From Transformers: Lost and Found
Revision as of 02:46, 27 June 2016 by Rage
|Location||Mirage and Beachcomber's Habsuite|
|Participants||Torque, Mirage, Beachcomber|
|Summary||Beachcomber invites Torque to a sleepover. Mirage arrives late with a migraine.|
The splitting pain came on suddenly while Mirage was in the library, a stab to his brain module that heralded a long night. By the time he stumbles back to the room (much earlier than the long hours he usually stays out, but still late), his helmache has kicked into full gear. The scout groans. Perhaps he should consider himself lucky, as he had not had one of his chronic helmaches in over a week, but he certainly doesn't feel lucky. The lights of the hallway are so bright as to make his yellow optics bleed light, and phantom shapes dance at the edge of the vision. For once, he doesn't bother to knock before entering the room.
Nasal sensors flaring, he instantly recognizes the scent of Beachcomber's... pastime. He will just call it that. For once, he's relieved. He know that the stuff is one of the few things that will knock him out like a lightbulb, and he would very much like that right now. "By the Crystal Spires, Beachcomber, I'm sorry to just stumble in but I'm having one of my nights. Would you mind sha-" his helm turns, and he makes out blurry shapes. Two to be exact. He clamps down on his glossa.
He hopes they didn't understand what he was just asking for. Forcing a smile, he says, "Oh, you have a guest."
"Now, this one we don't take out of the jar. The glass is tinted with a special sealant to keep it translucent for viewing purposes, but to shield from the radiation it emits." Beachcomber shook the small jar gently to make the crystal glow a sickly yellow-green through its lavender-tinted glass before setting it to the side. Boxes were pulled from under the 'couch', lids laying open while he went through his collection for Torque's curiosity. It wasn't often he had such a willing audience for his specimens. "And this one is fine to look at, but we do not open that jar. It's a kind of energy-leeching crystal, and just a little shard can drain a mech of-" His explanation was cut short by the hiss of the opening door, and he perked up at the sight of his roommate and his unfinished request. Ah, poor Mirage, another of his headaches again? The way his balance seemed compromised and his optics pained suggested a fairly aggressive one, at that.
The mention of his guest turned his attention briefly back to Torque with a smile. "She's rooming with Brainstorm, so I suggested a slumber party. Want to chill with us?"
Torque enjoyed being in Mirage and Beachcomber's hab the first time when visiting just Mirage, so she's more than happy to be back in the tranquil space. She found it to be so very inviting and calming and just.. a nice place to be. And now that she's here she very well may not want to leave.
"Beach, this stuff is amazing." She mutters through the hookah pipe still dangling between her lips while laying on the floor on her back, brandishing it lazily after she takes another pull. Visibly relaxing after a few seconds, she exvents a vaporous cloud towards the ceiling and offers an airy little chuckle. "I'm surprised they let you bring half this stuff on board if it's so--"
Antennas twitch up when the door opens and-- Oh, Mirage! A warm, inviting smile lights her face when she sees him initially, but it drops when she sees his haggard appearance. "Ah.. You okay?" She asks, sitting up and looking between them. "Should I go..?"
From the blur of colors, Mirage hadn't quite been able to tell who Beachcomber's guest is. The sound of her voice make is quickly obvious, though, and Mirage's faceplates shift into a look of the utmost mortification. The last thing he wants is to be seen in such a state. The scouts frame snaps to attention as if facing a superior officer. "Me? No, no. I'm fine," he assures her.
And then the curiosity came. What is Torque doing here at this hour with Beachcomber? Edging forwards, he comes close enough to the pair to make out that the blur of lavender is sprawled out on the ground. "...?" He takes a moment to get his bearings. Sniffing the air again, it takes a moment to click. "Oh, you're..." he squints at the lavender blur. "I see."
He knows he should have some thoughts about this, but the stabbing pain is making it awfully hard. He doesn't even have the will to act mortified anymore, especially if Torque is having a go. "I suppose between the pair of you there wouldn't be much left anyway. I'll make do."
Beachcomber watches Mirage carefully, frowning a little at the way he was squinting. Is he having trouble seeing? The mortified look of his faceplates hides the strain of his eyes, though, before Beachcomber can get a better look at what's wrong. Hmm.
Sliding off the berth - careful not to step on Torque on the floor - the geologist heads to his storage shelves and rummages around a bit. Goal in hand, he takes a moment to prep it before he heads over to Mirage and offers out his arm. Lean on him, friend, he'll get you to your berth. "Nah, Raj, there's plenty to go around. Got the good stuff for you right here." The spare hookah is set next to Mirage's berth, a frosted white glass with stylized gears etched around its base. He knows Mirage likes his fancy things with simple colors, and suspects it's especially true with his optics on the fritz. Beachcomber keeps his voice soft, lilting, hoping to soothe the spy, "Siddown, mech. You want a cold pack for your eyes?"
Torque may be feeling pretty damn good right now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't see an issue with Mirage, much as he wants to hide it. It's not an easy thing to do around a medic. "Haven't done this since pre-war, so I'm takin' it easy." She notes to his comment on how much is left, a soft puff leaving her as she braces a hand on the guest bed/couch and hauls herself up to her feet.
Torque personally has never worked on Mirage since joining the ship, but she's read his files. She's not exactly in the right mental state of mind to be doctoring right now, but she can still overlook him, the femme stepping over and giving a worried frown as she tries to get a look at his optics. "How long's this been going on today..?"
Mirage doesn't complain when Beachcomber leads him back to his berth, sinking back into it with a quiet ex-vent. "Is there? I'd be grateful," he mutters. While he doesn't enjoy the initial rush that follows smoking Beachcomber's substances, the crash that follows is well worth it. Recharge is a rare luxury for the scout, after all, and he will take it where he can find it.
As he leans over to grab the hookah, though, he soon finds a purple blur in his space. A small frown tugs at Mirage's faceplates. While he doesn't necessarily feel this is worth getting fussed over, especially since it happens rather often, he isn't the kind to ignore a medic when they question him. "It came on suddenly while I was reading. It's nothing unusual," he explains. The scout shrugs. "It'll be gone by morning if I can just get some recharge."
Mirage can't really tell she's trying to look at his optics, not with everything a dizzy blur, so he shifts around and makes another grab for the hookah. "This will be fine, Beachcomber. Thank you.""
Beachcomber shuffles to the side to let Torque do her medic thing, gently patting Mirage's arm. "It happens now and then," he supplies, perhaps unhelpfully, to Torque. "Sometimes lasts a couple joors, sometimes not. It varies, but I haven't really noticed a correlation between them and how long he's awake between recharges." There, there, Raj. Beachcomber isn't trying to incriminate with the medic present, just trying to help her treat you. He pats the spy's hand softly, not quite fretting but obviously concerned for his friend.
Torque can't say she's very pleased by this. This is made clear enough by the soft frown about her, antennas drooping a bit. "If they're coming on randomly, that's a lot more concerning than if it was from one source." She's about to suggest he come to the medibay, but she thinks better of it and decides it best to just let him rest for right now. At least she can keep an eye on him from here, the medic deciding to bring it up another time.
Mirage's hand, trying to reach for the hookah, will find the warm embrace of her own as she takes it and turns it palm up so he can receive the pipe she places there. "Well, just relax. If you need anything we'll be here. ..Not like I want to leave anytime soon, anyway." She smiles warmly, even if he can't see it, and glances to Beachcomber. "Your room is amazing. So much nicer than mine. ...Who drew that mural, though?" She looks to the picture painted above the makeshift shrine, having been struck by it last time she was here.
"It's something the medics are already aware of," he explains, shrugging. They may not know of his occasional drug habit as a method of dealing with it, but that's beside the point. "It's just one of those things I have to deal with when it comes."
He's more than happy when the topic veers from his less-than-ideal condition. Settling back against the wall, Mirage sighs wearily and takes his first draw from the pipe that someone had nestled there. He's not sure which of the pair did it, but he's thankful. Now, let the waiting game begin. He just has to survive for several hours until the crash.
But before he becomes incomprehensible... he's still curious. "It was a joint effort. Beachcomber painted the mural, but I picked much of the decor," he answers. He puffs up a little at the mention that it's amazing. "I'm glad to have you back here; although, I have to ask what you and Beachcomber were doing before I returned."
Beachcomber eases back to let Mirage have his peace, turning to the berth and putting away the more ... questionable specimens of his collection. He's lucky most people seem to overlook Geology as a serious science, or else Brainstorm might have access to his sample of korlonium and they'd all be in a bit of trouble.
Hence why his work didn't share lab space in the S&E department.
Tucking them into their appropriate slots in their storage box, he subtly nudges it back into hiding under the berth and pulls out a box of round, heavy stones to park in their place. The comments about the decor earn a smile, chuckling as he glances towards the altar. "Raj is a follower of Adaptus, and I'm a general follower of the Guiding Hand, so we set up a little shrine. By the by, that cup there is not for mortal consumption - especially not after it's been sitting for so long - so careful what you grab when you're thirsty."
Beachcomber tilts his head and hands in a waffling gesture at Mirage's curiosity. "Looking at some rocks. Showing her my collection. Nothin' too scandalous, I promise."
"Well, you both have great taste and great skill." Torque mutters fondly when looking about the room again. "You make me want to redo my own place, but I think Brainstorm would get fussy about moving his stuff." The wisp of an amused noise leaves her and she looks back to Mirage, reaching over to briefly rest hand upon his shoulder and thumb it gently in reassurance before she stands and moves over to the altar.
"I could never really see myself following any particular religion. I'm sure there's something out there, I just don't now what it is yet. ..Though I do love reading about all of them." She keeps her hands politely behind her back while observing it, not wanting to touch, and leans over just a bit to try and spy what's in it. God-only drink? Sounds like a challenge... Eh, what? Torque looks up from her thoughts at the question, first glancing to Raj before settling on Beach, the mini getting a.. curious look. "I.. can only imagine what sorta scandalous stuff a mech like you can get up to, Beach." He seems innocent enough, if somewhat flirty.
"Don't remind me. I live with him," Mirage mutters, taking another drag from the pipe. He squints across the room, wishing that he could see far enough to admire his own handiwork again. Oh, and Beachcomber's, too. That will just have to wait until the morning, though, (if he even remembers Torque's compliments by that time). His squinting only manages to cause another stab of pain in his helm.
Curiosity sated, the scout relaxes back into the berth even more. For all his discomfort, he manages a genuine (though fleeting) smile. "I'm glad you two are getting along, though. That's good. That's..." he trails off, losing his train of thought. Mirage shutters his optics in an attempt to block out what little, dim light there is in the room.
"Religion is a bit personal," Beachcomber hums, sorting through his blankets for a smaller cloth of decent heft and moving to lay it over Mirage's optics to help block out the light. "No one person is going to interpret things the same way, and personally I don't interpret them in a traditional manner either." He chortles softly, "Not to brag but my book is in the library on board if you want my thoughts on the matter. Everyone connects with the universe in their own way, you just gotta find what grooves with you - maybe it's not religion at all, and that's fine too."
Torque's comment about 'a mech like you' draws him up short, considering her before he leans back against the couch, a playful grin spreading across his features. "Well, when you put it like that, miss medic, you make a mech wonder if you're looking to find out~"
"Oh, really?" Torque perks at that, intrigued. She wouldn't have taken Beachcomber for a writer, so now she's eager to go read his work. "I'll have to go check it out sometime, then. After I'm done with a few books I got recently.." A slight glance to Mirage is given, likely meaning the gifts he gave her.
Beachcomber's obvious flirt quickly draws her back his way, optics wide and antennas twitching as her face begins to heat some. Damnit, Beachcomber. Luckily she's more on top her reaction this time, fins laying back and gaze cast sidelong as she tries her best to look bashful until it's ruined by the big smile tugging her lips. "Eheh. Maybe.." It's certainly not a no. But that's all he gets out of her before she's scooting back over to Mirage and taking a seat closer to his helm, resting a hand gently upon it if he allows. "How's that helpin'?" The hookah, she means.
That elicits a reaction from Mirage. Reaching up, the scout tugs the strip of cloth away to reveal one of his optics. Reluctantly, as if it is going to do him some good, he cracks it open to watch the blur of colors nearby. More than anything he wishes that he could gauge the expressions flicking across their faces, but he has to settle for judging by the inflection in their voices. His frame goes rigid with tension as he strains to make sense of it. Hearing the playful lilt in their banter makes his spark leap his chestplates, and the scout really isn't certain how to identify the emotion that follows, though it blazes through him with an intensity that rivals his fits of inspiration. Anger, jealousy, embarrassment, interest, a flicker of attraction? He has no idea. Maybe he doesn't want to know.
And it seems he's not going to be left to his own devices to figure it out, as Torque is once again heading in his direction. While he didn't think it possible, his spark picks up a little bit more. Pulling the slip of cloth back over his optic as quickly as he can, as if to mask the fact he was watching, Mirage forces a laugh. "You weren't kidding, Beachcomber. This is the good stuff, kicking in already," he remarks. That's what it has to be, not anything of his doing. Just the initial rush getting started.... or that's what he's going to tell himself.
Beachcomber doesn't push past the 'maybe', and lets the flirtation die when she shuffles off to sit beside Raj. He opts to make himself useful and shuffles off to dim the lights down further for Mirage, the faint glow of the altar's offering and some unshelved specimens the brightest lights in the room. "It's supposed to help with upset tanks, too. Relax them from cramps and nausea. It's not - ahem - medically approved treatment just yet, not by the big academy at any rate. Known some doctors that recommend it though."
Lights doused, he picks up and reloads the hookah they'd been sharing and sets it closer to Torque. He knows Mirage doesn't like things migrating to his side of the room, or feeling crowded, so he stays on the floor rolling an uncut geode between his hands. After a moment of thought, he grins at the pair and hums softly. "We're the cool colors club, looks like: blue, blue, lavender. We'd make a real pretty triad for a night or two~~"
"Heh, I wouldn't recommend it while in the medibay. Outside it, though? If it helps ease the little things, it's fine by me." Torque gives a soft titter, a thumb brushing across the edge of Mirage's helm idly, likely without realizing. Can you blame her for getting a little touchy in this state? Speaking of Raj, she turns her attention back down to him and offers a more pleased smile, glad to hear it's working. "Good. You rest up then." It's a good thing he can't see her right now, so he won't see her coming as she leans down to ghost a press of lips against his forehead. Her token to him to get well.
After that, the femme slides down to join Beachcomber on the floor and press her back to Raj's berth, snatching up the hookah pipe and waggling it at Beach before she takes a pull. "Wouldn't that be a fun night, mm~?"
"Beachcomber," Mirage snaps, sounding as mortified as he first felt when he walked in the room. And that incomprehensible feeling quickly follows on the heels of the geologist's comment. Groaning quietly, the scout just gives up. He knows he's not had enough to reach the crash he'll need to pass out but he can't focus at the moment: not between the pain and the unwelcome feelings.
And just when he thinks it can't get any worse, the universe proves him wrong. While he doesn't see if coming, it's impossible not to notice lip components fleetingly brushing across his forehelm. Mirage's vocalizer makes an odd noise, and before anyone knows what is happening he burrows underneath the blankets of his recharge slab until not a bit of him is visible. The pipe falls from his hand as he burrows, but at this point he doesn't care.
Mirage's indignant snapping never failed to make Beachcomber chuckle, only the tiniest bit sorry for the discomfort the mech experiences. His disappearance under the blankets is met with another giggle, shuffling his way closer to Torque to pat her knee reassuringly. "You wouldn't expect it from our most esteemed spy and the proprietor of such a chic new Lounge, but Mirage is a bit shy with the physical contact thing." He picks up the pipe between himself and Torque, pulling a deep drag from it and letting the vapor escape from the vents in his chest and abdomen and nose. "Mmmm."
Oh, did.. Did she do something wrong? Torque glances back over her shoulder, worried, when Mirage makes that noise and decidedly hides from the world. It's not always easy to remember which mechs have what tolerance to physical contact, and with the haze lingering on her mind right now it's very likely it slipped away from her. Luckily Beachcomber comes over and explains, easing her somewhat, though she still offers a small apology. "Sorry about that, Raj.." She'd offer a weak smile, but he can't see it.
So instead she shifts attention back to the minibot, smile becoming more lax and mellow. "Well, hopefully you're not?" A soft pat to her lap invites him to sit, and should he he'll find arms around his smaller midsection while her chin sits atop his helm, optics dimming. Much better.
The blankets do little to muffle their conversation like Mirage is hoping. His tanks twist at Beachcomber's comment, but he manages to struggle against his odd emotions just long enough to manage a few words. "I'm nothing of the sort," he protests, though it probably sounds rather pathetic coming from a pile of blankets. And not all the convincing.
One hand snakes out from underneath the blankets just long enough to pat whatever is closest to reach, and withdraws just as quickly. "See? Not at all. And you have nothing to apologize for, Torque."
"Nope, not usually~" Beachcomber chuckles at the invitation and scoots himself into Torque's lap, getting nice and comfortable. Her arms are warm and strong and he reaches his hands up to loosely loop around her neck in return, fingers trailing teasingly across the cables. "How about you, Torque~? Are you shy~?"
Mirage's denial from under his blankets earns an airy laugh, especially at the sight of his hand scooting out blindly to pat the medic. Beachcomber tilts his head back, grinning playfully up at Torque. "Think Mirage is ticklish~?" He won't act on it, not with the spy's head in such a state, but it'll be fun to watch the blanket lump squirm at the notion.
Torque 's optics squint up and antennas lay back at the nice touch around her neck, an admitted weakspot that draws out a soft shiver from her when fingers tease around neck cables. Chewing at her bottom lip now, she releases a held vent and tightens her hold around him ever so slightly. "Not usually... Heh, though you seem to find a way around that, somehow." Helm ducks to press lips to the top of his in kiss-less contact, just resting there until a pat to her own helm interrupts her.
Oh, he wants to play the hiding game, does he? Sending a little sneer the blanketed mech's way, Torque flashes back at Beachcomber with a mischievous little smirk. "I dunno, maybe we should go under after him and find out~." Naturally she plays along, even giving the lump a little poke.
"Now you have something to apologize for," Mirage says, sounding indignant. The blanket lump begins to scoot across the recharge slab, as far out of reach as it can manage (which isn't very far). The small movement is enough to make his world spin, and he hopes they are not serious about their threats. With a sigh, he settles back in. Whether his dignity is at stake or not, he is not going to try that again anytime soon.
"I can't believe you're supporting him."
"Whoa there." Beachcomber catches hold of Torque's ankle, making a gentle attempt to pull her back - or at least get her attention. "Don't ruffle him up too much, doc, it won't help his head feel any better." He hadn't meant to sic the medic on him, and the last thing he wanted was for Mirage to get upset at them and send them out.
Torque doesn't realize her slight until it's too late and ends up feeling quite bad at it, pausing and blinking when it hits her. "Er, sorry sorry.." Antennas shift down a little, knowing she goofed. "Think that's my cue to rest up myself, then." If she's prodding at a mech who's under the weather than she really isn't in her own mindset. Beachcomber gets a brief little snuggle before she releases him, his helm getting a rub as she stands and shuffles off to the guest bed.
Stretching across it on her back, the femme cycles a deep vent through her systems and settles in, her dimming amber optics giving off just enough glow to illuminate her soft smile. "Thanks for having me over, I appreciate it.. G'night, you two, rest well."