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| - Lounge/Observation Room Converted from an unused medical observation room, the lounge still offers a view of the Repair Bay through a one-way plexisteel mirror that encompasses almost half of the east wall. Sound, too, is transmitted from the Repair Bay, allowing the friends of the injured to see and hear what's going on without distracting the medics from their delicate work. More than that, it's also a place to rest and relax, furnished with comfortable chairs, various video feeds of both Terran and Cybertronian style entertainment, and an automated bar dispensing energon for those who want to relax with some refreshments. Blurr shouldn't be here. He should be in the repair bay, because he's a mess. It looks like he's been through a waste compactor or something. Still, he's sitting at the bar in the lounge, drinking himself into an overenergizes stupor. That's what he used to do, back when he couldn't get his mind off of the races, just after the sports industry had been destroyed by Decepticon insurgents. This time it's Cuprahex. This mech...well, he doesn't typically handle failure very well. And given his past life, it isn't surprising. At any rate, he is currently slumped on a bar stool, with his face planted onto the bar in front of him. There are several empty glasses of high-grade scattered about, though if one were familiar with the various brews, this one wasn't one of the stronger ones. Being built so lightly had its disadvantages... Perceptor was in the lab working when he was alerted to a medical emergency. However, when he arrived to the repair bay there were no new patience. That is, until one of the gumbies informed him that there was a patient in the lounge, self medicating. A disapproving expression screwed onto his face, Perceptor heads up to the lounge to attend to the patient and give a stern lecture on the importance of proper medical treatment. He arrives, a bit of a scowl on his face. "Blurr, what is the meaning of this? You look a dreadful mess, and these wounds need severely tended to in a proper medical facility, not in the confines of some../bar/!" - he pulls out a scanner and begins to diagnose the multitude of injuries he has. "Well. Don't you look incredibly terrible." That voice belongs to none other than the great Mirage. He saunters in, clearly feeling as smug and holier-than-thou with each step. There's hardly even a moment where he doesn't seem to have his non-existent nose turned up at what he's passing by in this particular area. He even pauses near the bar, peering at the countertop before running a finger along it. His optics roll. "This bar isn't faring much better." It is about this time that he looks up and also notices Perceptor. "That is precisely what I intended to tell him. He really shouldn't be here. He's leaking all over the place and that just won't do." Blurr is vaguely aware of someone scolding him. He looks up, his optics dim. And his face. Oh, his face. He really does look terrible. Looking up, he picks up the half-finished glass he'd been drinking from and downs the rest of it, ignoring Perceptor as he starts the scans. "NonoIdon'twanttogobackthere,I'mfinehere...I'mfine..." he is barely intelligible, his words running all running together. Some people might slur when they're overenergized, but not Blurr. "You are taking up too much space. You need to relocate yourself to the nearest junk pile." Mirage is not about to cater to the needs of this Bot that's clearly using this time at the bar to be both a mess and an attention whore. Mirage is carefully leaning on the side of the bar that he wiped off, just to make sure he doesn't pick up on any of the filth. "What did you do, anyway? Racing your reflection again?" "Relocate?" Junk pile? Who---oh. glitchead. Blurr manages to glare at Mirage. "You dump yourself into the scrapheap, glitchead." he retorts, suddenly speaking more clearly. Must've been the rage. "And for the record, I was running intel to some rebels in Crystal City. Where've you been, looking for turbofoxes to train? Tch." "Your anger will not get you patched up any sooner. It is also displaced. So unless you would like to feel first hand how it feels when I'm picking apart thi--" Mirage actually stops in the middle of his rebuttal. "Running what Intel? How come I was not alerted to this operation?" "Patched? Nonono...Idon'tneedtobepatched...I'mnotangry..." Blurr seems to have developed a strong aversion to the repair bay. "I'mfineIswearI'mjustfine..." He stumbles off of the stool as Mirage suddenly ceases his berating of Blurr's behavior. "....” "Information...about...nowaitit'sclassifiednotauthorizedtotalkaboutitintheopen...onlyatIntelHQ...notherenotherenothere..." He trails off, his optics filled with dread. "M-mirage--I-Idon'twanttogobackinthere..." What is he talking about? Well, he's definitely hammered. Perceptor decides to take a different tact. "Blurr.." he says, with a bloated Blurr, he reaches out for his comrades shoulder, "I need a huge favor..I'm /really/ really blitzed..I need someone to help pour me into one of the beds down in repair..think..*hic*..you're up to the task?" Perceptor smashed? This is interesting, indeed. Oh wait, he's not really wasted, only pretending to be! Now normally this wouldn't make a lot of sense, only moments ago the scientist had been scolding Blurr for trying to self-medicate, and now he was suddenly overenergized himself? But, Blurr, being in this half-aware state, is completely tricked. Perceptor has exploited the one aspect of Blurr's personality components that is bound to show through no matter how completely smashed he is--his ego. He gives the other Autobot an inquisitive look before nodding. "Repair...butbutbut...oh...fine. I'lldoitforyou." And he proceeds to attempt to drag Perceptor away from the bar and down toward the repair bay, though in his weakened state (and he isn't that strong to begin with), this proves to be difficult. Perceptor helps Blurr, and subtlety makes it the other way around, so that he's helping Blurr down to the repair bay. Once there, He eases Blurr into a chair and engages the basic restraints that any other patient might recieve. It's actually a good thing that Blurr is totally hammered, because if he'd been in his right mind he would have caught on to what Perceptor was doing and made things much more difficult. Additionally it would have been a lot harder to trick him. But Perceptor probably knows this, which was likely why he'd attempted it at all. He struggles weakly when he realizes he's being restrained, mumbling incomprehensible words that all ran together, but there's not much he can do, now. A few gumby medics stop what they are doing to watch Perceptor, their optics wide. "...Perceptor! How...how did you--? How did you get him to come back down here?" one of them asks incredulously. Perceptor looks to them, and responds in his chilled, hard scientific tone. "I did what any good friend would do to save another - I lied to him." he pauses and looks him over. "We have extensive damage within the core superstructures and secondary kinetic systems. Let's see to those first, and I think we'd be wise to keep him compromised medically until we're done for the most part. I've enable the restraints to get tighter the faster his systems vibrate, and get stronger the more he retrains. He's going no where until he's repaired. Let's contact fabrication for replacement armor pieces, and I will see personally to the more delicate repairs to his systems." "Right, of course. Right away!" The gumbies nod and quickly set to work, some of them putting the work order in to fabrication, while others hurry to fetch more sedative. This wouldn't be the first time Blurr had to be restrained in the repair bay, so this time they know the exact dose necessary to keep him under. One of the supervising medics moves to Perceptor's side, ready to assist him in any way necessary. He looks relieved. "Phew, thanks Perceptor. We thought we'd never be able to pin him down. He seems to have a serious aversion to being down here, ever since he got that weird virus." Perceptor continues to perform his preliminary scans of Blurr's affected systems, "I noticed that myself. I hope I can extract a small sample of his energon so that I can research and perhaps concoct an anti-virus for him. No one should fear coming here - especially someone who puts themselves in harms way as much as Blurr does. He's one of our lynchpins here, and one of the better mechs I've had the pleaure to know. That he's gone this long is a travesty." and with that finishes the scans, "Fair enough. We're going to have to do some fairly moderate repairs, but nothing criticial outside of seeing to that Virus. This will take some delicacy, howeveer." -- and the lens on his shoulder compacts and shifts, connecting to his eye like a high tech jewler's loupe. "Ahhh yes, that's much better to see now. I can effect his repairs perfectly." "Well," The medic begins as he starts organizing the necessary repair tools and laying them out so that they're easier to reach quickly, as well as powering up the arc welder. "I don't know if it's in his fuel lines, or even if this fear of the repair bay is just psychological. When they destroyed that..." he shakes his head, not really sure of the details. "--whatever it was, it seemed to disappear from his systems." Perceptor speaks steadily as there are intricate sparks and arcs coming from the speedster's chest. "I will definitely work to improve his disposition towards this repair bay." he pulls out an obviously mangled part and replaces it with something bright and shiny and new, "Such attitude can't stand, especially in this time. It appears he's gone quite a while with these injuries. I'm not sure if a report would be pleasantly met by my medical collagues or command." *arc weld, spark spark, weld* The gumby nods, taking the damaged part and placing it into a receptacle dedicated to recycling, and which would be sent to a smelting pool once it's full. Speaking of which, it's almost full. Sighing, he looks about, seeing that all the other medics were busy tending to the other patients. It would have to be taken care of later. He watches Perceptor work with deft expertise, a fascinated look in his optics. He's always admired the mech, as many of the other 'Bot technicians do. "You'll find a way to fix the problem. I know. You always do." And of course, the garbage collector just happens to be making his rounds this afternoon, just like he always does every cycle without fail. Furthermore, seeing that Perceptor and the gumby technician were working, Tailgate inches into the room hoping not to disturb them. "Don't mind me," he says very quietly in a soft tone of voice that's barely audible, "just doing my job.." When he sees Blurr is the one receiving repairs, his optics widen and he tries to hurry over to the trash receptacle to empty it quickly and leave before Blurr has a chance to wake up and see him. But in his haste he accidentally knocks it over, spilling its contents on Perceptor's foot servo. "O-oh! Sorry!" He cries. "I didn't mean to.." Perceptor makes a disgruntled sound deep within himself, "Not always, my friend. Not always. I am and shall forever be a scientist by expertise, and a medic by necessity." another pause, "Okay there, that should take care of that now to onto--" and tenses when the heavy garbage gets on his foot, "Well, not that, I think." he gives a bit of a weak smile to Tailgate, "Hello Tailgate, "I know you didn't. Let's get this cleaned up shall we?" he leans down and starts picking up what he can before continuing Blurr's repairs. Tailgate watches, wide opticked, as Perceptor helps him pick up the trash. For a moment, he just stands there, dumbfounded. Most mechs would just overlook him or express annoyance at his clumsiness. Then he realizes he should help Percy and quickly begins gathering the trash up and placing it rusty old can he used to collect garbage in. "Oh, hello! You're very modest, you know!" Perceptor makes a dismissive gesture, "I don't know much about humility. I know I'm a very good scientist, but that and a credit gets me a cup of energon. I do know, that now til' all are one, we are most definitely in this together." -- he continues to work and completes a signifigant repair to Blurr, the result being that massive power plant that gives the mech his speed spinning up back to full power. "That should help quite a bit." "I know, I know, but--you're just that good..." the medic says quietly. Yeah, that's honestly how he regards the scientist. Seriously though, he can pretty much do anything. He can fight, he can repair, he can build things, and of course he's extremely intelligent. About the only he can't do is fly or drive fast. As Perceptor leans over to help Tailgate out, the gumby works to brush up on the finishing touches, sealing up the major injuries. He glances at Tailgate, shaking his head. He feels sorry for the mech. "...shouldn't there be drones to do stuff like that?" he asks. No Cybertronian should be subjected to such a humiliating job, in his opinion. Meanwhile, just for Tailgate's luck, Blurr stirs on the berth. Of course causing the restraints to tighten. He tenses up, looking fearfully about before noticing the medics, Perceptor, and Tailgate. "Ugh...how long was I out?" he groans. "But of course you do!" Tailgate insists. "You wouldn't say that if you didn't. Look, you just fixed Blurr up in just a few breems and.. without hardly a brag! That speaks volumes, y'know," he says, angling his helm downward as he uses an old broom sweeps the remainder of the garbage into the rusty metal can. "That's more than I can say for some of the others." He glances briefly at Blurr, and when he realizes he's, waking up, he drops the broom quickly and hides behind Perceptor bashfully. Perceptor chuckles softly as he continues repairs, "Not nearly as long as you think you were. You were running on fumes and high grade energon for quite sometime. I had to trick you to get you down here." he says gently, and looks behind him, "Tailgate, it's quite alright. He has no plans to consume you." - he looks back to Blurr, "Our little friend here is bashful. He's Tailgate, and a fine member of support he is." he continues to speak to Tailgate in a friendly manner, "That's just how some natures are. The important thing is that the task get completed and our brethren are repaired and released better than they were before they came in." - he turns back to Blurr, "How are you feeling, chap? You're still in quite a state of disrepair, but I've gotten the worst of it." As Perceptor continues the repair work, the gumby medic is called away to assist in a procedure on another patient. "It was good working with you," he says quickly, looking slightly nervous. "Let me know if you need any more help." and with that, he shuffles off. "...." A sigh escapes Blurr's vocal synth. "Great. Did I---wait. You tricked me?" He manages to look irritated despite his weakened state. He then glances at Tailgate, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah...I know who he is. Worked with him before, actually." 1986 Pontiac Trans-Am cringes when Perceptor points his presence out to Blurr. Aw scrap! He was hoping he'd go unnoticed. However, when Perceptor mentiones that he's a fine member of support, he beams a little and gives Percy a curious look. "B-But you don't even know me..." he mutters quietly, more to himself than any other mech. "I know.. I just wish everyone would think like you." Perceptor shrugs a bit, "You wouldn't leave the lounge, so I had to convince you to come down here to make repairs. Can't very well operate on you in a bar, can I?" he continues to work, tweaking and resetting systems, and nods to Tailgate, "I don't know you personally but I make it a point to know Autobot City personnel. You never know who might be suitable for a job. Usually that level of knowledge falls to security, but I find its useful to know as well." ".... I always try to go the extra mile at work, but my boss always finds me and brings me back.." Tailgate mutters quietly to himself, still hiding behind Perceptor's leg. "Oh really!? That's fantastic! I would love to be suitable for a job... if the job is suitable for me..." he says a bit gloomily. He makes no comment about Blurr's behavior last night. He's not at all surprised. "Er..." Blurr mutters. "SorrysorrysorryaboutthatImust'vebeenreallyoverenergized..." he says, looking embarrassed and reverting to his 'natural' manner of speaking. "Thanks for--you know." he shifts uncomfortably in the restraints, again causing them to tighten on him. "Um....could you get me out of these? I know I wasn't very reliable before, but I promise I won't try to run off." Perceptor smiles, "I will try and find more work suitable for you, and you suitable to more work. Perhaps I can have you assist part time in my lab.." he says to Tailgate and releases Blurr's restraints. "I'm satisified you won't rush back to the bar." he says with a bit of a sniff. "Most of the major work is done. You had a severely damaged hyperkinetic relay network that needed replaced. You might noticed you're not as slow as you felt before you came down. You were overenergizing trying to compensate. The rest is superstructure damage and armor repair, which is happening right now if you promise to stand still." "O-Oh really? That would be wonderful! A break from garbage duty.. awesome! Not that I minded that much... but I always welcome change." Tailgate grins, nodding at Perceptor. "I would love to part time assist!" He beams at Perceptor, nearly forgetting about Blurr. Stand still, yeah right. As soon as Perceptor releases the restraints, Blurr bolts off of the berth and makes a break for the door. However, he barrels right into Tailgate, tripping over him and sending both of them tumbling into a cabinet full of medical supplies. CRASH It breaks open, sending syringes, cables, and drugs spewing all over the place. The gumby medics yelp and jump out of the way. Perceptor smiles at Tailgate "Then I will--" and Blurr breaks free, but he falls all over the place making a mess and crashing into Tailgate. Helping Blurr up, then back into the chair and restraining him, "Okay, this time you're not leaving until you're properly repaired! If you get wrecked in the field, Rodimus will NOT be coming to me wondering why his mechs are going out half finished." his voice is gentle but stern and he's not having any of your sass today, Blurr. Gumbies appear to help clean up the mess and the scientist reaches a hand out to help his new friend. He looks to Blurr, "Are you QUITE finished?" "Agh!" the little minibot cries as he gets run over by Blurr, for the nth time since having met the speedster. As cables and medical equipment goes flying, Tailgate flails helplessly, as he's being trampled by Blurr. "Oh Percy! I'm sorry! You probably don't want me as a part time lab assistant anymore.. seems like everywhere I go, trouble follows," he says glumly, quickly recovering and rushing to assist the gumbies as they clean up the mess Blurr has made. "...." Blurr doesn't actually struggle when Perceptor restrains him again. "OhfraggingPrimusI'msorryI'msorryIdon'tknowhwatcameovermeIdon't...!" he cries, along with a bunch of other things that no one else could actually understand; he's talking far too fast. But he stops eventually, doing what he can to calm himself down before he spoke again. You know it does take quite a large amount of self-control and concentration for him to actually talk at a normal rate so that other people can actually comprehend what he's saying without having to think twice about it or ask him to repeat it. Hence, it follows that when he's lost it, he has difficulty controlling his speech patterns. Yeah, if the Autobots had a speech therapist, he'd probably be the first one to get sent to them. But, unfortunately, such things are luxuries that could not be afforded in times like these. "....sorry." he says finally. "I don't know why I did that--I couldn't control it..." He glances momentarily down at Tailgate as he assists the gumbies in cleaning up the mess. He looks...he actually apologetic towards him for once. But of course Tailgate hasn't noticed Blurr's apologetic look, he's too busy fretting over a broken beaker. Unfortunately it only adds to his frustration, he is trying without success to piece it back together. Perceptor is calm. He is the paragon of calm. He looks to Blurr, "Let me finish repairs, and in a few days we're going to figure out what the problem is with you not wanting to be in the repair bay. You've never been like this, so let's fix it, ok?" he gives the mech a gentle reassuring pat on the shoulder. He looks to Tailgate, "Why would a mishap disqualify you from assissting me? If I had that mindset, there'd be no one in the lab including myself." he reaches out and likewise gives the minibot a reassuing pat on the shoulder. "Now then, shall we complete your repairs, Blurr? Get you all settled and back to your stylish self?" Blurr nods. "Right...yeah..." Stylish, yep. This speedster is quite stylish indeed. In fact, he can't help but be slightly flattered by the remark. His optics wander back over to Tailgate, and he finally calls out to the minibot. "Tailgate....c'mere. The other medics will take care of that, don't worry about it. I mean, I would, but--" he glances down at the restraints. "you know." The minibot is a little too preoccupied trying arduously to mend the broken beaker to really hear what Perceptor is saying, but as the larger mech reaches over to pat on him on the shoulder, he shifts slightly to the left so that Perceptor's hand servo lands on his helm. He mutters quietly to himself, subconsciously, he likes being patted on the helm rather than the shoulder, although he would never admit it. As for Blurr, he is either ignoring him or... was that a hint of fright in his large blue optics? Anyhow, he continues to try uselessly to repair the broken beaker. It doesn't take long for the more superficial repairs to take place, and even less for the new bluish plates of armor to be applied. Before Blurr knows what's happening he releases the restraints. "There you go Blurr. See? Nothing cruel or unusual about it." he then reaches down and scoops up the beaker, "Tailgate, sometimes once thing is broken it can't be repaired. No matter how hard you might try to make it so." he looks up a moment and if one could triangulate his visiion there's only one place he's looking and it's not far from the repair bay. "Best we leave this in the rubbish bin, shall we?" Blurr moves away from the restraints, rubbing his wrists where the restraints had been for a moment. "...Yeah..yeah I know." he frowns, still not really sure what had come over him. "I'm sorry I made things so difficult for you, Perceptor." The speedster is still looking over at Tailgate, though. He sighs, and now that he's free from the berth he moves over to him. "Tailgate, I'm talking to you, you know." Perceptor nods, "I know, Blurr and I bear no ill will or grudge. I'm more concerned for your phobia than I am any percieved slight. Will you meet me in a day or two to discuss it, and possible plan a course of a treatment?" Tailgate continues to fiddle with the broken beaker, muttering incomprehensibly. However, when Perceptor leans over and confiscates the beaker, he protests mildly for a moment. Then he stops dead when Perceptor says that some things cannot be repaired no matter how hard one tries. Suddenly, his optics dim and he seems very sad--unbeknownst to the other mechs, he's been reminded of a sad memory. He hangs his helm, thinking of the time when that vial of innermost energon he'd given to a dear friend who was no longer at base was broken by none other than the blue speedster himself. "You're right," he says softly now. "Some things just can't be fixed. No.. I'm alright." He turns around, still trying to ignore Blurr, although he knows the speedster really doesn't like it. Blurr vents a sigh over the vents in his rear boosters. No, he didn't like being ignored, but he continues anyway. "Look, I'm sorry I ran over you." he says, right up front. "And I'm sorry about that fiasco...before. You and Grapple risked your lives to save me. I suppose I didn't...I guess I never properly thanked you." The minibot looks at him, his expression completely unreadable. He listens attentively, but doesn't comment right away. Instead, he just looks at Blurr, his faceplates oddly blank--this is uncharacteristic of him, usually he is so bad at hiding what he's feeling. "Okay." He finally replies. But he doesn't say anything afterwards. Uncomfortable silence ensues. Awkward moment. Oh, you just have to love those. Blurr shifts uncomfortably, and rubs the back of the neck. "...so...uh..." Another long, awkward, silence. "Scrap in the smelting pool, then?" "....." he looks down at the floor then back up at Blurr. "... you don't actually know what happens to that stuff, do you?" Tailgate asks. He pauses. "You know, it's kinda funny, back in the Golden Age, when Cybertron was at the peak of prosperity, that was when the scrap dens and garbage pits were the fullest. Maybe it was because no one actually picked out of them...anyway, I was just a maintenance worker back then too. Me and my co-workers, cycle after cycle, would sort the scrap from the garbage. The garbage would get burned, and the scrap, well, we took it by the truckloads down to the smelting pool and dump it in. Sometimes accidents happened. I guess that was why I never got to see a few of my friends ever again. Maybe not just a few either. Maybe several." He looks away. "After the scrap was in there for a full 10.5 cycles, the smelting pool would be drained and the molten scrap collected, refined, and reformed into armor for those gladitorial pit fights down in that hellhole called Kaon. But as you can imagine, the scrap metal didn't make for good armor. But what choice did they have? Most of them were creditless, having been dragged deep into a dark game they couldn't get out of. And the gladiators who took armor from us all eventually ended up in the same place their armor came from." Tailgate sighs. "So yeah. It is. But what I'm saying that what goes around comes around." "..." Blurr is silent for a moment, listening to the depressing story. Wait, Blurr, quiet? Amazing, right? But he really doesn't know how to respond to it. "I...I'm sorry, Tailgate. I really am. I--" he stares at the floor. "I won't use that saying any more." Tailgate sighs. "No.. don't apologize. You didn't know. In fact, I don't think any mechs really do. I'm not proud of what I did, Blurr. But everyone's got dirt." He looks at him. "The reason why I've been avoiding you is because I knew I would have to tell you something that's very hard for me to stay and you won't want to hear it either. I forgive you, and I accept your apology. I'll always forgive you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to expect a change. or that you'll stop hurting me. I can't. Not anymore. It's happened too much. And I don't want to be hurt anymore. Perceptor is right. Sometimes, you can't fix what you've broken. I have great respect for you as my superior. But you... cannot be my friend. So.. please...." he says very quietly, his voice shaky and tremorous, "don't speak to me--unless you have an order that I must follow." And he turns to leave quickly, his optics glassy.
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