yes, a glow in the dark crowbar. i shouldn’t be this excited.
(via grumpydocbot)
Ark Welders and Wrenches
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“Wha—the dead guy?” Ratchet shakes his helm, waving his hands in front of him emphatically. ”No—no, that’s not it. You’re new here, sparkling. Very new. And, obviously, you don’t know me too well. Don’t take it too hard, you’ll be sparkling for a few cycles and then—if you don’t irritate the living scrap out of me (and that’s a big if)—I’ll promote your aft to youngling, got it?”
Hot Rod is slightly confused, but still twitches when Ratchet continues to call him a sparkling. He huffs, raising his shoulders a little. “But I don’t wanna be called a sparkling. Or a youngling. My name’s Hot Rod!”
“Tough!” Ratchet retorts, waving his wrench dangerously. “If Elita is a youngling, you’re a sparkling. Now get out of my bay before I hit you again!”
Watching the new kid looking so damn down, Ratchet sighs and, not quite looking at him, speaks up. “It’s not you.”
He stops in the middle of the medbay, a little bit confused - and then he remembers. Oh. Oh. “…Optimus, right? Um… Sorry if I was being a pain in the aft…”
“Wha—the dead guy?” Ratchet shakes his helm, waving his hands in front of him emphatically. ”No—no, that’s not it. You’re new here, sparkling. Very new. And, obviously, you don’t know me too well. Don’t take it too hard, you’ll be sparkling for a few cycles and then—if you don’t irritate the living scrap out of me (and that’s a big if)—I’ll promote your aft to youngling, got it?”
Hot Rod, being the easily distracted mech he is, quickly gets bored and starts looking around the medbay, swinging his legs in the air; the medbay he knows is a bit bigger, and there are other medics beside Ratchet.
“It looks like you check out just fine, but I’d keep an optic on your fuel filters and cooling intakes—high-maintenance vehicles like yours tend to be more likely to get clogged this or that, and if I have to flush out your systems because you were being a fragging idiot, I’ll weld your aft to the ceiling, got it?”
“Yeah.” Hot Rod quickly remembers that he is actually upset at Ratchet and grumbles, giving him another slightly hurt look before sliding off the medical berth. “…Thanks.”
Watching the new kid looking so damn down, Ratchet sighs and, not quite looking at him, speaks up. “It’s not you.”
Giving a short nod, he huffs, “Good.” Waiting for the scan’s data to appear on the screen beside Hot Rod’s berth, Ratchet folds his arms and stares resolutely at the blank screen until it finally fills with numbers.
Hot Rod, being the easily distracted mech he is, quickly gets bored and starts looking around the medbay, swinging his legs in the air; the medbay he knows is a bit bigger, and there are other medics beside Ratchet.
“It looks like you check out just fine, but I’d keep an optic on your fuel filters and cooling intakes—high-maintenance vehicles like yours tend to be more likely to get clogged this or that, and if I have to flush out your systems because you were being a fragging idiot, I’ll weld your aft to the ceiling, got it?”
“Your obnoxious paint job, your pretentious attitude, or the fact that you were trying to mouth off to me in my medical bay—take you pick!” He began scanning Hot Rod as he fumed, then asked, “Any recent aches, pains, malfunctions, etc. And don’t skimp just ‘cause “it’s not a big deal” or I’ll hit you, again.”
“No. None of that.” He doesn’t reply to the first part of what Ratchet says, still obviously pouting; he adds ‘Except for annoying medics’ in his thoughts, but he doesn’t dare saying it out loud.
Giving a short nod, he huffs, “Good.” Waiting for the scan’s data to appear on the screen beside Hot Rod’s berth, Ratchet folds his arms and stares resolutely at the blank screen until it finally fills with numbers.
From several paces away, Ratchet strikes, throwing his wrench forward to beam Hot Rod in the side of his helm. “This is my medical bay, sparkling! You are in my medical bay, you will follow my rules! Now I suggest you mute it before I decide you need an invasive cavity check up!”
“OW! What was that for!?” Hot Rod rubs the side of his helm, wincing; this time he shuts up though, and just sits there pouting, occasionally shooting Ratchet a rather hurt look.
“Your obnoxious paint job, your pretentious attitude, or the fact that you were trying to mouth off to me in my medical bay—take you pick!” He began scanning Hot Rod as he fumed, then asked, “Any recent aches, pains, malfunctions, etc. And don’t skimp just ‘cause “it’s not a big deal” or I’ll hit you, again.”
Gripping his wrench a bit tighter, Ratchet growls. “You’re really tryin’ my patients, an’ I don’t have much on a good day.”
Taking his scanner and his wrench, he walks toward Hot Rod. “You wanna try answerin’ the question?”
“You started it! I walk in, and you just insult me!” No, he isn’t about to let it go. He keeps sitting there, arms still crossed, all but pouting at Ratchet.
From several paces away, Ratchet strikes, throwing his wrench forward to beam Hot Rod in the side of his helm. “This is my medical bay, sparkling! You are in my medical bay, you will follow my rules! Now I suggest you mute it before I decide you need an invasive cavity check up!”
“Are you talking back to me, sparkling?” Where Ratchet’s tone may be pleasant, the way he halts his rummaging to glare at Hot Rod certainly is not.
“I’ll let you off this once, but let me be perfectly clear. Look around you, what do you see?”
Well, Ratchet didn’t exactly stumble into the least stubborn mech in the universe. Hot Rod crosses his arms over his chest and scowls a little more, looking hurt. “I am still not a sparkling! I am not even talking back, just saying the truth!”
Gripping his wrench a bit tighter, Ratchet growls. “You’re really tryin’ my patients, an’ I don’t have much on a good day.”
Taking his scanner and his wrench, he walks toward Hot Rod. “You wanna try answerin’ the question?”
Scoffing, Ratchet gestures to an open berth from where he stands, rummaging around in a cabinet drawer. “Have a seat, sparkling. I’ll be with you in a click.”
He scowls slightly, but obediently takes a seat on the berth, staring at Ratchet’s back. “I’m not a sparkling! I’m just a bit young… But I can take care of myself!”
“Are you talking back to me, sparkling?” Where Ratchet’s tone may be pleasant, the way he halts his rummaging to glare at Hot Rod certainly is not.
“I’ll let you off this once, but let me be perfectly clear. Look around you, what do you see?”
“Yes, Ratchet.” Hot Rod makes his way towards the medbay instantly - it’s never good to annoy Ratchet. Under any circumstances.
He’s there is a matter of minutes, walking inside and looking around.
Scoffing, Ratchet gestures to an open berth from where he stands, rummaging around in a cabinet drawer. “Have a seat, sparkling. I’ll be with you in a click.”
…Will somebody finally explain to me what TMI Tuesday is? My counterpart won’t tell me…
It’s when humans are allowed to ask you all kind of annoying questions.
My suggestion? Don’t participate.
Annoying? Hey, but I don’t mind annoying questions! I think I can deal with that.
Well if you’ve got so slaggin’ much time, why not get your aft over here so I can clear you for duty, huh?
…Oh. Um, right. I will be there in a moment, okay?
Slaggin’ right you will.
…Will somebody finally explain to me what TMI Tuesday is? My counterpart won’t tell me…
It’s when humans are allowed to ask you all kind of annoying questions.
My suggestion? Don’t participate.
Annoying? Hey, but I don’t mind annoying questions! I think I can deal with that.
Well if you’ve got so slaggin’ much time, why not get your aft over here so I can clear you for duty, huh?
Pausing in his study of Prowl’s vitals at the mention of Prime, Ratchet turns slowly and sighs. He walks back to Prowl and puts a hand on his shoulder. “That’s part of it. See, we’re pretty sure there’s a virus or somethin’, and what it does is mess with a mech’s processor. In order, Wheeljack got kidnapped, Prime and a few others went to rescue him, Prime contracted the virus before heading off to one of the other universes I’d mentioned…
“Long story short? You report to Bumblebee, now.” He’s quiet a moment, then gives Prowl’s shoulder a short shake. “I’m sorry, Prowl. I know it’s rough… I’d avoid Elita until you’re sure you can handle her. Bee should be back soon, not sure what’ll happen then.”
Prowl tenses as Ratchet places his hand on his shoulder. “Prime’s gone, Bumblebee is in charge, and there are viruses and dimensional tears to deal with. Anything else you forgot to mention?” Prowl quips as he stands up. “And what steps has Bumblebee taken to get us out of our predicament?” Prowl sighs.
“Just be careful around Jack—don’t push him too hard, his time with our “counterparts” really shook ‘im up. Bee’s off getting the Matrix back from Prime’s body. Actually,” Ratchet paused, thinking for a moment before suggesting, “I’m sure Elita would appreciate it if you’d take care of her paperwork for the time being. While things are quiet, we could split it.”
…Will somebody finally explain to me what TMI Tuesday is? My counterpart won’t tell me…
It’s when humans are allowed to ask you all kind of annoying questions.
My suggestion? Don’t participate.
