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| - November 07, 2011, 2:05 PM (Repair Campus, Polyhex) --- Knifepoint mutters to himself as he digs through the storage bins, trying to find a certain few objects. With an annoyed huff of air out his vents, he throws the parts he's holding back into their proper bins with more force than really necessary. "'Finish the repairs and get the 'copter out of here', he says. That'd be easier if I had the slagging rotors to fix him with!" He snaps at no one in particular, turning to glare at the mech still in stasis on the berth. "You know what? Frag this. He can put the rotors on himself, when he deigns to get his CMO aft back here." That decided, he makes his way over to the berth, unwinding the cord from his wrist as he goes. He snaps it into the medical port on Vortex's neck, bringing up and activating the codes to bring him out of stasis. Vortex comes around slowly. For a few astroseconds, he has no idea where he is or what he's doing there. Then his databanks integrate, and everything comes back to him. The Dinobot, getting chewed up, the shiny new CMO and his argumentative assistant. And ooh, what's this, said assistant has plugged into him. His amusement turns to dismay when he realises he's been strapped down. "What the frag?" Knifepoint shrugs, running a basic check through all of Vortex's systems to ensure everything's integrated correctly. "That big truck you came in with- Onslaught, or whatever- said to strap you down. Seemed a bit excessive to me, given that you were kind of a mech-shaped scrapheap when you came in, but our dearest CMO," And that part is absolutely dripping with sarcasm, the seeker's expression indicating /exactly/ what he thinks of the mech. "Decided to go with it. He also wanted to be here when you came out of it, but that's not my problem. Hold still and I'll get these off of you." That said, he turns his attention to the restraints, starting to undo them one by one. "A bit excessive?" Vortex says. "I only just met the fragger and he's tellin' people to tie me down." He huffs, and tries to shrug his shoulders. "What's the deal with CMO Shiny anyway?" he asks. "Frag if I know. I think somebody shoved a trithyllium rod up his aft or something." Knifepoint answers, yanking a particularly stubborn leg restraint off before continuing. "Lord Megatron made him CMO, though, so there must be something useful about him." The last of the restraints come off easily, and he drops the armful he's collected onto a passing drone. "Try sitting up for me, I need to make sure your motor relays are all intact and functional." Free at last, and completely incapable of acknowledging that for the major part of his captivity he'd been unconscious, Vortex sits up and tries to ruffle his rotors. Ah, yeah, no rotors. Stupid Dinobot. He leans forward, and uses the extra reach to grab something sharp and shiny from the nearest tray of tools. "You could use him as a mirror," he comments, and prods the end of the tool; he could do with something like that in interrogations. "He gets on well with Nova," he comments, just in case a little information will release a little more. Knifepoint cocks an optic ridge at the sudden tool grabbing, but otherwise doesn't react, inside combing over the readouts from Vortex's systems. "That would require him bothering to polish. His finish is all scuffed up and slag. Ugh." His wings twitch slightly in disgust at just the thought, which sends a minor jolt of pain through the healing welds. Ow. Okay, that was bad idea... "Friendly with Nova? I guess. I don't really care; everyone's just all glad the 'crazy' ones didn't get the job. If you take a finger off with that, I'm not fixing it." "Crazy ones?" Vortex asks. He spins the little wheel on the end of the tool, and notes Knifepoint's twitch of pain with interest. "You mean the mech that got banished? I remember him. What happened to you, anyway?" Knifepoint huffs out his vents quietly. Primus, this one asked a lot of questions. "Yes, the mech that got banished." He says, keeping his tone carefully bland. "And what happened to me was a training exercise. Slagging femme almost shot my wing to shreds." The offending wing twitches again, earning another minute flinch as the sensors there flare with pain. "'Non-lethal force' my aft." Vortex leans forward again and picks up another of the clean, shiny tools. This one has a rather nasty-looking serrated and curved blade on it. He swishes it around a bit, highly entertained. "Psykeout, right?" he says. "He had this informant in Cubicron. Tiny little thing... Which femme?" "Yeah, I think that was his designation." Knifepoint says distractedly, still maneuvering through the slightly foreign code. It wasn't like rotaries were particularly common, and he had to pick out which errors were caused by the lack of rotors and which ones were genuine issues. "Firestorm. Or something like that. Doesn't really matter, we won the exercise anyway." Well, okay, Shockwave had called it a draw, but the goal was just 'get the icon', he never said they had to do it unopposed. "Seriously, if you cut something off, you're on your own." "I'm not gonna cut something off," Vortex says, and he's probably telling the truth. Flipping the tool into the other hand, he itches at the area around his medical port. "I'm getting new rotors, right?" He doesn't stop itching, but starts messing around with the curved and serrated blade with his free hand. His tail rotors clatter against his arm. "What do you know about Onslaught?" Knifepoint rolls his optics minutely, reaching back and yanking out the cord. He has the readouts he needs anyway. "Yes, you're getting new rotors. In fact, you'd have them already, but our /dearest/ CMO apparently has them in his office, which I don't have access to." He shoots a glare at the door to said office, huffing out his vents a little, before Vortex's second question draws his attention back. He shrugs, starting to coil the medical connection cord back into its place in his wrist. "Onslaught? Big, quiet, tactician, has a brand new hydraulics system, tries to bolt upright as soon as he comes out of stasis. I know his medical information and system specs, but personally I don't know slag." Vortex looks stricken. "Not now?" What, that means he has to /wait/. "Ugh." He gives the medical port a final itch, glad to be free of the connector. "Wanna know why he thinks I need to be tied down." He uses the curved blade to spin the wheel on the other sharp-looking tool. He glances at the CMO's office. "I got some explosives somewhere, we could blow up the door." Knifepoint shrugs again, snapping the panel on his wrist shut over the cord. "Slag if I know why. We didn't exactly have a spark-searching conversation once you were out." He responds dryly, watching Vortex play with the sharp implements without any real worry or interest. He glances at the door when Vortex mentions explosives, optic ridges rising slightly. "That'd slag him off pretty badly." He pauses, looking between Vortex and the door consideringly. "...It sounds like a /great/ idea to me." Grinning happily, Vortex starts to turn out his subspace. "Got some in here somewhere..." He doesn't. Prowl's chevron comes out first, then the little Autobot medic's hand and optic; a few other random trophies follow, taken from mechs whose names he's long forgotten; and finally broken datapad, and sixteen laser scalpels. But no explosives. "We could kick down the door?" he suggests, but doesn't sound all that convinced. Knifepoint raises first one optic ridge, then both, as Vortex's little collection comes out of subspace piece by piece. "Door's reinforced to prevent break-ins. Unless you want to go recruit a slaggin Guardian or something, we can't kick it in." He says distractedly, more focused on looking over the bits and parts Vortex pulled out. "Is that from the Autoslag's second in command?" "Heh, yeah," Vortex says, sounding very pleased with himself. "Would've had his whole head if the Prime hadn't shown up and put that stupid gun in my face." He's still annoyed about that. He holds up First Aid's hand, and makes the fingers waggle at Knifepoint. "Explosives could be in my locker," he muses. Knifepoint laughs at the finger-waggling, a grin starting to form on his faceplates as Vortex talks. "Impressive. Most mechs in this army wouldn't have gotten that close to him, especially with Prime nearby..." His grin widens at the mention of the explosives, unwelded wing twitching in amusement. "Even if they're not, I have a few things to show you that might be interested in, anyway. Might kill the time until our dearest CMO decides to grace the medbay with his presence again and we can get your rotors attached." "Things?" Vortex says, highly intrigued. Two things work in Knifepoints favour - he doesn't like Quickrazor (who Vortex has for a while suspected is of a similar mould to the medics who defected), and he laughed at the hand. Vortex leaps off the repair berth, tried to flick the rotors he doesn't currently posses, and gives one last angry look at the CMO's office door. "Yeah, let's see them." Knifepoint's grin widens at that, also glancing at the office door. "Don't forget your collection. I like the optic, especially." He says, fingers on one hand twitching slightly as he speaks, resisting the urge to just pull out his own little collection of the things here. But they're less likely to be barged in on in the barracks, and the fewer people who know about the contents of his subspace and storage bins, the better. Just as Knifepoint speaks, Vortex realises he needs to pack everything back into his subspace. And he does, quickly, adding the two tools he picked up out of the tray by the repair berth. "Done," he says, interested to see whether Knifepoint cares about his little appropriation. Quickrazor releases the lock on the door, and walks out to survey his domain. He has a half-finished cube in his hand, and he turns to relock the door when he notes medbay's occupants. A frown mars what was a strangely content expression. An astute observer could note that Quickrazor seems overdue for a good buffing- his silver armor has several smudges on it. "Knifepoint, Vortex." he rumbles. Even though he watches Vortex steal the two tools, Knifepoint doesn't seem to care much. It'd be more than a little hypocritical for him to say something, considering how much he's stolen himself... His grin drops the moment Quickrazor appears, and for a moment it's replaced by an annoyed scowl. He manages to smooth it out to a totally impassive expression, though he does eye the smudges with distaste. "Quickrazor, sir." He greets blandly. Vortex isn't surprised to see that Quickrazor isn't quite as shiny as the last time he saw him, after Knifepoint's earlier comment. "Rotors?" he says to Quickrazor. Then, "And what's all that slag about tyin' me down? I only just met Onslaught, and he ain't my commander." Quickrazor only snorts at Knifepoint, refusing any sort of explanation. "I have your rotors, Vortex, and I was given to understand by Onslaught that it would be to everyone's best interests if you were restrained." He retrieves the new parts, shiny and black and suitably sharp. Knifepoint rolls his optics the moment Quickrazor's attention is diverted. "Caaaan I ask why those weren't out here so I could attach them and actually finish Vortex's repairs, sir?" He asks, keeping his tone as dry and uninterested as possible. He glances at Vortex then, his unwelded wing twitching again. "Later, then?" "Uh-huh?" Vortex doesn't sound convinced at Quickrazor's explanation. "He doesn't even know me! Frag." Word about him, apparently, gets around. Then the new rotors appear, and Vortex grins. "Looking good. Can I get that mod where they're swords?" He heard that one of the Autobot rotaries had got it, and has been jealous ever since. A little late, again, he realises he's meant to be doing something else. Rotors or awesome yet unknown things... he goes for the 'later' option on the unknown things, hoping Knifepoint is serious on that. "Sure," he says. Quickrazor scowls. "No, you most certainly canNOT get a 'sword mod'. Those take ages to become confirtable with, so you'd end up chopping off your own head were you to try." He jerks his thumb at the berth. "Face down, Vortex." Looking at Knifepoint, he smirks. "Because I keep important things in my office, that's why. You could have commed me." Knifepoint huffs again, putting his hands on his hips. "The parts to repair a patient in stasis are so important they need to be locked in your office instead of being out where they can actually be used to /repair them/, sir? I /did/ comm you." Well, pinged him a few times to tell the CMO to comm him, but it was pretty much the same thing to him. "You never answered." Vortex throws himself back onto the repair berth, face down and sprawling. "I won't cut my head off!" he moans, then grows quiet as Knifepoint replies and it seems like an argument is in the air. He rather likes other peoples' arguments. Quickrazor blinks. He had? Oh /scrap/. "I never received any transmission from you." He ignores the implication of dereliction of duty. That's /bad/ slag. And he never intended such. "I kept them in my office because that is where I put them after acquiring them." He moves to the prone Vortex and begins detaching the stubby bits of the old rotor blades. "I sent /multiple/ transmissions. There is no way all of them failed, unless my comm unit is malfunctioning or Soundwave has decided to start blocking all comm transmissions within Polyhex for some reason." Knifepoint says flatly, optics narrowing slightly. "All my systems are running perfectly, and I /highly/ doubt Soundwave's doing that." Vortex snickers and stretches, then spins his output shaft a little. It tickles to have hands where hands really aren't meant to go. "Maybe you should get your comms checked out," he says to Quickrazor, just to show a little solidarity with Knifepoint. Quickrazor frowns. "I was occupied with something important, Knifepoint. And yes, it's possible that that caused me to miss a single transmission, but more than one? No." Quickrazor had firmly tesolved to bluff this one out. "Stop that, Vortex, or I'll install these upside.down!" He taps the offending shaft with a piece of broken metal. "Soundwave would know, though. Why not go ask him? He loves having his time wasted by things like missed comms." Quickrazor smirks and begins the somewhat painstaking work of balancing copter blades. Knifepoint's engines rumble quietly in annoyance at that- sadly, Quickrazor's right, and he can't exactly go to Soundwave just for this. But then something else the mech said catches his attention, and his annoyance fades as a smirk starts to grow. "Oh?" He begins innocently enough, leaning against a nearby berth to watch Quickrazor work on Vortex. "What were you working on? We don't have any other patients at the moment, and you said 'acquired' the blades, not made them." Which is interesting in and of itself, given that the supply convoy being attacked was what sent Vortex here in the first place. "Surely your little 'experiments' aren't so important you'd ignore a comm from medical staff, possibly asking for your assistance?" "No such thing as upside down," Vortex says, although he isn't entirely sure that Quickrazor is bluffing. He settles down though, and resolves to listen to the remainder of the conversation. Working out the dynamic between these two could be quite rewarding, and potentially very useful. He lays his head down on the surface of the berth and transforms himself into the model patient - silent and completely compliant for as long as it takes. Quickrazor works intently on Vortex's new blades, toghtening and oiling and occasionally offering a sharp tap where necessary. He holds up a single finger to indicate to Knifepoint that he'll explain in a moment. As he continues his work, his mind works furiously. "It wasn't an experiment, and I hardly think that my affairs are any concern of yours! It wasn't an /emergency/." Quickrazor is oddly defensive. Knifepoint narrows his optics slightly at the way Quickrazor reacts, wings twitching in interest and earning another small flinch. "Not /this/ time. But it could have been; if you missed several normal comms, what's to say you won't miss an urgent one in the future?" He tilts his helm, watching Quickrazor work for a few moments without any smarmy comments. If it wasn't a patient, part fabrication, or 'experiment' that had distracted the other medic... "Ohhhhhh." He says slowly, smirk widening as he leans back against the berth more. Quickrazor scowls. He turns to face the Seeker. "What, exactly, are you implying here?" His dark red optics almost seem to whirl. "Nothing, sir." Knifepoint answers, forcing the smirk off his face and drawing out the vowels just to be annoying. Oh, this is just /perfect./ If only he knew who Quickrazor had been with... Still, just knowing (well, suspecting) what the other medic had been doing... Quickrazor growls. "You had better not be." The last thing Quickrazor needed was to know /that/... He turned back to Vortex and continued working, a faint trace of energon flushing his cheeks. Knifepoint grins in amusement, heaving himself up onto the berth he's leaning on and just watching the CMO work on Vortex. Ohhhh, this is going to be a fun orn... "Anything you need me to do, sir?" Quickrazor can't resist. "Yes. Still your restless lips!" He tweaks Vortex's fourth blade, reseating it. "And grab that oil over there, the one with the gold cap.". Knifepoint shoots Quickrazor an annoyed look at that but drops back off the berth, obediently fetching the indicated oil and silently offering it to the CMO. He wants him to not talk, fine. Aft. Quickrazor smirks at the other medic. "You /do/ follow orders. Wonderful." He returns to his work, devoutly hoping that nothing more would come of this. He's had enough problems in the short time he'd been in Polyhex. Vortex's repairs were finally done, though, and there was nothing else that needed his attention. Except, maybe... "Knifepoint. Vortex is finished. I have business to attend to in my office. Rest assured that if you comm, I will answer." With that, the CMO sends a daraburst to his office door and strides inside, the door closing rather quickly behind him. Knifepoint glares at the door as soon as it shuts, making a rude gesture after Quickrazor. "Frag you /and/ whoever you have bent over your desk, you aft." He mutters with a huff of his vents, deciding to just ignore the problem for now. He'd find out eventually, he was sure of it.
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