Fleet twitches his left wing and takes another sip. "I'm saying that while the Seeker I have in mind he's purple and green and totes autocannons, I can neither confirm nor deny the third descriptor you gave him. But he was a couple nights ago asking Swindle about the possibility of purchasing a large number of very odd components, including 'pointed sticks' before heading into medical." He stands near the energon dispenser, general use mug in hand. <repose for Scraps>

Arachnae blinks.. and finishes her mug of energon. "Meh.. I'll pull his records..." She peers at Fleet, "Sharpened sticks?." Pause, "No no, rocket powered drills."

Fleet shrugs. "Maybe he had some sort of personal use for the sharpened sticks then. The sort that it's best not to question. Like with Catechism and buckets." He looks down at his mug and swirls the drink around in it first before taking another sip.

Sunder arrives from the IHQ Central Chamber to the west.

Sunder has arrived.

Scrapper enters from the Central Chamber, still looking rather dejected and tired, what with the drooping shovel and down-turned glance, Still, he doesn't look as bad as he has. Scrapper has realised that some things can be fixed, some things can't, and the things that can be fixed, should. His beloved city and artwork may fall into the category of unfixable, but plenty of other things don't, and he should attend to those now, rather than expending all his energy mourning.

Arachnae blinks.. eyes her now empty mug, looks at Fleet and considers drinking something harder. "When it comes to inventory, I always ask." She takes the cup over to the cleaner and puts it away. "But rocket powered giant drills does have a certan panache to it." She narrows optics, "Dropping through the skies at Autobot City like giant.." pause, think, "flying drills. Hmm.. " She turns to see whom else is entering and smiles.. brightly.. upon espying Scrapper, "Scrapper! I think I might have somthing you could help me with!"

        Not too far behind Scrapper, one of the Sweeps passes through the doors of the medical bay. Offering a glance only to Scourge, his Commander, followed by an almost imperceptible nod of recognition as he seats himself at a recharging station and refuels after the long flight from Earth back to Cybertron.

Sunder asks the Gumby Medic for refueling. The medic complies.

Gumby Medic <IHQ> refuels Sunder.

With Scrapper's entrance, that exit is looking more and more inviting, but still the pastel yellow one stands his ground... and then yet another Sweep arrives. Oy. Fleet sighs and shrugs to himself, deciding to stand his ground for at least a little while longer. At the very least, this should prove educational.

Scourge's optics flicker momentarily. "Drills? Rocket-powered? From the sky?" He shakes his head. "What sort of twisted Terran garbage has he been watching?"

Scrapper glances up and over at Arachnae. He sighs a little, but his optic band brightness fractionally. The artist of the macabre had great fun the last time he 'helped' Arachnae. Ah, good time, good times. At the very least, it may prove a distraction from current affairs, and if it's just some boring thing, he can fob it off on one of his brothers. So Scrapper tilts his head a little to one side and says, almost a sliver of interest in his weary voice, "Yeah?"

Arachnae glances at Scourge, waving a hand, optics narrowing before she flashes a merry grin at Scrapper, padding over. "What do you think about giant, rocket powered drills?" She grins.

        The nameless Sweep continues refueling himself. Although it takes very little fuel to fly from Cybertron to Earth and back again, it never hurts to top off the tanks after every trip, especially since he's going back to terrorize a few Autobots as soon as he's reported in. He watches as the fluorescent fuel is pumped into a small port on his right shoulder, idly he growls as he notices a weld along his wing has begun to crack ever so slightly. "Revenant...." he hisses to himself. Making a mental note to 'chat' with the Sweep's personal medic about the quality of his workmanship.

Scrapper's shovel skews, giving him a rather baffled look. He raises a hand to his chin, considering. Okay, that's not fun like carving an Autobot while he's still alive, but cheesy weapons du jour have always held a special spot in Scrapper's laser core. He says, a bit hesitantly, "I don't know... there's still a lot of clean-up work to do..."

Fleet finishes his mug of energon, preferring, as he does, refueling by mouth (silly seeker!) and steps next to the cleaner himself, nodding to Arachnae as he does. As he puts away his mug, he can't help but wonder, once more, what place one such as himself has in a war where battles are won by the likes of Metroplex, or Trypticon, or... giant. Rocket propelled. Drills from the sky.

        Another minute or so passes before Sunder's refueling is completed. As soon as the pump chimes its shutdown, Sunder removes the fuel cable and hangs it back in place. He stands gracefully and stretches both his arms and his wings as far as he can. Long flights are tedious in such a confining form, but one could not ask for a better mode of transportation. Sunder quietly stalks around the room, standing to Scourge's left and folding his arms across his chest. He says nothing, simply watches the proceedings unfold for now.

Arachnae's optics gleam, wings flicking behind her as she smiles at Scrapper. Evil glee, like a kid in a candy store, fills her face. "What better way to recycle materials than into something to send terror into the cores of our enemies? From destruction comes creation." She grins.

"Hey, what are we recycling here?" Scrapper narrows his optic band, squinting. He doesn't particularly pay much attention to the rest of the occupants of the med bay. He's too busy mulling over the idea of giant drills falling from the sky. Why drills? Why not missiles? And heck, why not drills?

Well, that's okay, because the rest of the occupants have, for the most part, become scene filler. And why not? Sweeps and seekers have always been the favored Decepticon types when it comes to filling out a crowd. Fleet once more moves himself so that he has a clear shot at the door should anything become dangerous, although he no longer seems quite so much like a coiled spring. Comes, possibly, from going from center-of-attention to scenery.

Arachnae smiles and shrugs, "What, who, does it matter?"

Scrapper tilts his head a little more. If they do indeed happen to be recycling a who, he'd be apt to say that they'd be better off pursuing furnishing options than giant flying rocket drills. He shrugs, "Well, if it's a who, I think there'd be better uses for the materials." Scrapper pauses and then voices an earlier thought, "Why drills?"

Arachnae gives a shrug, peering at Scrapper, "Why not? It isn't something we've done before." A look over at Fleet who's doing a good job of being quiet. Which is puzling to her but acceptable. "What do you think? Rockey powered drills or should I leave the grand engineering plans to the master here and go back to exploring new and interesting ways to alter living beings?"

If Fleet could read minds, and he can't, he might wonder why Arachnae would find it curious that he can actually be quiet if he wants to. He's done it before. And this isn't really an area where he has much to contribute. Until Arachnae mentions exploring new and interesting ways to alter living beings... and he had been here to discuss an upgrade with her? The seeker shrugs and makes a soft, sighing sound. Ah, well. Options are limited, after all.

"We've never tried to make coal-fueled Seekers, either," Scrapper says with a soft snort. Still... rocket powered flying drills... argh, why are cheesy plans so irresistible? He glances away and admits, "It's an odd idea, but I don't see why I couldn't do a prototype or two and get some hard data off those."

Arachnae tilts her head to the side, optics glittering green before she steps over to Scrapper, wings splay out and she reaches out to grab the sometimes sulky engineer and give him a twirl, "It'll be *fun*."

Scrapper doesn't have the greatest reaction times, being a slow little payloader, and especially not when he's both tired and pondering madcap schemes. So the Constructicon is well and truly grabbed and twirled. Surprised and startled, his optics band brightens and his shovel twitches. Scrapper chuckles sheepishly and protests, "Hey!"

Fleet's jaw drops to allow him to stare open-mouthed as Arachnae. Twirls. Scrapper. Well, these medical types do certainly get along well with each other, don't they? After a moment he remembers to close his mouth and it instead takes on a slightly amused smile as the yellow seeker managed to contain a small chuckle of his own.

Scourge's own optics widen at the display, and then after a few moments he just shakes his head. "Maybe I should have stayed away longer instead," he murmurs quietly, where perhaps only Fleet could hear. "Now Brigand is /really/ in for it... he should have groveled longer to spare me this display."

Arachnae sets her boss down, skips back, grins like a fool a moment before looking totally abashed. "Erm.." Wings flick.. she looks left, right, then at Fleet.. "Eh... " Sheepish grin at Scrapper, "Sorry, didn't realize I could.. er.. pick you.. eh.. Nevermind.." She tries to busy herself with arranging a tool tray, "So sorry about that.. Wont happen again.." she fusses with the tools, "Eh.. errr.." And looks even more abashed when she realizes that that wasn't a shadow over there, but Scourge still present. "Primus on a pogostick...." muttered, "I'm an idiot sometimes."

Fleet now has to raise a hand to hide his smile, because otherwise he doesn't think he could keep a small laugh from getting up. He glances over at Scourge out of the corner of his optic field. And then Arachnae speaks, and he gives up on containing the chuckle entirely. He looks once more at Scourge and then just shrugs. "I will grant I've seen stranger things," Fleet replies softly, "But not often."

Scrapper just stares at Arachnae for a moment, baffled. His shovel is not even going to pretend to be properly aligned for the time being Then he shrugs and notes wryly, "No harm done. None of my brothers here to hassle me about it."

Arachnae fusses with the tool tray and looks over shoulder as Fleet gives into a chuckle. She still looks mortified, an expression she hasn't had in a few terran years. "NOt sure what that was about. But.. I mean, I'm no engineer so I wasn't certain, exactly, if you would be interested in making those. Or at least making a handful for testing." Pause, tilt of her head, optics narrow.. and a thought occurs..

Scourge considers for a moment, then eyes the mug Arachnae had been sipping. "There wasn't any high-grade in there now, was there, wingsib?"

Fleet makes a static-like noise of a throat clearing. "Sir? I filled the mug from the station," he points to the standard energon dispenser. "If someone's been putting high-grade in /there/ it probably needs to be investigated." Probably by Scrapper. With Mixmaster as the chief suspect. "But I feel no different."

Scrapper shakes himself. Very odd times, these are, although for him the sorrow outweighs the strangeness. Scrapper glances off into the distance. "Been a while since I've done any weapons design. Eh. I'll hash together a prototype if I get the time." It'll take his mind off recent events, even if it is a bit silly. Tricursed weakness for weapons du jour.

Arachnae smiles and finishes 'tidying' the tool tray. "Good. I love weapons design myself but with all the inventory and reports." She shrugs, wings flicking.

Scrapper settles down at a terminal to model some of these odd yet intriguing flying rocket-powered drills. He still doesn't look happy, and he's not going to do so for a good long time. The Constructicon engineer does, however, look fairly absorbed in planning out these doohickeys of doom, and that will have to be good enough for now.