robothell | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Tarn and Spinister
What: life is bad
When: sometime
Where: The wastes
Warnings: none

The wind howls through the skeleton of their meager shelter, bringing with it thick clouds of soot. Unfortunately, dust storms were more frequent out here in the middle of nowhere than Tarn had hoped. The vast expanse of the wastes left little to prevent the cloud from building on itself.

As it stands, the state of their dwelling is… unsustainable to say the very least. Tarn has begun to lose count of the amount of times that he’s woken up from recharge and had to chase after supplies that had been caught in the wind. However, shelters in the wastes are far and few between, and he finds himself hesitant to move further away from the city and its supplies. His occasional sneaking trips into the city outskirts have yielded just enough to make the risk work it.

Tarn pulls a tarp tighter around his body in a futile attempt to keep his vents from clogging. in truth its more for show than anything; his entire frame, from the top of his head to his feet, is covered in a thick layer of sand and dirt. He can do little but wait for the storm to pass and wait for Spinister’s return in hopes that he has been able to dig up something of use.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tarn scoffs quietly at Spinister’s suggestions.

“I will…try.” He makes no promises, but Tarn will make an honest effort to keep his helm out of frivolous fights... and other excesses. Although, the transforming bit might give him more trouble than he cares to admit. With nothing else to take his mind from the asperity of the situation, Tarn needs to transform. However, he also needes to remain mobile.

Wringing his cloth out, Tarn continues his way down his chassis, paying extra attention to the brand gifted to him by Galvaton.

“Still, I worry that another run in with that enigmatic Beastformer will leave me with more to worry about than a broken knee.” Loathe as he is to admit it, Tarn’s latest run-in with Rampage has left him more than a little anxious.

Spinister resists the urge to roll his optics at the special attention Tarn pays to his new badge. Ugh. Ugh! Shaking his head, the heli moves his attention to his companion's threads. The threads themselves were a rather pointless affair, but the mechanisms that moved them needed to be maintained.

"So are going to do the buddy system now?"

Oh boy does he not want to spend any more of his waking hours around Tarn. Tarn probably felt the same but to heck with Tarn's feelings. If the asshole wasn't constantly making enemies with people, this would be less of a goddamn problem.

“I’m afraid so.” Tarn sighs, hating the idea of giving up his last shred of privacy. There goes his nice, solitary, quiet, walks to clear his head.

The stress is short lived, however, as Spinister begins cleaning the mechanisms around his treads. The warmth of the cleanser in his structure has Tarn's shoulders slumping in barely contained bliss. His optics dim and his hand stills in cleaning the darkened and broken biolights lining his abdominal plating. It’s been ages since he’s been able to get back there and clean that deeply.

The pause lasts only for a few seconds before he forces his hand back into motion, swiping the cloth across his abdomen and moving back up to to get the cables under his arm

“You haven’t had any trouble out here have you?” Tarn is only slightly worried about Spinister being targeted, but guilty by association is always a risk for someone in his position.

"Nope!"

Unlike some people, Spin hasn't managed to piss off a small city and get exiled. He's just tagging along out of contractual obligation. A lot of people probably didn't even know Spinister existed for the most part.

There's an air of something like smugness about Spin at the way Tarn slumps under his hands. He has the grace not to comment on it and the touch stays professional instead of turning pokey, but it's definitely smugness. He gets too concentrated on the gross sludge he starts pulling out of the crevices in a moment anyways and- eugh!

"Holy moley, when was the last time you got a deep cleaning up here?"

Tarn grumbles, slightly embarrassed of the answer. He’s always held himself to a high standard of cleanliness, which he has unfortunately let slip over the past few months. Nickel would be ashamed.

“Since before I arrived here, for certain. I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to have someone reach back there.” Other than that instance with Sixshot, but there wasn’t a whole lot of bathing happening in that shower when they were together.

His struts turn to jelly as Spinister’s brush reaches particularly deep, cleaning out months of sludge. It certainly wasn’t a subsonic purr vibrating in his chassis. No. Of course not.

It just felt so wonderful to be getting clean after everything that he’s suffered through.

"We gotta find a proper tube cleaning brush after this," Spinister mutters, trying to get the right angle to scrape the brush hairs against the deep crevices of the mechanisms there. "There's no way I can get it all off with just a wire."

The subsonic purr was a little distracting. It was a funny kind of distracting though. Out of all the sounds he ever expected the commander of the DJD to make, purrs weren't really up on the list there.

Tarn makes a small noise of acknowledgement, forcing his hand back into action. It won't do to let Spinister do all of the work.

Every inch of his armor is loosened, leaving him limp and hunching forward ever so slightly. As Spinisters wire brush tweaks against a particularly sensitve wire, the purr only grows louder and his optics darken completely. After a few moments of bliss, Tarn clears his throat, taking with it that contented rumble.

"I'm not sure where you think we will find a tube cleaning brush. I haven't seen one since I arrived here."

"I can make one if we don't find any? I just need wires and stuff."

He's honestly not sure why Tarn thinks most of this stuff is hard to make. Shaking his head, Spinister turns his attention to the other set of threads and goes to work there.

Here and here he makes it a point to gently smooth over and knead at kinked cables, ignoring the crud getting on his hands. Tarn doesn't deserve it, but... well, Spinister like the peace of mind that seems to come with the DJD commander getting relaxed. For now at least.

"Yes you are quite resourceful." It's all Tarn manages to say before Spinister moves on to his other shoulder.

He slumps harmlessly as recessed cables are gently kneaded, nearly melting into a puddle. He hadn't realized how tightly he had been holding his shoulders until Spinister's fingers began coaxing them to relax. But, between his skyrocketing stress levels, and the various injuries wreaking havoc on his frame, he supposes that he shouldn't be entirely surprised.

"It seems that you're capable of making basically anything with the right raw supplies..."

"Not really!" Spinister snorts, almost radiating smugness at the way Tarn just straight up slumps under his fingers. "I'm a surgeon, not an inventor. I can figure out stuff that already exists, not make new stuff. Poor imagination and all that!"

"... Or poorly managed imagination?" he mutters, mostly to himself, pinching a cable and setting it delicately back in it's rightful spot with a practiced twist of his wrists. "I don't remember. Krok talked about it lots anyways. He's a historian, but sometimes he's pretty okay at the psychology stuff too."

"Now," he grabs a handful of Tarn's threads and shoves his fingers somewhere unmentionable with a disgusting squelch. "Hold still."

Tarn’s whole body flinches as Spinister shoves his fingers deeply into his shoulder mechanisms.

“Ha---ah gently, Spinister, those are sensitive!” He snaps over his shoulder, armor tightening ever so slightly.

Perhaps if he had been expecting it the sensation would not have been so jarring. But, the gentle kneading and delicate pinching and straightening of cables had not prepared him for the sudden rough treatment.

Tarn pauses, hearing a repulsive sort of sound coming from whatever Spinister is doing.

“What are you digging at?"

Look, if he'd told Tarn what he was going to do, the guy wouldn't have been relaxed!

Well, he's not relaxed now, but at least Spin had managed to wedge his fingers in far enough.

"I don't know yet, but it's- hn- pretty stuck in there." Sorry, Tarn, buddy, but he's cramming his fingers in deeper there. There's a look of intense concentration on the heli's face and there's a rivulet of nasty old caked lube and clumps of blackened nano repair fluids running down Spin's wrist and Tarn's back.

Aaaaalmooost.... Spin could feel the edge of the thing slipping from between his fingers when he tries to tighten his hold.

Edited 2016-02-09 05:04 (UTC)

Gritting his teeth, Tarn forces his armor to relax and open to Spinister's digging fingers. As uncomfortable and invasive as this venture may feel, Tarn really does what whatever is stuck in there out.

He flinches again as the object shifts, constricting a cluster of wires and sending a sharp shooting pain down the length of his arm.

Tarn tightens his jaw, biting down a hiss. Perhaps if he flexes his shoulder just right, it might help to shift the foreign body within Spinister's reach.

"Is that helping?" Tarn quizzes in a quiet baritone over his shoulder. Honestly, he's not sure how else to assist.

"Nope NOPE," Spin yelps as his fingers are squished together to the point of pain. "THAT WAS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I SAID TO DO. TARNNN!"

Tarn immediately freezes as Spinister begins shrieking at him. He drops his shoulder completely, loosening the joint as much as possible in hopes that Spinister will be able to pull his fingers free.

The last thing he needs is a furious heli stuck in his shoulder.

"UGH! Ow, holy heck," Spin takes a moment to wince as the residual pain fades away to something more manageable.

Then, without waiting to see if Tarn was ready or not, he shoves the fingers in knuckle-deep, pinches down on the damn whatsit and then pulls back, twisting carefully so that it didn't cut any delicate cabling. It takes a couple tries, some more twisting, and Spin somehow ends up with a knee swung over Tarn's opposite shoulder, but it finally comes comes loose.

"Hah!" he crows victoriously, planting his free hand on top of Tarn's helm as he sits up, holding up a dripping shard of shrapnel. "Look at that! How'd it even get in there?"

Tarn squawks indignantly as Spinister roots around even more aggressively. Its a struggle not to clamp down again on the invading fingers, but he manages to keep himself under control. His optics are wide with shock as Spinister slings a leg over his shoulder and begins yanking snd twisting whatever is lodged in there.

Finally, he feels it slide loose and breathes an audible sigh of relief. Tarn turns to look up the culprit. Shrapnel?

“I…I’m not entirely sure."

How long had that been in there? He tries to recall an instance that would have led to a shard of that size striking him. The only thing he can think of is perhaps his fight with Megatron. Senior.

Months ago.

Tarn holds hand out in a silent bid to inspect the shard of shrapnel

"It's been in there long enough to get a nasty crust of repair nanites and gunk," Spinister says, dropping the shard into Tarn's palm. If he wanted in on the gross gunk action, then Spin was happy to share.

"Any residual pain?" he asks, sliding his fingers back in and smoothing over the mechanisms there. He's still not gotten off his perch on Tarn's shoulders, but Tarn can bloody deal with it until he's sure there's no damage.

"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.

"I am doing- a damage assessment!"

And honestly, all Tarn's shouldering does is make Spin clamp his thigh and elbow down with his neck as an anchor. Sorry, mate.

"Just because it's out doesn't mean it's done cutting things up, now leave me be for a flippin' second!"

"Hk---! Spin--!" Tarn wheezes as Spinister clings to his neck and shoulder, putting more than a little pressure across his throat with an elbow. It certainly is enough to get Tarn to stop pushing at him.

He sits slumped and defeated, optics glaring hotly at the ground in front of him. After a few minutes of patiently waiting, Tarn speaks up, irritation ringing clearly in his voice.

"Are you quite done?"

"Okay, yeah, now I'm done," Spin grumbles once he's satisfied, gingerly pulling his hand away and dramatically rolling off of Tarn's shoulders.

"Add 'syringe' to the list of things I need," the heli adds conversationally, sitting up and spinning his rotor once to get the dust off before reaching for a cloth from the bucket again.

"Oh? What for? If there's an infection in there, I'm entitled to know."

Of course Tarn immediately zeros in on casual syringe mention. He turns to stare directly at Spinister as he's released from the heli's grip, large purple hand reaching up to rub his throat. Tarn waits expectantly for an explanation, daring him to skirt around the topic.

"If there's an infection there, you'll know whether you want to or not. It's not an infection, so you're fine." As he talks, Spinister wipes the black streaks of fluids off of Tarn's back before starting where he'd left off.

"It needs some cleaning though. The crust was pretty thick and chunky," and very gross. He makes a bit of a face as he hits the small of his companion's back.

"Priority-wise, it's definitely under keeping your knee and neck in good shape."

Well that's good news at least. Setting the shard aside for future disposal, Tarn visibly relaxes as he retrieves his discarded rag from the bucket of cleaner. giving his shoulder an experimental stretch, Tarn notes that the rotation of the joint and flex of cables is noticeably smoother.

"I'm not sure that I would have noticed that something was in there if not for your assistance. Thank you."

That's all the thanks Spinister will be getting.

Tarn settles quietly into cleaning out his hip joints, dipping the cloth between armor plates and swiping away weeks of built up dirt and thick black grease. Disgusting. How could he have let his frame fall into such deplorable condition? He needs to at least be giving himself a daily brush down to rid his frame and major joints of dirt. Tarn doesn't even need a proper cleanser, just a bit of water to sluice of with.

How can Tarn possibly expect Galvatron to be proud to call him his Lieutenant if he can't even preform the most basic frame upkeep.