robothell | this is a bad town for such a pretty face

Entry tags:

this is a bad town for such a pretty face

Who: Pharma and YOU (and also Tarn)
Where: Out and about the City
When: /shrugs???
What: Pharma realizing that being homeless really sucks.
Warnings: Yes. Will update as needed.

Pharma has quickly realized that street-living is really not all that great. Sure, he had that one moment of glory when Tarn had pinged him for some emergency surgery, but since then, the monotony is threatening to drive him crazy... er. Again.

Regardless, the constant tugging and pulling of rubble to create a makeshift shelter and the jumping between resting spots is starting to show. He's covered in an impressive layer of dust that is threatening to become permanent, only broken up by the occasional collection of scratches and dents. There's a small chip in the paint on his chevron that's driving him up the wall. What he wouldn't give for a bath and a buffing right now.

Either way, he's just wandering right now, spying out areas for his next temporary shelter. Occasionally, he starts to wander towards the clinic, but he moves away just as soon as he sees it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He hasn't seen or heard from Pharma in some time. Not since he had passed out on Spinister's makeshift operating table. The Autobot didn't even bother coming to check on his patient after the fact; instead leaving his care entirely in the squirrelly scientist's hands. He's not angry about it, just somewhat peeved that he was so callously ignored after the fact.

Now that Tarn has the energy to be up and about he finds himself taking a stroll around the outskirts of the city, giving his still healing knee a bit of exercise. He surely isn't passively scanning the rubble for the Autobot medic, and he definitely doesn't allow a smirk to curl his lips under his mask when he sees a flash of white and red amongst the wreckage of a nearby building.

The closer he gets to the medic, the more he is able to see how ragged he looks. It's almost as if he's been living outside for months.

Tarn clears his throat to make his presence known. "My, Pharma, it appears as if you have been neglecting yourself. You are positively filthy."

Pharma freezes, his entire frame tensing slightly at the sound of the voice. Damn it, of all the people... He sighs, straightens himself out (and brushes off some more dust), and turns to face Tarn with his hands on his hips. "The lack of oil baths in this place is horrendous."

He breaks eye contact to examine the rest of Tarn. "Well, you're up and about, at least. I trust that you're smart enough to know not to overdo it."

"Yes, yes, I'm aware." Tarn brushes Pharma's commentary off with a wave of his hand. "Spinister has made it abundantly clear."

Nevermind about him though, the former Decepticon is much more interested about what his little Autobot ally is doing playing in ruins of a building. It is extremely unlike him to allow his hygiene to reach this kind of low.

The medic's plating is dull, white now a dull dusty brown color. Tarn reaches out, dragging a finger through the dirt collected on top of Pharma's shoulder vents.

"What ever have you been doing; rolling in the dirt?"

Pharma pulls away from Tarn's touch, optics narrowing as he takes an indignant expression, mixed with... embarrassment? Speaking of his little ruin pile, he turns back to it, clearing his vocalizer and speaking in that manner-of-fact way that only emphasizes the fact he's lying out of his aft.

"I was searching for anything that might be useful, or at least something that might shed some light on... whatever happened to this place." He pauses, realizing that that's not a very good excuse. So he hastily adds, "It's something to do, after all."

"Of course, how foolish of me to think otherwise." Tarn simpers, the flash of a toothy smirk just barely visible behind the mask.

Taking an exaggerated look around the rubble, he rests his hands on his hips, pinning Pharma with another pointed glance. He can see right through the medic's lies and it only heightens his desire to know the truth.

"Surely after all this time scrounging you've found something." He begins shuffling some of the debris in the pile around with his foot."Well then, lets see it."

Pharma has to force himself not to vent harshly in embarrassment as Tarn tests his lie. His optics narrow, and he crosses his arms, his own expression cold in the way that clearly tells he knows he's screwed.

"Have you seen this place? What isn't rubble could topple over at any minute. Most everything is irreparably damaged."

"Well now certainly your efforts are not entirely fruitless." Tarn bends down to pick at a mangled bit of metal and wire poking out from beneath the pile.

"You've clearly been working an extremely hard, from the looks of your plating; and with such enthusiasm. What other reason could there be for such utter disregard for your own personal hygiene? Why continue if you haven't found even the smallest shred of useful scrap?"

He glances up at the medic from the corner of his eye, standing as his knee becomes to uncomfortable to keep the position. "Why don't we go back to your little home base? I'm sure you've plenty of trinkets stored there."

You better not be holding out on him, Pharma. He knows you're hiding something

Pharma self-consciously tries to position himself to conceal the most dirtied parts of his plating, his expression becoming more and more glare-like. Couldn't Tarn just say that he doesn't believe him and leave it at that? Do they really have to have this sort of conversation?

"Yes, because I would love to show you where I make a home for myself."

It's bittersweetly ironic to think that he already sort of has.

Just outright telling him that he knows that Pharma is lying would take much of the fun right out of it. Tarn is determined to make the Autobot come clean himself. Forcing him to swallow his pride, and admit defeat, would make obtaining whatever he is hiding that much sweeter in the end.

"No, no. I insist." The barest brush of Tarn's voice caresses' Pharma's spark. The threat against trying to hold out on him nakedly apparent in his tone

Pharma in-vents sharply as Tarn's voice practically pierces through his chassis and sends the slightest, unpleasant pang through his spark, but swallows it back to try and maintain an undeterred expression.

"And I insist that you drop it. There is nothing."

Well... he's not completely lying there.

“Pharma!” He snaps, patience being tested. He takes a few steps forward, glaring down at the medic. His fists clench at his sides as he squares his shoulders. “Surely you’re not trying to hide something from me. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how monumentally bad of an idea that would be.”

His voice twists closer, solidifying a solid grip around Pharma's spark.

“Now, then. Will you be a gracious host? Or will I have to press the matter further."

Pharma's optics widen, flaring just slightly as his spark constricts, and he gasps, grasping at his chassis briefly while he tries to calm himself. Immediately his first response is to repeat, "Tarn -- there's nothing --" before he forces himself to articulate.

A rare moment where he decides that living is more important than dignity arises, cresting with a rushed explanation. "There's nowhere for me to play host to, I've found nothing! I'm not hiding anything --"

Tarn narrows his optics, staring silently at Pharma for a few long moments. Part of him still doesn't believe the opportunistic medic. However that kind of spark deep mortification that is written all over his frame is hard to fake. Especially for a mech as egotistical and proud as Pharma.

"Do you mean to tell me that you've been homeless all this time? I find it hard to believe that you would deign to sleep in the dirt for so long."

He watches Tarn for a long moment, struggling to breathe properly and to get the sting out of his spark. It's humiliating, yes, but he only adds that to the bite that comes as he shoots back,

"It's not exactly as though people are opening their doors for me."

Tarn levels Pharma with a very unimpressed stare. The more defensive he gets the more he actually buys into the unlikely story.

And he is covered in a lot of dirt.

"Perhaps you haven't been looking hard enough. Surely you haven't burned every bridge."

"Considering I'd rather not get shot in the face on a blind guess, I'm playing it safe."

His spark is starting to regulate normally again, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself, averting his optics from that dark stare burning into him.

Tarn sighs, shaking his head. He can’t have the Pharma sleeping on the streets. That's unsanitary. Upkeep of personal hygiene is important in a medic. There is a shower back at base; and plenty of space. Dragging a hand down his mask, Tarn comes to a rather unfortunate decision.

“There’s a shower back at base. You can stay there as long as you are out of the way."

"Base -- surely you don't mean your base?"

Pharma's optics widen slightly; Tarn isn't suggesting what he thinks he's suggesting. Is he? Granted, it is a very appealing alternative - having a place to sleep that isn't on the streets and being able to wash all this dust off sounds very nice, very nice indeed. But... it's Tarn.

Tarn rolls his eyes, beckoning for Pharma to follow him.

“Yes, my my base. Do you think I would just invite you to someone else’s base?"

"Knowing you, it probably was someone else's base before."

Pharma crosses his arms, not budging as he regards Tarn with a dubious raise of his brow. "Why the sudden show of generosity?"

"If you are to function as a physician for me I expect you to maintain the highest possible state of personal hygiene." It has nothing to do with how pathetic Pharma looks.

This isn't charity, it's necessity. Or so he tells himself.

"I can't have dirt falling into my internals and jamming delicate mechanisms."

"How selfless of you," he says dryly. "But I'm sure dirt isn't the worst that's gotten caught up in your systems." He makes sure to emphasize the point just like Tarn did, only slightly more obnoxiously.

Boy, being a hobo sure is fun. Except not, the novelty wore off after about three seconds.

Sentinel's found a nice place! Strong walls, almost working doors. No ceiling... whatever, in the Hobo Life you take what you can get.

He walks out, dusting his hands off and inspecting the outside. It sure would be nice if literally no-one showed up and he was left to himself to do whatever.

Oh sorry, you wanted to be alone? Too bad, because Pharma's poking around nearby, frowning at the sorry state of things as he finds nothing, nothing, and more nothing that would be of any use to him.

He almost doesn't notice Sentinel at first, continuing to wander closer until finally, he looks up and sees him. And then he stops in his tracks, posed with one foot forward like a cat who is considering whether or not to pounce. Except with more surprise and less malice.

Like Pharma, Sentinel doesn't notice he has company until he turns.

Also like Pharma, he freezes like a... well, Sentinel isn't graceful enough to be called a cat. A large horse. He freezes like a large horse.

"You're not looking to stay here."

More of a flat statement than a question. You're not. It's his, motherfucker.

Well then. Pharma stands straighter, hands on his hips as he looks at Sentinel and his shelter.

"So you're a mind-reader, I see."

He actually wasn't, but clear douchebaggery begets douchebaggery.

It's like a douche-off.

"No. Covering bases."

Because he's still so self important he thinks things would revolve around him. FANTASTIC.

"Well, there's no need to get uppity; I'm just passing through."

Something about this mech seems familiar, but Pharma can't be assed to think about it too much. Right now, he's kind of jealous and even more in want of somewhere to rest up for just an hour or two.

"Well, now. You can never tell here, can you?" he says, rather condescendingly.

Ironic, considering most of the time he has to leave his hobo shacks because of poor structural integrity as opposed to someone spraying him with a hose or whacking him with a broom.

Pharma raises his hands in a mock show of pacifism, taking a step backwards. "I'm telling you now. It used to be that someone's word was enough; what a sorry state of affairs that that's no longer the case."

"I suppose there should be a sense of commiseration between those of us stuck on this desolate planet."

He shrugs.

"Or perhaps it is just Cybertronian nature."

"You might there there would be, yes. Amazing how a war can change someone." Pharma shrugs as well, stopping his slow retreat momentarily. He pauses, finally deciding to take a risk now that there's less chance for fisticuffs for domination. "I feel like I recognize you from somewhere."

Oh, finally.

"Does the title Prime ring a bell?"

Because he is sorta-not-really one of those.

Pharma pauses, optics taking in Sentinel again just to try and find some other source of familiarity.

"Yes. But you might have to refresh my memory, we've had a lot of them."

If Pharma listens hard enough, he might actually hear the sad trombone noise.

"There's been about six."

...IGNORING THAT.

"Whatever. Must be such a change to be out here instead of a nice hab suite, hm?"

"Oh, yes."

Being the asshole he is, Sentinel makes a big show of gesturing around them and inventing heavily.

"Ah, always loved the... down town air. The rubble really adds an extra layer of... history..."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

this is a bad town for such a pretty face

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

ALL THESE HANDSOME GUYS OUT ON THE STREETS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

i cant believe i have no facepalm icon

no subject

no subject