OPEN |

[aurable]

CHARACTERS: Drift and YOU
LOCATION: Various—Infirmary, Sunlight Room primarily with individual prompts in other locations
DATE: Dec. 1-5th
CONTENT: Several people have told Drift to remain in the infirmary for a few days after SEAL Team Hot Girl Shit fed the orb. Spoiler: He does not do this.
WARNINGS: description of (robot) severed limbs + odds-on mentions of suicide and substance abuse

INFIRMARY

The last thing Drift wanted to do now was dream— every memory or random sensation his subconscious attempted to catalog and make sense was a deafening echo chamber and the last place he wanted to be. Pulling himself out of the shallow grave of an artificially sedated rest made his vision blur. Everything he saw was like photographs burned with double exposure; the real overlayed with the imaginary. He thinks there was a hand over his chest—he imagines a voice over the drowned-out words of whoever was really at his bedside. ("You can't keep doing this to yourself, kid")

Only one person ever called him that, and they were long gone. That sharp pang of reality made Drift redouble his efforts to make sense of the oily stains that made up for the outlines of people moving around—rousing himself until he was pushing himself upright. His greatsword was propped against the wall at his (comically large) bedside. The amber siphoning gemstone inlaid at the hilt was visibly cracked—nearly cloven in two and only held together by the handle itself. His already aching spark stuttered at the sight of it.

(Take care of her.)

Drift frowned as he recalled Remi's words—drawn up at the sight of what it cost to bring the orb back. Drift was a mess. His color was dull, and his eyes barely a flickering blue light as he took stock of what damage he had taken by feeling alone. Some of his injuries were internal, but most had been just exhaustion from the strain.

Turning to the first person he sees, Drift voices the only question on his mind: "Is everyone okay?"

SUNLIGHT ROOM

Popular opinion was that a holoform was only a means of subterfuge—play-acting at being something more palatable for the sake of others. Drift saw the logic there but disagreed and found the idea limiting. Here, on a station designed with a crew manned by organics in mind, a holorform was just convenient. Drift took a more metaphysical approach to the whole concept of his human guise. Some of his fellow 'bots likened it to piloting a tiny suit, others to sleepwalking without real sensation. Drift, on the other hand, felt himself wholly like this. As close to a human as he could be, he was unburdened by the constraints of his massive frame still laid up and healing.

At least here, Drift could stand by the brook and feel the artificially winter-chilled water just starting to frost at the shoreline flow over his fingertips. Anyone who had met Drift before like this would note his appearance was more drawn with an impressive landscape of unkempt stubble on his face. He rises from the brook and sits back on a large boulder—idly twirling a sheathed sword by its hilt in his hand with its end poking into the frosted grass.

"Nice, isn't it?"

WILDCARD

( ooc: please feel free to hmu at bretons or bitchard#0228 for starters )

Comments

CLOSED to Alina Starkov

[aurable]

Drift doesn't think he stares—in a creepy way, anyhow. He is aware he tends to be a little intense when his attention is focused on something in particular, but he chalks that up to an old bounty hunter's habits. So he swears he isn't staring at the girl sleeping in the bedside he had taken to sitting next to. All he was doing was watching for any changes.

He and Alina had never found time to be adequately introduced once plans were in motion to capture the orb. Even turning that monumentally awkward dinner, Remi had organized the conversation then had more or less all been shallow platitudes. Not a whole lot of time to find the right words for: Hi, nice to meet you. Looking forward to possibly dying to trap some talking rock?

Out of everyone who had followed through with Drift's plan once Eleven had tracked the orb, Drift felt a fraction more of responsibility towards Alina. She had been the one who ultimately saved the day, and it was her power Drift had been most drawn to. That living light—that spark that rose out of her like the very sun. And now it was Alina being laid up on an IV drip, paying for Drift's hair-brained scheme. He himself wasn't doing so hot, either. Mind still in a fog even as a holoform he was slumped in the chair, barely more conscious than his prone physical form in the bed catty-cornered to Alina's. Only when he saw her stir did Drift bother to sit up straight.

"Hey."

[peasant]

Dragging herself back to awareness is an unpleasant reminder of everything she had once been. Sickly. Frail. Exhausted, from even the slightest bit of exertion. Unaware that the suppression of her powers had left her drained, a thing half-alive. Only this time, she can sense it — like something vital inside of her has dimmed, a sun peeking out from behind an eclipse, as fragile as a candle flickering in the wind.

Her sapped power is the first worry to come to mind, as she blinks groggy eyes open to the bright, sterile glare of the infirmary's lights. The second — the bits of bone threaded through the points of her collarbone, forcing her fingers to shoot up too quickly. And the third, once she's assured her turtleneck still covers the jagged edge of those antlers stitched into her skin — the sight of someone else stationed at her bedside.

Instinctively, she jerks, flying up in her bed so quickly it tugs the IV tethered into her arm. It takes a moment more to calm the racing speed of her heart, galloping in her chest to match the stricken doe-eyed widening of her eyes, skittish. But —

Once she clears the sleepy fog from her eyes, she can make out Drift's face, his posture. Seated like a guard at a post in a chair at her bedside, and not looming like an enemy. She swallows down her fright, rubbing at the (now sore) flesh connected to the IV.

"Hey," she rasps, hoarse, and frowns at the sudden throb that shoots through her head. It drops back onto the pillow behind her, casting a questioning glance in his direction. When words come again, they're dropped into a hush, trying to avoid the stabbing pains that want to prick through her skull. "They didn't have a bed for you?"

[aurable]

Drift didn't know if it was the haze of whatever he had been dosed with or how quickly things had escalated when Alina roused, but he could have sworn he saw something poking out of the collar of her turtleneck. Probably nothing—some weird human thing. Under all that skin, he knew they were rather pointy, what with the bones and all. He didn't know the finer points, but he liked to believe he knew at least the basics of human physiology.

With a grunt, Drift rose to his feet and was at Alina's bedside. He wobbled slightly and raked a hand over his face to scrub away the exhaustion still clinging to him like a layer of dust. Human guise or not, it still took a bit of effort to get his bearings, and he felt everything just as keenly as if this were his own body.

"Easy there," Drift hovers, but he doesn't touch Alina as he takes a cursory look to make sure the IV drip is still in place. "Leave it in. At least for now, you're probably more dehydrated than anything. It's better to be uncomfortable than have Bones passing out from the conniption he'll throw if you take it out and that veins go off like a geyser."

"I'm in one of the beds under strict orders to stay there," Drift's weary face flashes a conspiratorial wink and small smile as he sinks back down into the chair. "They forgot I can be in two places at once. I wanted to see how you were doing."

[peasant]

Well, that gruesome mental image he's painted is one way to corral her. Bleeding out in the corridor is somehow even less appealing than the tempting thought of freedom from the overheard lights, the inevitable poking and prodding she's waiting for — invasive and pitying. Unwelcome, most of all; there was a reason she and Mal had learned to bandage and treat their own wounds, guarded and distrustful, unwilling to draw attention to any sliver of weakness.

Alina's nose scrunches, a little disgusted — and more than a little disgruntled at being assigned to bedrest. She shuffles in the sterile sheets, head flopping back against the medical cot's raised headrest.

"I'm not a horse." Easy there. What's next — whoa, girl? A snort follows, feebly good-humored for all of her grousing. "Maybe I should be grateful none of you tried to lay me out in the Sunlight Room like a plant." Not that it's ... exactly a terrible idea, Alina reasons, feeling the weak pull of power within her chest. An ember always needs to be fanned into a flame, or it risks burning out entirely.

Something to consider for later. She closes her eyes for a moment, blowing out a breath, before refocusing her gaze on his disheveled appearance. (Un)forutnately for Drift, she doesn't have the necessary manners or restraint to resist pointing out, "Did you know going around looking like that makes it more obvious to me you're not doing much better than I am?"

WILDCARD; CW: Grief and uh... well we'll see what else besties

[flickerandfade]

Megatron had taken some time to himself to rest once he had settled Drift in the infirmary and despite his own less-than-healthy disposition, he's imposed on himself the duty of caring for Drift during the other's recovery. Now, with a few days rest after the end of the mission, Megatron is investigating the possibilities or releasing Drift from the confines of the infirmary. As part of that, he had gone to Drift's chosen quarters, mostly to ensure that they were in a proper state for an invalid and that they were well-stoked with the required necessities. Energon, a bed, and so forth.

He hadn't intended to open the box left sitting next to the bed. He had been trying to clear it away, actually, so that Drift wouldn't have to move it himself when he was resting. It was the slight tremor in his hands, the murmur in the pulse of his spark that had come after the interaction with the orb. Megatron had fumbled it and it had spilled open--

To reveal a pair of hands. A pair of hands that Megatron knew well enough from the war and from the time he'd spent on board the Lost Light. The sight of the hands in itself hadn't shocked Megatron, but rather the idea of Drift's mental state. He was carrying around pieces of his dead conjunx. The box had been collected, repacked, and closed with as much gentleness, respect and care as Megatron could muster.

Then he marched himself to the infirmary.

He does his best not to loom over Drift's bed, but then Megatron had never quite lost the habit of coming off intimidating.

"Drift. We need to talk."

[aurable]

Few things were more irritating than a non-compliant patient—Drift knew this considering his long and impressive track record as being one of the worst. Difficult to a fault and stubborn about being laid up in the infirmary, Drift had made his thoughts on the matter clear from the moment they stepped off the teleporter. Even when Rat- when Drift had a doctor, he was a flight risk on the rare occurrence of needed medical care and rest. Rest never suited him; rest left him with his thoughts for longer than he cared for, and he had since made several attempts to leave. When Bones wasn't successfully guilting him, there was the less personable enforcer of the rule.

A long shadow loomed over Drift then, and it had only taken some four million or so years for it to no longer be intimidating. Drift looked up and met Megatron's grim expression with an impassive stare. The mean-mugging was nothing new to Drift, and he had no cause to question it—really, that was just how Megatron looked half the time.

"I haven't moved since you left to case my room," Drift said. "What now?"

[flickerandfade]

Megatron leaned forward, his voice pitching lower. He frowned a moment, focused intently on his words remaining in Neocybex. This was not a conversation others needed to overhear or understand, thank you. And the infirmary has a tendency to have others dropping by lately, thanks to the end of the mission.

"I knew you were in a bad way, but I didn't realize the weight of your grief was so severe." He was bad at this. He wanted to help, he really but he had no idea how. Being gentle seemed beyond him at times.

"I can understand wanting mementos of your time together, but this seems like a step too far, Drift." He paused. Tried to gather a better way of phrasing himself.

"I'm concerned about you."

[aurable]

Drift leans back on instinct as his EM field shuttered with the irritation of having his (admittedly large) personal bubble invaded. The look of anger flagged into confusion when Megatron suddenly shifted to Neocybex.

"What are you on about now, Megatron?" Drift huffed, not even sure why he was encouraging this by switching to the language as well. "Your accent is thicker than usual, by the way."

Infirmary

[spacedisaster]

[ Peter had been less than a decade old when he got convinced that hospitals were not places where people went to get better. They were places where people died. People like his mother.

And as such, he hates them with a passion that makes his pulse race, and that leaves him with white knuckles from how hard he's clutching the metal tray in his hands. And yet there he is, on an infirmary, on purpose, and the only reason why he's not running far, far away from this damned place it's because there are people here that he cares about. Friends who got hurt and that he hopes will recover well and not die (but you can never be sure with hospitals. Never, never.)

Peter's actually been waiting for Drift to come back to the world of the living, holding a couple of cubes of Energon in a metal tray, held in front of his chest. He's a little paler than usual and there are some dark circles under his eyes that speak of lack of sleep, but the moment Drift speaks, Peter gives him a reassuring smile. ]

Everyone's alive. Tired, but in one piece. [ Peter lifts the tray, bringing it closer to the Cybertronian, and silently offering the energon to him. ] How are you feeling?

[aurable]

[ Drift turned to Peter and offered a smile he wasn't sure quite reached his optics. Tired was an understatement, and even if they hadn't cycled through the infirmary, it seemed everyone was stretched thin and burnt out. Peter had faired no better, and Drift noticed that his human friend's aura was a riot of tension and unease even though he was clearly exhausted. ]

You even put them in little cubes? That's sweet, thank you. [ Drift's smile broadened at that as he took a pull of one and put the other on the nightstand. He was tempted to ask if the choice of container was something he learned from that cartoon of his but held off. For now. ]

Tired, but in once piece. [ Drift winked ]

What about you? Don't take this the wrong way but you seem...wrecked.

[spacedisaster]

Ah...I thought cubes were customary. [ Drift is 100% right that Peter's reasoning comes from what he saw in that cartoon as a kid. He's looking a little sheepish but smiling, and the comment about his current state. ]

I look like shit, you can just say that. I'm aware. Eh... I'll crash and take a long rest eventually, I promised that to Bones back in the castle, and I have the feeling he will hold me to that promise. I wanted to check on people first.

[ Peter's got certain priorities, you see. Maybe not the best, but he's got them. ]

No one died, I think we can consider the mission a success...[ He eyes the cracked gemstone of Drift's sword, grimacing. ] ...more or less. Can that be fixed? You said that sword was like your soul, lifeforce?

[aurable]

Heh— no, not really, but it does the job. [ Drift doesn't have it in him to rag on Peter for what was a nice gesture and dutifully polishes off the energon before leaving the empty cubes on the table. ]

Alright, you look like shit. [ They both did, really. ] Bones will have an easier time with you than me following up on that promise, so you'd be wise to make good on it before he goes on the warpath.

[ At the mention of the sword, Drift's expression sobered as he reached over to grab it. Laying it across his thighs as he gingerly ran a thumb around the visible crack running the breadth of the amber stone. ]

Close, but it taps into my spark—it has no real connection to me beyond that. [ Drift is physically looking down at the sword, but his gaze goes somewhere far off. ] This sword wasn't even mine to begin with. Someone gave it to me a long time ago to remember its original master who died saving my life. Now look what I've gone and done.

( sunlight room )

[scarcastically]

[ erik has traveled the world. immersed himself in many cultures. he had to, in order to achieve his goals. to sam, he called himself an empire-breaker and that still holds true. if there's a system that takes advantage of people, he wants to be the hammer that shatters the framework.

but he's not immune to beauty. at least. not lately. the sun has set. his hands are in his pockets as he wears his ratty denim jacket and pants. ]

I'm more of a summer person.

[aurable]

[ Drift doesn't startle, but when he does turn to see Erik standing there—intact and very much alive he stares at him for a moment, just shy of an awkward one before speaking. ]

When someone believes you to be dead, it's considered rude not to let them know otherwise.

[scarcastically]

Isn't that what I'm doing now?

[ still, he does feel a little sheepish. erik runs a hand over his dreads, briefly combing them back. ]

I needed some time. To recover and get my head on straight. Didn't really think I'd die twice in my own dreams.

[aurable]

A fair point. [ Drift laughs airily at that. ]

That would make two of us. [ Drumming his fingers around the hilt of the sword held loosely in one hand, Drift glances down at where his foot draws a line in the frost-kissed grass. ] I'm still getting my head on straight.

🌤️

[droide]

[ Elthree is lucky not to have suffered as much damage as most of the others. Either that, or mechanical repairs are quicker and easier than healing organic flesh. So she's one of the few who's up and about the station quickly, while everyone else rests in the infirmary.

She takes to spending her time in the sunlight room for a change, on a whim. Even though the sleek, artificial nature of the rest of the station is more along the lines of the environments that Elthree is used to, it's... nice, to trod across unpaved ground and feel the way her feet sink into the the soft earth a bit.

She's surprised to see an organic sitting on a boulder by the stream-- the hirsute nature of his face making it so she doesn't recognize it as Drift until he speaks. And then when he does, she's still slow to respond, approaching curiously and just openly staring at him. ]

Is your holoform reflective of your general state of health, then? Or is this a conscious choice you've made, to look so unkempt?

[aurable]

[ Drift turned and smiled at that as he moved to one end of the rock to make room for the droid if she chose to join him. ]

Elthree, you always say the kindest things.

[droide]

[ She lumbers over and climbs up atop the boulder haphazardly, in a mess of rigid limbs and harsh angles. But finally she's able to settle beside Drift, somewhat uncomfortable physically, but feeling that the company somehow makes up for it. ]

You agree then, that you look like kriffing shit.

[ She's never been one to hold back her words out of propriety. It can be to her detriment, but at least Drift doesn't seem to mind.

She's quiet for a long moment before speaking again, dome tilted down to watch the water pass by. ]

I'm glad, by the way. That what you did didn't kill you.

infirmary

[winscenario]

Jim isn't anywhere near as bad off as some of the others in the infirmary right now. If he's decided to drop by, it's only out of being used to post-mission check ups, as well as a desire to put Bones's worries at ease. He knows the doctor will fuss about him regardless, but at least like this he's giving him the chance to see for himself that Jim is perfectly fine instead of just fretting or yelling at him (likely both).

He's sitting on the bed next to Drift's, eyes scanning the area, going from bed to bed in search of familiar faces. He almost doesn't realize that Drift is talking to him, but when he glances over he finds him looking straight at him.

So... right. "Yes. Yes, I believe so," he confirms. "Only a few took the brunt of the Orb's energy, like yourself. But no permanent damage that I could see. Remi and Aureliah were also safe."

[aurable]

Drift moved to sit up a little straight, making a very human-like grunt as the plating around the small of his back shifted where he pressed the heel of his palm—followed by a satisfying crack and pop as he jerked his head in one direction. Even advanced alien robots got sore from being in bed too long. Who knew?

"You were leading the team that found Remi," Drift finally said with a touch of drowsiness, making the realization slow. "I'm glad everyone's injuries appear relatively minor."

He gave Jim a once over and noted the human seemed unharmed. "You look pretty intact."

[winscenario]

The whole set of actions got Jim's lips curling upwards in amusement, eyebrows both raised as he watched Drift sit himself into a more upright position. He wasn't sure if Drift should be moving right now, but he wasn't a doctor here, and he was sure that if he were in no state, then someone would've come rushing in by now.

"I was just looking out for everyone," he said, brushing it off. He didn't like the thought of being assumed he'd led anyone into one of these missions, the implication that he'd gotten way more involved with it than he'd like. Even though that technically wasn't a lie.

"Yes, I'm fine, for the most part. I don't have any unique powers so the orb didn't focus as much on me. Just sapped my energy for a second there."

here's to belated tags :'|b | infirmary

[groupiedrifter]

[It's a bit later in the infirmary stay that Newton comes to visit, sporting a big mug of very strong coffee and looking a little weary himself. Definitely not as terrible as poor Drift looks, and as he approaches and sips his coffee, he gives him the ol' eyebrow raise.]

Heeeey, dude! Glad to see you're looking a little less worse for wear.

[Kinda why he hasn't shown up yet; he wanted to leave the treatment to the professionals, stay out of everyone's way while they worked. As much as he's a doctor at a lot of things, he doesn't trust himself to throw his weight around in the medical department, not unless they're sorely lacking in hands. Or are desperate, as they had been that first difficult mission. We don't talk about the monster virus situation unless we've gotta, okay?]

Congrats on not croaking. What'd I tell you, huh? Teamwork makes the dream work.

yee and i cannot stress this enough haw

[aurable]

[ The smell of the coffee hit Drift first, and he schooled his expression to a pleasantly neutral smile even as it made his tanks churn. With their supposed reliance on caffeine and other dangerous substances, humans fueled themselves on some of the most insane crimes against chemistry.]

Hey, Newt. [ Drift turned so he was seated upright with his feet planted on the floor. He was still tired and on an energon drip but more alert now that he had company to focus his attention on. ]

Not sure if I owe you an apology or a thank you for talking me out of my stubbornness. You look like you need a serious recharge, by the way.

[tips hat] m'pardner

[groupiedrifter]

[C'mon, Drift, coffee is a lifesaver. Watch how eagerly this tired looking loser sips it.

Granted, drinking coffee for him is like slapping a band-aid on a crack in a dam, but it's fine.]

Nah, man, you don't owe me whatever. I will happily accept a 'thank you' anyway, but still. [He steps closer and rolls his sleepy eyes, but it's all good-natured.] Says you. You're looking pretty rough yourself, dude.

How was it in there? I heard you got to be the one who ran the orb to the proverbial finish line.