kismet_loop | [Text] HeLP

[Text scrawls across the screen as it is being written with words being deleted and revised several times. The errors are few by human standards, but by Cybertronian? It is pretty obvious the dictator is very likely in distress.]

I cannot function like this! I can't! I won't!1 They can't find anything wrong with me, but they aren't looking hard enough. yWhy can't anyone find the problem??

Nothing has a taste anymore. Tried everything. 8Ate everything. No point. I can feel it and see it and chew it to pieces but no taste. Enjoyment diminished by 70%. Texture, smell, color- no taste??? NO TASTE.

Tried to fix it myself.

[The video finally flicks on and those without strong tanks/stomachs will probably need to look away. Dirge's throat is torn open, ragged bits of protoform peeling away to reveal a mess of wires pulled out from beneath his chin. Below that a long tube is visible, slightly nicked by sharp, fumbling claws. A few of the wires are sparking, most are hanging limply, two are welded together in some haphazard attempt to connect them. Dirge opens his mouth, wincing as he does so, to display a much managled tongue. A segment in the middle is split open, leaving it hanging at an odd angle, the rest ummovable down from the wound.]

Did not work. Can't eat. It hurts.

gHelp.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Primus, is he tempted to make the observation that Dirge never had any taste to begin with. But seeing what the mech's done to himself, even he's not that sparkless.]

On my way.

[Dirge is squeezed into the alleyway like a stray cat, which is only just big enough for him. When TC arrives, he's leaning morosely on a dumpster.]

[TC transforms, lands, and slips into the alley, shaking his head.]

Sparkling, you are a mess.

[He'll move in to start getting the mech fully to his feet again.]

::I am not a sparkling.:: [Dirge insists through his comm, sounding petulant. But he lets TC help him up in the cramped space. He holds a hand in front of his throat, not to spare the other seeker the sight, but to try and shield the open wound from dust.]

::I need fuel.:: [He complains, flipping open a small panel in his wrist. Dirge digs a claw into it, carefully drawing out a small, flexible pump. He looks back up at TC expectantly.]

Then quit acting like one.

[At the sight of the pump, he hesitates just long enough to give the other Seeker a "I'm doing this for you WHY?" look . . . but actually he doesn't argue. Too many tens of thousands of vorns of war with too little energon to go around. He pulls Dirge out of the alley - because HELLO claustrophobia, he missed you too ~~not...SO not~~ - then props him against the wall and pulls out his med-kit.]

Patch first, then fuel.

[Dirge gives him a weird look because he has no idea how to act any differently.]

::I am acting like myself. Like I have always acted.::

[He informs TC, shaking the pump a little impatiently. Apparently he doesn't want to do this in the alleyway though, which makes sense because there is little room for it, so Dirge allows himself to be tugged out of it.]

::Ugh. How long will the patch take?::

A breem at most, more if you don't quit complaining. Move your hand.

[Despite his tone, he's not unnecessarily rough as he grips the other's wrist to pull down. A medic, he is not, but he /is/ a war vet who's done far too many field patches on himself and his trinemates. He's not gentle, but he doesn't cause any unnecessary pain, nor does he say anything further...which at least means no more talk of sparklings acting with rash immaturity?]

[He gets leaks clamped and lines stinted to keep fluids flowing where they need to, then lays a piece of metal in place over the hole, temp-welding it in place. It's rigid, Dirge won't be able to turn his head or lower his chin, but at least his throat's not a gaping hole anymore. TC finally steps back, putting away the medkit and looking at the pump.]

I'm not familiar with that kind of pump. Does it have a needle to pull from service lines or does it need to thread straight into the tank?

[Said with a grimace. Because WHY is he doing this again? And why did this have to happen after he'd finished his last cube of the energon he always carries with him but before he'd made it anywhere to refill?]

[Dirge is not the best patient, fidgeting and making displeased noises throughout the entire procedure. When its finally done, he grimaces and taps on the welded patch with a claw. Its itchy and restrictive and he feels somewhat like a collared earth canine.]

::It is supposed to connect to a port.:: [The clone points at the panel in his wrist where the pump came from. Next to it is a port the same size as the mouth of the pump.]

::Guess you don't have one. I do have a means of puncture, however.::

[He grins, holding up a knife-like claw.]

Edited 2015-06-13 23:12 (UTC)

[SHIT SON you /are/ Skywarp! Hold still and stop whining! . . . TC doesn't actually say anything aloud, though any psychic in the neighborhood probably just got a headeache from him.]

[TC studies the wrist, the sight eliciting a small grimace. Then a sigh.]

No, I don't. Though it's frankly a wonder Megatron never thought of it to have Hook build something like that in to the rest of us. Hmn.

[He opens an access panel on his forearm, exposing numerous cables and a few fuel lines. He points at one of the lines.]

This one.

[He'll catch Dirge's hand before he can start, though, glaring dangerously.]

Take only what you need for me to get you to the hospital. Try for more, and your sense of taste won't be all you'll be missing.

[Dirge's optics brighten as TC opens up his panel, tracing the sparse fuel lines with obvious interest. If his tongue still worked, he would have probably licked his lips. As it is, his grin just gets wider as he starts to move a talon towards them-

-the movement aborted by the other seeker's grip on his wrist.]

::Only what I need? Of course. Though my requirements may be different from yours given the differences in our frames.::

[The clone offers innocently, still eyeing TC's fuel lines.]

Then we’ll split the difference on what we think your requirements are.

[Dirge isn't listening anymore. As soon as TC lets go of his wrist, he stabs the tip of his talon into the fuel line without bothering to warn the other seeker beforehand. Once the wound is created, he withdraws his claw and presses the mouth of the tube to the hole and holds it there. Suction starts in the little pump, helping to keep it in place and drawing up the energon from the fuel line. The clear tube floods with fluid, baring an awful resemblance to a fat, pink worm.]

Perfect! I only wish I could taste it...

[TC flinches a bit in spite of himself at the "attack", frowning as he watches the tube fill.]

I'm sure you'll get it restored soon enough.

[He actually lets the younger Seeker take quite a bit before shifting to pull away.]

All right, enough. That should hold you till the medics at the hospital can hook you up to proper refuel tanks.

[Dirge draws hard on his line, trying to milk as much as he can from TC before the other finally pushes him away. Since the pump isn't plugged in properly, the connection isn't that hard to break. The clone frowns, but retracts the tube, shutting the panel once its completely housed again.]

::Very nice. My systems feel invigorated! We should do this again some time.::

[He purrs over his comm, standing up and stretching.]

[Thundercracker got a small but wicked grin on his face.]

Sure . . . but you have to lose your sense of taste and tear out your own throat again first. Come on. Let's get to the hospital. Can you transform?

[Dirge's lip curls and he moves away from TC as if to escape the suggestion.]

::Ehr.... maybe not. And now I think I can, yes.::

[The clone is able to get into jet mode without too much trouble, though the patch is an annoyance, waiting expectantly for TC to do that same.]

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