robothell | the shit train just keeps rolling

Spinister stops in the middle downing a cup of high grade.

"Huh," he says remarks, putting the cup down on the table and seemingly entirely unsurprised and vaguely disappointed. "So you're alive."

"Yes I'm alive, I hate to disappoint you."

Tarn storms over, grabbing the abandoned cup of high grade and knocking the remaining energon back in one go. It's smooth and pure and helps to lift his mood, however slightly. At least he got one more sip of good high grade before he's doomed to scavenge for scrap.

His injured knee creaks as he shifts his weight, a fresh wave of energon dripping down his leg to pool around his foot.

The theft of his drink earns Tarn a decidedly unimpressed look, but Spinister doesn't protest it.

"You sit down before you make things worse," he sighs, standing up and offering the chair up before going to fetch his supplies. "How much time've we got?"

Tarn accepts the seat without hesitation, fiddling with the empty cup. He can barely concentrate on what Spinister is saying, but somehow he is able to catch the gist of it.

"I've been given under an hour to vacate the city." The cup slips from his trembling fingers, dropping to the ground with a startling noise. Tarn just stares at it.

"Be quick about it, I've other things that I need to attend to."

"It'd better be packing," Spinister grumbles as he returns with some supplies, placing a nearly full bottle of high grade next to Tarn for a good measure. He didn't slagging deserve it, but at it'd replenish the lost energon and also get the guy tipsy enough to be a marginally less dangerous walking tower of trouble.

"We need medical supplies and at least a week's worth of energon in case anything goes wrong with the old energon setup. Tarps too, there's not as much cover out in the wastes and it's pretty dusty when the winds pickup."

Tarn listens quietly, attention torn between trying to get his fine motor skills tuned enough to open the bottle of high grade and absorbing information.

"You intend to accompany me then?" He would be lying if some part of him wasn't thankful. Spinister's knowledge of scavenging would be extremely useful.

"What, and wait to see if you'd somehow grown a benevolent strut in your body if I don't?" You know, in case Tarn forgot they weren't friends.

Spinister huffs, opening the medical kit and snatching up the pain dampening chip. "Pop your maintenance panels up would you?"

Tarn doesn't even acknowledge the comment, but he does follow Spinister's instruction, eager to get this over with and go on his way. He has words to have with Ratchet.

"I don't have much, but I'll bring what I am able."

Ah- finally, the cap to the high grade canister comes off in his hand, He presses the lip of the bottle to the slit in his mask, knocking his head back and letting it pour into his waiting mouth. He goes slowly this time, taking time to actually enjoy its flavor.

"Thank you... for the high grade."

"Yeah. Whatever." Uttering a quiet sigh, Spinister slots the chip into the port on Tarn's wrist. He turns back and starts sorting out the tools, waiting for the dampener to start working.

"I'm going to stop the leaking and weld some supports on," he explains, keeping his tone neutral as he makes a mental to-do list for the task at hand. "You try to keep weight off of the thing until we're out of the city and we can find somewhere to camp in for a proper repair job. Top up on clean fuel before we go."

He lays the tools out before going to fetch a stool. "Gonna put your foot on this. Is Helex staying?"

Edited 2015-12-01 22:52 (UTC)

Tarn lifts his leg as Spinister approaches with the stool, sliding his foot onto the cool surface. The position puts strain on the warped joint but Tarn ignores it, the chip melting pain into only slight discomfort.

"I Haven't spoken with him just yet but I was intending to ask him to stay, yes. It's important to have an inside source." He takes another sip of energon, intent of filling his tank before entering the wastes. He watches Spinister arrange his tools with passing interest.

"It will be hard... Helex is extremely loyal, but I anticipate that with some time he will do well here. It's comfortable and there's no need for him to worry himself about shelter, or energon, or maintenance..."

This is going to be awful.

"Oh yeah," Spinister agrees lamentingly, putting a second stool under Tarn's knee before getting to work. "He's sure going to have a great fun time being sheltered and fed and maintained here. Mmmhmm."

After a few moments of clearing out the debris in the joint with a small brush and some solvents, he asks, "You had a plan B, right?" The tone of his voice suggests that the heli definitely wasn't expecting a positive answer on that front. "Is there anything you can accomplish out in the wastes?"

You know, since Tarn's clearly the genius, long-term strategist here what with trying to kill the minibot medic fellow and getting banished out into the wastes.

He wants to say yes. He wants to have some grand plan to relay to Spinister. Unfortunately, he is at a loss. He looks away from his medic's judging stare.

"I’ll figure something out.” He just needs time to think and plan. But more importantly, he needs time to recuperate mentally and physically and get his old edge back.

"Well." Should have figured everything out before you went and screwed yourself over, buddy. It was like talking to a damn rookie, but he gets the feeling that Tarn had pretty much always had his way just through sheer terror and brute force.

There's a very strong urge to roll his optics right about now. Fortunately, Spin's got a laser scalpel in his hand and you don't take your eyes off of laser scalpels.

"Here's my plan," the heli says instead, cutting off pieces of fractured and warped metal. "There's a rusted out building a few kilometers away from the city at [coordinates]. You go there, you make sure the thing's not about to collapse, and then you set up camp and sit tight until I can meet up with you with better supplies."

Edited 2015-12-02 03:06 (UTC)

Tarn glares over at Spinister as he begins to take control of the situation. Tarn wants to be angry but in his core he is relieved to have some kind of plan; to not have to think. He takes a moment to watch as the medic strips the plating from his knee.

He swallows his pride, returning to his attention to the high grade.

"I'll be there. When can I expect you to be along?"

"Gimme four hours." There wasn't a lot to pack, but it was good to be thorough. "Radio me if something happens. My freq is [number]."

He glances up at Tarn before looking back down and switching out the scalpel for the welder.

"Anything you don't get?"

Tarn is silent for a long moment, watching Spinister work.

"You've been plenty clear. I'll be at the coordinates after I attend to my business."

He would never admit it to the heli, but Tarn finds himself thankful that he doesn't have to handle this alone. Of anyone who he could possibly have accompany him to the wastes, Spinister is by far the most useful.

"Pack. First." Spinister doesn't know what 'business' Tarn had still. He hopes it's just chatting with Helex. "If Megatron changes his mind about how much time you've got, at least you've got your stuff."

He finishes welding the last temporary support into place, does a brief visual check and then starts gathering his stuff.

"Remember, try to keep your weight off of it," the heli repeats, shutting his toolbox. "We're already going to have a lot of work to do and I don't need to spend a week fixing it up if you mangle it again."

Edited 2015-12-03 19:43 (UTC)

Tarn is barely listening to him as he tests the supports welded to his knee, before trying to ease himself off of the chair. He makes a vague noise of acknowledgement to Spinister's concerns but generally brushes them aside(Sorry in advance Spin). As he gets to his feet he immediately shifts to his good leg, stopping to finish the bottle of High Grade before turning to leave.

He stops halfway to the door, turning to address Spinister.

"Thank you for your assistance. I will see you in a few hours at the agreed coordinates."

Spinister watches Tarn go, scowling darkly. He's only got so much time before the other Decepticons would notice him packing however and he'd really rather not deal with having to answer any questions.

the shit train just keeps rolling

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