[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Medical Leave [Closed]

[Knock Out]

The squawked reply was met with a laugh, though it wasn’t aimed directly at Flatline. At least the other mech was aware that his admission was ridiculous - though on the other hand it was kind of sad. While he wasn’t exactly thrilled with this planet, getting the chance to drive around on open roads at times was a perfect way to clear his processor after a long day. There was obviously the excitement of getting to race occasionally, but a lot of the time he drove simply to drive.

It helped him more than he let on at times, and with how stressed Flatline had been, maybe he needed to be dragged out more often. Though the thought of both of them together would probably raise more than a few eyebrows from the native pests - a flashy car such as himself with… a hearse… it was strange, though he didn’t really care for what people thought, and any attention on himself was good.

Though it was certainly a problem for future them.

The quiet hum and the meaning behind the noise would’ve been met with a gentle smile should they have been in their root mode, but he was quietly thankful that Flatline was even considering the idea, even if his following words were a little disappointing if only because he wanted to see the other mech push himself - just to see what happened. Though, he honestly agreed completely with the remark, this terrain was not fun to drive on, and he was already imagining the amount of dust he’d have to wash off himself.

::I’ll hold you to that. Maybe I’ll come with you, show you around some places I’ve been - I doubt you’ve got out much at all, hm?::

While he had no idea what Flatline had done in his free time when they were on the Nemesis - if only because he hadn’t given two slags about him - now that they worked together he knew for a fact that the other mech hadn’t left Blackridge once, and it was unhealthy indeed.

Continuing on, his focus was on where they were headed - as well as trying to avoid patches of shrubbery that popped up amidst the arid ground.

A gentle tsk escaped him as Flatline spoke, though it was not out of annoyance.

::Okay, new rule - no more mentioning your knee. I mean, not unless it really hurts, of course. But this is supposed to be fun. Actually, scratch that, new new rule, every time you mention your knee, you owe me an hour of buffing.::

This whole thing was to take Flatline’s mind off Blackridge and to get him out and about and feeling like a normal Cybertronian. Yes, changing into his Altmode would’ve brought with it some more focus to the damaged limb, but he could still drive and move around - and while he wasn’t ignoring the fact it was bothering his friend, it would certainly put a damper on things if his attention was solely on worrying about what was wrong.

::We’ll look at again it when we get back to Blackridge, okay?:: quiet words of reassurance as he continued on - and while they were still a ways off, it certainly seemed like they were heading in the direction of something now. It was hard to make out from where they were, but there were various sized shapes in the distance, scattered randomly around a seemingly localized area.

::Mm, looks like we're almost there.:: 

[Flatline]

A nervous sort of half attempted laugh puttered out when Knock Out called him out on how little he had explored overall. It was a short sound, awkward, not something Flatline would typically make when he was on familiar ground. In fact, the other mech likely would have never heard such a noise from him before at all. As quick as it happened, it was gone, a simple fleeting incident that was so brief it could almost be argued as never having occurred at all.

This entire ordeal had him launched out of his element aggressively, and it was showing in his mannerisms and how he spoke. This would likely continue to evolve the longer he was outside of the Medical Bay’s cage where he looped in circles between familiar elements and tasks. Work on this here, work on that there, bit of gossip, bit of idle chatter... he had none of that here. He couldn’t redirect his focus to something productive, nor flip through records to keep track of things. He had simply himself, Knock Out, and this weird light drenched environment.

"I think I have gone on the surface four times maximum."

Flatline had only seen the sun on this world three times, as one of said outings was in the middle of the night to look for his new altmode. It was a sad admission to those who saw living free on the surface to run, drive, fly... whatever... as a wonderful experience. He was fine with it though, or he thought he was. Too much else had consumed his mind to even consider luxuries such as this... yet being out and about was surreal, and he found his unseen gaze flicking around at the vacant, and frankly huge landscape they had been deposited into. Open. Exposed. Dangerous likely... ah...

Flatline's train of thoughts had started to go down the 'we are being fools being out here together' road again, a form of anxiety welling up, before the other mech dropped a new rule to this outing atop the ones that had already been slapped upon him before they even left Blackridge. All things considered, complaining about his knee could TECHNICALLY go under the initial 'don't complain' foundation at the very start of this adventure, yet it was now being doubled up upon with an added catch that'd try to make certain that he would not mess up once. Only, he knew he would.

He could try as he might to shut up, however all it would take was one stumble on a rock, and a 'damn knee' muttered under breath, for Flatline to be completely slapped sideways.

"Three strikes before that comes into play."

If he had three 'oops' fallbacks, then he felt as though he stood a chance. It more of a challenge rather than a beartrap sitting there waiting for him to make one single misplaced stride. The punishment however was excessive.

"And an hour is ridiculous!"

An hour. HOUR dealing with some pampered mech who didn't even need to be buffed!

"You are going to burn a hole through your plating eventually."

Factual? No. That wasn’t how it worked, especially with topcoats. Knock Out would know in an instant that it was just a flippant statement. An attempt to banter to fill a sort of uncomfortable void. It was while he said this, he let his gaze drift forward rather than side to side, seeing the abstract shapes that he couldn't recognize from their current distance.

[Knock Out]

The… - what even was that noise… was that a laugh...? - whatever it was caught Knock Out by surprise, though it was barely even registered before there was silence once more, making the cherry-red mech wonder if he’d even heard it to begin with. It wasn’t a faulty noise over the comm, that much he knew, and so could only assume it was some strange attempt at a chuckle.

Or maybe Flatline had hit a rock or something, though it didn’t sound like a yelp of pain - even if it was as quick as one.

Regardless, he wouldn’t draw attention to it by asking the other mech just what that sound was supposed to be, for his focus was on Flatline’s following words - and he found himself wondering again if he’d heard correctly.

::I’m sorry what, four times?:: he repeated, hoping the other mech had misspoke and was thinking of fourty or maybe even four hundred.

He knew Flatline didn’t get out much, but to hear how just abysmally low that number actually was? It was depressing. Even if he wasn’t going out with the intention of racing or gallivanting around, getting fresh air through his vents and feeling the warmth of the sun as it made his finish sparkle was so good for his mental health, if only because it gave him a moment away from the stresses of work and everything that came with it.

It certainly explained a lot into why Flatline was the way he was, though. A literal hermit, stagnating on the Nemesis and now here in Blackridge Hold. The latter being far worse, given his aversion to even leaving the Medical Bay at times.

Though even on the Nemesis his quarters were directly attached to his laboratory - which again, not healthy.

::Remind me to drag you out with me more. It’ll do you a world of good.:: his tone was serious, though not quite stern enough to sour the mood. Given Flatline had been around him for some time now, the other mech could probably tell that no reminder would be needed and that he probably had no choice in the matter.

Nearing the mysterious location, the various shapes would begin to take some sort of form. Vehicles - lots of them, though it was still hard to make out from here specific models and colors, nor what state they were in. Some seemed to be piled on top of each other precariously, though the majority were seemingly scattered around on their own. A specific number could not be seen from where they currently were, though they were certainly numerous.

It was his turn to laugh then, the three strikes comment was met with a hearty chuckle and a tsk as he tapered off.

::Three strikes? Since when are you in charge of the rules, hm?:: a gentle tease, the smile could be heard in his words, even despite him scoffing quietly at the other mech’s comments. An hour was about average for a decent buffing session - Breakdown certainly took care and time with his work, and even Flatline had done a good enough job the one and only time he’d done it.

::Well, it could be longer, it all depends on how often you mention your you know what. So for the sake of my plating - as you’d be the one who’d have to fix any issues as well - try to focus on having a good time.::

He knew and understood the other mech was uncomfortable, and as this was the first time in what was probably forever that he’d transformed, there may be new complications with the knee that they had not been aware of.

::...Though we’ll do the three strike thing I suppose, as a treat.::

[Flatline]

Was four times really that bad? Evidently, it was, by the way Knock Out had responded. It really wasn't a huge deal however in Flatline's opinion. He had nothing outside of the base he even wanted to do. If someone had to mull and kick around digging for a reason to go anywhere, then they really didn't need to do it in the first place in his opinion. His scavenging had been his only goal, yet that got sidelined as jobs deviated, the Nemesis went down, and he was pushed under Knock Out's supervision as an assistant. Thus, here he was, effectively a bird being lobbed out into the wilderness with its wings clipped with no frame of concept on what to even do with himself.

An uncomfortable grumble sounded.

"We can't both be out and about like this too much. It is risky."

A sort of grimace could be heard in his voice.

Living in terror... it wasn't a way he really wanted to exist, and he didn't like it at all. The Nemesis, Megatron, and Starscream situations had twisted his confidence into pieces and he didn't know if that would be able to be stapled back together anytime soon, if ever. He couldn't anger them by messing up with the pathetic excuse of fresh air.

He paused.

"Controlled environments maybe. I am uncertain."

Perhaps... that was part of the issue overall with Flatline, using the shield of logic and tactics to not HAVE to go out and about. He didn't know what exactly was going on, as he wasn't the same individual he was when he came to Earth, and in turn, he was questioning a good deal about himself at times. This moment was no exception, and Knock Out would be seeing a lot more uncertainty from him as this outing progressed, simply because he was forced to think outside of his routine and it made him somewhat twitchy.

Looking ahead, Flatline could see the dilapidated vehicles they were coming up upon, a sort of frown felt when their shapes came into more focus. It was an appalling concept to look at, a junk heap in the perspective of a human, distorted into an open graveyard of corpses in the eyes of a Cybertronian. He recognized they were not their kind, only a moron would think as much, though there was that instinctive kneejerk thought before reality would take hold, and what they were could be watered down to unfortunately shaped scraps.

Setting the topic about the three-strike rule aside, so that he didn't say anything wrong to make Knock Out punch it down to a two strikes warning system, he would change the topic into their specific goal.

"I don't know what to think about what I see being associated with the word 'fun'."

A sea of scrap and corpses, and fun. How did they go together? Flatline didn't know. He was far from knowing. Perhaps if there were an abundance of valuable things to harvest that could be enjoyable in a productivity level mindset, but that was stretching the term fun out in ways it really wasn’t meant to be used. That situation could only be applied if the rewards were great and it had a competitive edge to it, and... no. He was confused.

"Do you consider pretend graverobbing fun?"

[Knock Out]

The grumble from the other mech would’ve probably been met with an obvious optic roll should the cherry-red mech have been in his root mode. Instead, it was met with a quiet tsk - and while it was not broadcast over the comm, a gentle vent of a patient sigh.

He knew this was so far out of Flatline’s comfort level, and that a level of restraint would have to be put in place before he sassed him to the point of never leaving the base again.

::Would you stop worrying? I’m not saying we need to go gallivanting across the planet every other day. Just… the occasional outing because Primus knows you need it.::

He may not be trying to sass the other mech, however he would still be honest with him.

Breakdown had things handled in the Medical Bay, he was sure, and it wasn’t like they weren’t a simple bridge away should they both be needed for some dire emergency. Out here in the middle of nowhere it was relatively safe, he assumed. MECH certainly weren’t out here, nor were any Autobots. The big blue mech had mentioned something about this location being sort of close to that Neutral base that got blown up, but as far as he knew? They were all dead.

Though he’d of course leave that part out.

::Just enjoy the scenery, and relax. Or I’ll write this off as a failure and we’ll have to go out again far sooner than planned!::

His tone implied that he was serious. Flatline needed to get out more, and until he started letting go of some of what was probably years worth of stress? Knock Out would keep pestering.

The wrong way to go about it, perhaps, but it wasn’t as if the other mech would do it on his own. He’d made it his mission to at least get some sort of laugh out of Flatline today, and so he could only hope this spontaneous activity would work.

Ah, of all the times to miss home. At least there he could’ve given Flatline a little something to take the edge off and then some. The other mech seemed the type to have never had fun in his entire life, and he found himself wondering for a moment what he’d be like under the influence of something illegal - but oh so worth it.

Alas, he would probably never find out the answer to this question. Being out and about would hopefully steer things in the right direction in getting Flatline out of this perpetual slump, however.

Moving closer to their destination, several of the vehicles could be seen in more detail. Some showed signs of significant rust, it standing out against sun-bleached paint even from here. However most seemed to be in fairly good condition despite the fact they no longer moved. There was something certainly morbid about the whole thing, even if they weren’t Cybertronian and were simply discarded human vehicles - but should they not think too hard about it, it would probably be okay.

He wouldn’t allow his processor to go down that path, though it seemed Flatline may be doing so just a little - as such, the comment from the other mech was met with a noise of confusion.

::Graverobbing? Flatline, they aren’t Cybertronian - and even if they were, I have some standards. Besides, even if they were I wouldn’t touch these rustbuckets with a twenty-foot pole - though uh, on that note… keep that in mind, we are looking for something. Uh. Decent sticks, metal rods? Kind of like your cane.::

He paused for a moment, humming.

::And before you ask, no, we aren’t here to find you another cane - though I do wish you’d let me pimp yours out to give it a bit of the ole razzle dazzle.::

He wanted to get a little closer before shifting into his root-mode, as while he assumed it was safe, he was far faster on wheel than by foot, should there be something lurking nearby.

[Flatline]

::-Or I’ll write this off as a failure and we’ll have to go out again far sooner than planned!::

These words seemed to hit a mark, and instantly Flatline cut off all complaining and waffling over the topic. He didn't offer an 'okay', or other meek acceptance of the situation, nor did he even make a low grumble sound that amounted to nothing. This didn’t erase the sentiment behind this, however, the lack of continued complaining an instant acknowledgment of the terms that had been applied. If he was good? He didn’t need to be forced out. If he had a good time? Then he wouldn’t need to be forced.

That remained to be seen.

While this had silenced Flatline, the discussion that followed did the opposite, giving him something new to focus upon that was external emotions rather than deeper discomforts he didn't want to look too far into. As such, he let out a scoffed crackle noise, almost sounding insulted at the implication that he thought they were actually Cybertronian. Of course they weren't! Hence saying 'pretend'!

::I know they aren’t Cybertronian Knock Out::

Balance. Find balance of some kind. Don't get angry for nothing.

A soft sort of exhale slipped out at the request he had heard far too many times.

::I like my more modest approach. I am not flashy::

Simple cane, simple paint, simple lack of bio lights. No need to look nice, no need to be a focus. Flatline knew his angular anatomy and proportions made him stand out enough, he didn’t want to try to pull more focus his way that was uncomfortable with his personality type. If he could fold into the background further? He would. He was happy with his alienated little lab back in the Nemesis where he didn’t HAVE to interact with anyone. Primus. He wondered if 80% of the ship even knew he was a thing before the crash occurred?

::Either way, depending on what vehicles there are, a roll cage, chassis, or trailer could be sawed apart?::

Flatline did not know what Knock Out considered decent for whatever role he needed them to serve. It could imply a larger size, whether it was truly straight or not, or even just the material itself. The latter likely wasn't the case however given sticks and metal rods were lumped together side by side, both of which had vastly different properties. If he was truly looking for something straight, then they may be in trouble given he didn’t overtly see anything of note that could fulfill such a role within the more barren environment other than his cane which indeed wasn't up for grabs.

::A truck bed dependent on material could be made into strips::

He was trying. He really was. Wanting to put together an answer to such a simple dilemma that Knock Out threw at him. If he needed sticks though, there was the great question as to why he didn't bother to get them right at the onset before he even confronted him in the Medical Bay? Perhaps the answer would come out in due time. For now, he continued to throw ideas out to ignore the earlier tensions by being useful.

Having a puzzle to solve instantly shelved Flatline's erratic issues and seemed to make him perk up.

::Lighter metals could be rolled, or two things could be welded together::

[Knock Out]

::Just making sure, before you have some sort of moral crisis! You’re the one who doesn’t get out much and isn’t used to seeing human vehicles, even decrepit ones such as this!::

Should this same conversation have been had a few long months ago, it would’ve probably been a lot meaner. However, here in the now it still held the gentle badgering jab of a tease, only he wasn’t aiming to hurt the other mech with his words.

Though, come to think of it… this same conversation wouldn’t have ever happened a few long months ago because that meant spending actual time with Flatline, and back then he’d rather entertain a Vehicon for hours than humor the black and red mech with anything more than an optic roll should they for whatever reason pass each other in a corridor.

Ah, how things change.

To be fair, there was something lowkey horrific about seeing vehicles in such a state. Even if they weren’t Cybertronian, even if they didn’t have any sort of pain threshold or feelings, it was a little on the nose, given what their altmodes were. Rust was a scary thing indeed, and while he was sure the various cars and trucks they were driving toward were well loved at one point? To see them so still, never to move again? It was a little humbling, in a way.

It certainly made him want to spend some time in the wash rack, and they weren’t even anywhere near the junkyard yet.

Cutting through the momentary quiet and pulling him from his thoughts was Flatline.

::I am not flashy::

Understatement of the century…

::No, no you are not.:: it was probably more than evident by his tone that he was holding back a laugh, however he managed to hold it in.

::Maybe that’ll be my next goal once you’re more used to the outside world. Give you a bit of a makeover. Our original quest for paint may have failed, but the humans have plenty to spare.::

How would he even get paint? Well, that was certainly a problem for future him. It couldn’t be too hard, though. Waltz into some store with a fancy looking holoform, sweet talk some sales clerk, and then walk out before they even knew what’d happened. It sounded like a good enough plan on paper, however given his distaste for the human squishies, it’d probably require more thought.

He’d do it though, for Flatline. Should this outing do little for his mental health to the point he was still ‘bleh’, perhaps giving him a fresh coat of paint - black and red or otherwise - would give him a much needed boost.

He could only groan at Flatline’s next words, venting out a long audible sigh.

::Trust you to turn something fun into more work!:: he laughed.

Accelerating for just a moment, he would pull ahead quickly - and with a familiar twisting of metal and parts, would shift into his root mode. The momentum from the transformation made it so he ran ahead a couple of paces before skidding to a stop, fresh dust kicking up beneath his pedes as he turned to look at Flatline, both servos on his hips.

“We’re close enough that we can probably walk, now.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he would hum quietly in thought. They were still a short ways away from the edge of the junkyard, however it was definitely doable by foot now - Flatline’s knee permitting, anyway. While he was certain this place was abandoned, they would be far quieter on foot just on the off chance there was something - or someone - lurking nearby.

“We aren’t going to do anything that you said, either. At least, not at first.” he’d heard Flatline perk up slightly, however it all sounded like far too much effort. If they couldn’t find anything they would have to improvise and make something, but the less of those rusted cars he had to touch? The better.

“I’m sure there are pipes laying around that we can use. If not? We’ll do it your way.”

Walking backward a few steps, he would turn then and start heading toward the junkyard once more.

[Flatline]

Flatline would roll his eyes if he could when Knock Out tried to warn him.

::I am certain you will be not-at-all surprised to know I got my alt mode from a junkyard that the owner was evidently fixing up. I have also scavenged such areas for parts. I am acquainted with the husks::

Was it wise to essentially say he got his alt from a metaphorical graveyard? Probably not, though it was only confirming what Knock Out likely already thought and knew down in his spark. An abomination to a sports car, or anywhere in between, it didn't matter to Flatline, given the fact that he truly didn't ever use it other than a couple of occasions including the one right here in the now. It did make him note however that he did need to up the pressure in his tires when they did get back home. He was fine enough to drive, though things weren’t the best, adding an odd feeling atop a pile of odd sensations with having weight actually placed upon long neglected mountings.

::Maybe that’ll be my next goal once you’re more used to the outside world. Give you a bit of a makeover::

::I don't want to be some bright color::

Flatline quickly protested, interpreting a makeover as a full change, which he wasn't interested in at all. If push came to shove and he HAD to change colors? He would try to go for charcoal or something else subdued. His mind hadn't jumped to the idea that Knock Out could just be considering a general repaint, which admittingly he was a little more open to the idea since they spoke on the topic earlier. A patient seeing their medic a beaten-up mess couldn't give the best first impressions to someone who was hurt, and a new crisper stenciling of the medic cross and Decepticon insignia would show a little more pride for the role he found himself stuck in.

While Knock Out had transformed in motion, bleeding off the retained momentum with a couple of longer strides to taper to a stop, Flatline instead eased to a full halt where he would simply sit in silence afterward. Each beat that passed felt like a lifetime in its own way, as no motions were made while the red mech spoke about how they were going to look for pipes before even humoring the idea of actual work. In a different situation, he may have joked back, snarled a sort of 'figures you would be averse to putting in a modicum of effort', though there was nothing, unseen eyes casting down and to the side.

He was scared.

It had hurt to transform initially, the motion causing a sharp catch of metal snagging that then had to be forced past. Flatline was suddenly wary about how hard it may hit that same point going in the opposite direction. Would it slick past easier because the flaw was angled in the other direction? Or would it catch ten times worse because it was the opposite of that? The questions buzzed in his mind, watching Knock Out nervously before he had to simply grit his teeth and push forward.

The sound of transformation started with the all too familiar ratcheting noises and clatter of metals uncurling from their locked-down state, the hearse's roof splitting in half lengthwise while side panels punched out to reveal the more alien mechanics beneath. Flatline's right arm hooked out and around as the front tire shoved up into place, latching within the bicep rig while the forearm rammed horizontally onto the ground to give an anchor of sorts while its two chunks fused together. His left in contrast wrenched out to his side, fingers flaring with lurching twitches as the two halves snapped back enough that his palm then grasped onto the ground to add to the stability. While this occurred the rest of him was certainly transitioning as well, though his injured leg hung horribly.

The broken-up shape of the Cybertronian limb was angled in awkward pitches due to being stalled in a half way point, the wheel not fully set into the thigh assembly, while the lower hock was wrenched sideways beyond a 90-degree angle backward after it had unfurled from its locking point. The pronged hoof kicked once at the ground much like it had when transforming previously, the motions angled oddly due to the disjointed shape. It wasn't broken, despite possibly looking like it was given it was facing the absolute wrong direction, but to a trained eye it was easy to see it simply hadn’t swiveled around all the way yet and was in a transitional point.

The ped scraped a groove into the dirt from the amount of force that was slammed behind it in its ragged kick, the ordeal feeling like an eternity to Flatline that in actuality was only a few passing beats. His teeth gritted from this final pressure, before the leg snapped past whatever snag point it was challenged with, letting everything smoothly reel around with a heavy clunk, the wheel slotting fully into alignment which led to the limb finally relaxing.

Remaining down a second on his good knee, Flatline's now dust-coated hand would smear across the top of his helm to grab at the back flaring, a rattled ex-vent slipping out as he steadied himself and processed the fact that he still had a leg and it didn’t break off. With this realization and experience, if he had to transform again, he likely wouldn’t struggle so badly, knowing what to expect. It was simply that first blind jump was horrible and it had rattled him. At this, he spoke in a frustrated crackle to try to beat Knock Out to the punch.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just... spooked..."

Removing his hand from his helm, Flatline reached over to grab his cane that had been deposited mid-transformation from his internal cage, holding it firm as he then shoved up into a shaky stand. Once to his feet, he looked down at his limb, half expecting to see something mangled, though everything appeared to be normal.

He hoped Knock Out wouldn't call him dramatic, as it did hurt... he wasn't being a weakling nor looking for attention.

With this, Flatline’s free hand would reach down to grab just beneath his knee, tapping the back area with his pointer finger to check for fresh burrs, though he didn’t initially feel anything.

[Knock Out]

"-I got my alt mode from a junkyard"

::Well you’re absolutely correct in that I’m not surprised in the slightest…:: there was amusement to his tone, at least.

Flatline’s altmode had always been a curious choice, and something Knock Out had silently judged him for ever since learning of what it was. It was a bit on the nose given his profession and what the humans used that particular model of vehicle for, but he’d always taken that as those in this field needing a drier sense of humor at times.

The fact he’d picked something so old had been puzzling, as there were plenty of fancier, newer models to choose from. Then again, he hadn’t been there when the vehicle had been selected - maybe Flatline simply didn’t have a clue what was out there.

It wasn’t as if he ever left the base, either. Even when they had the Nemesis he’d remained locked up in his room for weeks on end.

At the protest about bright colors, Knock Out could only scoff. Even if he did opt to paint the other mech something a bit more daring, it’d be tasteful and not tacky. After all, Flatline would let others know just who had done the work - and having his name attached to something gaudy? No thank you.

::I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.::

When it came time he would have to see what they even had on hand. Paint was in short supply these days, and unless he dipped into his own personal collection - something he wasn’t sure the other mech was worthy of - it’d probably be one of the more common Decepticon colors.

Maybe changing the red from purple might be nice.

Things to mull over later, for now his thoughts had drifted back to the task at hand. Or, mostly. He hadn’t thought too far ahead to the point of Flatline transforming, almost as if forgetting about the other mech’s injury.

And so, he would continue walking at a casual pace, waiting for the other medic to catch up to him.

…Which wasn’t happening.

Pausing and turning to look at just what the hold up was, it was then that everything seemed to click into place. Right, right... it’d looked painful when Flatline had shifted into his altmode, of course there would be some hesitation in doing it again.

He wouldn’t speak, not wanting to rush the other mech to the point he transformed too quickly and hurt his knee further, though would keep his attention and gaze on him regardless. The transformation process was usually fast, and even to a trained eye it was hard to see if anything was amiss during the flurry of parts - though he felt like with the apparent hesitation, he may be able to catch anything that looked ‘off’.

It was hard to tell much of anything, admittedly, but he did notice that Flatline’s leg had seemed to snag, almost, as it shifted into place. Whether that was because the knee was damaged or because he was holding himself back remained to be seen, though it did look awkwardly painful regardless.

But he did it - and was quick to speak once it was over.

“Are you sure? It was fast, but there was definitely a moment when it seemed to catch. Still can’t believe we never thought to get you to transform before this - our little secret, mm?”

It should’ve probably been up there when they were looking into fixing the joint, though given the other mech practically lived in the Medical Bay it hadn’t even been a passing thought. At least this outing would have the benefit of helping further Flatline’s recovery, if only because they had more information regarding the injury.

“Are you good to walk?”

Keeping his gaze on the other mech, he would begin to walk backward toward their destination.

[Flatline]

After a couple of final pushes against the back and side hinge of his knee to make certain nothing was broken, Flatline would ease upright... or more... as upright as he typically went. His overall posture was profoundly hooked in nature versus others, his hips tilted at an odd angle while his chest was canted forward over it at the opposite position. It could look uncomfortable compared to the way others carried themselves, though it simply worked with his particular biology, steadying his frame above the gyroscopes rather than a traditional center of mass approach. If he were to stand with a straighter spine, it would look ten times more horrible than he typically did with his outline, a lesser of two evils.

Once stable, Flatline looked over at Knock Out when he showed concern, speaking quickly to try to brush the incident somewhat aside so it didn’t become a central theme of this outing.

"It did snag, though not as bad as I made it look. I feared worse. I should be fine."

Psychological horror held him back a great deal, which was the largest part of why things had gone as slowly as they had. He effectively pushed up against the point it started to hurt and held it there out of apprehension rather than just kicking past it and getting things over with. If he just ran and slammed through the transformation at a normal speed, it would have been a relative non-issue in a way. Probably. His profoundly low pain tolerance was his downfall in this application, the hesitating wobbles of someone not wanting to touch something hot.

Easing back and forth gently to put some weight upon the leg as a final check, Flatline found that things were pretty much back to normal, this assured feeling represented in the way that he started to walk towards the other mech with the familiar gate.

"I must ask-"

He couldn't keep his earlier internal question bottled up, using it as a way to move past the topic of his injury.

"If you needed something straight like that, why did you not bring it at the onset? What if there isn't any?"

An angular brow would hike up at this, curious just what the plan would be then. How viable would his earlier suggested ideas even be? If he knew what the end goal was, he could probably have a more stable solution put together, or at least have a couple of options that were more applicable while clipping off those that were not even slightly relevant. Whatever the case, he was keeping his tone lighter than normal, trying not to berate Knock Out for not thinking ahead of time. He had said he would try to be pleasant about this outing to avoid future backlash, though he couldn't stop asking the question beneath a more friendly mask.

Approaching, Flatline would opt to continue walking in the direction that Knock Out had initially been going before he had stopped to look back, knowing that it was better to keep his momentum so they could make some decent progress. He didn't expect to pass him, but if he did, he had no doubts that he could be caught up with only a couple of normal strides. It was with this continued progression that he would speak once more in a lightly taunting gesture, his free hand flicking in the air.

"I suppose you are creative enough that you would pivot and say it was your plan all along."

A smirk paired with this, one that looked awkward, though it was accurate and not as forced as it may seem, fitting Flatline's personality well.

[Knock Out]

Watching Flatline with what could probably be considered mild interest, he took note of how the other mech took a moment to return to some sort of normal posture. Or, normal for him. Standing against the open nothingness, it was glaringly apparent just how awkward Flatline’s stance actually was compared to many of their kind.

It was something he hadn’t ever really noticed - or paid much attention to - while at Blackridge Hold. Probably because he saw the other mech on a day to day basis to the point he never took in the details.

Still, though, no comments were made on it - as odd as it looked - and he barked out a laugh at the other mech’s words.

“Ha! Here I was thinking I was the dramatic one. Playing it up for sympathy, mm?” a gentle tease.

Keeping up his slower pace as he walked backward, he would wait until Flatline had almost caught up before turning to walk in the correct direction, listening to the question. His own pace was slow - probably a little slower than he’d of liked - not wanting to rush ahead and outpace the other mech.

Chuckling at Flatline’s words, he would tsk quietly before responding.

“You think I planned every detail of this trip? Pff. I am most definitely winging this, dear Flatline - though should there not be anything suitable I am sure we will find something to make do.”

While he’d had a general idea of where they had been going, the fun activity he had planned was thought up entirely on the fly as they approached their destination. As exciting as rummaging through a junkyard for little glass thingies or other treasures sounded, this new idea was certain to let them both blow off some much-needed steam.

…If they could find the perfect metal sticks for what he had planned, anyway.

“We need decent-sized rocks, too. So if you see any that look good, be sure to pick them up!” he cheerily added for good measure - adding another layer of mystery to the fun-filled day he had apparently thought up on the fly.

Would the other mech even be able to bend down and scoop up rocks, he wondered - though thinking about it, he realized it’d probably be a good test for his knee after all that pesky transforming and driving they had to do to get here.

[Flatline]

When Knock Out admitted that he was absolutely winging things and that he didn’t really have a set plan, Flatline... well... he simply wasn't surprised. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. If there was a clean-cut plan then perhaps he would have actually been somewhat scared, worried just who the other mech was. He needed something in between, where there was enough planning and a goal to be a cohesive outing, but not too refined that there was some imposter standing beside him spouting out an itinerary. Spending mind power trying to churn through what balance would work for both his wants and his expectations was a chore, however, so the black and red mech let out a low grumble and moved on.

"Forgive me for being hopeful my own planning tendencies would rub off on you."

Dryly mocked, Flatline held no illusions that his work ethics would influence anything of real value. He could hope that it would on some level, though who really knows when the other mech was so poor at it to begin with where even slight improvements would be invisible. Then again, he WAS becoming more than simply tolerable to be around... did it mean his habits were improving? Probably not. It could just as easily be Stockholm Syndrome due to being shackled to Blackridge without his own private lab workspace any longer.

When Knock Out spoke again, Flatline faltered a brief second, a light hitch to his step taken, before he smoothed back out into a normal gait.

'Look Good'.

'Look Good.'

The fuck was 'Look Good'?

How could he know what rocks would be optimal for their intended use, if he didn't even know what the intended use was for? This sort of open-ended statement left Flatline in a daze, blankly looking upon Knock Out as they walked with lips slightly parted as though he wanted to say something, but was biting it back. Was he meant to just pick up any he thought looked interesting? That lack of structure played poorly with how his mind worked. Did they need to be wedged to prop under something? Square to not roll? Round to roll? Dark gray? Light gray? Striations? Even toned? Small? Large?

The top edge of his lip flicked some, teeth then parting as a protest was nearly cast before they closed back together and he resigned, looking down at the desert ground plane. While Knock Out may have briefly thought that kneeling to grab a stone could be a good test of his knee, he would be further reminded of just how atypical Flatline was, his arms rather long to a point that he simply pivoted his upper body slightly to dip his hand, clawed fingertips digging under a partly embedded stone like a rake to lift it up and look at while they progressed.

The rock was oval-shaped, the half that was above ground dusted in powder from the environment, while the other was clumped with bits of dried-up mud and dirt. It fit somewhat alright in his hand, not profoundly large, it pushed to hook beneath his pointer finger supported by thumb where its edge chipped off the dirt a little.

Was this 'good'? It was hard to say.

"So, is whatever we are about to do similar to things you leave base for so often? I thought you mostly raced to show off and polish your ego."

While it could be seen as an attempt to pry out answers again, this time around it was more a legitimate question rather than focused on this one particular outing. He didn't actually know what Knock Out did for leisure, normally zeroing in on the theme of speed and flash that was front and center. Logically as he thought about it now, having it ONLY be that was unlikely, though he lived such a subdued life he didn't ever think to question it before.

[Knock Out]

At the dry words, Knock Out could only laugh - something he’d been doing a lot of today, he realized - and scoff softly.

“Please, I’m neurotic enough without your influence making things worse. Let me have this moment of spontaneity, Flatline!”

When it came to cleanliness, Knock Out was borderline obsessed. Things had to be kept clean - pristine, almost - and that went for both the medical bay and himself. Thankfully, Flatline had some regard for his own personal hygiene, and seemed to know his way around a washrack to the point they hadn’t had a falling out over that.

Well, strange little neon paint blob on Flatline’s aft aside, but that was just funny.

Even Breakdown had learned quickly as to the standard that was expected of him, which was probably why for a frontliner he actually looked damn good, and was rather excellent at keeping things tidy around the workplace as well.

Continuing on, keeping his optics down while he looked for suitable sticks and rocks, he unfortunately missed the falter in the other mech’s step. Not that he would’ve paid it much mind or drawn any attention to it if he had seen it, Flatline’s gait wasn’t exactly normal to begin with, and he probably wasn’t used to walking on this terrain.

When was the last time he’d been outside, anyway?

What did catch his attention was how Flatline moved to pick something up. Well, there went that idea and possible source of amusement at watching him topple. Right, right… he had those built-in gyroscope thingies. Cheater.

He didn’t get much chance to actually look at the rock that’d been picked up to make sure it was ‘worthy’ of its upcoming fate - as Flatline spoke, drawing his gaze briefly ahead, before he looked back at the other mech.

“Hm? This? Oh no - never done this before. Thought about doing something similar in the past, though, believe me!” still no clues given as to what this outing actually was, then. “I do mostly race when outside of Blackridge, I am damn good at it, after all - but no, this entire thing was planned with you in mind as a way to de-stress.”

He paused, smiling.

“Well, mostly planned. Winging it aside. It’ll be fun though, promise - I see you already picked up a rock! Good job!”

[Flatline]

"Let me have this moment of spontaneity, Flatline!"

"Moment?"

Flatline's two-plated brow hooked up at this, absolutely making a jab at the other mech's continuously flippant approach to life that he appeared to call his normal. In contrast to previous attacks, however, this one wasn't as antagonistic despite its direct nature, the top of his lip flicking some into a grin that was awkward, but sincere enough on its own. He didn't often display real joy at things, his laughs more mocking than anything else, while his smiles were often close-mouthed unless he was being a little shit in some form or another... which... this particular incident certainly fit that parameter. This time, there was a lightness that joined it, rather than purely an 'I caught you in the act, you moron'.

This didn't last particularly long, though it wasn't a sign that he was irritated, rather than simply returning to his idle state while he spoke with his neutral approach.

"How DO you find those races anyway? I can't imagine you show up all over the continent given you would be recognized."

Always seeking answers.

How did that work? Flatline sure as the pit didn't know. All he did know for a fact was that Knock Out's model and paint would stand out plain as day. It could be argued that there were two good racers that happened to have the same vehicle, yet it was another to try to argue that two good racers happened to have the same vehicle WITH a profoundly unique and recognizable paint job that likely couldn't be replicated on a separate car. If the other mech was as great as he seemed to be, then his fake name and photo would get around no doubt... right?

Then a compliment came his way, one that caused a snorted scoff to flip out.

"I don't need praise for picking up a rock!"

Insulted without real anger behind the words, Flatline did not recognize that it likely wasn’t so much that he picked a rock, as much as it was the fact that he didn't have issues doing so. With this declaration, his arm would swoop down again lowly to scoop up another stone, the sharp bladed edge of his fingers leaving a long scrape through the dirt as he retrieved the odd stone, the prior safely tucked beneath his pinky and palm since he couldn’t use his opposite hand. As with the previous one, he rolled it between forefingers and thumb, knocking off the clinging dirt with a couple of taps.

"I might have issues holding them, however."

After this statement, he thought a second, before speaking once more with some malicious amusement snaking in due to the fact that what he was about to do was not professional in the slightest.

"Here, assist me."

In an underhanded toss so that it wouldn't damage anything if it did strike Knock Out, Flatline cast the stone he had just picked up forward to see if he would react quickly enough to catch. The first rock he had grasped wasn't lobbed over as well, there being only one offered at this juncture.

[Knock Out]

“Oh ha ha,” he smirked, tsking as he shook his helm. “Even you have to admit I’ve toned it down considerably since we relocated to Blackridge Hold.”

If only because he hadn’t really had a choice.

The Nemesis was vast, spacious - meaning it was far easier to sneak out on a jaunt than their current dwelling. Blackridge with its dusty, narrow corridors felt cramped, even if there was ample room. It felt like there was a Vehicon or someone at every turn, and there were only so many excuses he could give as to why he was leaving should he be spotted.

It was probably all in his head. The Nemesis had far more security than Blackridge - cameras littering the vast corridors, with Soundwave always watching - especially the Control Room where he quite often made his escape via bridge. Here, he was certain there were cameras - though not quite as many as the floating fortress.

He’d never been called out on his excursions, though that was probably because he - somehow - had managed to keep up with his work.

Blackridge felt different, he’d found there was a certain guilt in leaving, and that was when he could even find the time to do so.

This situation was different, though. Flatline needed this, whether or not he’d accept it.

Though in a way, he did too - though he certainly wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

“I have my ways.” he shrugged as he replied to the question, flashing the other mech a wink. “Though it’s word of mouth, mostly.” ah, so probably the internet then. “I’m careful, though - of course I am - show up and win too many of these things all over the States and people are bound to take note. That being said, I do have somewhat of a reputation along the West Coast - which I consider my territory.”

He sounded proud of this fact, and there was a touch of smugness to his tone as his fingers splayed across his chassis. He wasn’t really one for losing, especially not to a human, and so was well known in the racing scene in that particular area - at least for his driving skills. Any post-race interviews or celebrations he conveniently skipped out on, not wanting to draw more attention to himself than he already had.

Even though he would’ve relished in the spotlight.

Talking about it made him realize just how much he missed it, though, and a mental note was made to maybe start looking for a race in the coming weeks. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all, and it had been a while since he’d given the humans the privilege of his presence.

Flatline’s ‘insulted’ words pulled him back into the moment, and he’d laugh.

“Fine, don’t accept my totally genuine words of admiration!”

He was honestly surprised Flatline had picked up a rock to begin with without questioning out loud just what they were going to do with them, and found himself impressed that the other mech then moved to pick up a second.

“Issues?” he quirked a brow. They were just rocks, how could he-

Gah!

Not quite expecting to have a rock thrown at him, the cherry red mech would fumble somewhat, darting to catch it rather expertly with one servo before it hit the ground. Then again, it was only an underhanded throw and as such didn’t require much skill at all.

Lifting his servo to look at the rock in question, he would smile.

“You know, should we have any rocks left over after this mystery outing-” he would wiggle the fingers of his other servo, as if for good measure “-You could keep one of these as a pet.”

He wouldn’t elaborate, though his words seemed serious enough to the point he probably wasn’t joking.