sohelpmeprimus-blog

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#*has five of them*

yes, a glow in the dark crowbar. i shouldn’t be this excited. 

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"Tough!" Ratchet retorts, waving his wrench dangerously. "If Elita is a youngling, you're a sparkling.  Now get out of my bay before I hit you again!"

“Wha—the dead guy?” Ratchet shakes his helm, waving his hands in front of him emphatically.  ”No—no, that’s not it.  You’re new here, sparkling.  Very new.  And, obviously, you don’t know me too well.  Don’t take it too hard, you’ll be sparkling for a few cycles and then—if you don’t irritate the living scrap out of me (and that’s a big if)—I’ll promote your aft to youngling, got it?”

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"Wha--the dead guy?" Ratchet shakes his helm, waving his hands in front of him emphatically.  "No--no, that's not it.  You're new here, sparkling.  Very new.  And, obviously, you don't know me too well.  Don't take it too hard, you'll be sparkling for a few cycles and then--if you don't irritate the living scrap out of me (and that's a big if)--I'll promote your aft to youngling, got it?"

Watching the new kid looking so damn down, Ratchet sighs and, not quite looking at him, speaks up. “It’s not you.”

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Watching the new kid looking so damn down, Ratchet sighs and, not quite looking at him, speaks up. "It's not you."

Hot Rod, being the easily distracted mech he is, quickly gets bored and starts looking around the medbay, swinging his legs in the air; the medbay he knows is a bit bigger, and there are other medics beside Ratchet.

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"It looks like you check out just fine, but I'd keep an optic on your fuel filters and cooling intakes--high-maintenance vehicles like yours tend to be more likely to get clogged this or that, and if I have to flush out your systems because you were being a fragging idiot, I'll weld your aft to the ceiling, got it?"

Giving a short nod, he huffs, “Good.”  Waiting for the scan’s data to appear on the screen beside Hot Rod’s berth, Ratchet folds his arms and stares resolutely at the blank screen until it finally fills with numbers.

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Giving a short nod, he huffs, "Good."  Waiting for the scan's data to appear on the screen beside Hot Rod's berth, Ratchet folds his arms and stares resolutely at the blank screen until it finally fills with numbers.

“Your obnoxious paint job, your pretentious attitude, or the fact that you were trying to mouth off to me in my medical bay—take you pick!” He began scanning Hot Rod as he fumed, then asked, “Any recent aches, pains, malfunctions, etc.  And don’t skimp just ‘cause “it’s  not a big deal” or I’ll hit you, again.”

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"Your obnoxious paint job, your pretentious attitude, or the fact that you were trying to mouth off to me in my medical bay--take you pick!" He began scanning Hot Rod as he fumed, then asked, "Any recent aches, pains, malfunctions, etc.  And don't skimp just 'cause "it's  not a big deal" or I'll hit you, again."

From several paces away, Ratchet strikes, throwing his wrench forward to beam Hot Rod in the side of his helm. “This is my medical bay, sparkling!  You are in my medical bay, you will follow my rules!  Now I suggest you mute it before I decide you need an invasive cavity check up!”

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From several paces away, Ratchet strikes, throwing his wrench forward to beam Hot Rod in the side of his helm. "This is my medical bay, sparkling!  You are in my medical bay, you will follow my rules!  Now I suggest you mute it before I decide you need an invasive cavity check up!"

Gripping his wrench a bit tighter, Ratchet growls. “You’re really tryin’ my patients, an’ I don’t have much on a good day.”

Taking his scanner and his wrench, he walks toward Hot Rod. “You wanna try answerin’ the question?”

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Gripping his wrench a bit tighter, Ratchet growls. "You're really tryin' my patients, an' I don't have much on a good day."

Taking his scanner and his wrench, he walks toward Hot Rod. "You wanna try answerin' the question?"

“Are you talking back to me, sparkling?” Where Ratchet’s tone may be pleasant, the way he halts his rummaging to glare at Hot Rod certainly is not.

“I’ll let you off this once, but let me be perfectly clear.  Look around you, what do you see?”

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"Are you talking back to me, sparkling?" Where Ratchet's tone may be pleasant, the way he halts his rummaging to glare at Hot Rod certainly is not.

"I'll let you off this once, but let me be perfectly clear.  Look around you, what do you see?"

Scoffing, Ratchet gestures to an open berth from where he stands, rummaging around in a cabinet drawer. “Have a seat, sparkling.  I’ll be with you in a click.”

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Scoffing, Ratchet gestures to an open berth from where he stands, rummaging around in a cabinet drawer. "Have a seat, sparkling.  I'll be with you in a click."

“Yes, Ratchet.” Hot Rod makes his way towards the medbay instantly - it’s never good to annoy Ratchet. Under any circumstances.

He’s there is a matter of minutes, walking inside and looking around.

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Slaggin' right you will.

…Will somebody finally explain to me what TMI Tuesday is? My counterpart won’t tell me…

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Well if you've got so slaggin' much time, why not get your aft over here so I can clear you for duty, huh?

…Will somebody finally explain to me what TMI Tuesday is? My counterpart won’t tell me…

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"Just be careful around Jack--don't push him too hard, his time with our "counterparts" really shook 'im up.  Bee's off getting the Matrix back from Prime's body.  Actually," Ratchet paused, thinking for a moment before suggesting, "I'm sure Elita would appreciate it if you'd take care of her paperwork for the time being.  While things are quiet, we could split it."

Pausing in his study of Prowl’s vitals at the mention of Prime, Ratchet turns slowly and sighs.  He walks back to Prowl and puts a hand on his shoulder. “That’s part of it.  See, we’re pretty sure there’s a virus or somethin’, and what it does is mess with a mech’s processor.  In order, Wheeljack got kidnapped, Prime and a few others went to rescue him, Prime contracted the virus before heading off to one of the other universes I’d mentioned…

“Long story short?  You report to Bumblebee, now.”  He’s quiet a moment, then gives Prowl’s shoulder a short shake. “I’m sorry, Prowl.  I know it’s rough… I’d avoid Elita until you’re sure you can handle her.  Bee should be back soon, not sure what’ll happen then.”

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It's when humans are allowed to ask you all kind of annoying questions.

My suggestion?  Don't participate.

…Will somebody finally explain to me what TMI Tuesday is? My counterpart won’t tell me…

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:Then-You-Are-Saying-That-Because-I-Do-Not-Meet-Your-Standards-Of-Sentience-I-Deserved-The-Human's-Treatment? I-Will-Say-It-Again. You-Autobots-Are-Fools.:

"There is no "Standard of Sentience," slaggit!  It is impossible for you to be self-aware!  The science involved won't be a part of the human's repertoire for at least a dozen vorns, maybe more.  Look, being programmed to believe you are sentient, and actually being sentient are two different things.  I don't care how much you think you're alive, until I see proof of your sentience, I'm not gonna believe it.  I don't take things on hearsay."