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2017-07-19 It's Not Easy Being a Different Green than Usual

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It's Not Easy Being a Different Green than Usual
Date 2017/07/19
Location Lost Light - Science and Medical - Medibay
Participants Ultra Magnus, Whetstone
Plot Topsy Turvy
Summary Minimus and Whetstone meet over the repairs of the Magnus armor.

Whetstone is watching the repairs on the Magnus armor. Or attempting to. He's not certain why his mind keeps wandering as he stares up at the armor atop the berth while medics toil away in bodies that aren't theirs. But he'd wanted to report how much of it had been patched before going to see its true owner. He'd understand, surely...

The medibay is slightly busier than usual, but it's trickled down to managable numbers since the swapping. It's mostly mechs having their built-in weaponry disabled, lest they accidentally trigger anything.

Minimus Ambus arrives in the Medibay for rather a similar reason, although from a slightly different angle. He does not immediately approach, watching from across the room as he exchanges mutters with one of the medics on duty -- who is not the one that Minimus expected, and there is a minor act of comedy as they get that sorted out. Everyone still being in the wrong shape does reduce some of the efficiency around here no matter how much they keep attempting to bull through the issue as much as possible.

Striding towards the armor, he directs the medic currently working on what is not presently him, "Ten centimeters to your left, you have left the instrument you are looking for sticking out of a groove in the chassis." Then he stands there, hands on ... Whetstone's ... hips as he turns his glance aside to his own small, small frame. He looks ... conflicted. Bristley, a little, but mostly just ambiguous.

"Minimus Ambus," Whetstone nearly chirps. "I'm... very sorry about the gouge there, er... I was panicked, see, and demanded that Quicksight cut me out. With Drift's blade. Soundwave aided," he explains clumsily. "Just... let me know if there's anything I can to do make up for this mess. I couldn't move the armor, see... Not even the slightly smaller one. I don't know what you'd call it." He sighs, then lifts an anxious hand to tug at one side of the facial insignia, before dropping it hurriedly. "You- They- They can't see within? Why?"

<FS3> Ultra_Magnus rolls Mind + Fortitude: Great Success. (3 5 7 3 7 8 5 6 2 8)

"Hn." Minimus Ambus contemplates the damage with narrowed eyes. He glances back at Whetstone, consternation drawing his shoulders all the straighter as he witnesses the nervous gesture with the facial insignia. His hand lifts, reflexively touching Whetstone's face, like he's checking for a mirror insignia on the features he currently wears. Then he shakes his head and looks back up at the armor. "If a cursory medical examination would have revealed Tyrest's ploy, the legacy of Ultra Magnus would have been readily destroyed," he says, mildly. "The armor is internally outfitted with attention deflectors." After a long pause, he adds in a neutral, thoughtful voice, "The last time someone used Drift's Great Sword against the armor, it was Overlord running me through."

Whetstone is left with heavy explanations that he dwells on for a quiet moment. Also, is 'hn' good or bad. He can't tell. So he gazes straight forward, at the berth's base. "Thought of everything," he murmurs, slowly looking up. At himself. So strange. "That's a grim thought. Hope Drift had the blade purified afterwards. Stars above."

"Well, since we've been tasked with helping our swap-ee, did you need help with anything? Seems like you're balancing well enough... I must admit, I didn't think this mode of yours transformed at all."

"It does," Minimus says, unnecessarily. He glances sidelong and down at Whetstone in mild bafflement. "Thank you," he says. He hesitates for a moment, and admits, "I've had to learn to use ... several frames besides my original. The fire was a challenge. Balancing in the alt mode is -- extremely confusing." He sounds almost apologetic about it as he goes on, "I ... have no idea what it was like to be sealed in the armor without the ability to use it. My spark powers it, it isn't even a strain, honestly."

"I could move the face, at least," Whetstone ends up mumbling, a little bit of his pride bruised. "Well, good, so long as the flames don't give you trouble. Soundwave nearly set me ablaze. Thus the scorch marks there. But clearly it's meant to take a beating." He rocks on his little heels and glances back over. "I'm sorry to ask but it's er... If I could... have my blade back? You can keep the two at your hips, but the Great Sword is... very important. To us."

"It's what I was forged for," Minimus says, even more apologetic now. "About the only thing I was forged to do." He looks aside, jaw tightening for a moment, and then startles, and looks down at his own small frame for a long moment of visible baffle, and then he goes: "Oh. I'm sorry. Of course, Whetstone," and reaches to collect the blade at his back. He drops to one knee with a heavy clank, readily, and holds it out to himself. Can he even carry the thing. He doesn't ask that. Instead he says, "I know how much this matters to Drift."

"Forged to power a suit? Come now," Whetstone smiles a little, reaching to take the blade that is far too big for him at this point. But he can hold it flat, at least. "Oh, yes, Drift... I hope Quicksight is being respectful of his frame and weapons..."

"Speaking of..." Whetstone pauses, perhaps too long, as he mulls this question over. It's inappropriate, probably. But he's curious, and not particularly sharp. Just devout. "I'd never pry but, er, seeing as I had woken up on a berth with... the Captain and Drift - You and our dear holy harbinger, an item?"

Whetstone incurs a grimace from his own features for that one, and Minimus stands there for a moment, staring at his empty armor. He does not explain about his forging, or anything else. For a long moment, he just stands there. He says, "You... could say that. We have preferred to be discreet." His gaze flickers aside across his own frame. It is entirely possible that he interprets his own scarlet-hued gaze as judgment, real or not, but then, wouldn't he? He finds it often enough in the mirror. "I have endeavored to prevent matters between the three of us from impacting our work," he says firmly.

Whetstone just stares back, cheery enough through the ruby optics. "I see. I guess I find it warming, that Drift has come so far. He wasn't a close cohort or anything, and I certainly wasn't around for the trials of his life, but... Well. Not to embarrass you. Good for him. Good for you!" He instinctively tries to sheathe his blade, but there's nothing afixed to his back, so he awkwardly lets it fall to the side. It drags on the floor.

Warming. Minimus's gaze flickers as he blinks at Whetstone. "Ah," he says. Approval. He was not expecting this, for some reason. Who knows why. He says, "... Thank you. Drift ... strives. To become more than he is. And gives himself credit for little enough of it." He looks away, jaw tightening again with the slight shake of his head. "Rodimus is good for him," he adds, apparently to the massive boots of his own armor.

"Hope so. Rodimus claims Drift is a great teacher as well, though he still struggles with meditation. To be fair, I didn't have much luck teaching Rodimus either." Whetstone rubs at his own jaw. The angle of his true body's helm shrouds a lot, but not the tightening of neck cables. "This thing-" He taps at the facial insignia. "Does it denote something? I'd attribute it to the typical facial flourish but... The dark Rodimus has one, and I wondered."

"Rodimus has many virtues, which I can catalogue inclusively," Minimus tells Whetstone, gravely. "Being a student is not one of those virtues." He shifts his weight on his feet, looking ... a little flustered at that question. He resets his vocalizer in a clear of his throat. "It denotes being a member of a house of Ambus," he says. "The insignia of our house. Ruling class of Ambustus Minor, which itself doesn't matter anymore, and hasn't in millenia, but a relic of an earlier time." He almost says more -- he even opens his mouth to do so -- and then does not explain any theories as to how !Rodimus might have wound up with a facial insignia on his kisser.

Whetstone smirks lightly. "Makes me feel a little better. Tried my best, there."

"I hadn't known it was a house." He has kept his gaze solidly on Minimus' face, or at least optics, and he leans in for a further explanation. But gets none. "Ambustus Minor," he repeats thoughtfully, then hoists the flat of his blade up against his shoulder. "Well... Best get to my shift. Just let me know if you have further troubles with my frame. If your fuel lines get chilly, you should try to sunbathe on the observation deck. Warms right up against the windows." He snaps off a salute.

"Sunbathe," Minimus repeats as though it just has not remotely occurred to him as one among the possible activities one might engage in. He never got to the 's'es in the books he got from the library to learn what leisure activities are, probably. He resets his vocalizer again and says, "Ah. Um. Thank you. For the advice."

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