Scrapper is on shift, which means that it's his turn to fix up all those Decepticons silly enough to get injured. Yay! He paces around the medbay, glancing at a list of Decepticons who need repairs. There's one Seeker Verdant, knocked out from "storm damage" - that's what the Seeker who brought him in told the gumby, anyway.

Verdant is rather damaged, much of his exterior blacked by the heat of lightning strikes, to say nothing of the damage done to his internal systems--a mess of fried circuitry. And then there's the sheer phsyical damage, crumbled armor, dents and scratches, the result of a few too many midair collisions. The form is still recognizable as an F-16 fighter, but it is one that looks like it's been through hell.

Verdant makes a groan as his systems slowly begin to reassert themselves, prompting him toward wakefulness. The last thing he remembers is being rammed and then being struck by lightning, having practically flown into the bolt. He'd seemed unusually attractive to lightning bolts during that bout of storm tag, succumbing more quickly than he would have expected. "Ooooh," he says, "did anyone get the number of the static-electric discharge that hit me?"

Scrapper gives the botanist a funny look. See, protoforms? Messing around with plants will make you weird! Stick with safe, normal buildings, super weapons, and macabre sculptures. The Constructicon crosses his arms and looks down at Verdant with a look of great scrutiny. He says, his tone firm, "I don't believe that lightning comes with numbers. One too many, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," Verdant says, a slightly bemused tone entering his voice. "Though the collision with Catechism certainly did not help matters any. My own fault, I suppose. Had I been more aware, I would likely have been able to better dodge." Because, of course, when he's involved, it's almost always his fault for simply not being good enough. Primus forbid he should ever work up the nerve to blame others for things that are actually equally theirs

Scrapper's optics band lights up, and he sputters, "Collision? That wasn't listed on the medical report." He sets aside a few tools and appends that to the report, glowering. Then, the Constructicon glances back at Verdant and queries, "Lightning strikes, collision... just what were you doing out there?"

There is a moment's hestiancy as Verdant thinks, perhaps, that simply telling Scrapper is not the best option, but he's never been one for personal dishonesty. It is not that he is incapable of lying, but as a scientist, he believes in searching for the truth and perfers to give it. When one can become a bit absent-minded, it is not easy to keep track of falsehoods. "We were playing storm tag," he replies simply.

Scrapper finishes putting away his tools and picks up the data pad to add in Verdant's response. Then, he actually thinks about what the Seeker said. His optic band cycles a blink, and he stares blankly at his patient. After a moment to collect himself, Scrapper sighs and asks, "That's one of those stupid Seeker things, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it is," Verdant says. "It is a ...way for us to hone our flying abilities within a hazardous environment and with the knowledge that our wingmates will be present to bring us back should disaster strike, as it did for me." Which was probably putting it mildly, but, of course, even a weak-willed one such as himself has a certain amount of seeker-pride. "Is it safe for me to transform yet?"

Scrapper wouldn't be caught doing that, pretty purple wing or not. His brothers'd probably haul him back, but they'd find some creative, diabolical way to make him wish they hadn't. Scrapper grouses, "Why couldn't you do that in a training room?" Oh, that would make too much sense. Meh. He waves vaguely and adds, "You should be okay, but you're on light duty for the usual time period. No combat."

Verdant transforms, his cockpit flipping down to form his chest, his head popping up, arms pulling out from his sides, and lower section extending and splitting into his legs and feet, while his wings move slightly to allow slightly greater freedom of movement.

Verdant transforms, sliding himself slowly into a sitting position so as not to unduly upset his internal systems. His gyros are already protesting and he can tell it will be a bit before his equilibrium fully reasserts itself. "Understood," he replies. Which is the usual for him anyway. He's not much of one for combat to begin with, but this simply means he may have to curtail any distance exploration. Just as well, he has several currently running experiments he can tackle.

Scrapper snorts and says, "Make sure that you do. Keep coming in busted from extra-curricular activities, and you'll be doing janitorial duty fast." He can back that up, too. He is High Command, after all. Primus help the MSEers.

"I shall endevor to abide by that in the future," Verdant replies. And while, if he was another seeker, it might simply be a dismissal, there is a certain greater weight of meaning in his response. Not that he will totally quit such behavior--he does so what to prove he can compete with the others of more warrior-like function--but he respects and understands the consequences put forth by the Constructicon.

Scrapper nods. Well, at least this Seeker isn't giving him any lip. He says simply, "Good," and starts to pace away. Unless Verdant's got other questions or otherwise something else to say, Scrapper doing to move on to the next task.