From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Participants||Arbiter, Knock Out|
|Summary||Arbiter got banged up. Knock Out fixes him.|
Lost Light: Science and Medical -- Medibay
Red crosses on the door identify at a quick glance the medibay. Inside, the forward medical bay contains a half-dozen slabs lining the sides of the room where the medical staff can take care of patients. There is a central slab as well, but the winches and pulleys, carts of tools, and life support machinery is all designed to be easily reconfigured to support any number of patients at any of the seven beds.
At the back of the room, there is a large work station dominated by a large screen that includes two holoemitters. Two doors at the back of the room lead to cold storage, where patients in need of better care than the medibay can provide -- rare as that is -- can be put into stasis. Offices for the medical officers are on the other side.
The medibay wasn't too far, and Arbiter's approach is easily announced by his heavy footsteps and the occasional clunk of his arm banging into something or someone. Drops of oil and coolant litter the floor behind him, perhaps pooling from his most recent injury. His left shoulder is an angry mess of sheared metal and sparking conduit, severed appendage grasped in his right arm. He appears unconcerned, however. It is likely this is a commonplace occurence. As he makes his way into the medibay's doorway, he raps at the archway with his severed hand and rasps out, "There a doc around here?" His voice, as always, resembles that of two steel trash cans rattling together, though this time there may be a hint of pain tinging it.
"Who's there?!" Knock Out demands from -- the corner where he has scrambled with his giant "medical" saw, which he whirrs menacingly. He peers out from behind his corner of (relative?) safety. "Oh. It's you." He does not immediately leap to help.
Arbiter stares blankly at the hiding doctor.
After a few brief moments, he calmly states, "Yeah, it's me. Arbiter. Missing an arm." He bumps the end of his severed arm into the sheared lump at his shoulder. His expression makes it clear that it kinda hurts, so haste would be appreciated.
"...ah." Knock Out lowers the saw. A little. Then his optics widen and he lifts it again. "It didn't follow you, did it? Because I don't think a /Primus-damned sparkeater/ is going to respect the /rules of engagement/ with /medics/."
"If it followed me, I would be in more than just two pieces, doc." Arbiter waves his arm(s). "The sooner you put this on me, the sooner I can help if it /does/ show up."
"Hm. Good point." Knock Out finally does lower the saw to step closer on quick, efficient strides. "Fine, fine, let me see." He tugs Arbiter around to set him on one of the slabs with a great want of warmth, gentleness, and general bedside manner. "Looks simple enough," he notes.
Arbiter's slow voice rasps out, "Yeah, real simple. Whenever you're ready, doc." his expression is one of restrained pain. He grumbles to himself as he watches Knock Out examine his stump, perhaps about being better off spaced.
"Well, perhaps not so simple for /you/." Knock Out works with ruthless, if artful, efficiency that does not leave much room for paying attention to pain levels. Which is not to say that he's /unnecessarily/ rough with any appendages, but his focus and interest is really on the process of patching leaks and fitting arms back to shoulders. "You probably deserved it, anyways."
Arbiter grunts. "Keep it up, doc. I'm sure you got plenty of friends for when that sparkeater comes knockin'." He supports himself with his working arm, leaning back on the slab. Any further reaction from increased pain is unnoticeable; it's possible Arbiter only has the one 'this hurts' face.
"I /do/, in fact," Knock Out agrees. "I'm very lovable. It tends to help when you don't have a history of stabbing bots in the back." Read also: switch sides at any point in history. Or something. He smiles as he says it, though, and the pain starts to ease as he reconnects what needs to be reconnected.
"That's good. I'm happy to hear it." Arbiter replies, perhaps raspier than before. His posture relaxes a little as the pain begins to subside. "I'm afraid you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other, doc. It helps that you're such a loveable bot."
"I'm sure it does." Knock Out tweaks a connector, which is like a little unpleasant shock amidst the other waning pain, and then he's sliding things into sockets and Arbiter is probably getting some feeling back in his arm. That done, he starts taking a little buzzy laser to test out feeling at various points on the arm. "Feel this?" he says for each one.
As he regains feeling, Arbiter begins twitching and flexing his fingers and wrist, grunting a yes at each inquiry.
"See? Simple." Knock Out does have some steps /after/ regaining funcionality for the arm, because he's a perfectionist and the details are just as important as the basic healing. So he has to buff things out, fix things up, make it look nice. It's his handiwork, after all. He has a reputation to maintain. "Try not to scuff this," he tells Arbiter. Yes, seriously.
Arbiter chuckles, a strange grinding noise as he's glancing down at the rest of his scuffed, scratched, faded and pockmarked chassis. "You are fighting a losing battle there, doc. But I guess it'll be nice to have /one/ arm shiny."
"Don't remind me," Knock Out grouches, glancing at the other, non-shiny arm. "I'll never understand how bots can take such poor care of themselves."
Arbiter grins, a little wryly. "Somehow, I think our priorities change after the 300th shot to the chest, doc."
Time for finishing touches, and then eventually Knock Out deems Arbiter fit for duty. "Off with you. Go make sure that no sparkeaters make it in /here/." That is your top priority, Arbiter!! Go forth.
Arbiter stands, rolling his shoulder and nodding his approval. "Thanks doc. I'll be around." He lumbers out, probably bumping something over.