triggerhappycopter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
triggerhappycopter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
robothell2015-01-31 08:01 pm
triggerhappycopter) wrote in robothell2015-01-31 08:01 pm
Semi Open
WHO: Spinister and anyone stuck in the clinic really!
WHERE: Clinic!
WHEN: A few days after that Ratchet and Tarn shindig!
WHAT: Spinister is going to steal ALL THE THINGS
WARNINGS: Potential robot shootings!
Looking at Spinister in all his gaudy, magenta and teal glory, you'd never really think that the fellow could sneak to save his life.
But he can sneak.
It was something the Scavengers were privvy to; their surgeon just literally appears out of thin air at times and you either got used to it, or you started hallucinating flashes of pink out of the corner of your optics. Fulcrum didn't really take it too well initially, the poor mech.
Compared to the cramped confines of the W.A.P., the clinic was a bit of a cakewalk. Plus most of the doors were broken anyways, so there wasn't a lot that would give the heli away. He slips into the clinic's backdoor like the most brightly colored of silent shadows.
The first thing he does is check if the broom closet was unlocked, just in case he needed a place to hide. The second thing he does is stop and listen, tracking the people in the building. Most of them were out front as far as he could tell, possibly monitoring the patients or chatting with each other.
No time like the present then.
Spinister starts picking through the cupboards and drawers as efficiently and quietly as he can.
WHERE: Clinic!
WHEN: A few days after that Ratchet and Tarn shindig!
WHAT: Spinister is going to steal ALL THE THINGS
WARNINGS: Potential robot shootings!
Looking at Spinister in all his gaudy, magenta and teal glory, you'd never really think that the fellow could sneak to save his life.
But he can sneak.
It was something the Scavengers were privvy to; their surgeon just literally appears out of thin air at times and you either got used to it, or you started hallucinating flashes of pink out of the corner of your optics. Fulcrum didn't really take it too well initially, the poor mech.
Compared to the cramped confines of the W.A.P., the clinic was a bit of a cakewalk. Plus most of the doors were broken anyways, so there wasn't a lot that would give the heli away. He slips into the clinic's backdoor like the most brightly colored of silent shadows.
The first thing he does is check if the broom closet was unlocked, just in case he needed a place to hide. The second thing he does is stop and listen, tracking the people in the building. Most of them were out front as far as he could tell, possibly monitoring the patients or chatting with each other.
No time like the present then.
Spinister starts picking through the cupboards and drawers as efficiently and quietly as he can.
no subject
He was aware of the exits, including the back door, too, he just couldn't think of anyone he was aware of who would start picking around back. If they wanted something, they could probably just ask.
With this in mind, he makes his way towards the sound, his heavy footfalls not exactly trying to be stealthy as he breaks away from the buzz of the patient rooms to pick something up.
no subject
An honest-to-Primus stocked clinic! He hasn't seen one like it in years! There were actual pain dampeners and little sealed vials of fresh repair nanites and all the little basics the field kit had run out of a long time ago. It was terrible he didn't have more inventory space to store everything in because he'd have been making off with at least half of all the cleansers in the backroom otherwise.
There was even a box of alcohol wipes! A... locked box? Well, he doesn't really blame the Autobots for that, alcohol wipes were something of a luxury item. They could also suck it because he's taking the whole damn lot then. The lock wasn't even that complicated; he could get through it a few minutes with a couple of picks...
That pair of footsteps sounded like it was coming towards the back room.
Spinister bites down on the quiet bout of panic and grabs the little box-
There's an unexpected 'CLUNK' of something rolling around inside and the heli actually does panics badly enough that he forgets to close the drawer as he darts out the back and ducks into the cleaning closet.
no subject
Having just recently re-organized half those supplies not more than a day ago, he can only let his anger simmer at whoever thought it necessary to steal from a clinic. Scavenging to make up for the tubes of nanites and pain dampeners that were lost would take time away from where he was needed. With Ratchet and Nautica both severely injured, this little incident was digging into his nerves far deeper than it usually would.
Assuming whoever it was must have run off, so he checks the nearby rooms to see if they were messed with, too. Doors hiss open and close shut, eventually making his way towards Spinister's hiding spot. A hand lays on the door controls to slide it open.
no subject
Spinister takes a moment to quietly thump his head against his palm. Stupid. Useless. Brain module.
The footsteps get closer and he vents in slowly, drawing his blaster out, combat protocols lighting up in the corner of his vision. Those Autobots were going to pry these medical supplies from his cold, dead, hands.
Well. Hopefully not dead. He's gotta stay optimistic, right? Maybe just unconscious. Although hands can't really go unconscious could they? Could hands die at all to begin with?
Alright, this was beginning to get way too confusing and he was out of time.
The door slides open and Spinister pulls the trigger a moment before he realizes it was Megatron's face he was aiming at.
no subject
His head whips to the side from the force of it as he stumbles back a step, vision gone white. Some of his helmet manages to catch the damage - merely glowing red hot from the weapon. His facial plates fare less well, pieces melted clean off from the proximity of the blast, exposing some of his jaw mechanisms and cheek structure as energon and molten metal drip to the ground.
As his vision clears, all he can feel or see or hear is pain. Pain, and a sudden, shattered dam of rage twisting into his features.
no subject
That was Megatron?
Spinister stares, trying to work out just what had just happened.
Oh, Primus, that totally was Megatron.
"Ooooh, scrap. Ooooh noonono."
Did he raid the wrong clinic? But- how? What? And why did Megatron look like he'd just tripped out of his first fight at the gladiator ring?
Shoving the box of wipes under his gun arm, Spinister quickly steps out of the closet, reaching out with his free hand to try and stop Megatron from touching the wound. He doesn't really have the foresight to see just how threatening that motion looked like on the other end right now.
no subject
Spinister's placating look and apologetic voice screamed 'accident', but that didn't quell his hunger for physical retaliation. He seizes the forearm holding the gun, beginning to twist the joint far past the point of comfort.
"Let go of it," he snarls, keeping eye contact with his assailant.
no subject
No no not his arm, not his arm nothisarm-
Drop the gun? Drop the case? Which one which one? Thought processes that would have taken most others half a second to work through make Spinister even more hysterical and frantic instead.
He drops the gun.
But he also twists in the direction of Megatron's grip, ducking under the gray mech's arm, one of the stolen laser scalpels flicking into his hand from his wrist compartment. Spin doesn't turn it on; he jams the pointy tip into the crux of Megatron's elbow instead, aiming for the neural line tucked in there between the joint and the upper arm plating.
no subject
At a second glance, he sees the supplies and the Decepticon badge on the intruder's chest through the static entering his left field of view. But all he can feel is disgust, disgust and anger that this, and Tarn, is what his followers had fallen to.
He'd get no satisfaction at hurting this intruder any further.
"Get out."
no subject
The command comes as such a surprise he couldn't help but stare for a moment longer, speechless. He is being spared? The fact that Megatron didn't immediately execute him for the transgressions did not fit into any aspect of what he'd thought encounters with their leader would end like.
He takes one step back. Then another. And then he turns and quickly makes a run for it. The moment he clears the building, Spin flips into helicopter mode and flies away as fast as his rotors would allow.
no subject
When Spinister leaves, Megatron allows himself to grimace as another wave of throbbing pain floods his head. He reaches down for the gun and clutches the flattened barrel in one hand and the grip and rear sight in the other, wrenching the metal apart with one furious, snarling twist, a white-hot rage briefly flashing across his optics.
The two pieces hit the ground with a metallic clang, and he moves forward to slam the door shut and lock it, and examine the damage to his face in the reflection of a broken screen.
A hand raises to the wound, finding himself shaken by his own appearance. The grooves and furrows of anger seep out of his expression as his fingers hover over the exposed frame.
no subject
If he was, then she'd just have to get back to work.
She entered the room cautiously, her blue optics narrowed as she spotted Megatron.
"Megatron. Did you bring another Decepticon in here?" She asked coldly, willingly ignoring that parts of his face were missing.
no subject
"Someone was raiding our storage," he replies, merely sounding tired as he bent down to pick up the pieces of the weapon that he'd twisted into mangled scrap metal.
"They only managed to run off with some scalpels and something else rather minor."
no subject
"Lie down."
no subject
He didn't exactly have time to get half his face and pieces of his jaw reconstructed while the medic was running around on crutches. But he does comply, laying down in the berth and suddenly finding himself a little dizzy at the sudden shift in position.