Fɪʀsᴛ Aɪᴅ [ IDW ] (
lifepersists) wrote in
robothell2015-02-20 08:56 pm
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Entry tags:
insert one arm joke here
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."
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
First Aid knew he was around, but actually seeing him was a different story. He stares at him for a full few moments before he gathers himself together, shaking out of his surprised spacing.
"What happened?" he repeats, then looks at the scattered datapads. "Well, they just sort of fell..."
no subject
Pipes hesitates before continuing... maybe First Aid doesn't want to talk about his missing arm. He decides to ask later, if he's not told.
"Y--yeah. They did." He can't help but frown slightly behind his visor while gathering them up. Of course, he doesn't know what First Aid has been through with Trailcutter and Pharma, but assumes he's acting strangely because of missing his goddamn arm. It's worrying, but he still doesn't want to press.
"I, uh. Have something for you..." Trying not to look at the stump...
no subject
First Aid feels a rush of heat through his frame as he tries to ignore Pipe's heavy stare at his missing arm. He resists the urge to reach up and touch it and instead levels his gaze back, gathering up as many data pads as he can.
"What?" He sounds very surprised, standing up and nearly dropping the pads again before he settles them on a table. "You do?"
no subject
Regardless, he shifts the drone out from under his arm and holds it out to First Aid.
"From Sixshot."
A beat.
"Uh, it's not rigged or anything. I checked."
no subject
He does know him -- he's the one who pointed him towards others, where he found Trailcutter. He reaches for the drone, brushing his fingers over it before taking it slowly.
"A diagnostic drone." First Aid turns the drone over in his hand, noting dented plating and a shattered optic. It would need work... Though it wasn't hopeless. He could fix the drone. He looks back to Pipes, his visor narrowing in a smile. "Thank you."
no subject
Really scared him. For a Phase Sixer, he's alright. Mostly because of the lack of horrible murder.
"No problem. Uh... I can stay and help a while if you need it. Just like-- if you have chores, or anything."
no subject
He sets the diagnostic drone down, turning to find some tools, but he turns back to Pipes at the offer, still smiling, and reaches to touch Pipe's arm.
"You can help me fix the drone. I need an extra pair of hands."
no subject
Pipes' own visor brightens at First Aid taking his offer. Finally, something to do!
"I can do that. Are you gonna name it anything?"
no subject
"We don't normally name our drones," he starts, moving over to push a cart to go look for the delicate tools it would take to take apart the drone to check and repair its components. "But this one-- I'm thinking Ambulon."
no subject
Naming it Ambulon, boy that would be funny if Ambulon actually showed up!!! The thought that it might be in memory of doesn't even cross Pipes' mind.
no subject
"Maybe."
He picks them up, moving them over to the drone, and picks up a screwdriver.
"Can you hold it still?"
no subject
"Sure..." He does so, carefully putting a hand on each side of the drone. "So, uh, how long have you been here? I don't remember seeing you in the crater."
no subject
"Ah, see. The brain chip is fried. It'll need to be replaced and the memory core rebuilt."
His visor flicks up at Pipes and muses for a moment. "A couple of mechs migrated into the city before me, but... about a month or so?"
no subject
Hahaha, that's not funny.
"Huh. I don't think I've been here that long. Kinda weird how it all works, right?"