seacrestseacon:
The sudden flurry of beeping and a yelp broke Shellshock from his task of sanitising equipment, tipping the tray up for everything to slide into the ethanol rinse and drying his servos as he hurried back to the little med bay to ensure his patient was still in berth. So to find them not half way out a window or huddled in the corner like a wounded animal, but flopped back in berth, was good to know.
“You are in the medical bay of our ship” Shellshock soothed, placing a cube of medical grade into a servo and moving around the side of the berth to raise it to a point this one could sort of sit up to fuel easier. Low grade, bolstered with nanites. It would be a good kick start to his systems to start healing on its own without feeling sluggish from full tanks.
“My name is Shellshock, I am the chief medical officer here … May I sit?” He asked, gesturing at the chair beside the berth for visitors. People in strange places tended to be more at ease without people standing over them when injured in a berth. Sitting at below optic level at his new propped height might aid this one in feeling a little more calmer.
“Do you have a designation?”
Medgrade was a familiar scent, one he’d handed to many a patient during his time with the Decepticons. As the drink was pushed into his hand, his berth re-angled, Stormrunner hissed in pain, visor flaring overbright for just a moment before he settled back down.
“Sit if you want, not like I can do anything to stop you.” The words are more venomous than he had intended, and the Seeker winced. Whoops. “My name is Stormrunner. I am- was- a medic.” Dulled claws slowly lifted the blanket draped across his frame, and Stormrunner winced as he looked down at his wounds. The Decepticons had been thorough, it seemed, and had Shellshock picked him up any later, he would have bled out on whatever miserable pile of dirt he’d been thrown on to.
“Why did you rescue me?”
