2018-07-29 Broken Chairs and Old Paperwork

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Broken Chairs and Old Paperwork
Date 2018/07/29
Location Minimus Ambus's Office
Participants Minimus Ambus, Rodimus
Summary Minimus is fixing his chair; Rodimus is catching up on paperwork.

Minimus Ambus is sitting on the floor of his office. It's somewhat unusual to find him here, but the thing is that the chair he has been using throughout the course of his term of service in the size and shape of his irreducible form is designed for a minibot with the ordinary mass of a minibot, and the density of the frame that Minimus actually occupied is much, much greater.

Now he is literally back here with a screwdriver because even though there are people on this ship whose actual job it is to fix things when they go wrong, Minimus doesn't want to tell anybody that he broke the damned chair.

The music is playing something aggressive and full of guitar, the lights are on, but he is entirely obscured from the door by the broad bulk of the massive desk.

"Mini--hm." Rodimus, letting himself in, hangs with his fingertips caught on the edge of the doorway as he sags forward in a lean. He looks right. He looks left. He looks to the door going back to the private quarters and raises his voice just slightly: "Hey, Minimus?" After about a second, his comm line crackles as he starts to open it with a third hail to find Minimus wherever he might be.

Minimus Ambus freezes at the sound of Rodimus's voice. He looks around the room; he briefly considers hiding back here and pretending not to be in. Then Rodimus starts to call him and he just... sighs. Raising his voice slightly, he says: "...I'm here, Rodimus."

"Oh." Rodimus's line crackles back out again. He drops the hook of his hands and takes a lunging step forward before bounding the rest of the way into Minimus's office. He ambles over and around to find Minimus behind the desk and leans against it as he looks down at him. "I can't wait to hear this one."

Minimus looks at the broken chair, and he looks at his screwdriver. He looks up at Rodimus with a deep, deep scowl melting into place over his features. He says, "Does it really cry out for explanation?"

Rodimus looks up, thoughtful, then back down at Minimus. He slides into a cross-legged seat on the floor next to Minimus. This is not as graceful as it once was. There is more of him, and he doesn't fold up quite as neatly. He almost gets stuck. Then, finally seated, he asks, "Want a hand? I wanted to ask you about something I ran into reviewing old notes."

Minimus Ambus looks a little fascinated as Rodimus attempts to fold himself down, and straightens his back in his own perch when he addresses him. Resetting his vocalizer in a low clear of his throat, he says, "Hold this steady, if you would," and angles the chair sideways for Rodimus to grip as he picks up one of the screws that hit the floor and reaches to slide it into place. He says, "What's your question?"

Rodimus does as directed, and a little more than: he watches to see what Minimus is doing and anticipate the next step, so that he can shift how he is holding the chair, or what he might need adjusted, before he can ask. "I saw references to an indictment in meeting notes -- and the start of a list in the documents attached. For Soundwave. This is the first I've heard of it."

Minimus Ambus pauses quite still with his screwdriver set into the crown of the screw and looks up at Rodimus in an open startle, scarlet gaze widening. "He never told you?"

Rodimus's expression does an interesting sort of jag without any input from the rest of him: his eyes unchanging in their steady regard, while his lips twist up, down, then settle angled and wry as the tilt of his shrugged shoulders. "Like I said: first I've heard of it."

Minimus Ambus hesitates for a moment, unsure where to go from here, like he's suddenly become aware of a giant wasp's nest that he needs to edge around on territory that he thought was thoroughly tread. He slowly twists the screw into place and reaches for the next one, and says, "He expressly waived his treaty immunity so as to invite charges on his war crimes. I completed the indictment a few weeks ago. It's approximately two hundred pages before evidentiary attachments." A beat passes and he adds, as though this is going to make this better, "It's double-spaced."

Rodimus smiles almost helplessly as Minimus says the last. He starts to say something, then pauses -- shakes his head. The thought fades. He shifts, moving to set the chair for the next screw. "I'm sure it was thorough. Why'd he do that?" There is no accusation in his tone. There's not a hint in his manner or his voice that suggests any sort of blame for Minimus, even with two hundred pages -- double spaced or not -- by his hand.

"His internal motivations are beyond me," Minimus Ambus admits. He says, "When he asked me to do it, he stated..." He searches in his memory with a slight shake of his head, and then resumes carefully applying the second screw, tightening the mechanism that allows the chair to rise up to the level of the desk. "He wanted to right the wrongs of a lifetime of 'unethical allowances'."

Rodimus is quiet for a moment as he helps Minimus work. That's a lot to process. For now, he just helps Minimus fix his chair.

Minimus Ambus finally finishes messing around with the screwdriver and then sits back, perching on his own feet as he eyes the chair. His glance skips up and over Rodimus, and then away again, as though he almost feels like he owes him some privacy with which to wrestle with that. "It was also the first time he told me he was wrong about Megatron," he says. "Although that didn't stop him from /going back/ to Megatron after--." He breaks off. He resets his vocalizer again and then changes tacks. "Anyway, he never retracted it. I haven't filed it yet. Cybertronian governance is somewhat in flux at the moment. If Windblade convenes her council on the Seeker ... perhaps then."

"I'd like a copy of it," Rodimus says. Then, looking to Minimus: "Can you speculate on sentence?"

Minimus stares at Rodimus without answering for a long, long moment.

Rodimus avoids Minimus's gaze to study the chair for a moment or two before the weight of his gaze registers. Rodimus turns to meet that stare, and begins to get riled up only to deflate into a quieter look. He starts to say something, then stops: action queued, but empty.

"I'm sorry," Minimus Ambus says instead of answering. "There is a reason that we granted that immunity in the first place." He turns his glance away, and, kneeling on the floor, bows his head a little, and says, "I can provide you with a copy if you truly wish it, but up until the actual filing of the document I must insist that it be kept confidential and that you not show it to the ... accused."

Rodimus's vents catch as if kicked, then smooth into a long cycle. "Of course," he says. It's an unacknowledged fact lying unspoken between them that 'confidential' is confidentially' where Soundwave's concerned, if he gets curious. Then, still: "I'd like a copy."

"Very well." Minimus makes no move to immediately get up off the floor and dig around anywhere. He does stand, righting the chair after its repair, and reach up to touch Rodimus's... leg. God, why is he so big.

Before Rodimus can quiet push himself back upright, he stops to look at Minimus at something closer to eye level and give him a quick smile: not quite hollow, a little forced, but there's also a sort of gratitude in there, a sense of faith and trust in Minimus, that means it is not entirely an empty smile. "Thank you. Let me know if you need help with your chair again, okay?"

Minimus's mouth flattens a little and he says with particular wryness in his voice, "I didn't let you know this time."

"Right! So let me know next time." Then, with effort, Rodimus stands. "Okay. I've got to--." He thumbs toward the door, fails to actually come up with a good excuse, and then just shuffles off a little awkwardly. Looking forward to that reading, no doubt.

"Of course," Minimus says as he tests the chair a few times before sitting in it. "I'll see you later."

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