"It's fine." Tarn's voice is clipped and terse as he tries to shoulder Spinister off of his perch. "Now, if y-- would kindly relinquish your hold on me, I would be grateful."

To be honest, Tarn thinks that it's to be expected that the site is a bit sore. After all, repair nanites and and scar tissue had basically begun to heal around the foreign object.

Tarn inspects the metal shard, switching it to his other hand and swiping sludge from the smooth object with his fingertips. Cleaning it up lends no more information to where it came from. It's still a mystery, and to be honest, he supposes it doesn't truly matter. Absentmindedly he flicks congealed energon from his fingertips, looking at Spinister expectantly.

Get off of his shoulder you imbecile.