Spinister has been placing bets on his face? Tarn takes a moment to be outraged; what does he expect to be under there?

He gives his entire face, chin, and jaw a few vigorous scrubs with the cloth before picking up the discarded mask and working at the dried energon coating the inside of it.

“I wouldn’t ha-- have to shout if you were just upfront with me in the first place.” Tarn growls over his shoulder. Chronolingustics seems far too intimate for their already strangely close relationship.

Tarn jerks slightly as he feels Spinister’s armor brush his back, cautiously turning his head ever so slightly to ensure that the heli still has his back turned. Satisfied, he continues to work the cloth over the front of his mask, taking care to clean buildup from its various cracks and scratches.

“My knee is fine. It has some numb spots and moments of weakness where it doesn’t want to bear weight, b-- otherwise it seems to be healing.”