you know you are as small as the things you let annoy you {backdated before robot prom}

[asafepairofhands]

It's a little while after Sixshot has dug all of the medics up from whatever underground art bunker they had been briefly trapped in, miraculously without anyone killing each other, and Ratchet is back in the medibay at work. He is still half-legless and especially foul-tempered, especially considering the upcoming festivities, which he plans to avoid as completely as possible.

COME BOTHER HIM



[CLOSED TO RODIMUS]
It's not long after the medics are back that Ratchet sends a message to Rodimus privately, apropos of what seems like nothing.

Come to the medibay. I need to check something.

Comments

[triggerhappycopter]

The cockiness fades somewhat from Spinister's stance replaced by something a little more awkward. He rubs the back of his head and shrugs stiffly.

"It's a bit weird working in a place where everyone is an Autobot." The heli pauses, twiddling his thumbs for a moment.

"And by weird, I mean I think everyone's going to turn on me and shoot me in the back, sssooooo, I think I'm happy just... not? You know?"

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet snorts a laugh, but it's kind. He shakes his helm.

"Yeah, all right. Fair enough. Offer's open if you ever feel different, though. And, for the record--" He looks up, fixing Spinister with a piercing stare. "--if you need supplies and they aren't going to fixing up Pharma or Tarn or someone else hell-bent on causing a ruckus, you're welcome to them. All you have to do is come in and ask."

[triggerhappycopter]

"... That's a bit hard since I live with Tarn," Spinister shrugs, tapping his index fingers together nervously. "Haven't had to fix Pharma up yet, but I think I'm kind of obligated to if he ever comes limping in for a fix-up since I think Tarn's trying to court him or something."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet looks almost sick with anger for a moment before he turns his face sharply away, cycling his vents unsteadily.

"I really could have done without knowing that, thank you," he says, his voice chilly now before he struggles for control of himself, his face, his voice. His problems with Pharma aren't Spinister's fault. He still doesn't quite look up, though. "Just--fine. Whatever. Your choice. But as far as I'm concerned, you're more than welcome."