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robothell2015-04-04 12:59 am
phase6kindofbot) wrote in robothell2015-04-04 12:59 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Sixshot and YOU.
Where: Somewhere in the city!
When: Some… time.
What: Talk to doggy! Pet the doggy! Annoy the living heck out of the doggy!
Warnings: Standard potential violence warning because Phase Sixer.
Sixshot never stayed in one place for too long. There were places he would visit often, like the Decepticon base and the Autobot clinic, but he never lingered for longer than a day.
Sometimes he dug; there were various Sixer-sized holes around the barren city now. His olfactory sensors helped with homing in on various useful equipment and he left them where either Spinister, Tarn or First Aid would find them.
More often than not, he wandered. There were massive spaces underground, caverns left by destroyed metros, the dead roots of collapsed skyscrapers. Unstable death traps to most other mechs, but quiet places for one who could withstand half a world falling upon him.
There was a hole over this particular section of what appeared to have once been an underground mall. The sound of running water echoed through the darkness and Sixshot could see the sparkling spray as he got closer to the shaft of light.
A waterfall? A very small one, but it certainly looked like a waterfall.
Sixshot slows to a stop under the collapsed ceiling. The water disappeared into a pile of rubble for the most part and plants were scattered here and there and up around the edges of the hole.
Stepping up onto the pile, the Sixer sticks his massive head out of the hole in the ground. Where does this pop up into?
Where: Somewhere in the city!
When: Some… time.
What: Talk to doggy! Pet the doggy! Annoy the living heck out of the doggy!
Warnings: Standard potential violence warning because Phase Sixer.
Sixshot never stayed in one place for too long. There were places he would visit often, like the Decepticon base and the Autobot clinic, but he never lingered for longer than a day.
Sometimes he dug; there were various Sixer-sized holes around the barren city now. His olfactory sensors helped with homing in on various useful equipment and he left them where either Spinister, Tarn or First Aid would find them.
More often than not, he wandered. There were massive spaces underground, caverns left by destroyed metros, the dead roots of collapsed skyscrapers. Unstable death traps to most other mechs, but quiet places for one who could withstand half a world falling upon him.
There was a hole over this particular section of what appeared to have once been an underground mall. The sound of running water echoed through the darkness and Sixshot could see the sparkling spray as he got closer to the shaft of light.
A waterfall? A very small one, but it certainly looked like a waterfall.
Sixshot slows to a stop under the collapsed ceiling. The water disappeared into a pile of rubble for the most part and plants were scattered here and there and up around the edges of the hole.
Stepping up onto the pile, the Sixer sticks his massive head out of the hole in the ground. Where does this pop up into?
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"That's not the point," First Aid snaps back at Sixshot, his tone annoyed. It would roll off him later.
As soon as Rampage sits up, the medic decends upon him. Personal space was a complete non-issue; First Aid climbs up Rampage's larger frame, takinh the opportunity to flash a light in his optics when he looks his way. He nods, satisfied with what he sees.
"I'm First Aid," he offers after a moment, almost a second thought. He slides down a moment later and presses his audio to Rampage's chest.
"Vent, please." First Aid's visor dims as he listens, concentrating on the sound of the mech's internal mechanisms and searching for any irregularity.
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Rampage's expression of bewilderment sparks a brief flicker of amusement, before it fades back into nothingness. Look, Sixshot doesn't know why First Aid is helping an annoying circuit chewer like you either, and considering the scorch marks on his rump, he's not particularly inclined to ask on Rampage's behalf. The crab could field that on his own, especially since he's not the one with First Aid's ire directed currently at him.
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Suddenly it clicks in that he's being examined. A medical examination. All his horns flare wide and when he vents it's out of something bordering panic rather than because First Aid asked so politely.
Grabbing at the back of First Aid's armor, he tries to tug the medic away to dangle him in the air.
"What are you doing?!" he demands.
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"Ah!" His noise is more from surprise than anything, his feet kicking a few times as they try and find the ground and missing. He stills after he gets his composure, dangling in the mech's grip.
"I was checking to see if you're okay! With the impact you could have died! Or if not death, then popping a few tubes, loose gears, broken axles, brain trama--" he could go on, but it's not going to.
"Please put me down."
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To First Aid himself, he quietly explains, "He has super healing. I shot a hole clean through his chest and he just put himself back together and walked it off."
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Then he heaves himself out of the roughly Rampage-shaped hole in the rubble and moves around so that Sixshot is basically between him and the medic.
He really doesn't like medical examinations.
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The explanation at first makes First Aid confused, silent while he attempts to comprehend the concept, then a bit overwhelmed. The realm of super mechs that Sixshot and Rampage lived in was beyond his grasp as a medic. When it finally starts to settle in, the wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he returns to Sixshot on wobbly legs as the rush of concern fueled energy leaves him.
He curls his arm back around Sixshot's neck and buries his face against him as he takes a few steadying vents, then leans to look at Rampage, his visor dim.
"I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"
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Attention focused elsewhere as it was, the arm around his neck comes as a bit of a surprise- but Sixshot doesn't question it beyond a quizzical head tilt down to peer at First Aid. He suspects he's not been forgiven, but he's not about to refuse the small mech some support. Apparently the subject of true immortality was heavier than he'd thought.
Shifting slightly to make more room for the ambulance, he curls his front paws in a protective circle around First Aid and lets his power plant purr a deep, comforting note.
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Rampage's optics widen as First Aid huddles close to Sixshot, an acid flare shooting through him as the Decepticon bundles the Autobot up comfortingly. He's only been jealous once before and it was over someone much more special than Sixshot and it turned out extremely badly, so he stuffs the feeling into the black pit he keeps all his other unfortunate emotions in and tries to convince himself that he never liked Sixshot that much anyway.
And yet there's still a distinct air of sulkiness about him. He considers snubbing First Aid and ignoring the question, but conversation is actually a decent distraction, so after a moment he gives the medic a sidelong glare and asks, "Does what hurt?"
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Really, who thought that a Phase Sixer could be so comforting? The rumble of Sixshot's power plant vibrates softly against First Aid's plating, putting him at ease. His own engine, small in comparison, gives an answering rumble and for a moment he almost forgets he was annoyed with him.
"The injuries. You heal, but does it hurt?"
He gives Sixshot's neck a pat, then pulls away and climbs over his paws, rounding around him so he can get closer to Rampage while he talks to him. It gives him an opportunity to fuss over Sixshot's rump, checking the scorch marks for any sign of exposed wiring or bent plating.
no subject
The hyper dense armor doesn't bear anything worse than a scorch mark, of course. There wasn't much that could put a dent in the Phase Sixer's armor.
Unfortunately, grumbly as he was, he doesn't really notice Rampage's jealous sulking.
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Rampage's horns bristle as First Aid comes closer again and continues to be touchy-feely with Sixshot, but he doesn't do anything other than cross his arms and settle huffily against a wall.
"I always hurt," he says helpfully, deciding he doesn't need to look directly at First Aid and Sixshot and glaring out across the city instead.
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"That's horrible."
He's not sure what else to say, since the situation has turned rather awkward. Rampage obviously didn't want his help and he had snapped at Sixshot earlier, when Rampage had been the one to start it.
"Avoiding injury might help alleviate chronic pain." He wanted to ask if Decepticons did this, but with Sixshot there, it might be somewhat rude. It suddenly dawns on him that he totally forgot about the candies. He's not even sure if they made it through the blast. He turns to Sixshot, nudging his hip.
"Slag, I left your present. Did the box get crushed?"
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"Yes, Rampage," he agrees with the medic, tone saccharine sweet and accompanied with a rather toothy grin. "Why don't you try avoiding injury? You know, by not shooting at me as a method of greeting."
At the mention of the candy box, he pauses, and then stands up, announcing, "I'll go see."
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Seriously, it's creeping him out. Medics are supposed to be concerned for him, just concerned with figuring out how he works. Sixshot just gets a silent glare, his horns flaring up. Oh sure, choosing the other guy's side, he sees how it is!
Despite his words to First Aid, he feels worse when the conversation ceases to be about him. Presents? Boxes?
Finally he snaps peevishly at Sixshot, "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt your date."
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It was quickly becoming very obvious that Rampage was not only violent, but very immature. First Aid isn't sure how he feels about being left by himself with the large, sulking mech, but his only expression of his unease was to turn his head and look at Sixshot as he gets up.
"Thank you."
Rampage's irritated jab catches him off guard, and First Aid feels far more flustered by it than he expected. His visor widens and he clutches his hand to his fist at his chest to keep himself from floundering.
"It wasn't a date!"
Sixshot is just being friendly. Frankly, he's surprised he hasn't gotten bored of him yet.
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"He's cute," he says after a moment of deliberation. "But no, this isn't a date. We did not agree to anything like that. Still, I don't like being shot at, date otherwise."
And on that note, he walks off to fetch the candy box.
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He stares at First Aid when the little 'Bot flusters at his jab. Well. He stares after Sixshot as he answers. Well.
...He's really tempted to shoot Sixshot again, just to spite him. Not because he's flustered or jealous or angry or anything. His fingers actually twitch towards his gun.
Instead he just stands suddenly. "Well, as much as I enjoy being the third wheel on this not-a-date of yours, I have better ways to spend my time."
No he doesn't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here.
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That left First Aid with Rampage, who promptly decided he was going to leave too. He started this whole mess rather worried, but not he just felt embarrassed.
"Can you stay?" He asks rather abruptly, hoping that the red mech would at least listen to him before he flounces. "Someone wants me dead. And well-- I think we've gotten off to an awkward start, so I'd like to start again."
Skipping Sixshot at Lotti's behest for maximum awkwardness
"...Why would someone want you dead?" Seriously, the little medic doesn't look like the sort of person someone would be particularly interested in killing, beyond his occupation.
No, Rampage, most people don't hate medics. "And how are you not dead already if someone does?"He stomps closer and crouches down in front of First Aid, still looming over him. He reaches out to give him a firm poke in the chest. "You look like a stiff breeze could knock you flat."
Re: Skipping Sixshot at Lotti's behest for maximum awkwardness
First Aid stands his ground when Rampage towers over him, but he sways slightly at the strength of the poke. It felt somewhat like a punch, his hand raising to press against the sore plating after.
"Because I killed him," he says, his visor flickering with shame. "I was-- angry."
He tilts his head, looking up at the larger mech's face.
"Things are different here. The dead can be alive. I lost my arm when I saw him again." This was an uncomfortable topic. His field prickles with guilt and sadness, his tank roiling.
"I would just like the company."
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Backing off a bit, he sits down, acid green gaze fixed intently on First Aid. "I'm not the sort of company one generally wants to keep."
He feels the guilt spilling out of the medic's spark, and asks, "Did he deserve it?"
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The laugh just makes the tightness in his chest worse, twisting in his spark, and he drops his head, face shadowed. He's not proud of what he did.
"I didn't need to kill him," his voice is quiet, barely audible. "He'd been my friend. I was so, so angry because he killed so many and my friend and thought it was funny. But he didn't need to die."
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Well, except one.
"Mm, sounds like he deserved to die as much as anybody."Most of the time Rampage is pretty convinced that everybody deserves to die. "More than some. Why bother feeling guilty about it?"
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Except he did. He remembers Ratchet's counter to it, that they're better than Pharma, and his retort that Pharma wouldn't win at anything because he'd be dead. He hadn't been as angry then, but the mockery right before had been too much.
"I'm a doctor. I don't-- I help people."
He cycles the vent he was holding.
"Can we talk about something else?"
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