IC Time on Earth: Sat Jun 22 14:02:16 2024

NCC Medical Ward

The Crystal City repair bay is far larger than previous versions in Imperial Headquarters or Trypticon himself. Clearly it was designed by a medic, for a medic. The entire room is rectangular in nature with medical beds arranged in a neat grid pattern. The beds themselves vary, with some being precious little more than metal slabs, and others having full scanners and tools attached, as well as everything in between. In total, there are about twenty beds. There is room for more in an emergency situation. The cabinets line the walls, spaced out between medical terminals. Everything has a place, and organization is key. With battle mode being initiated, the huge windows are covered up as the bay is encased in metal for its own protection. Access can still be gained with the right codes, however. Red warning lights flash on and off.

Contents:

Chimera

Scrapper's Art <SA> - Fourteen Pieces

MSE CO OFFICE (Earth)

Gumby Medic <NCC>

Obvious exits:

South <S> leads to NCC Central Command.

Southeast <SE> leads to NCC Central Hub.

East <E> leads to Mount R'Lyeh.

Chimera lurks about the medical section. Probably because she's looking for Arachnae. That wouldn't be much of a surprise-- to those who know who created her. Ah heck. It probably wouldn't actually be a surprise to most people, since she's not been very subtle about where her loyalties lie. And there's sort of an abstracted concern on this pretty little seeker's face as she peers about. Blue optics are still icy cold though.

Fleet walks in, his footfalls considerably quieter than makes sense for a robot of his size and weight. His movements are skittering, but still graceful, reminiscent of the quick steps a ballet dancer might take across a stage if one is familiar with the reference. If one were to watch closely, they might notice that every now and again, he actually fails to touch the ground - ah. He must have his antigravs on. He looks around nervously, trying to find someone from whom he can inquire about Arachnae's condition, while at the same time desiring to stay out of anyone's way.

Stay out of the way? Oh sure. But that's an art form that Chimera has perfected. She's still got those killer instincts of a special ops Autobot. And she's sure to be found as close as she can possibly be to Arachnae's table, without getting in any medic's way. She glances up at the yellow seeker, lifts one finely sculpted eyeridge, wiping the concern from her face in favor of a more neutral look. Sort of an inquiring look, in a way. Chimera's waiting for someone to come in and tell her to get back to the paperwork.

The yellow dancer has no reason to recognize the female, but he knows a 'staying out of the way' act when he sees one, and decides that this person might be the likeliest one to get information from. He skuttles over to her and nods his head politely. "Uh, greetings. My name is Fleet." He doesn't actually ask for her name, but simply implies the request in his introduction.

And unfortunately for Fleet, Chimera isn't exactly... polite. Nor did she recognize the subtle request. "Did you need something?" she asks, "Requisitions for Mil-Ops are on hold for the day. I have..." she says, with a tight note to the voice, "cleared the paperwork for the week." Mmhmm. You've just stumbled upon the secretary for Military Operations. HAH HAH.

"Ah," replies Fleet, sounding as though that made perfect sense to him. <Acting skill. Gotta love it.> "Well, in all honesty, that wasn't what I was after. I was hoping that perhaps you had word on Commander Arachnae's condition? I was... part of the squad that retrieved her." Part of the squad. A 'squad' that consisted of himself and Commander Cyclonus. A Fleet of one.

You just got Chimera's full attention. "You... were there?" She asks, "Do you know which... Autobots did this to her?" Chimera's frown is tinged with something ... else. "No one will tell me anything." She answers the other question petulantly, like a child. "Except that she is alive."

Fleet cocks his head thoughtfully. As a matter of fact, he had looked up the two he had spotted. "Two left the scene, but one was unconscious, so I daresay he didn't do the worst of the damage. That one was the one they call Mirage... he was carried away by the Protectobot, Hot spot." He sighs slightly at the startling lack of news. "Ah, well... perhaps I can lurk around a bit longer, anyway... at least until it's time for me to resume patrol."

Chimera snarls softly, almost surprised at something. "I wouldn't have thought Hot Spot capable of such a cowardly attack... Oh. Wait. He's an Autobot. Of course he is." She starts to pace, "And Mirage... Probably ambushed her. Treachery..." Of course, Chimera isn't necessarily sure of all her facts. She's just going off half cocked again. She mutters something else under real vocal range. You can bet it's probably not nice. Agitated. Agitated. Someone hurt her creator, and she's about ready to go off and do something about it.

Fleet watches Chimera pace. Head turns left. Head turns right. Head turns left. Head turns right. Good thing the Constructicons do such quality work, or this floor may be in trouble! "Er... it's possible, I'm sure. I had an encounter with Mirage myself not too long ago. Granted, I made the first strike, but he was spying us." He doesn't add that this was because they were spying on the Autobots. _That's_ not the important detail. Finally, he can't take it anymore, and he's forced to ask, "Uhm... if you don't mind my asking, what's your name?"

Chimera stops pacing somewhere in front of Fleet, and with a sudden quizzical look, gives him something that, for her, is a smile. "I am Chimera." She says simply, wonderingly. Hasn't everyone heard of her before? Of course not. She's been buried in that paperwork for far too long.

"Ah. Okay." He does not say 'pleased to meet you.' Why should he? He doesn't know whether he will be or yet. Unfortunately, having already given his name, there's little left to respond with, so instead he just shuffles quietly from left foot to right foot before he realizes what he's doing and stops.

Chimera tilts her head, watching the shuffle-dance. "Why are you yellow?" She asks, suddenly. "I haven't seen a yellow seeker before." Whether she likes the yellow or not, now there's another question. And she's not sure-- it's more of a pastel than a true golden yellow like... oh... somebody who she vaguely remembers.

Fleet barks out a brief, one-syllable chuckle at Chimera's question and shrugs both shoulders and wings. "I do believe I just drew a really oddball group of numbers at the random variant determinate points in the factory. Believe it or not, these were my original colors, and by the time it occurred to me to change them..." he trailed off and rocked backwards on his thruster-heels. "...by that time, I more or less saw being pale yellow as part of who I was, and didn't really have the urge to change it."

Chimera tilts her head again, "Oh." She sounds a little disappointed, "I see." Well. Kinda. She's green because Arachnae told her so. And because in the story that Doubleback gave her, she was green as well. Hoorah for colors. "Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Because until very recently I specialized in what most might term 'sludge duty.'" He grins, amused with... something. Himself probably. "Then I had a supervisor who decided that I wasn't... living up to my potential, and put me in for a transfer. So that I might put my... talents..." there's almost a sarcastic edge to his voice as he says this, "...to better use on behalf of the empire."

Chimera vaguely frowns, "They can do that?" She asks, suddenly realizing... "They can. So. What do you do now that is so different?"

The yellow robot walks over to an empty table and leans against it, crossing his arms and smiling with amusement. "Well, largely, a lot more patrol and a lot less cleaning, painting, and similar tasks." The smile flees Fleet's face as he stops to think about it. "Otherwise, though, the difference doesn't seem to be so much in what I'm doing but where I'm doing it and who I'm working with while doing it."

Chimera nods slowly, "So... there has been no change... other than your location..." Cool curiousity. "What would you rather be doing?"

'Usually, Dancing,' he thinks, although he does not say this out loud. Instead he lowers his head as he pauses to really consider the question. But really, if he were to be honest, "I... generally have no complaints about my duties. Although I could do with being used as a test subject a little less often. But beyond that..." he trails off, then shrugs his shoulders and wings again.

Fulcrum trudges into the medbay, what looks like a large cracked section of Trypticon's armor under his arm. He pauses for a moment, frowning slightly as he spots the other seekers. Wounded? Or just hanging out? Shrugging, he walks over to a medtable, putting the plate down carefully.

Chimera blinks. Yes. She can do that. "A test subject?" Intriguing. "No one has ever used me as a test subject..." She glances at Fulcrum. You can almost hear the wheels turning.

Fleet looks up as Fulcrum arrives. Medic! Kind-of! Maybe he has news! He tenses, practically ready to spring, looking about as predatory as a pastel-yellow seeker can look.

Fulcrum feels optics on him, turning from his appraisal of the metal to return Chimera and Fleet's interest with a blank expression, a faint frown still etched into his faceplate. "Chimera. Fleet." he says, by way of greeting, wondering why exactly they're looking at him.

Fleet pushes away from the table he's leaning against and sweeps towards Fulcrum (yeah, yeah. I know he's a seeker, not a sweep. It's a description of an action, people!) "Fulcrum," he answers, by way of return greeting. "I don't imagine you have any news on Arachnae's condition?"

Chimera just looks very interested in whatever Fulcrum has to say at this point, because, well. Y'know. And she's not going to be moving and sweeping dramatically. Who do you think she is? Jazz? Just waiting eagerly...

Fulcrum's hand twiches as Fleet /sweeps/ towards him, an instictive reaction to any fast approach, though he restrains himself from balling his hand into a fist completely. "No more than has already been disclosed" he drones.

Fleet pulls up quickly, sighs, and crosses his arms. "In other words, that's she's alive, and nothing more." He pauses and shrugs. "Ah, well." With that he moves back to his general place of lurkage, there to wait out what little bit of time he has left until he's forced to resume his patrols. "Sorry to... bother you, Fulcrum."

"He doesn't know anything." Announces Chimera testily, and resumes her pacing. Yeah. And looming. Because she's looming really well today. And feeling kinda guilty that she wasn't there to protect Nae, like she should have been.

Fleet resumes watching Chimera pace. Because it's something to do. Head left, head right, head left, head right. He could well have been watching a tennis match. The servos in his neck would probably be cursing him, had they the ability to curse.

Fulcrum blinks. They're both on edge, that much is certain. Fulcrum has been busy, and was engrossed in work when Arachnae was found. Were he to admit it, he probably knows /less/ than the two others. He certainly hasn't had the chance to personally check on Arachnae's condition yet, though that will certainly change. "Her condition is stable," he intones in his usual low tones, the statment sounding more like a dirge than words of comfort. "No doubt she will recover."

The yellow mechanoid lowers his head as he stops to consider. "That much, at least, is good hear. She... didn't look well when we picked her up." Didn't look well. That was the understatement of the century. No, scratch that. Odds are, _someone_ would come up with a bigger understatement. But it was certainly the understatement of the conversate, at any rate.

Chimera nods, not listening now. Yeah. It's a good bet that Arachnae will recover. Or heads will roll. Wait. Heads might roll anyhow, if she can get to the Autobots who did it.

"The question of the circumstances surrounding her defeat, however, remains" Fulcrum remarks. "Last I saw her fully functional she was trying to recruit Decepticons skilled in stealth for an unspecified purpose."

Fleet turns his head in Fulcrum's direction, although he's not really looking at him. He seems to be focused... well, unfocused... on a point a bit above and to the left of Fulcrum's head. "As I already told Chimera, two Autobots were spotted leaving the scene. Well, one was too damaged to flee. He was being carried. Mirage, carried by the Protectobot Hot Spot. Also, a large portion of the wall of the warehouse she was found in had been removed, like something a bit... robot sized had been cut out of it. I don't know if this information helps," he finishes. "Maybe someone else can make sense of it."

"..." Chimera isn't going to be much help right now. A portion of the wall, huh? It doesn't make sense to her either. But then again, she's the one who is blindly devoted to only three beings in this universe. Things don't have to make sense. She just has to be the loyal, doggedly devoted seeker.

"Mirage and Hotspot" Fulcrum states flatly. "Versus Arachnae." Huh. REAL sporting, Autobots. "Cut?" he enquires. "Were the edges clean? No signs of melting?"

Fleet shakes his head. "I didn't have time to examine it before I was ordered to level the place, Fulcrum. Sorry."

Chimera continues to pace, because, she's a pacey kind of seeker. And she's not saying much right now.

Fulcrum shrugs, with the sound of metal grating on metal. "Then it is a task for DCI," he says, neatly passing the buck. "No doubt when more information is forthcoming, there shall be an opportunity to.. reply."

Fleet hops onto the bed he'd been leaning against. If anyone needs it, they'll tell him to shoo. "Makes sense to me," is all he says. He generally doesn't have to worry about passing the buck, anyway. For one, being at the bottom of the totem pole, there was no one to pass it too... for two, warriors generally aren't expected to do any deep thinking. He does, of course, but usually not about anything useful, which is why his rather odd habit is so oft overlooked.

The only reason that Chimera's not at the bottom of the totem pole is that one of the heads of Mil-Ops at one point noticed that she made a good cup of coffee--- er... She was capable of dealing with stuff that he didn't want to. Despite the short temper, and the tendancy for oddness. "I need to get back to my desk." She says quietly, as she stops the pacing, and starts heading for the door.

Fulcrum is just glad he's not XO any more. Have fun playing Commander, Mixmaster! Though knowing the constructicon, he probably /will/. "I shall notify you if there is any change in Arachnae's condition" he says to Chimera before she leaves.

The femme's departure reminds Fleet that there really is something else he's supposed to be doing. After all, leave was over yesterday. He hops off the table and grabs a mug of energon, intending to refuel before going back out on patrol.

Chimera pauses before she hits that door, and gives Fulcrum the full extent of her social graces. "Thank you." Whoa. From her? That's like... amazing.

Chimera has left.

Fleet finishes his mug, then returns to patrol.