Long Haul arrives from the IHQ Central Chamber to the west.

Long Haul has arrived.

Arachnae arrives from the IHQ Central Chamber to the west.

Arachnae has arrived.

Arachnae slips quietly into the area.

Scrapper is tending to some unnamed injured gumby, although of the two, it is the Construction who truly looks broken. His battle damage has been repaired, but his shovel droops, and his optic band is dull and dim. He is listless, just going through the motions, really. Another day, Scrapper might be idly considering what his patient would look like as a chair or insisting that he needs new seals or something, anything. Today, he can't even think those thoughts. His city and his art are gone. What has Scrapper ever had that hasn't been destroyed? There are his brothers, there always are, and there is Devastator, who still wasn't enough to save New Crystal City.

Why was Devastator created?

To guard the original Crystal City.

So why did they instead destroy it?

Because they knew in the end it would be futile. Just like it was yesterday. Of course, this time it wasn't their choice, and that makes it all the more difficult for the brothers, but still, they live. They will build again.

Long Haul sits at a terminal going over inventories, thanks to the need to reassess what's still available and where. Soon he'll be back to moving things around again, making sure everything's properly distributed. Like his brothers, he mourns, but he's Long Haul. He carries stuff. Now he'll carry on. If he has to drag the others with him, that's what he'll do. The transporter looks up towards Scrapper and then reaches over to shut down his terminal. There are more important things to deal with.

Arachnae pads into medical, wings neatly up behind her, optics their usual bright shade. She's carrying yet another datapad, ticking on it with quiet intent. She looks up long enough to pick up the current medical report, lookng over it to see who's left on the docket for repairs. Absently, she makes her way to a med-table, picking over tools to inspect before noticing Scrapper. The femme medic gives the engineer a lookover before frowning.Her attention slides about the room, looking for the rest of that particular familial grouping and watches Long Haul a moment. A shuffle of wings and she goes back to sorting out a tool tray.

Oh, let's just say the gumby's a generic Seeker, pale blue. Scrapper continues repairing him, methodically fitting in a new set of rudders and testing the joints. Part 132-Z is to be affixed to part 132-Y by brazing the connection at a low temperature. Dry, rote-memorized instructions run through the Constructicon's head, and he welcomes them. Memories of medical texts don't hurt. If he notices his brother shutting down the terminal or Arachnae entering, he gives no indication.

Long Haul swivels the chair around and gets up, plodding heavily over to the table where Scrapper's working. He watches for a bit, although it's not like the actions have much meaning to him. Scrapper reaches his hands in, does some stuff, and a person is made whole again. And he does it without even having to put real thought into it. That's like magic, in a way. Far beyond anything like what the disgruntled assformer is capable of accomplishing. But still... "Y'need any help?" he asks a bit roughly.

Arachnae listens as unobtrusivly as one can while sorting tools, pausing to re-calibrate a laser welder's emmiter tip. She's curious but seems to be keeping quiet for the moment until, "Ether of you want a mug of something or another?" quietly murmured form her table.

Long Haul turns towards Arachnae and nods just once. "Yeah, we do," he says, walking back around the table to take a step towards her.

Scrapper continues repairing the light blue generic Seeker. It is a short while after Long Haul queries him that Scrapper pauses, as if it took that long for the question to penetrate through the protective layers of, 'Solder the third pin to a wire leading to ground'. Oh. It's Long Haul. Good thing he's alive, huh? Scrapper wordlessly takes up the running list of parts he'll be needing for Bluey and holds it out to Long Haul. Slowly, he tilts his head around to Arachnae, a very blank look in his optic band, and says, hesitating, "I... no. Working."

Suddenly, Bluey looks a bit worried. Good thing he's strapped down, huh?

Long Haul takes the list and then... hands it off to some other technician. He waves a hand. "Someone else'll get that." He looks to the semi-sweep. "We want the drink, Arachnae."

Arachnae sets the emiiter array she had in hand down and pads over to one of the few locked cabinets. Why lock cabinets in medical, it only slows down the staff. She opens the door, blows some dust out and frowns, "Where did I put that.. Hnn. green flask, amber signet.. Ahh yes.." She reaches in and pulls something out before locking the cabinet again. Turning to head for her desk, she opens a drawer, pulls out three mugs and fills them with a softly glittering energon based liquid. Wings snap behind her as the liquid starts to pop-hiss and she smiles, "Good, old Dredclaw.." murmured as she pads one mug over to Long Haul.

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Elite Axis, my command apprentice, have you slapped Cinderblock in the face for his blunder yet."

<Decepticon> Axis says, "I have not, mein Fuhrer.  If it is your will, however, I will act with due haste and zealousness."

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "SInce it was a junkion that saved him, I feel you should."

Scrapper's optic band brightens a fraction, as if some stray annoyance at Long Haul has found its way through the grief and the ennui. Aren't brothers wonderful, mysterious creatures that way, how they can conjure irritation from mourning? He insists, putting a little force into his flat voice, "I don't." Resolutely, Scrapper turns back to Bluey and set to replacing his engine-blades.

"Yes you do," counters Long Haul before looking back at Arachnae. "He does."

<Decepticon> Axis says, "Your will is my command, Oberherr Galvatron.  CINDERBLOCK.  Das Fuhrer has spoken.  Are you ambulatory?"

<Decepticon> Cinderblock says, "*crackling noises* Uh, I can't read your transmission, must be interference. Please repeat."

Arachnae snorts, wings flicking out behind her. "You do." Flat tone, "The remaining damge can he handled by an assistent. You.. sit down, drink and don't give me any grief, Scrapper. Medical orders. One doctor to another."

<Decepticon> Axis says, "*insert your own interpretation of a growing anger in Axis' voice*  "Report your location, flieger.  Our communications sytem is not so antiquated as to deny Lord Galvatron's will.  My patience is horrid enough to test...  Let alone that of your master.""

<Decepticon> Cinderblock says, "What? OH. My location? Cuprahex Sensor Outpost. Transmission problems though...what do you need, Sir? I'm just out here working dilligently."

Scrapper takes out Bluey's old engine blades, which are all bent, as if something hard had been some down his engine. Something probably was. One day, he might have thrown the broken part at Long Haul out of casual spite. Today, Scrapper really doesn't have the energy, for all that his energon is completely topped up. Still, he's just about to insist to Long Haul that he doesn't when Arachnae starts backing up Long Haul. Scrapper's shovel raises a little defensively, and he mutters, "I'm perfectly capable of finishing this one up. If some other tech takes over, it'll just leave something else undone."

Long Haul crosses his arms and spreads his legs in a 'I ain't budging' sort of stance. "Dammit, Scrapper, get over here and drink your drink afore I drag you over here!"

<Decepticon> Axis says, "DON'T EVER question my intent, airman.  The Fuhrer has spoken.  You are now relieved of your current duty assignment and are expected not less than three meters from my person in...  One hundred and eighty seconds.  I do so sincerely hope your communication device is in proper working order enough to receive that, flieger."

Arachnae set sthe mug near Scrapper, waves a tech over and takes a folded arm stance, wings behind her tilted outwards. "Capable yes, but I haven't seen the report wher eyou were returned to duty as of yet, commander. Sit down, drink."

<Decepticon> Axis says, "IHQ, airman.  The Officer's Hall.  One hundred and SIXTY seconds.  Don't disappoint me, Herr Cinderblock."

Scrapper sulks, lowering his shovel. If he was an Autobot, he'd probably make a whining comment about how unfair it is that Long Haul and Arachnae are ganging up on him like this, but he's a Decepticon, and so he won't. Scrapper does pause with Bluey, but only because thinking out responses as to why he shouldn't drink and repairing at the same time are a bit taxing for him at the moment. "Then I should write up that report. I've started it. I..." He just feels choked whenever he tries to finish it.

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Do record it, Apprenctice.  I must know how this goes down.  It could show me if Cinderblock has a future...or if he is fodder.  Face fate with courage, Cinderblock."

<Decepticon> Cinderblock says, "Yes, Emperor Galvatron."

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "Perhaps you have a future yet, Trainee."

Long Haul grabs one of the mugs with his right hand as he reaches for his brother with the other hand. "It can wait. Drink. You want a drink."

Arachnae waves a hand, "I think we know the gist of it. Sit. Drink."

Scrapper leans back against one of the counters for support, likely the only support he'll get in this argument, "I don't want a drink. New Crystal City will still be gone when it wears off."

<Decepticon> Galvatron says, "COX?"

"You do too want a drink. When it wears off, we build something else," growls Long Haul, closing in on his brother's personal space.

Arachnae shakes her head, "Yes, it'll still be gone. But right now, you're not looking ready to face that. Drink."

"Yes, yes, we'll build something else, and the Autobots will ruin that, too. Or we will," Scrapper almost snaps. And Scrapper has trouble facing anything, what with the facemask and all that.

Arachnae opens a drawer and gets a metal tube out, sticking it into scrappers drink. She fusses withit, rummaging some more and addint a metal foil umbrella. "Now now, after all my hard work withthis, you're not going to drink it?" She offers the dolled up drink again.

"Yeah, and?" Long Haul demands, finally grabbing hold of his brother's arm. He still holds Scrapper's drink (umbrella and all) in the other hand. "Buildings have been falling into ruins from the time they started getting built, but we still stand!"

Scrapper stares down at the little metal foil umbrella. It's almost mocking, really. Then, he glances over at Long Haul's hand and half-sparkedly tries to shake it off. Finally, Scrapper acquieses, "Let me just finish this and see to that report, and then I'll drink it."

Arachnae shakes her head, "Negative. Report later, the tech can finish up the repairs, drink now."

Meanwhile, Bluey has decided that despite all the excitement of battle, he really, really wants to be a janitor, or maybe he just wants to avoid being strapped to a table while the medics bicker about who fixes him.

Long Haul nods in agreement with Arachnae. "Scrapper, so help me, either you drink or I force you to drink, and you know I know how!" While trying to force one of the mouthless Transformers to drink might be a difficult task for others, Long Haul, being mouthless himself, knows the arcane secrets behind it.

Scrapper stares at Long Haul, aghast. "You wouldn't!"

Arachnae smiles, "I'd hold you down." wngs fan out. "And give him a hand."

Long Haul gives a single, slow nod of his head and looks Scrapper directly in the optic band. "I would," he rumbles.

Held down by a pretty femme? Wait, no, more like deadly Sweep-babe. Ack. Well, Scrapper does have his pride, and being held down and forced to drink would violate what little there is, so he takes the mug from Long Haul, and with a sigh takes a sip. He makes a fist of his other hand and shakes it, growling, "Fine. I'll drink."

Arachnae has disconnected.

"'Bout damn time!" answers Long Haul, releasing Scrapper's arm and taking a step back before snatching up his own mug and downing it.

Long Haul vanishes out of reality.

Long Haul has left.