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wyntir_knightSo I didn't post last week because I was suffering from a total lack of sleep. This week was better so I've gotten some editing done. I still need to finish the last half, but I'm hoping that posting helps get the creative juices flowing.
So this is from Bleeding Daylight.
---
“Huffer, whether you like it or not, we have to work with the organics,” Smokescreen said as he leaned back in his chair.
The minibot sat across from him in the newly minted psychologist’s office looking about as sullen as any mech possibly could.
“They are disgusting, virus-riddled vermin and there is no way that I am ever allowing any of those things to travel inside me!” Huffer groused.
Smokescreen fought back a chuckle at that. It wouldn’t help anyone even if he did find the entire situation more than a little ridiculous.
“Nobody is going to make you carry anyone,” he said as soothingly as he could manage. “Yes, occasionally our allies need some transport but it’s entirely voluntary. Optimus has made it clear that he’s not going to make any of us do anything we don’t want to. He may ask, but he will never demand.”
Huffer crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head violently. “But Carly asked me to-”
“Yes, asked,” Smokescreen said quickly, interrupting the minibot. “And when you said no she asked Bumblebee. No harm no foul, right?”
“It’s only a matter of time before one of them infects one of us with something! I mean, their computers are riddled with viruses and malware and spyware and who knows what else! And then what happens? We’re all going to get-”
“Huffer!” Smokescreen snapped. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Huffer, you need to work with the humans. They aren’t going to infect us by their presence and so long as you don’t jack into an unknown system you won’t get sick. We’ve been over this already.”
Huffer pursed his lips and looked away. He remained silent for a long time, his knees bouncing with nervous tension.
“You know what, this session’s over,” he said. “I was supposed to be here for three quarters of a joor and I’ve been here for three quarters of a joor.”
“An hour, Huffer. It’s called an hour here,” Smokescreen corrected. “And fine. We still have ten minutes, but I don’t think we’re going to accomplish anything in that time. You can go.”
As soon as the door closed behind Huffer, Smokescreen opened a channel to Ratchet.
“Hey Ratch? Have I thanked you recently for talking me into being the crews’ therapist?”
Ratchet’s chuckle was warm and surprisingly comforting.
“Huffer I take it?”
“How in the seventeen worlds did you talk Prowl of all mechs into approving this?” Smokescreen asked. “Given that my creche brother knows full well that I am in no way a psychologist? And I’m still not entirely sure that he trusts me.”
“Yeah,” Ratchet replied brightly, “but you’re about as close as we’re gonna. Given that neither Hoist nor I are dumb enough to accept the job and we both know that you’re a glutton for punishment. And Prowl trusts you fine. He wouldn’t have signed off otherwise.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Smokescreen groused, though there was no heat in it. “You busy right now?”
“I’m going to guess that you need a drink to decompress from our little ray of sunshine?”
“A drink?” Smokescreen asked. “How about an even dozen?”
“I’d be remiss in my duties if I allowed you to risk energon poisoning. Again,” Ratchet chided.
The door to Smokescreen’s office opened and the CMO entered with several cubes of variously coloured high grade.
“I’ll be under medical supervision, Docbot!” Smokescreen said with a smile, motioning to the chair across from him. “Unless you think that you can’t handle the responsibility? Or is it that you’re worried I’ll outdrink you?”
Ratchet tossed the cubes on the table. “The blue ones are chromium, the green ones are copper, and Sideswipe assures me that the purple ones will taste just like a mixture of cobalt and gallium.”
“Oooh!” Smokescreen crooned as he picked up a purple cube. “Intoxicants from the bot-toys! Nice to see that they’re sharing.”
“They’ve always been happy to share, they just weren’t sure about sharing with you. Something about some questionable numbers in a betting pool?” Ratchet replied as he sat down and opened the other purple cube. “Oh, and Smokes? It’ll be a cold day in the Pit when you can out-drink me.”
So this is from Bleeding Daylight.
---
“Huffer, whether you like it or not, we have to work with the organics,” Smokescreen said as he leaned back in his chair.
The minibot sat across from him in the newly minted psychologist’s office looking about as sullen as any mech possibly could.
“They are disgusting, virus-riddled vermin and there is no way that I am ever allowing any of those things to travel inside me!” Huffer groused.
Smokescreen fought back a chuckle at that. It wouldn’t help anyone even if he did find the entire situation more than a little ridiculous.
“Nobody is going to make you carry anyone,” he said as soothingly as he could manage. “Yes, occasionally our allies need some transport but it’s entirely voluntary. Optimus has made it clear that he’s not going to make any of us do anything we don’t want to. He may ask, but he will never demand.”
Huffer crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head violently. “But Carly asked me to-”
“Yes, asked,” Smokescreen said quickly, interrupting the minibot. “And when you said no she asked Bumblebee. No harm no foul, right?”
“It’s only a matter of time before one of them infects one of us with something! I mean, their computers are riddled with viruses and malware and spyware and who knows what else! And then what happens? We’re all going to get-”
“Huffer!” Smokescreen snapped. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Huffer, you need to work with the humans. They aren’t going to infect us by their presence and so long as you don’t jack into an unknown system you won’t get sick. We’ve been over this already.”
Huffer pursed his lips and looked away. He remained silent for a long time, his knees bouncing with nervous tension.
“You know what, this session’s over,” he said. “I was supposed to be here for three quarters of a joor and I’ve been here for three quarters of a joor.”
“An hour, Huffer. It’s called an hour here,” Smokescreen corrected. “And fine. We still have ten minutes, but I don’t think we’re going to accomplish anything in that time. You can go.”
As soon as the door closed behind Huffer, Smokescreen opened a channel to Ratchet.
“Hey Ratch? Have I thanked you recently for talking me into being the crews’ therapist?”
Ratchet’s chuckle was warm and surprisingly comforting.
“Huffer I take it?”
“How in the seventeen worlds did you talk Prowl of all mechs into approving this?” Smokescreen asked. “Given that my creche brother knows full well that I am in no way a psychologist? And I’m still not entirely sure that he trusts me.”
“Yeah,” Ratchet replied brightly, “but you’re about as close as we’re gonna. Given that neither Hoist nor I are dumb enough to accept the job and we both know that you’re a glutton for punishment. And Prowl trusts you fine. He wouldn’t have signed off otherwise.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Smokescreen groused, though there was no heat in it. “You busy right now?”
“I’m going to guess that you need a drink to decompress from our little ray of sunshine?”
“A drink?” Smokescreen asked. “How about an even dozen?”
“I’d be remiss in my duties if I allowed you to risk energon poisoning. Again,” Ratchet chided.
The door to Smokescreen’s office opened and the CMO entered with several cubes of variously coloured high grade.
“I’ll be under medical supervision, Docbot!” Smokescreen said with a smile, motioning to the chair across from him. “Unless you think that you can’t handle the responsibility? Or is it that you’re worried I’ll outdrink you?”
Ratchet tossed the cubes on the table. “The blue ones are chromium, the green ones are copper, and Sideswipe assures me that the purple ones will taste just like a mixture of cobalt and gallium.”
“Oooh!” Smokescreen crooned as he picked up a purple cube. “Intoxicants from the bot-toys! Nice to see that they’re sharing.”
“They’ve always been happy to share, they just weren’t sure about sharing with you. Something about some questionable numbers in a betting pool?” Ratchet replied as he sat down and opened the other purple cube. “Oh, and Smokes? It’ll be a cold day in the Pit when you can out-drink me.”