#rrr writes

[ring-rang-rong-blog]

@pole-dancing-peacock - a drabble

Rung sat silently in his hab, model parts twirling and clicking away in his servos. He’d been assembling and disassembling the same ship for more than a cycle, although he didn’t seem to notice. His attention was purposefully directed inward. He knew he had some serious thinking to do.

Eye Sear was off with the carnival now, leaving the Lost Light without a word, without a goodbye. Rung hadn’t really expected much and wasn’t bothered by the lack of communication, but it seemed a little… suspicious. Especially after all the little things that had been happening before he left.

Rung knew Eye Sear liked him. He’d deduced that much from their conversation about the anonymous candy boxes, and during their following interactions it seemed painfully obvious.

But did Rung foster some sort of affection for Eye Sear in return?

He’d spent plenty of time playing the detective, the one in the know, the tease. It was easy to slip into roles, to follow clues, to think about things logically and discover the truth. But that meant his own emotions got lost in the process, and now… now he had some catching up to do.

The last time he’d seen Eye Sear, Rung had kissed the dancer’s servo and started to say something, but left before the words had even formed in his vocalizer. What had he wanted to say?

It took him another two cycles of reassembling the ship to drag it back into his consciousness.

“Take care, cailín.”

Cailín. An Irish word he’d stumbled across while translating Yeats’ inscription on Eye Sear’s multitool. Yeats hadn’t spoken Irish, but the word… it was so fitting. Although it had gendered implications, it translated roughly as both “bird” and “girlfriend.” The way he understood it, the title was somewhere in between amica and conjunx… which…

He really did like Eye Sear, didn’t he. Primus damn it all.

[ring-rang-rong-blog]

Ah, the anxiety attack. His oldest and most persistent foe.

Rung was lying curled up on the patient’s berth in his office, optics tightly shuttered. All the checks and scans of his systems came back clean, but his processor was still roiling, and intermittent alerts were flashing on his HUD about the pulse of his spark and the pace of his vents.

Although there wasn’t much he could do, he tried his best to keep his breathing steady and even. He was a psychiatrist after all – he knew what to do, all the tricks and tips he’d given his patients over the millennia. Should he access an old capture of his home city? Put on some calming music? Make up a cup of warm mid-grade and wrap himself in a weighted blanket while he waited it out?

At the moment the panic was too strong to manage on his own, but thankfully he was in between appointments and could take his nanomeds to help him relax. In a few breems, maybe he’d be able to let the tension ease from his joints and drag himself to his habsuite to recover.

For now, though, the patient’s berth it was.

---

Later when Rung was able to process the event, he was vaguely amused at his literal and metaphorical retreat to the berth. It was appropriate, really, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been there before; he’d actually had a counterbalance therapist to help keep tabs on his own mental health for most of the time he’d been practicing.

Not on board the Lost Light, though, and it was starting to take its toll.

At this point, a simple caring friend would do him well, but it was so hard to reach out when it seemed no bot even seemed to remember who he was. Besides, who would ever take the psychiatrist seriously anymore if they knew the subtle irony of the situation?

He’d just have to settle with his nanomeds and loneliness for the time being.

[ring-rang-rong-blog]

mtmte #40

“You should get First Aid to fix those puncture wounds on your neck. And maybe pay Rung a visit.”

“Eyebrows? Why?”

“No reason - and that’s why he’ll appreciate it. The only time people really talk to him is when they’re sick… and I know how that feels.”

Rung looked up from his spot outside the medbay, having overheard his name. It seemed that neither Ratchet nor Skids knew that he was still right outside the door, having been taking a few quick observational notes on the bots who were coming in and out.

It was strange accidentally eavesdropping and hearing oneself talked about, but it didn’t necessarily phase Rung. What Ratchet said was right - bots really didn’t need him until they were in a state of distress. Rung didn’t mind being helpful of course, but it actually was rather annoying that no one seemed to remember his name. He vented quietly. It couldn’t be helped, he supposed.

These days the Lost Light seemed in such a state of turmoil that Rung was needed even more and more, leaving him less time for himself. His model kits were suffering due to this loss. Was his own psyche suffering from lack of social interaction as well?

Well, it couldn’t hurt to have a little more company every once in a while. Thanks to Ratchet’s meddling, it sounded like he might be getting some. Medics looking after medics, he supposed.