Trypticon Medical Bay

Several operating tables are set in a row here, and long benches line the walls. On these benches are assorted tools and equipment used in repairing damaged Decepticons. The benches near the door are for patients waiting their turn for treatment. Scattered throughout the room are various repair droids, awaiting the arrival of more wounded to repair. The room gives you the perception of being immaculately clean, with not a single tool out of place. Your olfactory sensors pick up the faint odor of the cleansing solutions used to keep the room clean and sanitary.

Contents:

Fulcrum

Sign

Gumby Medic

Obvious exits:

East <E> leads to Trypticon Laboratory.

West <W> leads to Trypticon Main Hallway.

Fully half the medical bay is covered in disected and half-complete engine moduals, spread out seemingly at random over the surface of the med-tables. Going through the parts is Fulcrum, assisted by his two somewhat unwilling helpers, Kitbash and Repaint.

Fleet pokes his head in warily and looks around. Ah, good. Only one green robot, and that's Fulcrum, so it's safe. Well, as safe as medical gets, anyway. The seeker enters fully. At the moment his paint job's a bit sand blasted, a fact that probably has as much to do with why he's in here as anything, but rather than taking care of that just now he wanders towards Fulcrum, curiously looking over the engine modules as he does.

"How about this, boss?" Kitbash says, holding up a interestingly complicated piece of a jet engine. It's probably the flux capacitor or something. Because these are FUTURISTIC engines. Fulcrum frowns, taking the part and inspecting it carefully. "It will do" he says, handing it back to the low-ranking seeker. "Put it with the others." Kitbash scurries over to a particular table, placing the piece next to several other interesting looking gizmos. "Fleet" Fulcrum says, noticing his comrade as he turns to examine more components.

"Fulcrum," answers Fleet, still looking around at numerous components that don't mean a damn thing to him. Still, he does poke at a nearby one with his index finger - if it's delicate enough that /that/ would damage it, it has no business being on the inside of a Decepticon to begin with. "Still working on your upgrade, I see."

Fulcrum frowns at the prodding anyway. "The design is complete" he replies, gesturing at the rotating wireframe graphic displayed on the medbay screen. "I just need to construct and install it.. as well as adjusting my systems to compensate for the increased speed."

Fleet nods. It's not as if he has any technical abilities himself, but that certainly sounds reasonable. The pastel seeker smirks slightly. "Yeah. One of the advantages of being MilOps is that I don't have to actually sit and work out such details myself... but on the downside, it means trusting others to know what they're doing."

And oooh boy, is THAT ever a risky prospect around here. Fulcrum's probably the least sadistic/insane/tempremental medic around here.. and thus, he's one of the least skilled. What is it about Decepticon scientists and medics that makes them so insane? Is it some unusual flaw in the Decepticon processor that impedes rationality and ethics when operating at above standard levels? "It is difficult" he admits. "I may have to ask for assistance in one area - my optics will need to be enhanced and given a higher refresh rate, as well as upgrading the bandwidth of my neural capacitors. Such fine work is not my speciality."

More like a one-or-the-other proposition. You can be intelligent and have common sense, or you can be intelligent and be good at the sciences and the like. It's as if there's a limited store of intelligence that you can spend on assorted functions, or something like that. But the seeker still nods. "That, and I imagine it's pretty difficult to upgrade one's own visual sensors, anyway."

Fulcrum nods, showing no signs of laughing at that. "There is that" he replies, giving Fleet a slightly more attentive look. "You require assistance?" he asks, noting the weathered paintwork.

Fleet flicks his right wing a couple of times. "Oh, this. Not a serious problem... just all that sand." He turns his head to look at his right hand, tapping it with his left hand. "I wouldn't even bother about it yet, but keeping one's paintjob up to par is the best way to prevent other kinds of corrosion, after all..."

This is true. "Repaint" he says, the low-ranking lab assistant looking up from where he's poking around at a turbine. "Fleet requires his finish to be touched up." Repaint brightens up, hurrying over to Fleet. "Sure! What do you want? Ooooh! How about bright orange! With aqua tiger stripes! Huh! It'd be AWESOME!"

Ah, yes. This game once more. Everytime he needs his paint job touched up, he must go through this. The pastel seeker sighs warily. "I'd really prefer something not so attention getting. Or better yet, just my usual colors. Think you could pull /that/ off?"

Verdant enters from the Main Hallway to the west.

Verdant has arrived.

Fulcrum is standing at one of the several med-tables covered in jet-engine parts, a generic seeker assisting him as he examines the components, a detailed wireframe graphic of a Decepticon propulsion system spinning slowly on the medical displays. Another seeker stands in front of Fleet, his face falling. "Awww" Repaint says. "Come on.. Yellow is so BORING! Tell you what, forget the orange, you can keep the Yellow.. but we'll put the aqua stripes over the top. It'll be like.. like camoflage!"

Verdant chuckles as he enters, presumably on his way to the labratory to check on his samples. This allows him just enough time to catch Repaint's suggestion that Fleet get a repaint. "Well," he says, "I don't suppose any color-scheme...with the possible exception of plaid... could make you any less threatening, Fleet."

"Tiger stripes are /not/ camoflage if you're in the sky," sighs Fleet. But Repaint's enthusiasm gave one thing away. There's enough yellow on-hand to handle his touch-up. The pastel seeker looks at Verdant for several long moments. "Verdant. This is one category where you really, really are not one to talk." Then he looks back at Repaint. "If you have the yellow, and obviously do, stick with the yellow."

"Pardon?" Verdant mocks. "My color-scheme is perfectly suited for jungle operations, where I conduct a large portion of my research. You, on the other hand, look like that annoying little Autobot with the horns." A bit sharpsih for Verdant, perhaps, but certainly meant in fun. He's grown comfortable enough around Fleet that he feels the jest is not inappropriate.

"Okay okay..." Repaint says. "Fine. Yellow it is. But.. and bear with me here... what if.. what if it were a METALLIC yellow? Huh? You'd be.. like.. GOLD!" It's around this time that Fulcrum usually steps in and threatens Repaint with Percussive Attitude Correction until he stops making damn fool suggestions. But the blacksmith is far too engrossed in his own work to notice. "We could fade to like a copper at the back.."

Fleet spins on Verdant and glares, now ignoring Repaint entirely. Obviously he is NOT amused. His hands ball into fists and his optics narrow. "Training room," he says softly.

Repaint grins. "Gold it is!" he says, figuring Fleet's just given in. "I'll just go mix some up! Woooooo!" Yeah, he's pretty pumped that someone seems to have finally accepted one of his suggestions. Meanwhile, Fulcrum appears to be in discussion with Kitbash. "But the lif-coefficiant.." mutters the Blacksmith. "Three words" replies Kitbash. "Aero. Dynamic. Spoiler."

Fleet turns on Repaint and hisses, "Don't you dare! My. Paint scheme. Stays." The seeker growls a little, almost sub-vocally, in frustration, and begins to wonder if maybe he isn't spending too MUCH time with his fellow seekers and too LITTLE with the Sweeps.

Verdant cants his head to one side, perhaps to say "Anytime." He's certainly not afraid of Fleet, even if the pastel one can fly rings around him. He may be less comfortable asserting himself around strangers and even wary of trying to make decissions for himself, but if Fleet can't handle a joke...even something of a nasty one for a Decepticon, well then, he's not just going to let him walk all over him for that.

"Alright! Alright! Eeesh!" replies Repaint, throwing up his hands. "I guess I'll go mix some /boring/ pastel /yello/ then" he says, giving Verdant a 'what's with /him/?' look, figuring he's on Repaint's side since the green seeker insulted Fleet's color scheme. "How about you? Green's so last vorn.. but hot pink? Hot pink is /in/"

Fleet stalks towards the door but first turns to glower once more at Verdant. "I've done everything I could to help you in your transition to the modern world, and you repay me with... insults." His voice is quiet, steady, but he is far angrier than anyone here would have ever seen the little yellow seeker. "I realize that kindness is often misinterpreted as weakness among our kind, but I would have thought otherwise from you. Apparently I was wrong."

Hmmm. Perhaps Verdant's made an error in judgement. He's certainly done that before, having certain difficulties making his priorities, along with judging the reactions of others. "I..." he starts to say, almost drawing to silence, but working up what nerve he has to push him to continue. "And well you should have. I spend so much time wrapped in my studies, I am often a poor judge of people's reactions. A perhaps biting remark, yes, but I would not have expected... such vehement a reaction." He averts his gaze. He has few people he truly knows well here, fewer still willing to spend any time around him. "I should not have said that. I am...sorry."

Fulcrum finally seems to notice that somthing is wrong, scowling in Fleet and Verdant's direction out of general principal, even if he has no idea what's actually going on.

Fleet calms down. Had he hackles, they'd be lowering now. He nods. "All right," he answers, by way of acceptance of the apology. "I'm well aware that I'm /hardly/ the most threatening Decepticon out there, but don't compare me to an Autobot. I don't even give a damn that it's Bumblebee. That he's an Autobot is enough." He sighs and walks further in, shaking his head. Not that he can really back up /any/ threat he makes... "But I'm working on changing that," he hisses softly to himself, not obviously aware that he spoke this last out loud.

Repaint looks from Fleet to Verdant, then back. Yeah yeah yeah, they're not going to kill each other now... but what about the /paint work/? Verdant is going to look AWESOME in hot pink. Or.. ooh! Fire orange!

Meanwhile, Fulcrum shrugs and turns back to his work, Kitbash dropping the final useful part from the pile onto the main medtable.

"My name," Verdant says to Repaint, "means green." He gives a little laugh, perhaps one tiwnged with self-pity. After all, if it was good enough for Fleet... "It would be foolish for me to adopt another color scheme."

Fleet isn't going to kill Verdant now, no. After all, he'd have no one else to pass the title of 'Empire's Wimpiest Seeker' off to after his next upgrade if he did. Once more his wing twitches slightly. "This may have escaped you," he comments dryly, "but when you're one of the standard designs, it's generally best to avoid changing paint schemes. That sort of thing just leads to confusion."

"Ah, but that's..um.. the /thing/, right? The Autobots hear that oh no, Verdant is coming! So they'll be LOOKING for a green jet! So then you can sneak by them in your.. bright.. pink... uh..." Repaint trails off as he finally realises just how stupid that is. "Okay, but what if you /changed/ your name?"

"To what?" Verdant asks, incredulity slipping into his voice. "Names should imply function... What else would you have me call myself? Plantface? Bushbot? Overgrowth... actually, that last... No. Just no." He's certainly not going to change his name, not when he's been Verdant for more years than some species have been around.

Fleet chuckles softly as Verdant ponders his namechange, finally lightening up again. A very slight smile plays on his expression as he considers the source of his own name, and then he just shrugs. "You have to go through this every time it's time for a new layer of paint." Then he pauses and frowns. "But... you didn't even come in here for a repaint. I don't know why he's giving you problems. Just general principle, I suppose."

Repaint thinks about that. "Pinky? Pinkatron? Pinkwing? Pinkscream? Pinkcracker? Pinkcast? Pinkjet? Pinkstun? Pinkrazor? Pinklonus? Pinkastator? Pinkicus? Pinkbominator? Pinkwave? Pinkslaught? Pinkmaster? Pink Haul? Pinkcrusher? Pinkwarp? Pinkslaught? Pink Off? Pink End? Pinkrider? Pinktex?"

Were he organic, Verdant would be dealing with the beginnings of a headache right about now. Persistance is admirable...but not when it's enough to make him start to forget just why he was in here in the first place. "Not...awful names, but lacking in a certain something. Such as meaning. Most of those are either nonsensical or will get me beaten up by their unmodified owners."

That's it. Seekers ARE nuts. Fleet's going Sweep. The pastel pyramid looks at Repaint. "No new color schemes. No new names. None of us. Live with it!"

"Repaint" Fulcrum adds. "Shut up."

Sighing, the tiger-striped seeker gives up. "Oh fine. But don't come begging me when all the COOL seekers have been repainted in hot new color schemes and patterns."

Fleet looks at Verdant. "He always does that. That's almost word for word what he said to me after he had given up /last/ time."

Verdant chuckles slightly, the same bemused, slightly stuffy sound that usually characterizes his laugh. "I shall have to keep that in mind," he replies.

" 's true though" Repaint mutters as he scurries away. One day.. one day EVERYONE will be repainted in bright dayglo colorschemes and tiger stripe patterns. But until that day, Repaint will just have to work with unfashionable BARBARIANS.

Verdant has disconnected.

Fleet finds a cleared bit of medi-table and pulls himself onto it, slumping a little. Who said it was just the intelligent MSE types that were nuts? Plenty of the dumber ones seemed to fall in that category as well. "I don't see how you deal with it all day, Fulcrum. Warriors are bad enough, but this..." He shakes his head.

"Kitbash and Repaint are..." Fulcrum pauses, looking for the right word. "Enthusiastic" he finally settles on. "Their zeal to serve the empire is to be praised, even if they have.. limited functionality."

"Hey!" says Kitbash, who's standing RIGHT NEXT to Fulcrum.

Repaint hurries back in with a disaproving look on his face. "Right" he says. "The automixers have begun processing your.. *sigh* yellow paint, soo.." He taps at a console, a hose with a spray-nozzle descending from the ceiling.

<O-Decepticon> Durnik Fulcrum says, "I have a very clear image of what Repaint and Kitbash look like. Repaint is bright orange with dayglo-blue tiger stripes and neon-green detailing/cockpit, but otherwise a standard seeker. Kitbash is a subdued white with blue details.. but he looks like someone took a normal seeker and glued as many aerials, fins and other crap on it as they could."

Fleet chuckles at the exchange between Fulcrum and Kitbash. "Ah, right, right." He leans back and looks upwards. Fleet always gives an impression of contained motion, but now he seems particularly restless as he waits for the touch-up.

Repaint quickly gets to work, and despite Fulcrum's misgivings he's good at what he does, even if that's really the ONLY thing he does. Cleaning off the dirt and dust from Fleet's surface with a high-pressure jet of air, he begins to apply a fresh coat of pastel yellow paint.

Fulcrum has disconnected.