robothell | (no subject)

Who: Tarn and Galvatron, Tarn and Spinister
Where: in and around the Decepticon Base
When: the morning after prom
What: Tarn is hungover and meets Galvatron/ Spinister and Tarn have a heart to heart
Warnings: none as of yet

Galvatron

Hangovers. Something that Tarn is familiar with, in concept, but not necessarily in experience. He would have preferred to keep it that way, to be honest. Unfortunately one can not simply undo the massive amounts of engex that he consumed over the course of the previous night. Now he must pay for his mistake.

At least the world had stopped spinning, that is a definite improvement. However, daylight still felt like it was melting his processor, and mild nausea still roiled in his tanks.

Tarn finds it important to celebrate the small victories.

As he heads back to the Decepticon base from his meeting with Sixshot, he finds that his footfalls are agitating his headache. Too wrapped up in trying to cultivate as quiet a journey as possible he barely notices that someone is in his way until it is too late.

Bumping shoulders, Tarn turns to look at the mech in his way.

“Apologies, I was distracted.”

His voice is strained and far softer than his usual deep timber.

Spinister:

He hasn’t been avoiding Spinister. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that they haven’t really spoken since Megatron came to pay the base a visit, over a month ago.

It isn’t as if Tarn hasn’t done anything to warrant the scientist’s displeasure, because he is aware that he has done plenty including denting the walls of his brand new shower…

Regardless Tarn figures now is as good of a a time as ever to talk things out as he limps his way into Spinister’s lab with his dented pelvic plating.

He has attempted to ask Pharma about seeing to it, but the Autobot had immediately pinned him with a poisonous glare. It seems to him that the helicopter might be his only option.

“Spinister. Do you have a moment."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Alright then." There's no softness in Spinister's tone, and he stops working for a moment to look up at Tarn, optics narrowed in challenge.

"Take my team off The List."

Tarn stares down at Spinister. His optic dim ever so slightly as he sighs.

"I will take you off of The List. I'm afraid your teammates are out of my hands."

It is the most diplomatic way to say that they had done nothing to earn it. They were, in the scheme of things, useless to him. Does it seem callous of him to think so? Perhaps. But a bleeding heart is not something Tarn has been known to be.

The challenging glare turns into a decidedly unimpressed look.

"Then you're never gonna make it up to me," he says with a shrug, and goes back to work, gluing a flat-top piece of bolt head down onto the dented plating.

"Let's make a deal instead," Spinister continues, screwing a tool handle onto the other end of the bolt. "I keep fixing you up whenever you get into your dumb fights and I get to have my teammates alive, free and unhurt if they ever show up here."

Tarn scoffs slightly. He shouldn't even consider it. This sort of bribery should not be tolerated.

Still, loathe as he is to admit it, Spinister has proven himself to be extremely useful. Perhaps, just this once, he can bend the rules a bit.

"If they ever turn up they will be given one chance to shape up. If they squander that chance, however, I can make no promises as to what their fate may hold."

Tarn gives Spinister the most level, no-nonsense look he can manage behind his mask. It might be intimidating if not for the fact that Spinister was popping a goddamn dent out of his pelvic armor.

"Okay, sweet, I don't need to tell every new arrival here that you got punched in the crotch by the tiny, drunken, Autobot medic then."

And, of course, right on cue, Spinister yanks the handle back and the dent is pulled out with a loud POP.

Tarn's frame jerks ever so slightly as Spinister yanks the dent out. He glares slightly at the threat, crossing his arms.

"Yes, you most definately don't need to be telling them such things. In fact, my suggestion is that you forget about it entirely yourself."

The incident with First Aid is going to haunt him; he's sure of it.

"Blackmaaaiiiil," Spinister stage whispers, wiggling his fingers in next to his face. Then he goes back to work, unscrewing the handle and pulling the bolt off with another loud POP.

He sighs, prodding gently at his pelvic plating. The only evidence remaining being a tiny scuff that, honestly, is barely noticeable.

"Fine. Have it your way. Just remember that it is unwise to cross me, Spinister. We may have somewhat of a rapport here and now, but I wont hesitate to change our deal if I find that you are taking advantage of my clemency."

"None of my teammates ever told me dumb lies that got me accidentally shooting Megatron in the face."

Bitter? A little bit.

"Also, it's not really a 'rapport', it's you doing monumentally dumb things and then me making you not dead."

Tarn looks thoroughly insulted.

"Excuse me, but if I recall, you have only brought me back from the brink of death once. Everything else has been relatively minor."

He thinks about ignoring the comment about Megatron. Instead his optics flick away as he stands from the table.

"You have my apologies about the incident with Megatron. I should have mentioned that there were two. And at the time I was...unaware of his work at the Autobot clinic."

Spinister fluffs up his armor plates in a somewhat ridiculous display of displeasure- and for a brief moment, he looked like he was going to give Tarn a piece of his his mind and more.

He deflates after that though and just sullenly glares at the leader of the DJD.

"Whatever," he mutters and gathers up his tools, shoving them into a box.