2016-04-26 In Which First Aid Is Almost Furious

From Transformers: Lost and Found

2016-04-26 In Which First Aid Is Almost Furious
Date 2016/04/26
Location Lost Light - Science and Medical - Medibay
Participants First Aid, Vortex
Summary First Aid is not happy- NOT HAPPY AT ALL. We'll see how long that lasts.

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.

Vortex is decently sure when they get to medibay because he's set down. 'Set' used relatively of course. It felt more more like dropped and just kinda left there. He could have been dropped anywhere and he smelled too much like burning and ozone to notice the clinical medibay smell. "We there?" He didn't know Whirl was already outta there. Not that he blamed the other mech. It was nice that he carried him all the way here.

First Aid had half a mind to storm Brainstorm's workshop before the injured patients arrived, but he'd hoped the engineer was exaggerating, so he remained in the medibay, stewing angrily. His night shift wasn't supposed to end like this. At the thump near the entrance, he darts over, almost stepping on Vortex as he shouts and shakes a fist after the fleeing Whirl. Well, he doesn't know it's Whirl. "Slaggit, what did I say about lab safety!?" He looks down and winces. "Oh- Vortex!?" He doesn't dare try to move him without some help, so Tex will just have to stay on the sliding track of the blast doors as flustered nurse looks him over. "What'd they do to you!"

Hmm, that voice sounds familiar. "Heyyyy... Don't be made with 'em. I asked for this." And now everthing could be better! It was actually quite fun. Horrendously painful. But fun! "Just... testin' a gun. It works!" Yaaaaay.

<FS3> First_Aid rolls Berthside Manner: Success. (3 5 2 2 3 3 4 3 7)

"No, Vortex. You're not supposed to ask for this crap, and they're not supposed to go along. Brainstorm's not getting away with it this time." First Aid seethes. His mask hides nothing, visor angled sharply. But as furious as he is, his touch is gentle as he turns Vortex's helm to the side to get a better look at his optics. He didn't know he had properly lensed peepers under that visor. "Electrocution huh. Circuitry's fried. Snapped neck cable, you're lucky it wasn't a main line." To say nothing of the charred armor. "Why'd you let Brainstorm do this, Vortex," he asks evenly, medikit snapping open beside him.

"Noooo, don't be angry with Stormerrrrr..." Brainstorm could make his knife sheath if he was in trouble. "And I didn't let him. I mean, I would have... But Whirl and I had to be even. We're even now!" Vortex sounds pretty happy about that. He pauses before spitting some energon out of his mouth. Who knew a glossa could bleed like that. He smiles. "'Sides, this isn't anything."

<FS3> First_Aid rolls Anesthetics: Good Success. (5 6 2 6 7 5 8 6)

First Aid tries a few times to hail another doctor, but they've still got their hands full with injured mechs from the Eukaris mission. "Okay buddy," he begins softly, struggling to simmer. Oooh he was unhappy with Brainstorm. "I'm going to move you to a table. Try to be still." With a steady and careful grip, First Aid hooks one arm under Vortex's back, and the other beneath his knees, letting him slide against the medic's chest as he moves for a private ward, the only table open. At some point Vortex gets a small prick at the seams near his elbow, a pain dampener. "This is about you biting his optic out? Seriously?"

Vortex doesn't move but doesn't really try and make things easier. His servos were still gripped so tightly they oozed energon and trying to move other joints was still difficult. He frowns. "Yeah, can you believe he's still mad about that lil... Quarrel? But it's alright now... Hey, what is that? Take it off." Did this guys get the memo? He doesn't take pain killers.

First Aid sets to work on finding the sources of bleeding energon. Optics should be fine for now, but the palms are too close to a main fuel line for his comfort, so he tries to spread Vortex's sharp fingers with his own. "C'mon..." Vortex's request for no pain killers is readily ignored. "Whirl's a real piece of work." Had he dentae, he might've said that through them. "Vortex, Whirl and Brainstorm should not have done that," he almost snaps. Almost. "They were taking advantage of you. What's Blast Off gonna' think, huh?"

"But I asked for this." Vortex almost sounds exasperated. You know, if static didn't punctuate each word. He could feel his fingers begin to be peeled back stiffly. He grunts in pain, and there's no enjoyment to it. Well, limited. "You better not get them in trouble..." He murmurs. "And Blasty'll be fine. Takes more than a zap to get me."

"Come on," First Aid continues to coax, as if Vortex could really help with this. One clawed hand splayed, he works on the next, sealing what he can with his little arc welder wedged between his outermost fingers as he works. Then it's carefully pulling sharps of visor glass from an optic. He's quiet for a long while, evidently unwilling to stress Vortex further with his lecturing. Pliers are dropped to the side when First Aid notices Vortex's bleeding glossa. Okay, this could be tricky. "You bit off your tongue. Tongue tip?"

Vortex isn't sure if he'd like this more or less if he could see. On one hand, everything was a surprise! On the other hand, he'd like to watch as glass is removed from his own optic. Another time, he supposed... His helm tips up and manages a shrug. "I dunno, you tell me." He opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. The tip was indeed gone. Tips, actually. He's forked his glossa ever since visiting Earth. The only good thing to come from organics. "Di' eh?" He asks, tongue still out.

It's been a new and exciting and terrifying experience for First Aid to be regularly examining and patching up Decepticons on this ship. He ought to be numb to surprises by now, numb to what wild body modifications Decepticons do to themselves. Fangs had gotten to be popular. But this one throws him. "Vortex, don't tell me you gave yourself a forked glossa. Y'know what, nevermind. This is going to be a little uncomfortable," he warns, grasping that tongue with some specialized tongs to draw it out. Something hot is pressed up against the severed tips, for a split second, cauterizing them. "We'll have to get you a new one."

Vortex laughs. Oh that? Man, he forgot he even had that. It sure could freak bots out. Which is what the point was. "Hehe, yah, eh- AAIIIIEEEEEE!!" He's taken by surprise at the sudden heat- nope, heat was definitely the bottom of his list of pain. Cuts, dents, electrocution, and THEN burns. His helm jerked back- ow- and he snapped his jaw closed as he got his tongue back. Possibly for protection. After a moment, He touches the burnt ends to his teeth. Weird. "A new what?"

"New glossa. I can't repair that. Those things are intricate and you not only sliced yours down the middle, you snapped it in half with those chompers. Why do you even have these things!" First Aid rubs his brow. 'Cons are so weird.

After some more careful work, Vortex will have his vision back, at least in one optic. Some circuitry is replaced, some armor is peeled off and discarded, and that neck cable is dealt with. "You're staying here tonight. Tomorrow I'm going to have a talk with Brainstorm, or at least someone is."

"You can get new ones??? Just order mine already split, save me the trouble, right? Took me, like, four times to get it just right last time." Vortex wonders if he could ask to get it in some non-standard color. A light-up glossa would be hella.

With one optic fixed, he can at least look around and see himself. Ho boy, did he look nice and crispy. Still, he's fully intact. With more time, he's also been able to start flexing his joints and getting rid of stiffness. His claws clacking together is easy to hear. "Alright." Not the first time he's had to stay over in a medibay. "Aww, no. Don't tell anyone. This isn't even Stormer's fault. He's great." The static was significantly less in his voice.

"I'll see if they come in split." First Aid doesn't really want Vortex attempting to slice a brand new glossa. He sits at the edge of Vortex's table, looking him over. This ward was small, but the lighting was stark. "Convince me that Brainstorm's gross negligence isn't worth reporting. This ship is operating under the Autobot code."

Vortex nearly scoffs. Nearly. "Autobot code? I'm not an Autobot- I'm a Combaticon. And a 'Con. I wanted this to happen- I'm fine with this. Why do you wanna report it so bad? Or talk to Stormer. He didn't even shoot- but don't drag Cyclops into this either..." He wiggles his pedes a bit. They felt a lot better than most rest of him.

"Because /Stormer/ has a really bad habit of experimenting on other mechs, and these mechs have to hobble in here and put a strain on our supplies," First Aid would be frowning if he could. After a moment, he vents a sigh. "Things are settled then? Between you and Whirl? No more of this?"

Vortex pauses a moment. Fried or not, the interrogator could see the tell-tale signs of someone caving. What a softie. He nods. "Yep. No more having to get even. We're even." But this whole testing thing was fun, though. Now that the burning pain had left him with this nice lull of hurt, he could see what a thrill that is. Maybe just stay away from the electric guns for a while. Definitely had to do this more. "So... You won't report or anything?"

First Aid is totally a softie. And doesn't have enough anger to push him through making Vortex all sad. Vortex is a patient, at least presently, and his emotions supposedly matter. First Aid grumbles. "I guess not. Just recharge. I'll get you a glossa chart in the morning." He /tries/ to storm out of the ward, but only manages a tired droopy shuffle.

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