"The first of many, I'm sure," Tarn said mildly (modestly?). He was positive more than a few enterprising Cybertronians -- possibly even a handful of the lesser species too -- would take this opportunity to endear themselves to the 'Prime,' with the hopes of currying later favours.

Tarn's reasons for offering a gift, of course, weren't nearly so crude. That, and he wanted to soak in all of Vector's failure while getting a good look at the medical amenities the First Forged afforded their own. It would be a lie too, to say he wasn't interested in checking on the physical status of the patient. Tarn would have loved to see some damage.

Drawing closer, he didn't add anything as he took a good long look around. Eventually, after a moment where Vector might've gotten the distinct impression he was being scrutinized, Tarn said, voice nothing but friendly, "Here," as he handed over a datapad.

"A small selection of works from a favourite writer of mine." The selection in question had been carefully pruned of anything too... alarmingly avant-guard. All that was left were some small, feelgood excerpts on the merits of ... 'self-actualisation' and peace (among other things).

"It can't be easy being confined, (you incompetent loser) and I thought you might appreciate some literature (so you could educate yourself). I find them inspirational."

There were other motives at work here, obviously, but reading material was always such a good gift for those at a low, vulnerable point in their lives; especially when boredom was lurking over their right shoulders.

((sob, sorry that's so long... and sorry for Tarn.))