insert one arm joke here

[lifepersists]

Who: First Aid and U
Where: Red Alert's clinic
When: Post-Pharma cutting off his arm
What: wow the medics are gimpier than the rest of you guys
Warnings: mild robot gore, a sad cinnamon bun



[ Closed to Ratchet ]

Leaving his arm behind was the last of First Aid's problems. His run in with Pharma left him a bit more damaged up mentally -- and physically -- than he'd care to admit to himself. At the very least, he hadn't lost a wheel, something he was grateful for as he speeds off. Parts of his altmode still dragged as he drove through the city, uneven from the loss of a limb, leaving a trail of sparks and energon puddles behind him.

He had nowhere to go except away from the clinic, no ability to comm someone else to locate him. Eventually, he stops, ducking into a half collapsed building, and weeps privately. Seeing Pharma again brought back the rush of emotions he felt after killing him, making him feel drained for more reasons than the loss of energon.

Well, he's a rightful pathetic scene.

First Aid vents raggedly as he reaches up and brushes his fingers over the shredded joint where his arm used to be. He hisses in pain, pinching at a few ragged lines and clamping them closed, before he starts the arduous task of welding broken parts together. It might make the reattachment harder in the long run, but he'd be bleeding less.

It's a few hours before First Aid returns to the clinic, faint and tired, dirty with grit and sticky with drying energon. Even longer he waits outside, making sure that Pharma had left the premises long enough for him to slip back inside. He's tired-- he really wants to sleep, but he knows well enough that it's pain and energon loss, so instead he drags himself into the main clinic, clutching his shoulder.

"Ratchet?" he asks, trying not to be too loud so he doesn't wake the other patients.

-------

[ OPEN ]

Having only one arm proved to be difficult in accomplishing anything useful. It was a significant blow to First Aid's self esteem, and sometimes he spent ages just staring down at his work, feeling helpless. He couldn't lift with ease, but he could clean as much as he's able with one hand and take care of basic maintenance tasks, such as changing fluids and updating charts. Nurse work. He felt so humiliated.

First Aid touches the stump where his arm used to be, rubbing it thoughtfully. Sometimes he thought he could feel it still. Not really uncommon-- it was a psychological phenomena. Sighing, he drops his hand and begins piling charts, looking over each carefully to make sure that he hadn't missed any details. They didn't have a sophisticated database here, so it was important to keep manual records at the very least.

He picks them up holding them delicately in his hand and attempting to balance them against his chest, but they just end up slipping out of his hand and clattering to the floor.

"Oh--" he makes a soft sound. "Slag."

Comments

[chickscream]

Slipstream had been wandering without purpose-- she usually didn't have much of one, which was fine by her-- and had passed wherever she wanted without anyone seeming to pay her much mind.

The place was still dead and deserted to her Earth-trained eye, lacking in the bustle and the beeping and the foliage and fauna of the place she considered her home, though there were Cybertronians just all over the place. Weird, that.

Anyway. No one had stopped her from wandering into or out of any building she pleased, though perhaps that was because most of the buildings were completely abandoned, and so she doesn't even hesitate to enter one of the lit up and almost-living ones, just in time to hear someone drop a whole pile of things and swear.

This is literally the most interesting thing that's happened since she arrived, and she wanders deeper into the building, folding her wings back so they don't scrape the walls and sticking her head through doorways until she finds the other robot.

"Drop something?" she asks the stranger, her voice harsh but her tone mostly bored, looking him over-- an Autobot, she thinks, but not one she even remotely recognizes.

[planate]

Pipes was looking down at the medical drone Sixshot had given him when he wandered into the clinic, just giving it another check over to make sure it was still clean and that a murder device hadn't magically attached itself in the last ten seconds. When he hearts the clatter, of course, his first instinct is to help - so his general line of vision goes from the drone, to the datapads on the floor until finally... First Aid. Missing an arm.

"Oh-- my goodness! First Aid, what happened?" he yelps, running over to help gather them up. Pipes considers asking if it was Megatron again, but decides against it - shifting the drone under his arm and fixing the medic with a Very Concerned Look.

[asafepairofhands]

"First Aid?"

Of course Ratchet isn't recharging, but it's dimly lit in the medibay. Ratchet stops and stares when he gets a good look at First Aid's plating, the odd absence where his arm should be. He curses softly and limps over, his optics pale with something like fright.

"What happened?" he hisses, already starting to inspect the wound.

[system_dp]

While Miria wasn't horribly injured, she had figured that the medical building may need some protection. Especially considering the fact the one medic she's personally met was missing a limb, the earth built transformer doesn't have much faith in the Cybertronians not getting themselves killed. So whilst she is carefully sulking about the area, mostly outside, she happened to go inside at the right moment for First Aid's mishap.

"Do you require assistance?" She asks in her monotone as she heads towards the source of the sound, aka First Aid. Also don't mind her staring when she gets there, really.

[phase6kindofbot]

There's a giant robot dog head peering at First Aid from the clinic's back door. You know, whenever the poor medic decides to look in that direction. Sixshot doesn't exactly call out.

He doesn't say much of anything really. The Sixer just crouches there, blocking up the entrance with his massive bulk, paws tucked under his chest.

Watching.

How long has he even been waiting there?

[gimmicky]

For lack of anything better to do, and to keep an eye on Nautica as she was recovering, Trailcutter had been making ins and outs of the medical bay, softly dodging the Megatron that worked there. Not that he didn't think he was friendly but...awkward conversation was immensely awkward. This time, though, is different.

First Aid is there doing paperwork. That's already strange. And...the fact that First Aid has one arm.

Yeah. That's new.

"F-First Aid?!" His exclamation is knocked short by the charts splaying across the floor. And despite his bulk, he could not have moved faster if he tried to pick those up. "W..What happened to you!?"

[rodders]

Rodimus either has the best or the worst luck in the world - it probably depends on where you're standing and what's just happened. He'd gone out looking for two somethings while Drift had been sleeping, reluctant to leave the place where so many of his crew were laid up to begin with. But then he sees First Aid fumble with the datapads and the empty joint where an arm should be and--

"Not you too." Rodimus says with a groan, tempted to drag a hand down his face if he wasn't holding onto Drift's swords that he'd gone and fetched for his friend. And brought back into a clinic because he doesn't see a problem with this plan. "Are you kidding? Please tell me this is now a joke between medics."

Why is everyone intent on de-limbing and maiming his crew?!