robothell | You Keep Coming Up

Who: Drift, Ratchet, Pharma. Anyone else hanging around the clinic?
What: The reunion no one wanted.
Where: Red Alert's clinic
When: A day or two after Pharma's meeting with Tarn.
Warnings: Lots of bitchiness and angry and yelling.

Well. A nice little chat with Tarn was all very good and all (not really), but there was still a small manner of the fact that Pharma had no shelter, nothing to sustain himself, and still absolutely no idea what was going on. He's been making do finding small alcoves of rubble to recharge under, but he needed some place to settle down, if only temporarily.

He doesn't realize he's hit some semblance of a building until he's practically right in front of the entrance of it. He blinks, pressing one hand against it and just staring for a moment. This seems like good shelter, but... it was also probably inhabited already. After all, this place was hardly completely abandoned.

"I'm unarmed." It's the first thing he can think of saying in the off-chance that there's someone here as he steps through the entrance. After a moment, he shrugs and mutters to himself, "Although if you're the sort that shoots first and asks questions later, that doesn't really do much good, does it?"

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Pharma's shoulders drop slightly as he sighs, spreading his hands -- but he does take a step back as Ratchet starts to approach. "Now now, there's no need to get hostile." He pauses for a moment, then mutters in addition, "Good to know that Tarn's branching out on the medics he's harassing these days."

"I'm so glad you're pleased," Ratchet snarls, but he stops his advance a few paces away when Pharma retreats, his optics burning.

"Why are you here, Pharma."

He relaxes slightly with a coy shrug and the return of that smile, brushing his hand against the wall behind him as though assuring that it's actually there. "A simple manner of curiosity. This is the first thing I've seen that suggests people aren't just wandering about aimlessly."

He glances back at Ratchet, smile fading just a bit. "This reunion was not exactly on the list of things I expected to encounter."

"How sad for you, being forced to deal with the mistakes you've made," Ratchet says, his voice a caustic indicator of how little patience he has left for playing silly buggers this week.

"I haven't shot you, but I'd recommend you stay away from First Aid. He's here as well. In fact, there's a lot of people I'd recommend you stay away from, unless you want me to ask Drift to chop off your hands again so you can't do any more damage."

His optics flare slightly at the mention of First Aid, but his forces himself to stay put and avert his gaze from Ratchet. "Is he now?" he asks, unable to keep a dry, venomous sort of amusement from his voice. "Well, since he seemed more than willing to shoot me without provocation the first time, there's no need for the threat. You'd be surprised how little of a threat you can be without a head."

Ratchet goes completely still.

"What?" he says, very quietly, his optics paling, watching Pharma's face with a weird expression of disbelief and sad resignation.

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" Pharma cocks his head to the side, gauging Ratchet's reaction for a moment. Finally, he raises his hand, makes a crude impression of a gun gesture, and points it towards his forehead. "At least, I'm fairly certain that's what happened. I seem to remember a very large gun followed by a very large explosion."

Ratchet looks a little ill.

"I wanted him to be better than you were," he said, his voice cracking cold as ice. He pulls himself together visibly, his mouth twisting. "Anyway, you can't say it wasn't justified. You would have killed him, too. Twice over, if you'd had the chance."

Pharma drops his hand with a soft exhale of a laugh. "Life is full of disappointments, Ratchet. At any rate, I never said he wasn't justified -- and you give me too much credit. You were supposed to be the one to cut him up in that bet we had going."

He pauses, taking yet another few steps towards the entrance, much more leisurely than before. "But you're right. I probably would have killed him. Only once over, then, but if I was the type to hold a grudge..."

"I wouldn't have done it," Ratchet says bleakly. He doesn't know what he would have done instead, but... not that. His jaw tightens.

"And my count before was correct. If he hasn't had a busted t-cog, he would have leaked to death at Delphi, just like everybody else. Don't tell me you've forgotten."

Oh, right. Delphi. "Ah, yes, that's right -- a little detail, it seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things." Pharma shrugs, crossing his arms and peering at Ratchet in scrutiny. "No, of course you wouldn't have. That's just like you."

"Yeah, it is," Ratchet almost snarls, taking another step towards Pharma. "No need to sound so disappointed. You should know me better by now."

"No need to get so defensive, Ratchet," Pharma says, managing to sound completely offended even as he takes yet another step away from Ratchet. "As it seems I've worn out my welcome, I'll leave you to it, then."

He turns away and starts to step out of the entrance, not offering a second look back and moving just a touch too quickly.

Ratchet watches Pharma run, venting raggedly and leaning hard on one crutch as he raises a fist and slams it hard into one of the walls. It leaves a rough transfer of red paint and bares the soft, dark blue of his knuckles as it slides away before he pulls himself together, bringing both hands back to his crutches and limping back to finish inventory, still feeling ill.

You Keep Coming Up

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