robothell | (no subject)

Who: Tarn, Pharma, and Spinister
Where: Decepticon home base
When: Immediately after the scrum with Megatron
What: Spinister and Pharma have to deal with Tarn bleeding on everything
Warnings: probably robogore and yelling

Tarn is in bad shape. His vision flickers uselessly in a precursor to shut down by the time Megatron manages to haul him in front of the makeshift Decepticon stronghold. He, begrudgingly, had pinged Pharma with the coordinates and a command to be ready to receive him shortly after they began their trek back to the base.

As is stands now he is leaned up against the side of the crumbling building, hand clamped over his bleeding shoulder. Tarn takes a quick mental inventory of the injuries that he has sustained. Other than badly dented plating and broken biolights on his chassis, his shoulder is sparking and the joint barely functional, his knee is in the same condition, there is a bare and torn portion of his forearm where his fusion cannon once resided, and his face is wounded and dripping energon beneath his mask.

While he would prefer to lick his wounds in private it has become readily apparent that his injuries require some serious repairs.

“Frag.” Tarn mutters, energon dripping from beneath his mask on to his chest. He comms Spinister to notify him that he is outside and in need of assistance. Introducing Pharma to the twitchy scientist should be fun.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*Yeah, well, I'm not in High Command, so Primus knows what's up with the six modes thing." Fortunately for Pharma, Spinister doesn't notice the adjustment yet, caught up in pulling a out another warped piston. "The engineering team that worked on him were stupidly bleeding smug about him too. Didn't shut up for weeks after his first deployment.*

That only serves to justify the adjustment to himself, so he reaches in to adjust other components to help get the piston out without too much issue. "There's nothing quite like bragging about the newest destructive creations you whip up, is there?"

"At least we put out things we can brag about and not fresh paints who don't last a minute in a fight." Spinister pauses to curse and stuff a few more rags into the pool of coolant and energon gathering in Tarn's innards from a new leak.

"Seriously, what's up with that? I've sniped whole platoons of mechs who barely even knew where to point a gun and I know we Decepticons have got some youngster fellows around who didn't know heads from tailfins. But, like, it's usually one or two per platoon."

Pharma stews a little in that. Really, Spin? They're having this conversation right now? Spinister seems to have the surprise leak covered, so Pharma allows a moment of inaction, crossing his arms.

"Either way, they all die the same."