[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Unstable [Carbine, Patch]
Sept 25, 2020 20:21:25 GMT -5
Post by Patch on Sept 25, 2020 20:21:25 GMT -5
Episode 3 | Week 2 | Day 4
Omega base. Brig. 1600 hrs.
Quiet ‘padunks’ outside in the hall slowly went from faint inklings to viable sound…
The big, heavy door on the far side of the room cracked open. A small form shifted through, sideways a bit. Her stubby little white and red frame still the same, still athletic, still built to run, and lift, though… she seemed without that background noise of seemingly endless energy her age usually granted her.
Patch looked... tired.
He was just gone.
Not GONE gone… Not really… That was good. It was better… But… That... Didn't necessarily make it easier. To look up at that familiar face, to be met with unfamiliar eyes- no experience behind them. No pain. No knowledge. No wisdom. The knowing looks, and chiding remarks replaced by quiet questions. Assurances of allowance.
He wasn't missing just to her, Patch knew that. Everyone missed him, many more than her. But suddenly Patch had his boots to fill… And she was much smaller than him.
Ratchet had done so much more than just medicine…
Bridge controls, bridge maintenance, energon fuel-lines running round base that required inspection- yes he’d made lists, that didn’t help anywhere near enough. She had Neon. Neon. Poor sweet Neon; already she’d been short with him more times than such a kind spark as his would ever deserve in a lifetime- but she didn’t have time to feel bad about that… She didn’t have the energy…
Primus, how did he do it all? How could he have possibly found the hours?
It was heavy… Patch felt it was heavy. It was wearing on her spark. Chipping into her recharge. Pricking away at her organs by way of stress. She suddenly had so much to do. Two jobs to fill; her own, and that which she was not yet qualified for. That which she urned to do someday- though not today. Most certainly not today… She was tired today.
And it showed…
Dark optics, lowered posture, apparent photophobia given the way she was squinting at the godawful flickering deathray lights in the brig. Whether she was taking enough fuel or not, she didn’t appear to be processing it right. Her chest was hot -it was constantly hot from stress- and her brain was still constantly full from nothing but the list of things that still needed doing, and delegating.
She didn’t say anything.
There was a small assortment of objects cluttered on the tray she carried in front of her. A few cut up bits of tire treads. A rotary tool with a few different heads- some flat circles for cutting, a few cylinders with grit on the exterior for shaving. Some actual sheers, like large wire cutters. A mostly full bottle of cleanser- the big kind usually kept in sickbay alone. A few rags, a few disposable towels, emesis basins. A needle, three vials- two with different colored lids. Not to mention whatever she had in her pack, which was currently latched to her back as well.
Without a word she entered the stuffy, well lit, breathless room. The ever so nearly silent hum of the ever so nearly invisible wall already grating on frayed, tired nerves.
Omega base. Brig. 1600 hrs.
Quiet ‘padunks’ outside in the hall slowly went from faint inklings to viable sound…
The big, heavy door on the far side of the room cracked open. A small form shifted through, sideways a bit. Her stubby little white and red frame still the same, still athletic, still built to run, and lift, though… she seemed without that background noise of seemingly endless energy her age usually granted her.
Patch looked... tired.
He was just gone.
Not GONE gone… Not really… That was good. It was better… But… That... Didn't necessarily make it easier. To look up at that familiar face, to be met with unfamiliar eyes- no experience behind them. No pain. No knowledge. No wisdom. The knowing looks, and chiding remarks replaced by quiet questions. Assurances of allowance.
He wasn't missing just to her, Patch knew that. Everyone missed him, many more than her. But suddenly Patch had his boots to fill… And she was much smaller than him.
Ratchet had done so much more than just medicine…
Bridge controls, bridge maintenance, energon fuel-lines running round base that required inspection- yes he’d made lists, that didn’t help anywhere near enough. She had Neon. Neon. Poor sweet Neon; already she’d been short with him more times than such a kind spark as his would ever deserve in a lifetime- but she didn’t have time to feel bad about that… She didn’t have the energy…
Primus, how did he do it all? How could he have possibly found the hours?
It was heavy… Patch felt it was heavy. It was wearing on her spark. Chipping into her recharge. Pricking away at her organs by way of stress. She suddenly had so much to do. Two jobs to fill; her own, and that which she was not yet qualified for. That which she urned to do someday- though not today. Most certainly not today… She was tired today.
And it showed…
Dark optics, lowered posture, apparent photophobia given the way she was squinting at the godawful flickering deathray lights in the brig. Whether she was taking enough fuel or not, she didn’t appear to be processing it right. Her chest was hot -it was constantly hot from stress- and her brain was still constantly full from nothing but the list of things that still needed doing, and delegating.
She didn’t say anything.
There was a small assortment of objects cluttered on the tray she carried in front of her. A few cut up bits of tire treads. A rotary tool with a few different heads- some flat circles for cutting, a few cylinders with grit on the exterior for shaving. Some actual sheers, like large wire cutters. A mostly full bottle of cleanser- the big kind usually kept in sickbay alone. A few rags, a few disposable towels, emesis basins. A needle, three vials- two with different colored lids. Not to mention whatever she had in her pack, which was currently latched to her back as well.
Without a word she entered the stuffy, well lit, breathless room. The ever so nearly silent hum of the ever so nearly invisible wall already grating on frayed, tired nerves.