Log Title: Of Drunk Shuttles
Characters: Arachnae , Blast Off , Swindle
Location: Arachnae's Lab
Date: November 15, 2020
TP: Non-TP
Summary: Blast Off has a misadventure with Nightmare Fuel, leading him to Arachnae's lab. And a meeting with her floor, and a hose.
As logged by Arachnae
tfu - Sunday, November 15, 2020
Arachnae's Lab[]
(And apparently Casa de Combaticon)
Blast Off has had a night. Had a night of managing to unwittingly insult the Medic he needs to keep himself and his team functional as well as then fleeing to a bar to get drunk- and cuddle-fluffy- with Goth and a bottle of Nightmare Fuel. It's at an ungodly hour when Arachnae will hear a knocking on the door. "You HAVE t' let me SEE HIM, you have tooooo lemmeee iiin..." Then there's a sort of *thunk* sound like something heavy just hit the floor.
Arachnae was resting in a chair, leane'd back, feet kicked up on a counter. There's two of the spider drones in her lap, making chirr-viration sounds as she sleeps. The monitors connected to 'tex just beep softly, some cartoon playing on a projected screen just like she said she'd do. On one counter there's the series of analyzers and devices working on making that antiviral cocktail. Another series of counters where 'kai' and his scanners are running, the spark and spark casing undergoing another progressive scan.
And the doctor -was- asleep really, taking the first actual sleep, no mater how uncomfortable, she's taken in a few days. And at that knock and blurble of words, she starts up, rotors snapping out, slicing the back of the chair. Optics flare, narrow and she stands, heading to the door to see who it is to avoid, hopefully, waking Vortex up while her cocktails continue to clean him out. "Wh.. the frag.." she hisses as she slides the door open a crack.
She'll see a large brown and purple form face-first on the floor, letting out a soft moan, empty Nightmare Fuel bottle still clutched to his hand. Blast Off is mumbling something, but it's hard to tell *what* in this state.
Arachnae blinks, looking down at the absolute mess of a mech. There's a moment where she seriously considers leaving him out there and locking the door. So she starts to close the door.
"WAITPH!" A black hand shoots out to grab at the door, clutching the bottom edge. "You gotta lemme see him, is he alive?" Blast Off groggily lifts his head, trying to get up again. "You OWE me, I'm his team... te... I'm his bro." Alas, still pompous.
Arachnae stares down at Blast Off, optics slit lines of emerald, expression obscured by her mask. "I don't -owe- you slag, you pompous git." She eyes the hand holding the bottom edge of the door. "And you're drunk. Come back when you're sober."
The pompous git blinks at that, something- perhaps- getting through that thick helmet. "..." His body shifts and he reaches out with the other hand, letting the bottle rolls across the floor, and Blast Off clutches that door edge with *both* hands as if it's a lifeline. "Wait!" Pause. His voice sounds hoarse as he adds, staring blearily up at her, "...Please."
Arachnae's rotor hubs vibrate her blades, optics remaining slashes of judgmental green. "Why should I? And be -quiet-" she hisses, "He's finally resting you twit."
Blast Off obviously has to think about that, as his head drops down again and his optics dart from side to side... and thinking is not his forte at the moment. "Uh.." Another blink. "Oh!" He exclaims loudly, then, finally, his hoarse voice lowers. "...S..sorry." He starts pushing himself up, stumbling forward as he does so, trying to get a look into the room to see Vortex. "How... how is he?" He suddenly stops, some element of his personality flashing to the surface as he seems to frown and says, "Not that I... not that I /care/, of course!" Pause, then he tries stumbling forward again, voice even lower than before. "But... I do. How is he?"
Arachnae hnnnngs, a grumbled sort of half-growl. "He's -resting-. Tanks are cleared of all of that sludge, running about 87 percent full. I don't want to stress his fuel lines too much until autorepair can handle any leftover corrosion from.. Well frankly I'm impressed with the residue I scraped off the floor." She stares at Blast Off for a few minutes of silence before she opens the door. "Go.. hose off. Back left is a decom shower. You smell like a brewers cesspit and my laboratory has a level of cleanliness required that you -do- not meet right now."
Blast Off stares up at her, violet optics almost white and a bit too bright, and it takes him a few moments before he realizes she just allowed him inside. "Oh!" He starts pushing up again, then pauses to inspect his hands, giving them -and an arm- a sniff. "....Oh." Another pause. "Oh dear."
Now the shuttle stumbles up and onto his feet, making his unsteady way towards this decom shower. Heavy footfalls attempt to be stealthy, but his systems are pretty shot, and then add vertigo and Nightmare Fuel together and... *CRASH*
There's another pause before, "....Sorry."
Arachnae intakes air, holds it, cycles it out and can be heard mumbling, "10.. 9.. 8.. do not gut the shuttle.. 7..6...5.." She pads closer to Blast Off, toggling her inbuilt med scanners to study his particular levels of needed detox. "Just.. lay there. Right there, don't move. This.. this is why Shockwave doesn't like people in the labs, you could -damage- something. Like Kai, or your brother, or the antivirus, or well I think that's a.. uh.." she stares at a setup that's beeping along, glowing, "Huh.. I'm not sure what that is.."
Said shuttle is SLOSHED. Blast Off has fairly good tolerance... for wine. Tonight he drank a whole bottle of Nightmare Fuel and that's an entirely different story. "R-right, I'll..." Even as he tries shifting his arms, tries lying down, he manages to bump into something, nearly sending it clattering down, and the shuttleformer flinches back, almost rolling into a ball on the floor before -very slowly- relaxing and beginning to stretch out, on his back, staring at the ceiling. "...That'zz... thas... a neat trick, the way your ceiling..." He lifts a hand and tries to point at it, "...spins like that. How ya do it?"
Arachnae just.. stares at Blast Off. "You'll do better laying on your side. If my ceiling's spinning, you're about to purge your tanks. Medical opinion." Looking at Blast off again before motioning for her drones to shift things -away- from the shuttle-mech. "And you don't want to purge nightmare fuel on your own chassis, it'll ruin a good finish. So, on your side, there's a floor drain. I'll hose you off when you're done."
Blast Off frowns. "I'm not... Imnotgonna... I'm...too *soph*...soph... I'm too class... to..." Urp. Blast Off does manage to roll onto his side before that purging begins. Frantically, he's forced to open his faceplate to do so, revealing a very dark face with an upturned nose, complete with a drunken blush to his cheeks. When he's done, the shuttle pushes back and away a bit, groaning.
Arachnae half turns so she can keep monitoring Blast Off as he snaps his mask open, at least preserving that portion of what dignity he's got left right now. "Sure you're not. And I'm a long lost Autobot Princess in need of a heroic rescue." She winces at the retching. She turns, takes a few steps and reaches upwards, pulling down one of the hoses used to clean the tables.. Or perhaps subjects too considering she adjusts the temperature before rather matter of factly starts hosing the mess towards a drain.. and hosing Blast Off like he's a particularly stinky puppy. "Don't move or you'll purge again."
Blast Off is too busy moaning and woe-is-him-ing to be able to protest or argue. He clutches at his middle, rolling in a bit on himself and gasping as he's cleaned off. For a moment, the shuttle is fresh out of huffs and pomposity and just trying to breathe, so he (mostly) does as told.
Arachnae siiiighs... And adjust the temp again so it's at a nice soothing temperate as she cleans. "Room still spinning?" she asks, tone brisk but not as cutting as before. "If so, stay there a bit and I'll grab a thermal covering for you and a pillow." She lets the hose retract into the housing, checking her scans to make sure he's OK, just miserable drink.
Blast Off is mostly just really, really drunk. He's got whatever hiccups come with his coding being messed with, the vertigo making everything worse, but not as bad as, say, Vortex. He lifts his head slightly, squinting at the ceiling. "...Yeah." *cough* He wipes his mouth, then rubs at his face, dentae contrasting with the otherwise dark color. *Cough* Slumping back down, he groans, optics flickering. "Pillow... would be nice..."
Arachnae chuckles softly as she pads quietly about the lab, grabbing a thermal covering and a pillow. She comes back over, kneeling to give him the pillow, flipping the covering out over him. "i told him I'd trip-sit him. Doesn't mean I'll do the same for you. Good thing you did purge all that.. or else things could've gotten nasty." She stands and moves over to mix a mug of something to help ease the drunk through Blast Off's systems. Padding back, she sets the mug on the floor next to the shuttle mech. "Drink that slowly. Might purge again, might not. Depends on your tolerance to what you crammed into your tanks. Again, roll and purge, I'm not scraping acid-etched paint off of anyone's chassis tonight."
Blast Off looks blearily up at her, his mouth semi-open in stupor, but he manages to blink and nod once at her instructions. There's a time he doesn't say much, mostly drawing the mug close to him, feeling queasy, fighting the need to purge again, then finally gaining some control- and ability to keep something down. At that, Blast Off sighs in relief, curling around the mug as he slowly takes in some nourishment, not seeming to really notice he's on the FRAGGING FLOOR.
Arachnae stares down at Blast Off who's on the floor in her lab, now under a thermal blanket complete with pillow. The Doctor has a brow raised behind her visor, running her scans against Blast Off again before she turns to check on the programs she has running against the data the Autobots provided and her scans of Vortex.
Swindle is zonked out on a medberth, mouth open, head tilted to one side and snoring quietly. The sounds of drunken debauchery not having disturbed him -- then again, he's lived with Vortex for how long?
Blast Off sighs, this time with the first hint of relief, rather than pain, his systems beginning to finally relax. The shuttleformer snuggles up to the pillow, obviously loving anything comfy, and there's a brief, raspy purr to his engines before they fade away again. He looks like he'd like to just fall into recharge about now, and drools in a most UNdignified manner into his pillow... but he can't quite sleep. Maybe because of the whole *floor* thing. He blinks, looking up where Swindle snores, and buries his head into the pillow. "Frag, he's almost as bad as Brawl..."
Arachnae idly wonders if she's going to have to rearrange her labspace for an actual.. eww. social space to keep guests away from the projects. still, she goes over her work, checking on Vortex himself. "You get used to it. Not the worst snoring I've ever heard."
Swindle's snoring cuts off and he stirs, optics flickering on as he peers blearily about the room. "Tryin' t'sleep," he mutters, grumpily. "Shutup."
"Have you heard /Brawl/?" The shuttleformer mumbles, head still buried in the pillow. It doesn't help, though, and when Swindle speaks, Blast Off huffs at him- or tries to, more like huff-cough-cough-coughs and stop. "Look whozz TALKIN..."
Arachnae hisses sharply, "This is my -lab- and Vortex finally got to sleep. If either of you wake him up..."
Swindle's optics blink and he settles back down. "No ma'am, sorry ma'am," he says. Waking Vortex means having to stay up with the Vortex. Ohh no, he is not gonna be the one who has to deal with a cranky rotory, not again. Never again.
Blast Off winces at that hiss, wing elevons clicking softly. "...." He nestles more into his spot, not daring to say anything at all, but still can't get comfortable.
Arachnae watches Blast off, "If the rooms not spinning anymore, you -can- get on a table you big git." She shakes her head, muttering about mechs and booze. "If I'm going to keep having visitors, I'm going to have to request a larger space."
Swindle rolls onto his side. "Make sure you get something on th' eastern side," he says. "S'got better ventilation an' you're closer to stores."
Blast Off looks up at Arachnae, optics flickering. "Really?" His voice is still hoarse. Hmm, CAN he get up? Room still spinning some, Blast Off decides to try, and slowly pushes himself up, having to stop and just sit there, clutching the pillow for a moment as he works on regaining his senses. The mention of visitors and spaces causes him to slowly scan the room, as best he can in his state, then he turns to look back at Arachnae. There's a /long/ pause as he simply stares at her, dark face pinched in with a pouty lip, as if something is bothering him, before glancing back to Swindle. "Oh. 'K..." His speech is still extremely slurred and hoarse, very unlike himself.
Blast Off tries to stand up, which is easier said than done, and he starts wobbling, staggering to the side, trailing his blanket in one hand and pillow in the other as he goes.
Swindle slides off his bunk and moves to help Blast Off. "What in the hell happened to you?" he asks as he approaches Blast Off, intending on helping his brother into a berth.
Arachnae tilts her head, "He smells like a brewers dumpsterfire. I think he got hammered. Way out of his league. There's an empty bottle of nightmare fuel in the corridor he had in hand when he showed up." Voice quiet but pitched to carry, watching, scanning. "I said if the room wasn't.. You purge again and I'm selling vids of it to cover the snacks you three eat."
"Nothing," Blast Off immediately denies despite the evidence, "Nothin' at all... Jus' hadda drink, no biggie...," He nearly falls on the Jeep, which isn't that great, given the size difference, arms flailing. "Doitall th' time..." He attempts to steady himself on Swindle's shoulder, then flinches at Arachnae's words and it may well just shove poor Swindle to the floor himself. "NO! I'd... I can't... people would SEE me like this..." His exposed face looks horrified and his EMField starts crackling wildly.
Swindle blinks. "...I know a guy who'd pay big for vids like that," he says, almost automatically. "I mean, he's not exactly a friend, more one of those guys you run into in certain circles." Then, what Arachnae said hits home. "..wait, Nightmare Fuel?" he looks at Blast Off. "..you're still you, right? You didn't get mind swapped with TEX in some weird scheme for him to be able to get drunk again, are you?"
Arachnae shakes her head again, "Drink the rest of that mug, Blast Off. It'll hold off most of the processor ache." She watches the two before padding over, lending a shoulder to help get Blast Off onto one of the med tables. "Rather not, then mechs'd see you were in my -lab- purging on my floor. My /lab/. I'm.. its just not -done- to have continued guests in here."