NCC Medical Ward
The Crystal City repair bay is far larger than previous versions in Imperial Headquarters or Trypticon himself. Clearly it was designed by a medic, for a medic. The entire room is rectangular in nature with medical beds arranged in a neat grid pattern. The beds themselves vary, with some being precious little more than metal slabs, and others having full scanners and tools attached, as well as everything in between. In total, there are about twenty beds. There is room for more in an emergency situation. The cabinets line the walls, spaced out between medical terminals. Everything has a place, and organization is key. With battle mode being initiated, the huge windows are covered up as the bay is encased in metal for its own protection. Access can still be gained with the right codes, however. Red warning lights flash on and off.
Scrapper's Art - Fourteen Pieces
MSE CO OFFICE (Earth)
South leads to NCC Central Command.
Southeast leads to NCC Central Hub.
East leads to Mount R'Lyeh.
Fleet has a bit of trouble fitting together Arachnae's points, and suspects he still hasn't put that little jigsaw together correctly, but the important point is made, anyway, as far as he's concerned. The likliehood of Scourge determining that one mild-natured yellow seeker was a threat to the empire was minimal. Granted, seekers have been determined threats to the empire before - particularly a red and silver one - but they generally have to be a *lot* more ambitious than Fleet to get to that point. He finishes off his current drink and chuckles slightly. "There seems to be a slight glitch in your vocalizer, Arachnae."
Catechism returns. Immediately, she starts babbling about what she saw, "So there's this sector called Alberta, and it's got this stuff called 'tar sand' and..." Then she stops to get a look at what is actually going on.
Arachnae hiccups again.. She's sitting on her desk, kicking her feet with a mug in hand. There's a flask next to her. Two actually. Different stripes on them. "Hmm. Indeed. Meh.. What was I saying.." sips from her mug again.. smirks, "Oh.. yes.. Not that I mind having large scary mechs defending my. me. There's a point where having a pack of overprotective 'brothers' so to speak, gets.. Eh.. *hic*.. Oooh.. Maybe I shouldn't have mixed those two..."
Blackmail arrives from the NCC Central Hub to the southeast.
Blackmail has arrived.
Fleet puts down the now empty mug and turns to face Arachnae, leaning forward -just- slightly in concern. "Erm... are you okay, Arachnae?" It doesn't occur to him to wonder when he stopped addressing her as 'C- Arachnae'. "Maybe it's a little soon after your recovery for this."
Arachnae snorts, waves a taloned hand. "I'm fine." Crooked smirk. "Just didn't contemplate the mixing of those two." Real mellow smile.
Catechism leans back against a medical ward wall and takes in the fact that Fleet and Arachnae seem to be getting themselves nicely overcharged. She tilts her head, bird-like, and makes a sound a like gust of air, just a little wind-mimetic Seeker-sound to get attention. "If I'm interrupting anything, I can go back to scouting."
Blackmail wanders in from the hub, her black armour is shiny and not mud covered now, however she does make a point of not making herself noticed as she leans against a far wall in silence, a smirk on her lips as she spots a certain canary coloured Seeker.
Fleet looks up at Catechism, who's worked to draw his attention, missing the still quiet blackmail. He shakes his head. "No, not really," he replies, sounding genuinely confused as to what, exactly, the conehead would be interrupting. Then he considers the situation, their relative positions... could perhaps be misinterpreted. Maybe. He doesn't bother reaffirming that she's not interrupting anything because, well, that would make things more suspicious. What he does do is consider asking Catechism to join them, before he remembers that it isn't his energon to give away. Still... he looks down at his empty mug, then back at Arachnae, "Would you mind if I had another drink?" He'd already done plenty of scouting this week, thanks! His next round could wait awhile.
Blackmail looks down and ponders to herself, 'follow the overcharged Canary, take a holocamera...' she keeps her optic glow as low as she can, despite her permanent left optic flicker that looks like a crazed eye twitch.
Arachnae perks, peering over at the door then at Catechism. Her head tips to the side, wingpanels rustling behind her. Then she smirks, "Interrupting?" Wry smirk, "Interrupting what, exactly?" Brief pause as she leans over her desk, comes up with another mug and sets it aside. "We're just having a friendly drink (or several).. *hic*.." Optics narrow. "Damnit." A snort-whiff of air out of her vocoder. "Care to join in?" a nod of her head to Fleet, "Help yourself. He brings back much more than I can drink on my own. Unless I want to turn into a lush."
Blackmail smirks and stealthily turns her audio/visual logger on, without a holocamera this was the next best thing... hrmm there isn't much chance Arachnae would be embarrassed enough to blackmail but the Canary, yes.. that one was a highly strung one alright, play this back to him later and he was wrapped around her little finger. She gives off a feline-esque smirk again.
Catechism "Well, I wasn't sure if was a private party or not." Catechism shrugs. She glances over, noticing that a black Decepticon has entered the medical ward. The Seeker doesn't make any move to bother her, though, as spook-types generally like to be left alone unless they note otherwise, Catechism has found. She considers the invitation to join in on the drinks. It's never a bad idea to top up one's tanks, and it'd be good to get to know this Arachnae better, for a number of reasons. Catechism wanders a bit closer to the drinking Decepticons. "If you don't mind..."
Through the application of a startling amount of willpower, Flee refrains from saying anything concerning Arachnae's 'Lush' comment. It's hard, though... oh, so hard... Instead he picks up the flask of what he knows to be both safe and excellent energon and pours both himself and Catechism a mug. "No, we don't mind." He gestures to the mug he isn't using. "Please."
Arachnae shrugs shoulders, wings rustling. "Not at all." Crooked smirk as optics narrow. She slides off of the desk, padding about to the proper side of the desk. She pops a talon, picks her own desk drawer and opens it. "Ahhh yes.. The stash." Wicked smirk as she looks up, wings flexing out about her. Optics flicker, visor gets pushed up over her head like a headband.. and she peers over. "Empty mug." and pulls out a few more flasks. Some have simular bands on them, others have alternating sequences. She hops back up on her desk and begins sorting them out, putting some away. "And you.. lurking over there. Don't pretend that I a: can't sense you and b: arn't aware enough of what goes on in *my* medical facility." Feral smirk, very feral as she settles on her desk. "I can smell you." matter of fact tone. And takes another sip from her mug.
Blackmail chuckles, her arms folded over her chest as she calls out from her corner and steps out into the light right behind Fleet. "Ahh, I can't get anything past you can I Arachnae." she purrs practically. "Well, since my cover is blown may I join you?" She asks cheerfully enough. "been a while since I've had a good charge up."
While he is nowhere near as drunk as Arachnae is at the moment, Fleet still has enough energon in him to be too mellow to jump as Blackmail approaches, particularly right after Arachnae called her out, anyway. He just casts the black seeker a somewhat annoyed glance and takes a good, long sip before shrugging. "Well, I don't mind, but it's not mine to give away."
Catechism takes the mug with less suspicion than she really should. Drink in a medical bay? And she trusts what's in the mug? The girl obviously has no idea of the technical going-ons of laboratories. "Thanks." She sips at the drink, not wanting to get too addled and make a fool of herself in front of strangers, although she already has two advantages 1) this is her first drink and 2) she's a little bulkier than normal Seekers due to her coneheaded design. Now that the black-armoured one has been called out, Catechism gives a friendly wave to acknowledge her.
Arachnae muses, "All I've got left for mug choices.." rummage.. coming up with what looks like a.. voodoo doll that was in her desk? Remarkable likeness to Motormaster..Save the stick pins sticking out of him. "Hmm. Forgot I had this.." Putting that back, "Oh.. yes. This one and this one." One has an image of Brawl on it, staring up at the sky with the caption: "Ain't never been t' cybertron 'ave ya? Scuse me while I look at th' sun. The other has MSE officers award of the vorn on it. "Come on and have a drink." Crooked smirk returns, "Not like my wingsibs are going t.. show up and wanna go hunting with me or something. Bah.." She peers at Catechism for a moment, "Nae bartha."
Fleet gives the pinstuck Motormaster a rather curious look. He didn't really get the significance, being rather unfamiliar with human customs, he didn't really understand what it was for... but based on his own encounter with the Stunticon, he could understand wanting to stick pins in the likeness. He takes another long sip of his drink, trying to figure out what 'Nae bartha' means.
The black Seeker picks up the Brawl mug and takes a seat on a medical bay bed. Lighter framed then the other two Seekers in this room, and a lot more of a first production issue look about her she leans back on one arm. "Well, since you've twisted my wing..." she grins lightly and glances to Cate "Either I'm more senile then I let on, or I've never seen you before..." she comments casually and pours herself some energon.
Catechism grins, still sipping at her drink. "I'm Catechism, an air warrior. If you haven't seen me, it's because I spent the last few eons in stasis. Before that, I didn't do much of note. I even knew him." She jerks a thumb back at Fleet. There's no malice in her tone whatsoever. She's merely acknowledging that Fleet tends towards low profile assignments.
Fleet DOES tend towards low profile assignments. In fact, up until recently, he had been rather proud of his track record of NOT getting mentioned in official reports, but all that was sadly loss. He just gives Catechism an amused glance and nods, taking another long drink.
Arachnae smiles a merry little smile, peering at the trio of old school cons. Whatever was in that first flask has the purple and green femme in a very mellow state of being. Well into her finishing her first hand of drinks, she flicks wings and just watches.
Blackmail knocks back her drink "Wow, I spent the last several eons on a scrap pile on cybertron..." she comments and looks to Fleet and then Cate "You know him?" she asks and shrugs "Well, never mind."
"A little, yeah. Eh?" Catechism looks over at Fleet, looking a little confused. Is it suddenly a bad thing to know him? She takes another sip and decides that she doesn't care. So what if it's a bad thing? Doesn't matter right now. Doesn't matter at all."
Grinning at the confused expression, Blackmail doesn't explain that her sense of humour was blacker then her armour, she merely pours herself another mug and smiles, going into a relaxed state as she looks around at her seeker brethren, and sistren?
"Occasionally worked together." The yellow seeker studies his drink a moment, takes another sip, and continues. " We had lost contact even before she was put into stasis, though." He didn't go in depth on what he thought of Catechism - a bit overly enthusiastic at times, yes. But cheerful, and therefore, "More tolerable than folks who actively follow me around actively insulting me the whole time, anyway." He seems completely unaware that he said the last bit out loud. Hmm. And his new mug is almost empty...
Arachnae surreptitiously.. hell, she's not being very sneaky right now. Too mellow. "Can I fill that up for you, Fleet?" Lopsided grin. One wingset skews slightly.
Fleet looks up. His optics flicker slightly as he processes, then he grins. "Sure," he replies, holding his mug out for the refill.
Blackmail chuckles into her mug, "Mmm, this is good energon." she comments and lays back looking at the ceiling, the mug resting on her chest "Arachnae, I need a cup holder installing..." she calls out and giggles a little.
And Catechism doesn't go into what she thought of Fleet. He always seems to retreat a bit too quickly and could possibly serve the cause a better by being a bit more aggressive. Still, he's very thinky, and thinky Seekers have their uses, too. Despite her conservative sips, the amount of energon her mug is slowly but surely getting lower, and she's starting to show it. She's doesn't quite wobble, but she's not standing still, either. Absently, she comments, "Yeah, tasty stuff."
Arachnae chuckles softly, "Alright.." She peers over at Blackmail, lifting a brow, "Need a refill?" and laughs again at the cupholder comment. "Empty conduit spools work in a pinch. I think there's some high tension bonding agent in the cabinet. One on each wing?" humor to her tone. "I'll tell my wingsib that this was rather enjoyable. See if he can get a case next round."
Blackmail raises her mug "Mmm yeah fill 'er up!" she states and grins, she wasn't known for holding her energon that well really. "Conduit spools? High tension bonding? heh, that sounds like that earth recording I intercepted... " she quips.
Fleet shudders slightly at the reference to earth culture. He takes a long sip of his current drink - he holds his a bit better than Blackmail, but he's also well ahead of the other two at this point - and shakes his head. "So long as you don't get the urge to repeat the recording too us, that's fine."
Blackmail's quip goes right over Catechism's pointy head. The cloudy Seeker hasn't been around on Earth long enough to know such things, and she really doesn't care much about xeno culture. It's all so pathetic compared tot he gloriousness that is Decepticonicity. Catechism looks over at Blackmail's wings and tries to picture cupholders on there. "Won't tha' mess up her airflow?" After some thought, she adds, "Better make 'em retractable, nah?"
The black seeker snorts and sits up "Definatly not, I was looking for some good material to blackmail some well connected humans... you'd be amazed at some of the ways they reproduce them selves, it's really quite disgusting."
"I bet," the yellow seeker snarls. The others have absolutely no idea how close they came to a genuine Fleet rant there, narrowly avoiding what was rather a sore topic for him. Instead, he just continues to drain his mug.
Arachnae blinks, mug midway to mouth and peers at Blackmail. It starts with a flick of her wings before she all over body shudders. "Ew.. ew ew ew ew.. ew ew.. ew ew ew.. ew.. EEEEEW!!!" OPtics bright emerald in hue, "Never bring that up you." pointing at Blackmail, "That was the single most disgusting file on reproductive methodology that I think I have ever been subjected to in my entire *career* as a researcher! I don't know /who/ loaded it into the medical files but when I find them, they, and all of their collected materials are getting a swift boot to the aft and a wall welding for that travesty of.. Gah.. Meh.. Ewwww,, Ew ew ew... Eeeeew..... "
Arachnae rants.. wow.
Better than a Fleet rant. Although his would have involved a lot less 'Eww'.
Catechism looks concerned at mention of xeno reproduction and stares into her mug, as if she is thinking deep, philosophical thoughts, which she most certainly isn't. Still looking a bit put out, she chatters, "What, the xenos dun use factories or, umph, workshops?"
Blackmail laughs, "I didn't, but I kinda wish I did at that reaction." She grins happily to Arachnae "What about that part where... ok...ok I'll shut up..." she snickers and pets her mug down. "This was fun, but I could do with a recharge." she states as she heads out
Arachnae shudders, mumbling about exchange rates and biofilters for a moment.
Blackmail has disconnected.
Fleet's optics flicker in confusion (and a bit of drunkeness) as he watches the black seeker leave. Do with a recharge? "Wha- she didn't get enough energy here?" he wonders to himself. Actually, he wonders that out loud, but he's losing track of what he's saying and what he's just thinking.
Arachnae looks up and over at Catechism, "No... no they don't. There's a text file on methodology in the archives. I had the... pictorial displays removed." She frowns a moment, puzzling something out... "Ooohh... I think I know who put those there..." Shake of her head and a snort-scowl. "What?" looking at Fleet.. "You know how a good drink puts some lightweights t' sleep." crooked smirk again.
Fleet grins lopsidedly himself as he finishes off his third mug. He's getting dangerously lit himself, and will probably be looking either to dance or for a game of storm tag soon, at this rate. "Yeah, but really, that's more *dis*charge than *re*charge, when you think about it. One kind of wonders where it picked up that odd mis-name." Is mis-name even a proper term? It is now, dammit!
Catechism finishes her mug and scratches the back of her helmet. She then goes on to postulate some nonsense of her own, "Maybe if ya get too much energy, you, err, reset, yeah, and have to fuel up again." When she hears Arachnae's answer about xenos and factories, Catechism again looks a little ill and shudders. "If the xenos are going to go about it the wrong way like that, I dun want to hear it. Actually..." She pauses, staring in her mug again, as if hoping that it will magically refill. "...I dun want to hear much about xenos at all. Except whose bright idea it was ta arm them."
Fleet leans back against the table. No. Misses. Stumbles back, recovers, and THEN leans back against the table. He is once more facing away from the desk, rather than towards. "Who do you think?" he growls. "It certainly wasn't *our* side!"
Arachnae sniggers, picking a flask out of the assortment, popping the top.. and offering to refill Catechisms' mug, "Why wonder?" she muses out loud, "Wondering t' much can gat you into aaaallll sorts of trouble." She gives a head shake, wings rustling behind her only to settle slightly in disarray. "I don't want to talk much about the natives." Snort-whiff of air, "They armed themselves."
Fleet clearly has his doubts on that account, but he keeps them mostly to himself. Surprisingly, he manages to keep this little train of thought silent, at least.
Catechism scowls momentarily but her smile returns when she sees that she can get her mug refilled. She holds it out, fairly steadily, as she's not that sloshed yet. "Thanks. Mmm... and here I was hoping to have 'nother excuse to sock those leakin' Autobots one."
Fleet barks out a sudden laugh. "Since when have you ever needed an excuse, Cat-chism?" He seems to have forgotten that little 'e' in there.
Arachnae laughs softly, optics brilliant emerald, "Who needs reason?"
Fleet grins again. "Well, we do have one reason. The only important one: they get in our way." He raises his mug and jabs it outward to emphasize his point. Upon lowering takes a sip. Well, tries to. Seems he's drained that one, too. He studies the empty mug for a bit, trying to decide if he wants another.
Catechism agrees genially, "I dun need an excuse. But they're handy ta have, especially when they get all righteous all over ya." Catechism sits down and puts and arm behind herself for support. Ah the benefits of hip-mounted wings - they don't get in the way when she wants her arms behind her back. "I just dun see how they can take themselves seriously. They're all so ludicrous." She's not sipping at her drink slowly anymore. Instead, Catechism's taking rather larger amounts now.
Arachnae helps Fleet decide by holding a flask up with a smile. She's a bit quieter at the moment, but then again... Who knows what she does in her office. "Sooo..." curiosity lending her a mischievous air, "What *do* seekers do when they get tanked?"
Fleet studies the flask, the mug, the flask... then holds out the mug. Last one. Really! "Well... I'm seriously considering going for a d- a fly, or something like that. It would feel nice to feel the wind against my wings, and I will make one thing - terran weather patterns can certainly make for some interesting d- flying at times." He smiles as the mug is refilled and takes another drink - these can no longer be called sips - having already forgotten he slipped up twice in the last ten seconds.
Arachnae refills the held out mug with that lopsided grin of hers. "A flight? Hmmmm..." Wings flick, panels rustle out. "One thing I do like about this place.. Planet.. Filthy mudball from the pit that it is.." Sip.. eye the surprising empty bottom of the mug. blink.. and refill. "Is the athmos.. at.. air." Nod. "Real decent to fly in."
Catechism laughs, although it's not entirely clear at what, and continues making her mug not half-empty but all-empty. She sits up a little straighter when she hears that the atmosphere is good for flying. Like nigh-all her kind, Catechism was built for the sky, and friendly atmospheres make life easier. Hazily, she inquires, "None of that killer acid rain?"
Fleet shakes his head. Odds are, the head-stuck-in-wall comment hasn't registered on him... or if it has, he shrugged it off as one of those weird conehead things. "Naw. Their rain is often mildly acidic, but nothing like home. Natural weather patterns can be a bit more extreme, and their storms can be pretty damned impressive." He works on emptying his mug as well. After all, sooner it's empty, sooner he can dance. Or get more. Whatever seems good at the moment.
Arachnae gives shake of her head, "Nothing killer. Serious turbulence though. Killer storms." A slightly glazed look as she mentally muses thunderstorms. Panels on wings glitter in an odd fashion. "Real nice."
Catechism finishes her drink, "stretches", and stands, peering at the desk and Arachnae in search of more. She comments off-handedly, "Really good storms, eh? Could play storm tag..." She glares at the mug. Better not if she's going to fly, but... it's tasty and oh-so-good to be reminded of how good it is to be alive after that seeming-eternity in stasis, and this stuff reminds her really well.
No, not empty yet, but Fleet could make his mug so rather quickly. Storm tag... almost as good as dancing, that... a slow grin spreads across his face. "Storm tag..." he murmurs, then he does make his mug empty. "You know, that sounds like fun." Uncommon sense has obviously given up and turned in for the night.
Arachnae perks, looking awfully curious. She's heard about this... event. Quizzical smile, wing panels rustling behind her, "Storm tag?" thoughtful tone... Smile shifts to a frown... reports... must... Head all fuzzy. Meh.. Which mug is this? She eyes her mug... sips... "Could I... watch?" One kid asking another group of kids to share playtoys.
Some Seekers do tend to be biased against non-Seekers, but Catechism's usually friendly unless given reason otherwise, and the drinks have her rather mellowed out, anyway. She exclaims, "You could play! Right, Fleet? She's got wings 'n all... 'Sides, a game of storm tag with only two's... does that even work?" The conehead frowns, thinking and finding reasoned thought tricky. She makes little shadow-puppet jets with her hands and does a mock game, still wrestling with the numerical problem.
Fleet nods enthusiastically in agreement, momentarily upsetting his stabalizers. Rattle rattle rattle. He stands up, stumbles, regains his balance. And he intends to fly like this. Should be interesting. "Sure! I've got no problem with it, anyway!" He looks at Arachnae. "You know the rules, right?"
Fleet has finally put the mug down. Now is not the time for drinking! Now is the time for gaming!
Arachnae sets her mug on her desk and sliiides off, wings bobbling out behind her in skewed half furl. "I can play?" excitement to her tone. Rank? What's that? Decorum? Who needs that, this is something new! "Eh.." some excitement fades, "I don’t know the rules. Heard about it but. Eh.. Until.. recently, I wasn't really qualified for high speed maneuvers."
Fleet sways again, stumbles, catches himself on Arachnae's desk, then tries to right himself again. Wait - wait - it's coming - wait for it... no. He knocks *something* off 'Nae's desk (leaving it to her player to decide which... hope it wasn't important!) and frowns, trying to think. Okay. There's gotta be a way to do this...
Catechism giggles and inquires, "What's in that stuff? If it'll get Fleet flying out in a storm sloshed like that maybe it'll get him ta stick around longer in battle." If she had more of her wits about her, she probably wouldn't have mentioned it, but her wits are cheerily on vacation at the moment.
Arachnae's wings remain skewed behind her in lopsided arrangement. Optics brilliant emerald, especially since she pushed her visor up. "Goonna go flyin'.. " singsong tone as she steps away from the desk.. and turns, blinking to watch something fall off. "Oooh.." blinking.. "Whoah.. Party foul?" It's just a mug.. and empty. She sniggers again before snapping around in a whirl, looking off at the wall. "Whaaa?" puzzled frown. "Clear skies or a storm.. Can find a good storm with th.. th.." puzzled frown. She has a moment of clarity in which she compares this to her last overcharge.. "Console." complete the thought lass, there you go. She shakes her head, a crackle of static charge racing down wingpanels as systems work to rid her form of the additional energy in flickering faerie fire displays. She's glowing. Literaly. "Well. First flask was.. soporific. Second straight.. Th' ones with th' gold stripe had somethin' Dreds called.. eh.. Splar.. Sp.. Hrmph.. Sparklie. Space spark.. No.." Ticking talon on her chin, other hand on hip in an angled out leg stance for balance. "Oh yeah." narrowing of the optics, "Novastorm.. Heh.. Very sparklie."
Fleet gives up on standing. He lowers himself to the floor, leaning against Arachnae's desk. He fails to process Catechism's remark as an insult, but some part of him does process the remark. "Point," he says, pointing at Catechism. "You have a point." He doesn't even seem to realize this could be taken to reference the top of her head. "Flying... prolly no' a good idea jus' now. And maybe no' a possbilly." His last drink is starting to work it's way into his system, just now beginning to take full effect. He looks up, although his optics are on the slow road to shutdown. "I can dance tomorrow," he says happily.
"We gotta get Fleet some sparklies, then," Catechism muses. Vague concern sluggishly processes through her mind. Can those two actually stand up straight, let alone fly? That thought is promptly derailed by Fleet's instance that she has a point. She pats the top of her head and agrees, "Yeah. Dunno why. Was just made that way."
Crawling under ones desk as systems give impending warning of immediate shutdown sequences isn't the best idea. But its appealing. Arachnae's still glowing in her own odd way, ticking talontip to her chin a few more moments. "Sparklies?" peering over, train of thought derailing. "Hey. Floor." Peering down. It's.. a long way down. A lot longer than she remembers in that disjointed sense of the world deciding to pick up the spin about her. "Think before we go racing about.... Should.. sit down.." There's a brilliant idea.. She drops down into a wobbly crouch then settles on the floor next to her desk, wings folding about her in skewed arrangements. "Hmmmm... Miss.." dissolves into mumbles for a moment, picking at the floor with a talon. "Think.. maybe not up to flying now.." Nod of her head.. "Should.. Got o my office.. Get int here.. crash.. Er.. rest.. Yes.. proper and proer and all that slag."
Fleet laughs far louder and longer than he should. "No, na tha one... 'bout the sloshed flying thing. Na.. maybe na the best idea righ now." Uncommon sense! Welcome home! He processes Arachnae's comments. Slowly... slowly. Takes awhile. One piece into place, then another, then... ah! "Catch-kism? s'maybee... if you're up, erm, able for it... maybe help 'Rachnae inna her office?" For himself, he's perfectly content to collapse right there on the floor.
Catechism just now notices that Arachnae's glowing and has been for a while. Heh, weird. Catechism gestures vaguely, "Was nice. All the... stuff. I'm'a gonna go get a bucket." What, exactly, Catechism wants with a bucket is unclear and probably shouldn't be questioned too closely given her earlier comment about walls. She stares at Fleet for a long moment after he asks her to help Arachnae to her office. After a tick, the conehead answers brightly, "Yeah, sure! 'Least I can do." She then wander over to Arachnae and offers a hand.
Arachnae studies the floor for a moment longer, feeling slo-o-ow. Blinking, she reaches up for the hand, misses, tries again. "Should go have a liedown. All glowy sparklie." Optics dimming and slitting. "Too bright in here." Crooked smirk. "Have t' do this again." Settling herself.. with wings cocked out at jaunty angles. "Bucket's in th' mop closet." Vague wave to a wall. "Gonna go lie down now." Wobble-weave towards her office. A pause as she tries to unlock the door.. Then *zots* it.. and meanders in with the alarm going off. A few moments later the alarm stops. And the door closes.
Having walked Arachnae to her office, Catechism stands there for a moment, wondering where the broom closet is. Then she remembers that Fleet's still there on the floor. He's a bit hard to miss really. The two trains of thought combine to form Railracer with no legs! Actually, she just asks, "Flee', d'ya know where the broom closet is?"
"Hmm? I'll just haveta find it myself, then," Catechism decides, when Fleet doesn't answer. The conehead wanders off in search of the broom closet and a bucket, for whatever inscrutable purposes she may have.