re_alignment_logs | Hallways always [OPEN]

who: Vandal and any visitors. [OPEN]
what: Vandal is bed-bound, recovering from her month-long detainment and torture.
when: All this week.
where: The Medbay
warnings: very yes
notes: Tag in your own threads, it can be set during any point in the week.

The beep of the monitors is loud with her head this eerily silent. Whatever he did to her, between the needles and questioning, he separated it. Took something. Now that static in her head is far quieter. It's almost as maddening as when it was present.

Now she's almost lonely without it. Well- she was lonely before, but now even more so.

She doesn't sleep, no. It's not safe to sleep anymore. She wants to scream every time she's left alone, but it's not practical to have someone with her all the time. Prism is dead, the Gatherer is dead, but the way she goes back to that place every time she shuts her eyes.

So she lays in a space between waking and sleep, startling back to consciousness every tie she starts to drift. Shaking. Thinking about it. What it did to her.

She reaches up to smooth a finger over the gauze covering what used to be her right eye.

Ruined. He ruined her worse than the church did. The mental, the physical.

Everything. Ruined.

She wishes they'd have killed her when they found her.

But she's also a coward, and afraid of death, so here she sits and lets the stitches heal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sweet." She's trying, she really is, but there's a certain something missing. She used to have a bit of fire, now there's just. Nothing. A person saying words.

"Not really. Unless you count 'stay still and get well' as one."

"Ratchet would count that as an activity in a heartbeat."

A finger slowly reaches over, nudging her cheek almost delicately. And Wheeljack was rarely delicate in ANYTHING. If the grenades told you anything.

"You'll have plenty of visitors. Can guarantee it."

"Yeah. Yeah he would."

The nudge surprises her, she snorts and grabs his hand holding onto it with both of her own.

"What is it with you fucking bots anyways? You're all too goddamn sweet for your own good, you know that?"

The touch surprises him, and had he not noticed her clinging to it, he would have pulled it away. His eyes soften at the statement, scratching his helm with his only free hand.

"Wouldn't go that far, Vandal. Least not for me. Seen and done some scrap, yannow."

One of those fingers--the thumb--runs along her cheek gently.

"Much appreciated, though."

"I think we all have at this point." She'll withhold the bit about accidentally killing an entire station full of people.

She leans into the touch, a little desperate for any kind of affection right now. Any positive attention.

"Of course. I think you're nicer than you care to let on." She plants a kiss on the back of his hand, patting it before letting him have it back.

"We could use more people like that."

When she leans into his hand, he sort of...cups a few fingers around her, giving a little 'hug' of sorts. The best he can do considering his size. "Scrap, Vandal. Ya make it hard to argue back."

His wings twitch slightly at that remark.

"Heh, I guess I have my moments. Like you."

She's getting used to the physical affection end of cybertronians, being a human. Things are awkward and you just do the best you can.

"That's the point."

She attempts to smile and falls woefully short.

"Ah. I guess we all do then." Because he drives a hard argument and well... well she doesn't care to put up any fuss.

There's a small run up the side of her arm with his finger before he pulls away, resting his hand on his hip.

"Need anythin'? I can pester the medics to get ya whatever."

Unless it was outside the medbay. Then he'd fetch it.

"Just having you here is more than enough."

She really doesn't deserve people- mechs like this in her life. They're all so good. Practically perfect in every way.

"Will you stay for a while? Maybe tell me a story from your wrecking days?"

Not much really phased Wheeljack when it came to feelings. He'd been so detached from everything...it just didn't come as easily for him. But Vandal pretty much said 'your existence means something to me', something he's been hearing a lot lately. And when you're on the Autobot suicide squad...that has effect.

"Wouldn't leave ya for anythin'."

That last part gets a smirk on his face.

"Ya sure? They might be pretty kiddie for someone tough like you."

She manages a wry smirk herself, only briefly.

"I'll try to withhold my harsh judgement, then." Just having him around and talking is nice. It fills the pained quiet, the whispers that used to fill her head that Prism tore out. Or somehow muted, she's not sure.

She setles a bit more into her bed and looks at him expectantly.

Wheeljack takes a seat, leaning one arm on his knee, while gesturing the other out to tell the story.

"I'm usually not so good with these. Bulkhead does it better, but what the scrap, I'll give it a go. I'll tell ya about Darkmount pass. Quaint little smelting area. Used to forge weapons of mass destruction durin' the war. Obviously, it was held under siege by Cons.

Autobots didn't even consider it worth goin' for. Place was the definition of an uphill battle."

He started off setting the scene, even using his hands to gesture out a compacted area, a flat land, and then little pits as he explained. He practically remembered it like it was yesterday.

"Just think, pools of energon just waitin' to be used..."

Hallways always [OPEN]

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