Hidden In Plain Sight p. 15
Rating: Mild
Words: 569
Have some more Ratchets.
Ratchet was not having a pleasant sol. Sure, it had started well enough. Onlining in a comfortable berth in a warm building was something Ratchet hadn't had for decavorns and decavorns. Morning energon hadn't been bad either. Over the past decacycle they had fallen into a routine. Which pretty much involved Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, and Optimus, who had stayed to make sure “she” was settling in fine, sitting silently around the dining room table, sipping their energon and passing news datapads around. There was an abundance of those in the Manor, Ultra Magnus making sure to read each one so he knew what issues were being argued on all parts of Cybertron. Then, when they were all caught up and online enough to do so, they discussed their daily plans. Which for Ratchet, involved staying on the Manor grounds and doing pretty much anything that was non-destructive.
Of course, that meant that Ratchet was bored as slag for the first sol or two. At least until aimless wandering lead to the large crystal garden on the east side of the Manor. Ratchet wasn't a gardnerbot, but had always wanted to try it. So with a bit of research and a lot of careful practice, Ratchet had started tending the garden. The first sol Ratchet was out trimming and cleaning he expected to be accosted and yelled at by the Manor's gardnerbot. Only to find out later that there hadn't been one for at least a vorn or two, the last having gotten bonded to a bot who wished to move off-planet and Ultra hadn't bothered to hire another yet. So Ratchet had become the unofficial gardnerbot for the time being.
Which is what lead to Ratchet's current predicament. Some of the crystals needed to be transplanted. Getting up and down was already hard, given that Ratchet was an old bot, but this was different. Ratchet was stuck. Crouched near the base of a large patch of crystal not directly visible from the Manor, nor in close audio range.
Not that Ratchet wanted to be found just yet, after all, Ratchet was a medic and could fix this. Hopefully.
After several breems of struggling and ultimately only causing more pain Ratchet determined that one of the outer protoform's gears had slipped out of alignment and gotten jammed in between the others. In a place that couldn't be easily reached without removing the armor and wiggling it loose from the underside.
Slag.
Ratchet had just been getting the mechs to calm down and stop constantly fussing and then this happened. Just as Ratchet feared it might. Well, not entirely. The gear would have to be removed but Ratchet would still be capable of transformation.
But the biggest problem now was how to get out of the garden. Straightweld would have to be called. And it was unlikely the bot would perform the necessary removal without informing Ratchet's friends and mechs. And if Straightweld was the one to inform them and not Ratchet, well, there would go even this much privacy to do his own thing.
Grimacing Ratchet raised a servo, comming Ultra Magnus while trying not to overbalance and make things worse.
“Ratchet? Is there something I can do for you?” Ultra asked as soon as the comm connected.
“I'm in need of...a little...assistance.” Ratchet ground out. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
Or sol.
Words: 569
Have some more Ratchets.
Ratchet was not having a pleasant sol. Sure, it had started well enough. Onlining in a comfortable berth in a warm building was something Ratchet hadn't had for decavorns and decavorns. Morning energon hadn't been bad either. Over the past decacycle they had fallen into a routine. Which pretty much involved Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, and Optimus, who had stayed to make sure “she” was settling in fine, sitting silently around the dining room table, sipping their energon and passing news datapads around. There was an abundance of those in the Manor, Ultra Magnus making sure to read each one so he knew what issues were being argued on all parts of Cybertron. Then, when they were all caught up and online enough to do so, they discussed their daily plans. Which for Ratchet, involved staying on the Manor grounds and doing pretty much anything that was non-destructive.
Of course, that meant that Ratchet was bored as slag for the first sol or two. At least until aimless wandering lead to the large crystal garden on the east side of the Manor. Ratchet wasn't a gardnerbot, but had always wanted to try it. So with a bit of research and a lot of careful practice, Ratchet had started tending the garden. The first sol Ratchet was out trimming and cleaning he expected to be accosted and yelled at by the Manor's gardnerbot. Only to find out later that there hadn't been one for at least a vorn or two, the last having gotten bonded to a bot who wished to move off-planet and Ultra hadn't bothered to hire another yet. So Ratchet had become the unofficial gardnerbot for the time being.
Which is what lead to Ratchet's current predicament. Some of the crystals needed to be transplanted. Getting up and down was already hard, given that Ratchet was an old bot, but this was different. Ratchet was stuck. Crouched near the base of a large patch of crystal not directly visible from the Manor, nor in close audio range.
Not that Ratchet wanted to be found just yet, after all, Ratchet was a medic and could fix this. Hopefully.
After several breems of struggling and ultimately only causing more pain Ratchet determined that one of the outer protoform's gears had slipped out of alignment and gotten jammed in between the others. In a place that couldn't be easily reached without removing the armor and wiggling it loose from the underside.
Slag.
Ratchet had just been getting the mechs to calm down and stop constantly fussing and then this happened. Just as Ratchet feared it might. Well, not entirely. The gear would have to be removed but Ratchet would still be capable of transformation.
But the biggest problem now was how to get out of the garden. Straightweld would have to be called. And it was unlikely the bot would perform the necessary removal without informing Ratchet's friends and mechs. And if Straightweld was the one to inform them and not Ratchet, well, there would go even this much privacy to do his own thing.
Grimacing Ratchet raised a servo, comming Ultra Magnus while trying not to overbalance and make things worse.
“Ratchet? Is there something I can do for you?” Ultra asked as soon as the comm connected.
“I'm in need of...a little...assistance.” Ratchet ground out. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
Or sol.