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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First Aid can probably feel the rising of Pharma's shoulders as he shrugs. "Can't deny that the idea's quite appealing. Although how does one exact revenge on being shot in the head? It's hard to think of something creative."

First Aid is being surprisingly lenient so far, though. Interesting. Pharma doesn't make any other moves, no gesture that gives an intent of turning the chainsaw on or anything.

"You've always been creative, though. Rust virus?" First Aid says, hardly masking the venom in his tone.

He swallows, his mind racing. What should he do? Should he call for Ratchet? He had to break free somehow-- without slicing his throat open. His visor narrows and he reaches up to touch one of the teeth of the saw, feeling how sharp it is.

First Aid takes a gamble, lifting his leg and trying to stomp on Pharma's foot.

Oh, still bitter about that? Pharma scoffs quietly into First Aid's audial. "Well, that was --"

He doesn't finish his sentence; instead, he is rudely interrupted by a stomp to his foot, and he makes the mistake of loosening his grip on First Aid, swearing more out of anger than pain before he swings his shoulder cannons around to point at him.

Bitter was an understatement. Delphi's last few months was downright traumatic.

He squirms away as Pharma's grip loosens turning around just to get a facefull of cannons pointed directly at him. His venting stills almost completely, but he pulls his own gun from his hip, leveling it back at Pharma.

"You always have to be dramatic."

"And you always have to be so difficult."

He has First Aid outgunned by a mile. He clearly has the upper hand here, and there's really nothing stopping him from taking an eye for an eye. Except that he can't quite bring himself to fire -- which is odd, since he already went to the whole trouble of holding First Aid at chainsaw-point and all.

It's the vague contemplation of what he's doing and what he should be doing that keeps his cannons at bay.

First Aid doesn't have that same hesitation. Just seeing Pharma made his lines feel like ice had been poured through him. He could hear the rush of energon in his audio, drowning out the sound of Pharma's voice. He can still hear the groans of the dying at Delphi, Ambulon's scream, Pharma's laughter.

He might be outgunned, but he doesn't hesitate to level his own gun at Pharma's head and pull the trigger.

He registers First Aid moving, but it doesn't quite click until he sees where the gun is being aimed, and the increasing tension of First Aid's finger on the trigger. For a brief moment, he feels his head exploding against a wall again.

Before he knows it, he moves out of the way, letting it clip his shoulder with a hiss, and lunges towards First Aid, hand -- no, chainsaw -- extended. And he revs it, catching the teeth of the blades in the cords between First Aid's shoulder and torso before pulling down with a snarl.

The pain is searing hot as the teeth catch in his shoulder, enough that the spray of hot energon -- his blood -- against his cheek feels distant. First Aid doesn't scream; instead he makes a choked sound, catching in his vocalizer as his visor brightens so much it was almost white.

Nausea hits him like a battering ram in his tank, almost purging as he feels his warm wobble in the socket, then drop with a hard clang to the ground. He sees it through swimming vision, lying next to him with its fingers still curled around the gun.

Thank god. He's alive.

He backs away, still fighting the urge to purge, his optics on Pharma. First Aid almost trips over his own arm, venting raggedly.

"P-Pharma..."

There's a brief moment of triumph as First Aid's arm clatters to the ground. But... this isn't right, is it? It doesn't feel as good as it should, knowing he's won and is on the path of avenging his own death.

So he stops, chainsaw still out, watching First Aid like a hawk as he vents, hard and shallow. The gun's gone, but he could still reach for it if he hesitates, couldn't he? So Pharma kicks the detached arm away, hopefully enough out of reach that he can react again if First Aid decides to go for it.

The flow of energon keeps spurting from the stump in pulses before First Aid gets enough of a grip on his senses to reroute the energon flow. He vents raggedly, the sound almost wet, and his visor is so bright it's almost white.

He looks down at his arm as it's kicked aside, his detached hand still tightly gripping the gun. Can he grab it before Pharma takes off his head?

"Is this a-about making me suffer?"

He shifts, circling a distance from Pharma, trying to get into a better position to grab the gun.

"It wasn't, but I can't complain about the turn of events."

Pharma counters his movements against First Aid's, every intent now to dissuade him from going for the gun again. He can't even remember what his original purpose in coming here was, but right now all he can do is eliminate the possibility of having his head exploded again. Something he'd really rather not re-live.

You Keep Coming Up

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