Categories > Cartoons > Transformers
Conversation
0 reviewsRatchet & Ironhide have a drink and a conversation. Takes place directly after Sand.
0Unrated
Ratchet hid his smirk behind his cube of high grade as he observed his companion try to hide his embarrassment at being caught out earlier.
"You did spend all afternoon watching me, did you not?" Ratchet said, sipping at his cube, optic ridge raised in Ironhide's direction.
"Hmnf!" was the reply from the weapons master, sulking over his own empty cube. The medic only smiled, and pushed a second cube towards Ironhide, who promptly picked it up, staring into the faintly pink depths. "What were you studying?" came the hesitant query a few moments later.
Ratchet shrugged. "Fish, mostly. I was more observing their underwater antics than truly studying them. They were more interested in using my plating as sanctuary."
"What." Not a query this time, more like a demand for information.
"I was entertainment to them, 'Hide. Calm down. I was not harmed."
"Still think you are going to rust, wading in the ocean." Ironhide stared straight at Ratchet.
Ratchet snorted at that idea. "I will not rust, and I know how to prevent that occurrence. And to ease your fears, I am taking steps to remedy the excess salt on my chassis shortly."
Ironhide shifted closer, interest peaked at that comment. "Oh?" he shifted in his seat, the creaking quietened by the recent application of oil.
Ratchet wore a satisfied smile as he replied, "Yes. Just finished setting up a proper wash rack."
A scarred optic ridge rose at that news. "The major know?"
"His idea." Ratchet drained his cube.
Optics narrowed as Ironhide shifted closer, his knee brushing against the medic's underneath the table. "Explain."
Ratchet smiled, and leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out. "Simple. The major chanced to overhear some pointed remarks I was making about the amount of sand and organic matter present on the island, and how it was not very polite to expect our allies to take care of our personal bathing, and well, it went on from there." Setting down his empty cube, Ratchet started to rise. 'In fact, I am on my way to test out the wash rack. The salt is starting to itch, and I think I did not get all of the sand out of my armor." The medic finished standing, then turned and walked off, heading towards a recently installed Cybertronian sized door, which promptly slid open as Ratchet waved a hand near the doorpad.
A creaking black shadow shortly followed, and the last sound was the sound of a door sliding firmly shut and a lock engaging.
"You did spend all afternoon watching me, did you not?" Ratchet said, sipping at his cube, optic ridge raised in Ironhide's direction.
"Hmnf!" was the reply from the weapons master, sulking over his own empty cube. The medic only smiled, and pushed a second cube towards Ironhide, who promptly picked it up, staring into the faintly pink depths. "What were you studying?" came the hesitant query a few moments later.
Ratchet shrugged. "Fish, mostly. I was more observing their underwater antics than truly studying them. They were more interested in using my plating as sanctuary."
"What." Not a query this time, more like a demand for information.
"I was entertainment to them, 'Hide. Calm down. I was not harmed."
"Still think you are going to rust, wading in the ocean." Ironhide stared straight at Ratchet.
Ratchet snorted at that idea. "I will not rust, and I know how to prevent that occurrence. And to ease your fears, I am taking steps to remedy the excess salt on my chassis shortly."
Ironhide shifted closer, interest peaked at that comment. "Oh?" he shifted in his seat, the creaking quietened by the recent application of oil.
Ratchet wore a satisfied smile as he replied, "Yes. Just finished setting up a proper wash rack."
A scarred optic ridge rose at that news. "The major know?"
"His idea." Ratchet drained his cube.
Optics narrowed as Ironhide shifted closer, his knee brushing against the medic's underneath the table. "Explain."
Ratchet smiled, and leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out. "Simple. The major chanced to overhear some pointed remarks I was making about the amount of sand and organic matter present on the island, and how it was not very polite to expect our allies to take care of our personal bathing, and well, it went on from there." Setting down his empty cube, Ratchet started to rise. 'In fact, I am on my way to test out the wash rack. The salt is starting to itch, and I think I did not get all of the sand out of my armor." The medic finished standing, then turned and walked off, heading towards a recently installed Cybertronian sized door, which promptly slid open as Ratchet waved a hand near the doorpad.
A creaking black shadow shortly followed, and the last sound was the sound of a door sliding firmly shut and a lock engaging.
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