Get this, bring that... that is NOT what Long Haul is doing at just this moment. That's because most of the supplies have already been carried on-site (by him, of course. Primus forbid anyone lend a hand, even if it would make things go faster) and how the transporter is helping to put things together. This is made a bit difficult by the fact that none of the Constructicons besides Scrapper and Mixmaster are actually allowed to SEE the plans (a fact that probably makes for a very crabby Hook, but that's neither here nor there). This means that the supervisors must do even more supervising than usual, as they basically have to give instructions each step of the way.

Scrapper has actually been having the project assembled in section that have little to do with each other. It seems like a brilliant idea! That way if someone sees it who shouldn't, he won't have any idea what's going on at all. Unfortunately, that also means that those who work on it also often have no idea what's going on, either. Sadly, enough of it has been completed that it is starting to look like something, something big and treaded and mean that could make Brawl cry for his maternal programmer. Scrapper himself is busily at work piecing together things, as with much of his work crew clueless, that means a lot more hands-on work for him. He hums as he works.

Long Haul finishes welding the thingamaboober... piece... thing that he's working on together. It's actually not a little thingamaboober piece thing. It's a fairly big, fairly heavy thingamaboober piece thing. Of course, now that it's been put together, that means he has to get it over to Scrapper so he can add it to that bigger treaded thingy. This whole project stinks! This stupid little pieced-together assembly method has meant even MORE carrying about than usual for Long Haul, what with having to move all the little pieces about to turn them into bigger pieces. The transporter sighs and, as there's no one available to actually load him, is forced to carry things the hard way. He crouches down and lifts the component. The thing is heavy enough to make even him grunt with effort, but he manages, and once he's upright he looks rather absurd, like someone's little toy figure set to carry a much larger toy around. And balance is not easy, either... the transporter growls softly, lowers his head a little, and puts all of his focus into getting the large, heavy, thingamaboober over to Scrapper.

Scrapper pays no need to Long Haul hefting around things bigger and heavier than him, like some surly lime green ant. Hey, that's Long Haul's job, right? Instead, he's leaned over a titanic drive motor and is fiddling with the device. Going straight is a much harder thing than it looks, and Scrapper wants to make sure that the alignment on this motor is good enough. yes, that's right Hook, wherever you are. Good enough! Not perfect.

The surly lime-green ant manages to get the whatever over to where Scrapper is working, but now is presented with a different problem. What to do with it? He doesn't actually know... and Scrapper is ignoring him! And in order to ask, he must take some of his focus off the balance, and put it on speaking with Scrapper instead. This might prove difficult. "Scrap...per..." he grinds out, a bit more electronic buzz to his voice than normal. "Where...?" and with that he falls silent, hoping that it's enough.

Scrapper pauses in messing around with the motor. Sigh, what is it now? He looks up at Long Haul and tries to figure out what the heck it is that his brother has there. Tricurse this working in pieces! So... it's a thing. A big thing, much like everything else. Oh, that's the thingamajig that hooks up to the doohickey. Scrapper waves a hand. Yeah, he knows what that is. "Oh, good. Put that over there." Could Scrapper get any vaguer? He could try.

Long Haul growls, more an electronic squeal than a vocalization. His optics flicker as he fights to keep himself upright, to complete his very essential task that NO ONE WILL CARE ABOUT OR THANK HIM FOR LATER. "WHERE there?" he screech-snarls.

Scrapper looks a little bit cowed, his shovel drooping as if to make him look smaller. Recovering, Scrapper draws himself up and raises his shovel back up. He huffs and says, "Sheesh, Long Haul! No need to make such a fuss." He kneels down on the ground and, with a grease-smeared hand, marks out a nice, obvious spot to put the darn thing. Hrm, grease stains. One would almost think that Scrapper goes out of his way with these things, just to be extra annoying.

A big fuss? Long Haul said two words! Two words that that it was very HARD to say, given the amount of strain the transporter is under. Long Haul walks carefully over to the indicated spot, putting all of his concentration on staying upright, a task just made that much more difficult by the fact that Scrapper has just put grease spots all over where he needs to go. This is not bored, careless day-to-day treading, this is Long Haul putting all his concentration into every step. Unfortunately, whether because he just didn't see one of the smudges or he was unable to completely avoid it for other reasons, the supply officer's foot comes down on one of the slick spots of the floor. And immediately said foot flies up, sending Long Haul and thingamajig toppling backwards, and although recently improved reflexes (thanks, Scrapper!) allow him to minimize the damage done to the object, this is accomplish by letting the entire thing fall RIGHT ON TOP OF LONG HAUL. There is a deafening clang that fills the hanger, a moment of chaos, and by the time things are settled, Long Haul is completely out of sight.Scrapper peers between his fingers. Has all that hard work been ruined? Eeee... it looks mostly intact, but something nags at Scrapper. No, the piece isn't exactly where he wanted it, but it's close enough for government work, so it can't be that. Wait... "Hey, Long Haul? Where'd you go?"

A groan, still more electronic than Long Haul's normal voice, can be heard from underneath the... whatever. Finally he gets his vocalizer fully on-line. "Under-bzt-eth... thissssss...." The hiss fades off to more of a staticy-sound, and the huge... whatever moves slightly as Long Haul works to rectify his situation.

Scrapper's optic band flashes brightly with confusion. The thingamajig speaks! Oh, it's just Long Haul. Scrapper kneels down beside the part and says, narrowing his optic band, "Well, I can't get it in place with you under it."

"Don't... wanna... b-zzt- under..." Long Haul manages to get out, and the thingamajig moves a little more as Long Haul works to slide it offa him. Then it stops. Nononono. He doesn't wanna do this, he doesn't wanna do this... he's going to have to do this. "help..." he says, barely audible. Asking for help, even from a fellow Constructicon - ESPECIALLY from a fellow Constructicon, is not an easy thing!

Scrapper puts his hands on the device and gives it a tug. His servos whine in protest, and Scrapper quickly lets go, finding moving the machinery himself a Bad Idea. Entirely innocently, he replies, "I, ah... sit tight, Long Haul! I'll go get the jack." The engineer scurries off to his toolbox to retrieve just that, feeling a tad worried. If Long Haul just asked for help, the situation has to be pretty bad.

Long Haul grunts, "HURRY!" as he continues to try to move the thing off himself. Very, very slowly the thingamajig moves over to the side, but unfortunately, Long Haul himself is damaged, and he's not in a position to get very good leverage.

Scrapper scurries back with the jack, kneels down, sets it up, and carefully tries to lever the part off Long Haul. Perhaps they ought to be more careful with such dangerous pieces in the future? Scratch that, safety regulations are only there to taunt and frustrate trainees. Blither than is entirely comforting, he comments, "If this is crunching it into anything vital, give me a yell, will you?"

Long Haul just grunts a response. It could be a 'yes'. It could be a 'no'. It could be a 'JUST HURRY UP, DAMMIT!' It's probably the last one.

Scrapper gives the jack a last push and heaves the thing off Long Haul. Scrapper winces, but who can tell if it is for his brother or because of the damage done to the thingamajig by handling it so roughly? He continues to kneel there on the floor and mutters quietly, "Blast."

Long Haul back-crab-crawls out from underneath the thing as quickly as he can, thanking primus for his minimal back-kibble. Once out from underneath it he manages to flip himself over and grunts. "I didn't hurt it that bad," he hisses as he examines his own cracked and chipped armor, then looks where he was and shakes his head when he sees just how much he left behind. "Damn," he grumbles.

Scrapper stands, kicks the jack away, and withdraws a medscanner. In a moment of gallows humour, he observes, "If all else fails, we'll just drop the blasted thing on the Autobots, just like that." Then he crouches to scan his brother and scowls. "We should probably get you back over to the medbay. We can call in some of the others off break to continue work here."

Long Haul manages to pull himself up. Lots of armor missing, but relatively little severe systems damage. Odd, that. He nods his head slowly, then stumbles a little. "Yuh," he mumbles. "I can finish movin' tha' energon later." Nevermind that energon wasn't what was being moved in the first place. Then he turns and wanders off in a random direction. A random wrong direction.

Scrapper grabs Long Haul by the elbow and attempts to drag him the correct direction. He hisses, "This way, you clu-" Clumsy? That doesn't say much for Scrapper's upgrade abilities, does it? "clattering dolt. And if you've been hauling energon, that might explain it all. Drinking energon is more like it." Not mushy over Long Haul's near-death experience? This is the wrong brother, and that wasn't nearly close enough to death.

Long Haul leaves to the Upper Hallway to the north.

Long Haul has left.