re_alignment_logs | Rest in peace, pinky toe... YOU SHALL BE AVENGED!

Who: Whirl and OPEN so...uh..hopefully someone?
What: Whirl's been shot in the ass. And IS an ass so he refused to get help. From the guy who shot him in the ass. Go figure.
Where: The Junk Pile
When: nowish
Warnings: WHIRL.

Legitimately, Whirl can't even get that upset by events. Uh, not because he has a conscience or anything and thinks/realizes he actually brought the whole thing on himself by snatching Vandal (she totally deserved it because she lied about the acid), but because, yeah, well, this is how Whirl's life works.

Suck. Everything goes to suck.

Not being able to fly sucks. But worse than that? The pain is getting boring. Limping got boring a few cycles ago.

He's limping his way across the junk pile, a trail of energon turning clotty on the ground behind him. Easy to track, and for a klik it had bugged him, but whatever. Even being hunted down and killed would be less boring.

((OOC: any sort of contact is welcome--want to stumble across and harass? Want to actually help? Want to comm him? It's all good!))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This is going to be a handicapped party, Whirl.

Generally it took First Aid a long time to get pretty much... anywhere, if just because everything was so spread out. As he comes hurrying over some piles of junk, he's got his fans running like he's been on the move for a while.

"Pharma! There you-- Oh! You're Whirl!"

His optics settle on Whirl and the spilled energon. It's been a long time since he'd met any other Wreckers besides Springer. Whirl's attitude is something easily put aside for the fact that First Aid just simply... loved reading about his aerial battles.

"You're injured. Let me take a look."

Pharma is about to make a comment about the likelihood of a mysterious shooter that would offer aid after taking his shot but he's interrupted by First Aid barreling over through the junk.

"Whirl?"

Oh no. It's one of those Wreckers that First Aid can never shut up about. Pharma rolls his optics and steps aside.

"Might I recommend stopping the bleeding first?"

"What? My reputation precede me?"

Damn straight, Pharma. Wrecker. Sort of. And for once, Whirl isn't making this up: Perceptor shot him, then tried to insist he go to the medibay.

"Yeah, you know, don't do anything for the pain or anything." He rolls his optic.

"Unfortunately. First Aid has an unhealthy obsession with your little group," Pharma replies, glancing over at the star struck nurse. Fortunately, he does not need to indicate the energon lines that need tying off as First Aid seems at least competent enough to do that.

"Oh? What would you like? Shall I instruct my nurse to beat you unconscious with a pipe or is that not Wrecker enough?" the jet medic sneered, gesturing around them at the piles of junk.

Well, now First Aid was feeling pretty flustered. He shifts, looking between Pharma and Whirl, knowing that his boss quite... disapproved of his hobbies.

"Ah? Er. I wouldn't call it an 'obsession'. It's just a passing interest."

In any case, he rounds about Whirl and bends slightly to bring himself closer to the problem area.

"Well, the good news is you'll live!" He narrows his optics as he examines the wound. One of his hands lift and the pointer's tip folds back to flick on a flash light. "Surprised you aren't feeling a bit more... woozy."

Okay Whirl. Time for the nurse to put his hands on your butt.

"Little group." He grunts. "You mean the Wreckers." Yeah Whirl's favorite people.

He gives First Aid a wary look. "Yeah? Doesn't look like he's got it in him, honestly." First Aid looked...nice.

Which is weird enough. He's used to Ratch 'why don't you lie there in pain until I get bored enough to repair you' et.

"Figured that. Since, you know, I'm not dead and all."

...!! "Hey! Warm those things up first!" Seriously!

"Probably not," Pharma agrees. "I suppose you'll just have to make do with his tender touch and enthusiastic bedside manner."

"Pharma... Please. I'm right here..."

Coming from First Aid it probably wasn't much of a meaningful protest, but he wasn't a complete doormat. It didn't matter that the surgeon was his boss.

The nurse does take a moment to warm his hands a little before applying them back to Whirl's butt, the slots in the fingers folding back as an assortment of small tools slide out. He focuses on patching the leak, moving swiftly with the ease and practice of an experienced field medic.

"Let me know if anything hurts worse. More pain is... bad."

'Tender touch and enthusiastic bedside manner'? What kind of place do you run, Pharma? A bad porn generator?

"Maybe you should shut your talky place and let freezy-fingers do his job." OH, you might have warmed them up, now, First Aid, but you know, first impressions.

You know what's weird? Whirl will tell you what's weird. Weird is standing while someone else kneels behind you, poking you in the aft while someone else watches. Really, this is Autobot Medicine in its highest form.

"Yeah, yeah." Like he'd tell you if it hurt with Handless McCrankyjet over there. "Just fix the fraggin' tail rotor so I can fly."

"I was only trying to talk you up," Pharma chuckles in response, watching the procedure with interest. First Aid is doing fine and even if he wants to add a little more finesse to the patching, he can't.

"I doubt you'll be able to fly for a few days now."

It's a nice aft, at least, if it wasn't injured. Oops, did First Aid think that? I mean, Whirl left a bit to be desired personality-wise, but he did have quite a bit of respect for Wreckers which made room for forgiveness of all the faults an individual might have.

"This patch job would be easier if we could get you to a medbay. Why exactly didn't you contact us?"

This might tickle a bit, Whirl. All the tiny little tools in First Aid's hand are poking at some pretty sensitive wiring there.

"Apparently you made rank before they gave a scrap about bedside manner," Whirl mutters. "Bursting with all this good news and all."

Whirl would doubt your sanity if you said that aloud, First Aid. He is allowed to be fond of his aft. You are not.

"Tsh. Why didn't I contact you?" He waves a claw toward Chuckles the Jet over there. There's your reason: service with a snicker.

Rest in peace, pinky toe... YOU SHALL BE AVENGED!

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I wish I had a butt icon ...might need to make one

Re: I wish I had a butt icon ...might need to make one

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maybe he does have a subsystem that generates porn responses

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