[unsigned]

[war-wounds.livejournal.com]

[a crude Autobot insignia has been drawn on a fresh piece of paper]

Comments

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

Not a sub-faction. The faction. Why don't you give me your name? I'll tell you what the history databooks told me about you.

[war-wounds.livejournal.com]

Fine. I could use a laugh, and I've already written it elsewhere.

Ratchet. I'm a medical officer.

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

Ratchet, huh?

[scribbles]

Yeah. Think I've heard of you. Autobot medic, right? From what I heard, you normally acted like you had a wrench jammed up your tailpipe.

[war-wounds.livejournal.com]

A wrench where? Think you're clever, do you? Listen, whelp, I didn't spend the better part of my function cycle bringing bots back from the brink of deactivation with parts ripped from my own fragging chassis just to take slag off some jumped-up lunatic who thinks he's a slagging time traveler! I will personally reformat you into a toaster oven!

And I already said I'm a medic. [arrow pointing up to previous note]

And the award for diplomacy goes to...

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

Doing wonders for your case, there, big bot. Take it out with the guy that wrote your spec, not me.

[hesitation marks]

Unless you're from a different timeline. Then it could Slag it, that scrap's for people with no lives. Look, why would I lie to you?