Post by Nines on Jul 14, 2020 0:53:06 GMT
Nines sighed when the femme paused with confusion. he didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t contemplated killing her. I still feel as if it would’ve been better if my pistol had worked earlier. Nines mused, I might look into that if I keep her occupied. Yet he brushed the thought aside, especially when she accepted the drink. All he did was clear his throat when she asked her first question. He watched her as he again equipped his fusion cutter, cauterizing the slashes and gashes riddling his body. He’d lost enough energy to feel exhausted.
The pain of moving taxed his pace, as he grimaced. His damaged silver optic flickered as he set his hands to work on himself. Mostly oil and coolant trickled from it, though his faceplate was stained with its energon. The liquids dripped from his vents in his mouthguard. he finished carving and shaping what remained of his lower leg into a peg-like appendage. It was the best he could do for now, especially since his stash of parts was downstairs.
Nines’s optics shuddered when the two-wheeler asked another question. He too stopped, gazing upward as he finished dressing his wounds to take the energon, wiping the rim of the bottle before downing the high grade through a special duct in the side of his mouth guard. As soon as he did, he replaced it with his pipe.
“Hell if I know sometimes.” Nines shook his helm, before cracking a mixed smile behind his visor at himself. “I’m Nines. One of the only fragging medics my chucklehead faction has right now.” He jiggled the emptied bottle to double check it as he peered his silver optic down its rim. Grunting, he wobbled to his feet heaving himself a few inches off the ground as he stretched a thoroughly scratched up arm for the two largest bottles of medium grade he could hold. They were both cracked from failed down from their shelf. Thaaaaank youuuuu Mr. Glass-blower for your time and care. Nines reminded himself to humor the company who’d made such stable glass. As if that had been almost too much, he thunked to the ground, barely managing not to drop the bottles. He crawled over to the two wheeler one limb short of all fours. He set one of the bottle down beside her while he reared his fusion cutter.
“You can drink that after I’m done.” He grunted, “Now hold still so I can fix you.” He uncorked his pipe so he could swig more energon. To his delight it was his Vos Classic. The bottle was drained within the seconds it was picked up while he stared down at the femme’s chassis. “What’s your name?” He asked after letting the emptied bottle thunk to the ground.
The pain of moving taxed his pace, as he grimaced. His damaged silver optic flickered as he set his hands to work on himself. Mostly oil and coolant trickled from it, though his faceplate was stained with its energon. The liquids dripped from his vents in his mouthguard. he finished carving and shaping what remained of his lower leg into a peg-like appendage. It was the best he could do for now, especially since his stash of parts was downstairs.
Nines’s optics shuddered when the two-wheeler asked another question. He too stopped, gazing upward as he finished dressing his wounds to take the energon, wiping the rim of the bottle before downing the high grade through a special duct in the side of his mouth guard. As soon as he did, he replaced it with his pipe.
“Hell if I know sometimes.” Nines shook his helm, before cracking a mixed smile behind his visor at himself. “I’m Nines. One of the only fragging medics my chucklehead faction has right now.” He jiggled the emptied bottle to double check it as he peered his silver optic down its rim. Grunting, he wobbled to his feet heaving himself a few inches off the ground as he stretched a thoroughly scratched up arm for the two largest bottles of medium grade he could hold. They were both cracked from failed down from their shelf. Thaaaaank youuuuu Mr. Glass-blower for your time and care. Nines reminded himself to humor the company who’d made such stable glass. As if that had been almost too much, he thunked to the ground, barely managing not to drop the bottles. He crawled over to the two wheeler one limb short of all fours. He set one of the bottle down beside her while he reared his fusion cutter.
“You can drink that after I’m done.” He grunted, “Now hold still so I can fix you.” He uncorked his pipe so he could swig more energon. To his delight it was his Vos Classic. The bottle was drained within the seconds it was picked up while he stared down at the femme’s chassis. “What’s your name?” He asked after letting the emptied bottle thunk to the ground.