robothell | I guess things can't get any worse..

Who: [closed]Tarn and Spinister
Where: Temporary Base
When: After Tarn beats the hell out of Drift and Ratchet and After Spinster clinic raiding incident
What: Spinister has some good news and some bad news
Warnings: Tarn. Maybe violence? Mentions of violence

A wise mech, upon the realization that his t-cog is not long for the world, would take it easy. Perhaps avoid transformation unless completely necessary. Tarn is not one of those mechs. The anxiety of the impending death of his transformation cog only spurs him on further, transforming back and fourth in excess of twenty times in a very short span of time. He has been holed up in the building since his run in with Drift. His self repair is working hard but the exertion that he is putting on his frame is preventing it from doing any serious good.

A fair bit of cleaning has happened since Tarn and Spinister originally stumbled into the abandoned building and it is more or less starting to feel livable. He has occupied himself by cleaning some of his own energon off of the floor with a rag. The last thing he needs right now is for the helicopter to return from his scavenging and berate him for making a fragging mess.

It isn’t until he hears hurried footsteps approaching the building that he glances up.

“Took you long enough. One would think that you were unused to stealing scraps.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Spinister bursts through the door, box of wipes hugged to his chest. He tries to stop, skids all the way to the opposite side of the room and smacks into the wall, falling flat on his back.

For a moment, the heli lies there, stunned. Slowly, he turns, takes one look at Tarn.

And promptly starts crying.

Tarn stares in astonishment at the sight in front of him, completely taken aback. For primus' sake, is he crying? Tarn isn't sure what prompted it. Surely his comment wasn't that upsetting. He stands up, towering over the scientist, plucking the box from his hands.

"Pull yourself together, Spinister. What the hell happened?"

"I shot Megatron in the faaaa-ha-haaaaaaaace," Spinister sobs, dragging his fingers down his chevron, streaks of red light streaming down his mask. "I t-think I raided the wrong ch-clinic!"

Also, Tarn's comment was pretty mean.

Tarn shutters his optics, taking a deep breath. Patience, Tarn, Have patience. This could either be a good thing, or a very bad thing.

"You shot Megatron? Which Megatron? Describe what he looked like. Just-- calm down and explain." He does his best to rein in his anger, managing to dull it to mere exasperation.

"Wh-what? Which Megatron?"

That actually confuses Spinister enough that he stops sobbing hideously for a bit. But there was only one Megatron. Wasn't there?

Still, Tarn asked the question, so he might as well try and answer it. "Uh. He looked like his younger self before the war?"

Tarn slowly rests his face in his palm. This was bad. Of course he shot the good Megatron.

"You shot Megatron in the face. You shot Megatron in the face. What is Primus' name would possess you to shoot Megatron in the face? What is wrong with you?" He's starting to lose his composure, anger edging back into his voice as it slowly raises.

"The place was crawling with enemies and I got backed up in a closet! I thought it was an Autobot opening the door!"

Spinister pushes himself onto his knees to glare up at Tarn, jabbing a finger accusingly up at the bigger mech. "What the heck was Megatron doing in a clinic full of Autobots? And what did you mean 'which Megatron'?"

To be fair, Tarn can't talk there. He probably would have done the same thing. except for the bit where he gets scared enough to hide in a closet like a coward.

"Get off the fragging floor and pull it together."

He huffs a sigh, rubbing his face in exasperation. Now Tarn just has to find a simple way to explain the situation to Spinster without confusing him more.

"As it turns out there is more than one Megatron here. There is a good Megatron and a bad Megatron. The bad Megatron is an Autobot that the planet took him from the current timeline. He has defected and turned his back on the cause. The good Megatron, which you shot in the face, was whisked here from the past. He is soft, but destined to embrace the Decepticon cause and lead us in the future. Unfortunately the Autobots have taken advantage of his youth and vulnerability. They're trying to train him to be a medic. I have been keeping an eye to make sure all goes according to plan. "

Any questions? Good.

"Please tell me that you managed to at least get some supplies."

Well, excuuuuuse him. Not everyone's a ridiculously over-armed fanboy wanker.

Tarn's explanation earns him a very long moment of blank staring. Fortunately, it ends with Spinister acquiescing with a grumbled, "Could've told me he was there at least."

As for the second bit.

"I did!" Spinister declares and starts pulling things out of his compartments and inventory. "I got new laser scalpels and some repair nanite tubes, a couple pain dampener chips, tape, energon additives, internal cleansing chemicals, armor popping tools and extra tubing and wires, more tape..."

"And that box of wipes," the heli finishes, pointing. "Gotta unlock it though. Guess it's super fancy wipes or something."

"Well small victories at least." Tarn mutters under his breath, reaching for the locked box of wipes. Seriously, who locks cleansing wipes.

Upon lifting the box, Tarn feels a strange rolling inside, followed by a dull 'clang'. Well now, that certainly is fascinating. He brings the box up to his audiol, tilting it gently once more and feeling the contents roll once more. Tarn's tanks bottom out as a sudden glorious inkling takes over.

Setting the box on a nearby table he begins fiddling with the lock, frantically trying to get it open. After a few minutes of trying to tease the lock open he loses patience and simply smashes the mechanism off. Fingers shaking slightly as his anticipation builds up he desperately hopes he wont be disappointed as he pries open the box.

And there it is. The most beautiful sight Tarn has seen in weeks. Gently lifting the transformation cog out of the box, he turns it, inspecting it from every angle. Some superficial damage to one of the ports, probably from being jostled around so much in the box, but nothing irreparable. He is caught between anger of the fact that the scientist shot Megatron, and incandescent joy that his transformation addiction lives to see another cog.

"Spinister... I'm not sure whether to punch you or hug you right now. Give me a moment, if you will."

"Oh." Spinister looks very disappointed at that revelation. And then he scrunches his face up a bit. "Ew."

This is the surgeon who has pulled hundreds of even grosser bits out of million year old dead people. Why was he grossed out by a brand new tcog?

Who even knows.

"I'm going to go take another whack at that shower of ours," Spin declares, walking off towards said shower. They needed SOME way to start getting clean now that the wipes turned out to be bust. "You have fun with that cog, you weirdo."

I guess things can't get any worse..

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