the only ones who had any lick of sense and capable fight skills are put on leashes by mechs like you. So before ya try to open your mouth again about how great ya are and how fantastic your little head hanchos are, just remember that the Wreckers were always the ones who were sent to clean up the mess none of you had the ball bearings to handle." 

     That was the end of verbal discussion, at least according to the little medic who was not letting up with her determination to get the two mechs on very opposite sides of the base. There was a less-than-pleasant hand gesture involving a middle digit on one servo given to the Enforcer as a parting gift before he allowed the medic to scoot him along. Probably for the best in the slight chance that he found himself having to actually partner up with the other mech or- Primus forbid- rely on him for backup.

     “I coulda taken him,” he spoke up finally once he had turned and started walking in the direction she encouraged him to go. He shifted the crate so that he held it in front of him between both servos, one on either side of it securely. “Guess he should be thanking whatever powers to be that you were there to stop me from whooping his scrawny hide. There’s a reason we’re called ‘Wreckers’.”

     Wheeljack let out a small scoff sound, a tone of disappointment in his voice that he hadn’t been able to actually prove that point. This medic was new so he didn’t know the extent what she knew of his team and he didn’t bother to ask. For the time being, his current mission was take the crate to the medical bay and deposit it with the crotchity old medic that resided there.

     “Guess you're the new medical staff here, huh? Guess that takes some of the stress off Ratchet's shoulders, huh?So, is old Sunshine showin’ you the ropes, or is he busy hand waving you outta the way?”

[Prowl]

If the Wreckers were so good, why did it all go to scrap? Why did you abandon them when Ultra Magnus showed up?

Instead of asking those questions though, Prowl remained silent and resumed his duties on the console. He allowed Patch to escort Wheeljack away without a final rebuttal. It was never as simple as the foot soldiers, the pawns made it out to be. Oh sure, they claimed to be the only ones to understand what was really going on, but they were so caught up in the minutia of their small sector of vision they often missed the big picture.

That made the difference between low level commanders and high level commanders. The high level commanders were able to maintain the whole, complete picture while minding the lower one. The really good ones seemed to be able to mind the little picture as well as the big picture. That part wasn’t Prowl’s job though. His job was to help the boss maintain the big picture and not get too caught up in the little details.

Bots like Wheeljack had their uses in both war and peace, as long as they had something to direct them and keep them going. The problem was keeping them in line, and when the rules were looser like in war time, or when they got permission to operate outside the chain of command, all that happened could best be described as loosely organized chaos.

And all chaos led to was more chaos, which benefited nobody in the long run. Why nobody seemed to be able to comprehend that was beyond him.

[Patch]

OOH! Patch knew that gesture! Courtesy of Miko.

She could only hope the officer didn’t...

Thankfully, it seemed he either didn’t know, or didn’t care, or -perhaps- yet again, he simply sat above such things… Regardless, the little medic breathed an ex-vent of relief, before she turned her helm back toward the medical bay, and continued to lead.

‘Sure you could have...’ Not spoken out loud, though the expression on her faceplate didn’t seem to notice. ‘Bet ya could have taken the control console too, maybe a chunk of the groundbridge if it looked at ya funny…’

At his second comment, Patch simply turned her helm to look up at the wrecker. Listening respectfully, by all outward indications. Her sentio metallico, the silver on her face, was sprayed all over with tiny flecks of darker grey. Her servos too. A small scar cut through her optic ridge, another through her chin. Azure optics undefined by external paint, beneath a wide silver crest, with a thinner, secondary red one atop it like a low-mohawk.

She hummed a little. Sounding rather pleased with herself at the perceived complement for being in the right place at the right time.

Oh, so he did know the doctor…

There was an idle giggle-chuckle at this. A lower of optics as the young femme shook her helm just slightly. “Well, ya know… Lil’ bit of both.” She looked up at the mech and flashed a crooked smile. “He's gettin’ better though. Slowly. It’s been a couple months… Clean enough equipment ‘right’ enough times, you start to get more responsibility.”

With another few pedde steps, the new glass double-doors to sickbay swished open. Activated by Patch’s weight, it seemed, upon a grey pressure sensor pad upon the concrete floor. Inside, the walls were light in color. The floor nicely polished, courtesy of the younger medic, over the course of several dozen cleanings. The smell of cleansers, surfactants, and clean new oil settled through the recirculated, climate controlled air. Ratchet, however, seemed nowhere to be found.

The whole of the space appeared… Perhaps just a touch large for the young femme. Countertops hovering just above comfortable. Slabs primarily raised to nearly the same height- Though, there was a rather thoughtful stool placed neatly at the end-cap to one of the benches.

“What sorta stuff ya got?” Comfortably, the last-sparked made her way to one of the medical slabs. Standing beside it as she looked at the wrecker, as though expecting him to come in, set it down, and give her the grand tour.

[Deleted]

     Wheeljack figured he had gotten the last word in with the Strategist, either because he had run out of snarky things to say or he didn't understand that the Wrecker wasn't waving 'farewell, have a great day!'. He didn't care either way, because he could have gone on and on had Shades tried to egg him on further, but he would settle for the win on this round. 

     Now it was time to focus on the little medic who was shuffling him along.

     The position of items relative to the floor hadn't been anything he'd noticed before since he was within the same height ratio as Ratchet so it was a reasonable proportion to himself- but Primus, how he noticed it when Patch entered the the medical facility ahead of him. The issues with the equipment did not go unnoticed to him now and he quirked a brow as he looked from the items around the room, to the medic, then back again. Ratchet had put a little stool in the room so he was more than aware of the problem but it seemed there hadn't been anything done about it. One stool? That had to be dragged around? Oh boy, was Wheeljack's processor turning. There were so many ways that he could have made it better for the smaller medic before Ratchet even returned from whatever field trip he was on, but he went ahead and filed it away for later since he really didn't feel like having things tossed at his noggin' today. He'd indulge Ratchet with his return later. Right now he had the little pocket sized mini medic to entertain.


     "Yeah, that sounds like Doc. Seems you're doin' pretty well for yourself though if he's letting you play in his sacred medical bay on your own without supervision." He wasn't being derogatory about what he had to say, but more understanding about it than anything else. The Wrecker was the same way about the Jackhammer and everything within it's walls. He'd have to really trust a particular someone to the core to let them sit in HIS pilot seat. Joking aside, he wouldn't dare want to touch anything in here that could disrupt the flow Ratchet had set up for himself.

     "Little bit of this. Some of that. A little more of another thing. Ya know how scavenging works." He was mindful of the medic's height but didn't draw attention to it as blatantly as the stool in the room had. In a single motion that was far too natural to seem out of place or overly courteous of the femme's shorter stature, the Wrecker crouched down and set the crate down on the floor. "I think some of this stuff could be used to either upgrade or fix the things your using in here but I'll have to leave that up to you and Ratchet's discretion. I just brought back what I didn't need myself to see if it could be useful here.  Better that then to leave it behind to be picked up by the 'Cons. Or the nosy locals."

[Patch]

Patch pat her servos a bit on the table, drumming a tune as the Wrecker made his way in, but… It seemed he chose the floor instead of the recharge slab to lean upon. The young medic's gaze followed Wheeljack as he sunk, mild confusion upon her features, though… She… Did follow over, and kneel to his level after a moment.

She sunk to face the crate across from him. Small freckled servos tipped lightly in the box to shuffle the objects; so long as Wheeljack let her that is. With curious optics she began to search for familiar things, or junk pieces with possibility.

“What were you doing with all this anyway?”

The young femme hummed in response to the mech’s logic. It most certainly was better to keep things out of the enemy’s servos- away from the humans too. Waste-not-want-not seemed to be a bit of a creed in the young medic’s life; especially here. It would be difficult to get new materials to such a distant outpost, after all. They had virtually no one to get it out to them, as well, as far as she knew.

As the white and red, freckled form continued to riffle around, she payed close attention to the types of metal- or other materials used in the objects. The general shapes and sizes. Whether the items appeared Earth based, or otherwise. After a moment of looking around, she picked up an object unfamiliar to her, that looked semi-mechanical in nature and brought it close to look. Examining, she quirked her helm a little.

“What’s this?”