[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Unstable [Carbine, Patch]
Jun 30, 2022 20:13:54 GMT -5
Post by Patch on Jun 30, 2022 20:13:54 GMT -5
--“No no- I’m. I’m fine.”-- She answered quickly. --“Thank you.”--
She looked back at the mech with one optic still closed. --“We’ll be okay here.”--
With the code passed on, Patch walked back to the sink and grimaced again at the idea of touching her optic. Again, she doused her hands in cleanser and rinsed them. Then, again, she dug into the box of scraps for a small, silver piece about the size of her palm.
Once she found one she liked, she retrieved a small sharp sort of hammer-mounted chisel from beneath the counter, as well as a thoroughly worn down stone; a helm-sized block of an abrasive metal, with deep scores cut through the center at strange angles over centuries.
Using the old metal block like an anvil, the young medic tapped a few chips along one edge of the scrap with the hammer to create a linear indent across one edge. She held the instrument up and carefully aimed for a moment. Straightening as she trusted her one able optic to…
‘Pang!’ the edge of the tool dropped down like an ax and severed along where she’d scored. An easy enough way to make -heh-, patches custom to the angles, and shape of one’s frame.
Clipping the tool into the nook of her palm, she held the -now a rhombus- to the light above between her thumb and index digit. Satisfied enough, it seemed, she then lowered her attention to the block, rubbing the cut edge through and across one of the groves to very quickly soften any sharpness.
She took up the scrap and put her instruments away, conveniently stalling as long as she could until… She took a tight invent, then let it out near a huff as she bent over the sink- seeming to negotiate with herself on what she was about to do for a moment.
Patch reached up to her faceplace, and scooping with her digit, soft tinks began to call out from the metal basin below. Small bits of hard glass falling down as she knocked them out of place- desperately careful not to push them inward.
Every once in a while she’d flinch up, and back. As though she’d either hurt, or frightened herself. Shoulders tense, intake tight as it seemed to take all her restraint not to just RUB the damn thing and do it proper.
Once the glass was entirely out, the optic now exposed, Patch took a bit of -temporary, double checked that bit- adhesive putty around the edge. She pressed the makeshift eye patch to her optic socket, and held it in place a moment. Waiting for the glue to solidify into a harder gel, as she crossed back to tend to her patient.
She looked back at the mech with one optic still closed. --“We’ll be okay here.”--
With the code passed on, Patch walked back to the sink and grimaced again at the idea of touching her optic. Again, she doused her hands in cleanser and rinsed them. Then, again, she dug into the box of scraps for a small, silver piece about the size of her palm.
Once she found one she liked, she retrieved a small sharp sort of hammer-mounted chisel from beneath the counter, as well as a thoroughly worn down stone; a helm-sized block of an abrasive metal, with deep scores cut through the center at strange angles over centuries.
Using the old metal block like an anvil, the young medic tapped a few chips along one edge of the scrap with the hammer to create a linear indent across one edge. She held the instrument up and carefully aimed for a moment. Straightening as she trusted her one able optic to…
‘Pang!’ the edge of the tool dropped down like an ax and severed along where she’d scored. An easy enough way to make -heh-, patches custom to the angles, and shape of one’s frame.
Clipping the tool into the nook of her palm, she held the -now a rhombus- to the light above between her thumb and index digit. Satisfied enough, it seemed, she then lowered her attention to the block, rubbing the cut edge through and across one of the groves to very quickly soften any sharpness.
She took up the scrap and put her instruments away, conveniently stalling as long as she could until… She took a tight invent, then let it out near a huff as she bent over the sink- seeming to negotiate with herself on what she was about to do for a moment.
Patch reached up to her faceplace, and scooping with her digit, soft tinks began to call out from the metal basin below. Small bits of hard glass falling down as she knocked them out of place- desperately careful not to push them inward.
Every once in a while she’d flinch up, and back. As though she’d either hurt, or frightened herself. Shoulders tense, intake tight as it seemed to take all her restraint not to just RUB the damn thing and do it proper.
Once the glass was entirely out, the optic now exposed, Patch took a bit of -temporary, double checked that bit- adhesive putty around the edge. She pressed the makeshift eye patch to her optic socket, and held it in place a moment. Waiting for the glue to solidify into a harder gel, as she crossed back to tend to her patient.