[It only distantly registers that Ratchet's armor is the wrong color -- it's not the green and white he last saw. Which matters little, he's more used to seeing the neon yellow instead.]
[Once more, he doesn't immediately respond, his good optic flicking over the familiar frame. Every line is as it should be. Everything just as he recalls it being. Except the paint...]
No matter. I will... hn. I will try and explain. Later.
[His hand never budges, the fingers never loosening their grip. This is a presence sorely missed -- every time he'd ached in the mornings, every time a joint seized up, or a limb snapped. This constant companionship, this relied-upon friendship. He doesn't have the words for how much this means, seeing the medic again.]
[Seeing his oldest friend again.]
[His head bows a little, words hovering on the edge of speech before he throttles them back, shoulders shifting uncomfortably.]
You are not the color you last were... [Not the best thing to start talking about, but they need to start somewhere.] Where were you, last?
no subject
[Once more, he doesn't immediately respond, his good optic flicking over the familiar frame. Every line is as it should be. Everything just as he recalls it being. Except the paint...]
No matter. I will... hn. I will try and explain. Later.
[His hand never budges, the fingers never loosening their grip. This is a presence sorely missed -- every time he'd ached in the mornings, every time a joint seized up, or a limb snapped. This constant companionship, this relied-upon friendship. He doesn't have the words for how much this means, seeing the medic again.]
[Seeing his oldest friend again.]
[His head bows a little, words hovering on the edge of speech before he throttles them back, shoulders shifting uncomfortably.]
You are not the color you last were... [Not the best thing to start talking about, but they need to start somewhere.] Where were you, last?