Door’s always open over here. If you join now for a limited time only, you get a free me! Better hurry while supplies last.
And if you join within the next 18 kliks, you’ll also receive one incredibly handsome Seeker for no extra charge.
The gauntlet has been dropped Autobots. Are you going to let them show you up like that?
Whats all this about aligning?
Sigh. I guess I will have one less neutral soul to relate to…
I’m not even aligned— I don’t work for anyone but myself! Now the question of ‘Why do I have this much paperwork' arises.
Good Primus… How am I awake this early?
Blaster gives him a flat look. As if he doesn’t have cassettes and a child of his own to handle. “Ya’re bein’ silly, now chill out and let us help.” Blaster, logically, could hack the files of the ship and the med bay to find what he needs but he doesn’t want to do that.
"What’s the point of fightin’ it?"
Jazz frowns slightly and dedicates himself to peering through cabinets. All very methodical, quick searches without disturbing any of the objects inside. Force of habit, really. Leave no trace, most of the time, and all that. At the same time, he’s reviewing his subspace storage - he should at the very least have some sort of emergency ration hanging around. Probably. Maybe.
Though his back is turned and there are no doors to be seen, his back plates are twitching the slightest bit in some sort of unconscious compensational body language. He’s not even aware he’s doing it. The quiet humming absentmindedly, on the other hand, he does notice, and it’s half to soothe Tourniquet, and half to make sure the rewire had gone soundly.
Seriously. They’re not leaving, Tourniquet. And judging by their need to cuddle and your loneliness, you are going to get your broken aft dragged into a cuddle pile on a couple of medberths dragged together with all of the blankets in the repair bay.
"Mhf." He grumps, face scrunched in a pout and gaze turned from both of them. A mangled, barely-hanging-on doorwing flicks indignantly at them, and he moves to sit on a berth, sparing no expense in trudging there just short of stomping. He sits himself down with his back to them, letting out a grunt.
"Second cabinet from the left on the upper shelf in the unit above the work bench." He grouses, what’s left of his finials drooped low in their tracks in his version of a pout. He practically aches for another smoke, licking cut lips and taking a moment to prod his glossa experimentally through the scarred up, open part of his zygomatic plates, before huffing.
"I’ve been through leagues worse than this completely and utterly alone. I figured that being open to company while I’m in this condition would be a nice change." He grumbles, "I just didn’t know you were going to take away my Cygarettes…"
Blaster, being Blaster, ignores being told off and looks through some of the medic’s tools. “Hold still,” he plucks the cygarette out of Tourniquet’s servo, “I can take care of some of the sensor net damage. Got plenty of experience with that considerin’ how often I blow myself up. Let’s see it, and we’re gonna get ya ta refuel without purgin’ before we leave as well.”
He raises an optic ridge. “No more smokin’ till ya can eat somethin.”
Okay, so Blaster actually had a better chance of effecting something resembling useful repairs. It looked like most of Jazz’s bits were already fixed over, so he decided he’d look into the fuel situation.
"Gonna needa know where you keep the low grade. Don’t think you’ll hold down much else to start, right?" It wouldn’t do a whole lot for his energy levels, but it would get something to him and get his systems started again. Ought to prompt him to refuel again later after his systems snatch what resources they can out of it. At least as far as Jazz can guess. That’s one of the tricks he’d used before.
Tourniquet scowls and before he can stop himself he throws a variety of curses Blaster’s way, stepping away, reaching into his subspace for a cygarette.
And of course, he had none left. He scowls at Blaster, and then Jazz, and then back to Blaster— and then he got the world’s best idea. If he didn’t say anything or tell them where anything was, they wouldn’t be able to force food or rest on him. He set his remaining arm on his hip, frowning something fierce at the two of them. He resembled a very large, very red, very menacing one-armed brat having a tantrum, but he’d be damned if he cared.
"That information is on a need-to-know basis…"
"That don’t look fine," Blaster murmurs, moving a bit closer. He looks at Jazz for a moment before looking at Tourniquet. "I ain’t a doctor but I know bad when I see it, T. When was the last time ya got some recharge or refueled, let alone took care of that?"
Blaster doesn’t know who to really look at first. He puts a servo on Jazz’s knee when he walks back to the med berth and sighs softly. “Should we call anyone?”
Jazz frowns as the extent of the injuries becomes more clear. They weren’t leaving him like this.
"We have to find someone," he says simply. Between them, they probably had enough experience to take on some of the mech’s injuries, at least, with various field repair and illicit self-modification experience. "But we can do what we can for ya."
He shakes his helm again, grinding what was left of the cygarette out next to the other. “I haven’t eaten or slept in a few days. Tried, ended up purging it a few minutes later and sleep just… didn’t work for me. I’ll be fine, I assure you. I’m not bleeding. A replacement for my arm is being fabricated now, but it’s a delicate procedure. Microsurgery servers are in no way simple. My wings are patched until I can get in contact with another medic to replace them. Bared sensor nets are not a fun thing to tackle.”
He shifts, smiling wryly and lighting another Cygarette up. “I’ve had much worse, I can assure you— but if you stick around too long…” He trails off chuckling something husky and hoarse to match his voice. “Might end up crying t’ya about things ya don’t need to be bothered with.”
Blaster can’t help but notice the shake. He pulls out a chair from somewhere else in the med bay and places it within reach, still keeping quiet. Not much he can do here, other than soothe Jazz when he can and try to help Tourniquet when the other looks like he may just fall down.
Did they need another medic?
Jazz visibly relaxes when Tourniquet finishes his audios, optics dimming slightly behind his visor. He sits up and rubs at them briefly before frowning a little at Tourniquet. Okay, he really didn’t look fine.
"T, m’mech, you got a buddy who can look after you?" He doesn’t answer the question about the damage right now, being more concerned about the mech that looks like he’s going to fall out than some minor inconvenience of pain. "We can crash here ‘til they get here, if ya want."
The medic shakes his head. He didn’t have anyone that could come babysit him. He was a grown mech, and he’d be fine. But at the same time, the way he ached was in no way something he would let someone else suffer through alone.
"I’ve got no-one. But, I’ll be…" He takes another drag, shifting his eyes around the room, seemingly unfazed despite the crackles of pain in his frame that would make a good portion of the mechs he knew buckle and cry out in pain. He dims the lights in the bay and practically wrenches his vizor off, setting it behind him and rather prominently displaying the missing optic and shredded socket. "I’ll be fine, probably. Not bleeding, just tired I think. Scans don’t show anything that could be fatal."
He shrugs and ambles crookedly back towards his workbench, grabbing the dirtied tool on the way and tossing it into the recycling bin. “You’re welcome to stay if you’d like- I won’t turn down company- but I’m not going to keep you here if you’d rather be somewhere else.”
Blaster moves away from Tourniquet, staying by the head of the med berth as the other mech works. He wants to be close, stay close, but he doesn’t want to be in the way. He keeps his presence back, bond open wide and willing to offer comfort when asked.
Jazz’s chest plates snap back closed once Tourniquet is done with them, and he relaxes a little at the autonomy of not having to do it manually. He fidgets with the plating a bit before shifting, gaze flicking to Blaster briefly when Tourniquet approaches his helm to look at his audios. Waaait, he’d thought Blaster was doing that later. A pang of uncertainty flickers through him, but he pushes it aside. He was a medic, this was natural that he would try to fix what he was told needed fixing. And it wasn’t a problem, anyway, just unexpected.
He nods after a brief hesitation, and his digits start tapping out a rhythm on the berth absently to focus on instead. Rewiring feedback was always less than fun, and he was hoping for a mere burnt out circuit instead the way Blaster had blown them out.
Tourniquet begins working, one-handed operations as gentle and agile as always despite the way what was left of his doors hanging limply against his back plates and his general mood overall. He created a loop feed in the inlet circuit before fixing the burnt out wire in the first audial, to eliminate most of the rewiring feedback before moving to the other side of the berth to work on the second. When he was done he backed away in a fluid movement and propped himself up against a berth, gripping it’s edge to hide his shaking.
He reached into his subspace to grab another Cygarette, holding it with aching dentae as he reached to ignite it. After a long drag, and a few more moments of letting it soak into his systems, he exhales smoke and looks at the two, settling the thin smoke in between his lips and moves his hand back to the berth.
"What do you want to do about the spark problem?" As far as inquiries go, that one could have been a bit less gruff.