"Volunteering, nothing! If I find out you do anything like this again without me, or in an emergency, First Aid, present, I will make you regret it." Ratchet's optics narrowed dangerously before he turned back to Tracks' joint, giving it a last few tweaks.
"That ought to do it for function since I don't have any spare armour on me." The cracks in the metal surrounding the joint weren't overly deep and could be taken care of by Tracks' self-repair, but he, like Sunstreaker, always insisted on everything being 'repaired', whether it needed to or not, right that moment instead of waiting for the self-repair.
Luckily they also (usually) knew when not to push this attitude.
Cliffjumper, meanwhile barely managed to supress his hiss and sank down where he sat, teeth gritted.
::Which fraggin' trouble?! Me apologisin' ain't gonna change that I got into a brawl with the snobby rust-up-his-circuits over there, so why the slag should I---:: Grinding his teeth and making sure his engine was locked down to not rev, Cliffjumper didn't bother doing anything with his jerky field - it wasn't reaching far enough the other three mechs in the room would have noticed unless they were already paying attention to him.
::I'm sorry for bein' an... an aft and not askin', okay? And... uh... sorry for messin' this up too, but I ain't sorry for interruptin' 'cause it could have been something bad!:: At the last, while Ratchet stood up, Cliffjumper finally turned his helm enough to glare at Mirage, chin stubbornly set.
They could say what they wanted, but he wasn't going to be sorry or apologise for interrupting a potentially bad situation, just... apologise for messing it up. Which wasn't precisely the same thing.
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"That ought to do it for function since I don't have any spare armour on me." The cracks in the metal surrounding the joint weren't overly deep and could be taken care of by Tracks' self-repair, but he, like Sunstreaker, always insisted on everything being 'repaired', whether it needed to or not, right that moment instead of waiting for the self-repair.
Luckily they also (usually) knew when not to push this attitude.
Cliffjumper, meanwhile barely managed to supress his hiss and sank down where he sat, teeth gritted.
::Which fraggin' trouble?! Me apologisin' ain't gonna change that I got into a brawl with the snobby rust-up-his-circuits over there, so why the slag should I---:: Grinding his teeth and making sure his engine was locked down to not rev, Cliffjumper didn't bother doing anything with his jerky field - it wasn't reaching far enough the other three mechs in the room would have noticed unless they were already paying attention to him.
::I'm sorry for bein' an... an aft and not askin', okay? And... uh... sorry for messin' this up too, but I ain't sorry for interruptin' 'cause it could have been something bad!:: At the last, while Ratchet stood up, Cliffjumper finally turned his helm enough to glare at Mirage, chin stubbornly set.
They could say what they wanted, but he wasn't going to be sorry or apologise for interrupting a potentially bad situation, just... apologise for messing it up. Which wasn't precisely the same thing.