2016-06-23 Healing for the Heart
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Location||Velocitron - Mu|
|Summary||Beachcomber and Mirage visit Oversteer during his recovery.|
The Mu hospital is run down, a reflection of the condition of the rest of the city. It didn't escape the years of neglect by the rest of the planet, yet against the odds it kept functioning, with its staff as dedicated to their work as the common Mu laborer is to their own. The place is nevertheless rather dingy and bleak, in need of some care itself, but all of the energy of those who work there stays focused on the patients, and on doing the best they can under the circumstances.
Special care was given to Oversteer when he was brought in. Being second-in-command of the resistance movement was one factor; the other was the severity of his injuries. Most of his facial structure and chest framing was torn away by the blasts from the bombs he planted to open up the city's impound lot. The actions of others in the fight surely saved his life, but there was a lot left to do to keep him from slipping away anyway.
It has been days since that final battle, and Oversteer's surgeries are complete. He sits now in one of the still pleasant, single rooms in the hospital, gazing out of the window opposite the entry door. He is alone, at the moment.
"Thanks for coming with me, Raj, the moral support means a lot," Beachcomber hummed to the bot at his side, gaze wandering subtly over the condition of the halls from under his visor. It was certainly reflective of their struggles as outcasts, and it made his spark ache to see it in such shambles. He was also pretty certain Ratchet hadn't stepped foot in the Mu hospital as of yet either. Or maybe it was wishful thinking that the Galaxy's Scariest And Most Talented Medic could bark a few orders and get things moving towards a safe, sterile hospital for these people. A bot could dream, at least. In the meantime, he felt it would behoove him to come bearing something more practical than dreams, carrying a small crate laden with a few 'supplies' in his arms as he plodded along; well, small to others, but sizable to the minibot. "Oversteer was part of the rebellion," he explained for likely the third or fourth time, his voice low so as not to disturb the staff or resting patients and fingers tapping along the edge of the crate. "He got pretty banged up in the fight, but hopefully this'll help him feel better soon. And maybe we should ask Aid to come out and visit, I'm sure the nurses here could use a bit of a pep talk..."
He paused in the hallway, counting quickly to be sure he was in the right place, and shifted the crate to his shoulder to free up a hand to knock against the wall. "So is this where we volunteer to be sexy nurses to boost patient morale or was I lied to?"
Mirage still hasn't quite forgiven Beachcomber for the incident at Swerve's. While he couldn't say no to a charitable errand (without looking sparkless at least), the scout isn't quite ready to deal with Beachcomber's 'jokes' quite yet. He scowls a little at the smaller mecha's comment, and mutters under his breath, "Speak for yourself."
Wanting to make himself useful, he gestures towards Beachcomber's crate. "Do you want me to take that? I can find one of the medics to speak with about it while you talk with your friend. It would be no trouble at all."
There's a slight movement of Oversteer's head, that of recognition. "Ah, my offworlder friend," he replies. His voice is different now - there's the same basic, grandfatherly tones, but they are disrupted by a staccato hoarseness, as if his vocalizers are still burnt. There is also a straining in it, as if it takes effort to speak. "Please come in. I haven't spoken to ... mmhchmm ... any of you since our victory, and I expect that some of ... mmkhh ... you were concerned about my welfare." He rises from his chair, and as he turns he advises, "Oh, please, do not be alarmed by my appearance."
Oversteer's face is gone.
There is a head where there indeed should be one, and its overall shape is as it was, but there are no optics, or mouth, or any facial features upon it now. Instead, there is a smooth surface, with a soft vertical ridge curving down its center. His chest has a similar form now as well, as broad as before, but featureless, as if covered by a plain shell.
"Nah, Raj, I got it. But thanks, Mech." Beachcomber chuckled softly, tilting his head to speak in an aside to his roommate, "'Sides, the medical staff isn't gonna want half'a what's in here, y'know?" He shifted the crate in his arms and plodded forward at the invite, setting it gently on a surface - it might be a table, or it might be a piece of equipment, he's never sure about medical machinery.
Oversteer rising and turning towards them was met with little reaction from the geologist - he'd seen the bloodied, shrapnel-riddled remnants of the mech's face when he'd dragged him down into the trench, after all, and with mecha like Whirl aboard the Lost Light, unusual faces were hardly a surprise anymore. "It's good to see you up on your own feet, brother," Beachcomber hummed, moving forward without hesitation and offering out his hands in greeting to the bigger bot. He thought Oversteer looked like he was probably pretty sore and stiff around the joints from repairs. "This is my friend Mirage. We brought you some small comforts if you'd have them."
Unlike Beachcomber, Mirage is struck for a moment by the other's appearance. While he is no stranger to horrors, it always throws him off when the world reveals its myraid imperfections. The scout rubs at his helm. Just being here conjures up memories of his own, similar injuries, and he knows he'll be lucky if he doesn't leave here with a throbbing helmache. Finally forcing his optics away from Oversteer, he glances towards Beachcomber. "If you're absolutely certain," he mutters.
Once Beachcomber makes the introductions, a need for decorum takes precedence. The scout steps forwards and offers out his hand to Oversteer. "Yes, he is correct, and Beachcomber has already told you my designation. It is my pleasure to meet you. But please, don't let me distract you."
He pauses, offering a reluctant smile. "I'm here simply as moral support." Oversteer is surprised at Beachcomber's utter lack of reaction. It is so different than what happens when his fellow citizens see him. There would be a smile across his face if he still had one. He takes up Beachcomber's hands and tilts his head to him. "Comfort." Musing can be heard in his cracking voice. "Of course, thank you."
Oversteer turns to face (so to speak) Mirage. This other offworlder's reaction is more typical, but it's of no concern to him. He warmly takes his hand. "Greetings to you, Mirage. So, how go things outside this hospital? I think that my other visitors save ... krkrhmm ... me from the details."
Beachcomber gently squeezed Oversteer's fingers and offered a pleased little hum for the contact, little more than a sort of hug, before he stepped back to pry the lid off his cargo. "Well, Mu seems to be doing alright: building things, slowly but surely; paving roads; sorting out the details. They seem to be getting along well. I've heard good things about Transit being back on track, but I'm not up to date on the details of Delta." From the crate come a few bottles of engex with very detailed labels (just in case of allergies); a few crystals in small jars with similarly detailed labels; a bit of distillery equipment; a blanket from his berth. He hums while he searches, disappearing part way into the box before he pops back out with a triumphant little noise. "Ah! And we found something that might be of use to you when some friends and I went cave-wandering." A chunk of iron ore was cradled fondly in the geologist's hands, offering it out to Oversteer like it was a new proto-Cybertronian.
Mirage visibly stiffens at the mention of Delta, his optics dancing to glance out the window to Velocitron beyond. he had promised himself he would not return to Velocitron's surface after confronting Ransack, after what happened at Delta, and yet here he finds himself again. He had hoped it was far enough from there that the events of Delta would not tail him here, and it is hard to say no to Beachcomber in general, but he is beginning to wonder if he is going to regret this.
Instead of hinting he knows the least thing at all about Delta, he focuses on other things. Beachcomber gives him a convenient escape. "Another one, Beachcomber? Do you give those to everyone you meet?" he teases.
Oversteer is bewildered at the variety of Beachcomber's gifts, which could perhaps be seen by his head shifting this way and that as each item is produced from the crate. "It is ... good to hear that Mu is rising. I look forward to returning ... khmm ... to Powerdyne's side. Delta, you say? I have heard nothing about that." It may be notable that he skips over Transit.
Oversteer accepts the hunk of ore from Beachcomber and turns it in his hand as the optics behind his face shield survey it. He chuckles, almost as a cough, at Mirage's ribbing. "Forgive me, but ... what might I do with this ... ore?"
"I would if I could, Raj," Beachcomber chortles, rubbing his hands together to rid them of the risidual dust once Oversteer takes the hunk of ore. "It's iron!" he explains excitedly, as if that should answer everything. "The mountains and caves of Mu are full of veins of iron! You could harvest it, y'know? To help with the rebuilding - it's such a necessary element among our kind, right? So you could even trade it off-world to the other colonies, maybe, y'know? I like to call it part of the 'Nursery Elements' but, like I told Raj, the science academy never really caught on to my rearrangement of the periodic table." A hand flapped dismissively. Silly ole academy.
Seeing the flakes of ore drifting through the air, Mirage unconsciously takes a step back from Beachcomber. The scout likes to avoid excess filth where he can. Meanwhile, while the scientist is caught up in his enthusiastic announcement, Mirage shrugs and shoots Oversteer a bemused expression. The geologist has his quirks; that much can't be argued.
"You might as well hire him to oversee Mu's building plans," Mirage adds in, still teasing. "I guarentee you'll end up with some of the most... unique solutions you've ever encountered."
Oversteer continues to rotate the ore as Beachcomber explains his idea. "Hmmm ... it is a good idea. We've always been constrained to mining only ... chchmm ... for maintaining the fuel systems of the Velocities. Now we are free to mine for the materials for ourselves, and Powerdyne ... khkhkhmmmchm ... well, he is a miner. It wouldn't take ... mmhchm ... much to convince him. Only he, and others from Mu, can handle that work." There's a note of pride in his obstructed voice.
Oversteer laughs again at Mirage's continued poking at his friend. It's been too long since he's shared a laugh with his compatriots in the Cavern. His release can't come soon enough. "Also, a good idea. Our architecture tends to ... krkrm ... be utilitarian. We could use artful touches, as of long ago. Chchmmmm" His trailing sputter now betrays deep nostalgia welling in him.
Beachcomber tilted his head back to give Mirage an amused stare, lips quirked up in a lopsided smile at his teasing. He rumbled a chuckle and let his head tip forward again, giving it a shake and returning to his crate. "I sure wouldn't mind helping out if we're around long enough. A touch of whimsey never hurt anyone, after all. And Raj has an eye for the elegant - you should hear about his plans for his Lounge. Tres chic~"
A small marble vase is the next to be produced, containing a medley of colorful flowers made of wire and enamel. Rough replicas of bearded iris, roses and tulips layered into a bright bouquet.
"During our war I served for a while on a planet called Earth," he explained, adjusting a flower's crooked petals. "The humans there had a cute little tradition of bringing flowers to their injured friends so that they had something pretty to cheer them up. Also, I think, to purify the air and help them heal, but I could never get anyone to confirm that so I wrapped up some black tourlamine in the stems to help ward off negative energy."
At the mention of his lounge, Mirage's expression shifts. His optics brighten with interest and passion, and he opens his mouth to speak. "Of course I'd be willing to..." he pauses, trailing off, when he remembers where he is. His lounge will have no bearing on his people, and better not to start before he becomes lost in the moment.
Shrugging, he smiles sheepishly. Oversteer and Beachcomber seem to be getting along splendidly and he sees no more reason to elbow in on them catching up. Instead, he gets to his pedes and walks towards the window he was looking out minutes before. He pretends to get lost in the view in an attempt to afford them some modicum of privacy.
Velocitron lacks known indigenous life, at least of any consequence, although perhaps something survives near Mu, free from a daily scorching. It certainly lacks flowers. Oversteer seems transfixed on the floral simulacrum as Beachcomber reveals and preens it. "You are ... too kind, Beachcomber. I would hope that you, and Mirage," as he regards the racer who has tactfully moved to the side - he wasn't completely transfixed, "and all the rest ... hhhchcm ... could stay and help us rebuild, better than before. But, I understand if your road ... rkkrk ... leads you onward sooner."
There is a knock on the wall outside the room, and a rotund, kind-looking mech stands in the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt, there, Oversteer," he announces with a surprisingly gruff, yet friendly, voice. "I just wanted to let you know that your latest tests check out. You're on the mend, despite what I had to do to ya." He waves a big mitt apologetically, with a resigned look on his face. "You'll heal up the rest of the way anywhere else good as here. Just come on back in a few days and we'll see if there's any other reconstruction ideas we can try out." The surgeon waves at the visitors.
Beachcomber doesn't want to speak for Mirage, and he doesn't want to make promises he can't deliver on, so he chooses his words carefully while he sets the flowers down near Oversteer's chair. "I'll definitely be down here to help as best I can before we take off again. I dunno how long that'll be, exactly, but I'll do as much as I can offer in the time allotted to us." He might have to ask a few favors. Bulkhead was good muscle for rebuilding, and he'd probably love a chance for whimsy. Was Grapple aboard? He'd need to double check if the mech was there, he couldn't imagine the architect passing up a chance for a free-for-all rebuild to play with his designs.
The medic's announcement distracted Beachcomber from his pondering, but the news earned a bright smile and he offered his hands out to the mech again. "Hey that's great news! You'll be clear as quartz in no time, Oversteer." Now that the flowers were out of the crate, the bottles and small distillery were piled back in and the lid set back into place. He wasn't sure about the medics of Mu, but he was pretty sure Ratchet wouldn't have been happy to see a patient with a line of engex and, ah, 'recreational materials'. "I hope these can bring you some 'creature comforts' and help make your recovery easier. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask, and I'd be happy to see if we could somehow procure it for you. I make no promises, but I'm more than willing to try."
Speaking of medics, though, he might...maybe... possibly drop a note by Ratchet, and see if he can't convince the medic to come give his professional opinion for Oversteer's reconstruction. It is probably a good thing that Beachcomber made no promises for Mirage. The scout is clearly not at ease here, as evinced by his somewhat odd behavior up until this point. He hums in thought at the mention of coming back, but makes no move to speak up or list off his any helpful talents he might have.
His gaze finally drags away from the window when the medic enters, lifting an optic ridge in interest. So this is one of the resourceful mecha who has made this shambles of a hospital function. As usual, he can't help but admire that sort of indominitable spirit. "Yes, wonderful news," he agrees, sounding something like an echo. "No doubt owed to hard work of the medics here. They must be quite talented." "Ahhh, that is wonderful news, Viseclamp. And what ... hrhrk ... you 'did to me' was save my life, so please don't ... hrhrchchm ... sell yourself short. Although perhaps when I return we can start by looking at my ... chchcmm ... vocalizer." Even without a face, it's easy to tell that Oversteer is happy.
The resistance leader turns his attention back to his visitors. "Thank you, again. After all that you've been through, to still be ..." and he just waves his hand at the inexpressibility of it all. "I have a standing instruction from Powerdyne to report to the central tower, although ... chchrhrhrk ... I think it more of a plea to relieve him there. I look forward to it, and I think if ... chchkk ... there is anywhere in the city that needs to be released from 'negative energy'," he picks up the bouquet thoughtfully, "it's there."
Don't worry about the rest of the presents, Beachcomber. Viseclamp would just as soon accidentally borrow one of the bottles himself. The medic rubs the back of his head awkwardly, but smiles. "Yeah, OK. Vocalizer's first on the list. Talented?" He shakes his head, still smiling though. "I'm a machinist, a cable-puller, really. I just have a knack for medical stuff too. We make do here, though. Anyway, I'll let you all, you know." He gives another wave and moves off, probably to his next patient.
The Functionalists would have some sort of short circuit aneurism if they got a load of the people of Mu, Beachcomber thought with a faint chuckle. He waved to the medic when he headed out, calling after him, "Nice to meet you, Viseclamp!" He'd definitely be sending a plea or two to Ratchet and First Aid and the rest of the medical team to pop down here and give them a hand before they left. These were mecha that were willing to learn new skills - a few pointers from professionals could go a long way.
The blanket - one from his own berth, a patchwork thing he was fond of for the spectrum gradient from one corner to another - was offered out and Beachcomber gestured Oversteer towards his chair. "Why don't we let you rest that vocalizer and get out of your plating, mech? It's a long road to recovery, but rest is the primary prescription, yeah? You'll be out and about soon, and I'm sure Quadcam will be glad to see you on the path to recovery."
Mirage still seems to be rather taken with this new arrival. He steps to follow them, "Actually, you're not a bother at all. If you don't mind, I would have an interest in seeing ho- Oh," he pauses and glances at his roommate.
While Mirage had been planning to ask to accompany the medic, hoping to give the pair even more privacy, it seems that Beachcomber has other ideas. He throws the other a questioning glance. He hopes that he hasn't cut this meeting short because he senses his unease. Perhaps he should have strived to hide it better.
"Well, nevermind that. Maybe another time."
Oversteer's brain module was already buzzing with plans for what to do when he got to the tower, ignoring Viseclamp noting that he isn't all the way healed. Beachcomber pulls him back to his actual situation: on the mend, not mended. Still holding the flower vase, he looks at the blanket, another colorful, strange thing. "Rest." There's that musing tone again, the considering of a foreign concept. "Perhaps for ... a short while." He nods, and moves back to his chair.
Beachcomber smiles at Oversteer, waiting until he's settled himself into his chair and gently laying his hands atop the other's around the vase. "Yeah, mech. Rest." He patted his fingers softly. "Relax, recharge, and heal. And remember how loved you are." He straightens and heads towards the door to meet his roommate, offering a wave back to Oversteer. "Rest well, brother."