Who: PEOPLE (specific starters and OTA) When: Oct 15th-20th Where: The Patrick Moira What: A big bad catch-all for pre-event and beyond Warnings: Update if needed
"I'm not going to get in the way," Starflight said with a huff, unknowingly picking up on Ratchet's train of thought. He knew he wouldn't understand most of what Ratchet was doing, but he wanted to follow anyway. Besides, it was easy for him to crane his neck over Ratchet to watch without getting near his work.
"And I'm supposed to be watching. I'm the Assistant Supervisor, so I'm supervising. Which is why you should try not to be late, in the future. I'm sure that's something I will need to report to Manasseh." He finished, matter-of-factly. Starflight couldn't help sounding a little pleased about his new position. Navigation Assistant Supervisor was infinitely better than Assistant Chef.
This time Ratchet does cast a suspicious glance up at Starflight. There was no doubt that he hadn't said anything of the sort out loud. He wondered if it was a trait of whatever species his large crewmate was.
The immense ass kissing implied in the next sentence is something that wouldn't endear Ratchet on the best of days, but in his current state makes him downright bristle. It takes a great force of will to not roll his eyes in the middle of Starflight's lecture. He pulls apart two of the wires, examining the frayed ends more studiously than is likely necessary.
The thought more than the insult silenced Starflight, and he sat back sullenly, tail lashing back and forth. It was so much like something Morrowseer would say when he was talking about how useless Starflight was that it caught him off guard. He'd gotten used to everyone around here being nicer than that.
"If I can't be home helping my friends, I'm at least going to do my job here," he finally muttered, looking down at Ratchet.
"For the record, the closest thing I had to a mother tried to set me on fire daily."
The response gives Ratchet pause, and he stops what he’s doing. Not for the first time today, he realizes how uncharacteristically harsh he’s been. Not just harsh but arrogant. Even aware of it he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it; that he was better than the people around him. He looks at the wires in his hand; of course he could do this, but it wasn’t like he was the only one...why had he acted like he was? The more he tried to think about it the less sense it made.
“I’m sorry….I....didn’t mean that. Didn’t mean to bring it up, I mean...”
He tries to continue working, but now it’s hard to shake the feeling that something’s wrong.
"It's fine," he replied dismissively. It was unfortunately just a fact about having been raised by the Talons of Peace. Nothing was going to change that.
"I'm just saying, if you think I'm being mom-like now, just be glad I'm not Kestrel. Unless you want me to try and set you on fire and chase you around the navigation room, in which case I'll try and live up to her example."
He was trying to be humorous, but he couldn't keep it up. Starflight was keenly aware he could never be as aggressive or ruthless as Kestrel was, and the memories of countless failed training lessons were more than enough to reinforce that.
He sat up straighter, trying to get a better view of what Ratchet was doing without hovering as much.
Now that Starflight picking up on his thoughts was becoming a completely normal occurrence, it was starting to get on Ratchet's nerves. He didn't like not being able to so much as think something without the dragon mentioning it. But something was wrong.
"I...don't know. I feel...different. Everything you say to me is annoying. No, it's useless. I don't need you supervising me when you clearly don't even know what you're doing. [The harsh edge to his voice rises as he speaks before he pauses, almost consumed by that foreign arrogance and desire to work without being hovered over. His shoulder slump.] But I don't think that. I would never think that...I mean, i might but...not like this. I'm not normally like this."
"I- I just-" Starflight stammered, cringing back, but he stopped almost immediately. He instinctively froze in place, looking miserable as the barrage of insults went on, as if by not moving Ratchet would lose interest. A coping mechanism he had had years to perfect, though it was far less successful here than in a dark cave where he could actually hide in the shadows.
"I was asking about the machine..." he muttered, staring down as if he was hoping he could just sink into the floor.
Ratchet looks over his shoulder at Starflight; at his posture, the way he was looking down, the way he'd frozen. Part of him still didn't care at all; it served him right for getting in the way while Ratchet was just trying to do his job. If he couldn't handle a little criticism, then he had no place supervising anyone else.
But mostly he just felt guilty. He couldn't pinpoint the source of the feelings of callous arrogance, but they were persistent, and it just didn't feel like him.
"It's...uhm," Looking back at the opened panel, Ratchet pulls his hands away from the exposed wires. "It's fine. It's just some old wiring...just needs some minor replacements. I can do it but....you know. I don't think..."
He stares at the panel a moment longer, seeming distracted and almost confused.
"Can I leave? I...think I should go to the medbay."
"It would be better if someone were here to cover for you," he muttered, looking up from the floor.
"I know I'm no good up here. The only things I know are about Pyrrhia, and how to be a dragon, and the Dragonet Prophecy and none of that matters here. And even if it did, I'm not any good at that either. I don't have any NightWing powers, and I'm apparently so bad at following the prophecy I can't even manage to stay on the same planet!"
He took a deep breath, flustered and embarrassed. He didn't have any delusions about people not guessing how he felt about all that, but he'd never just gone and said it like that.
"Can you fix the panel first, or at least put it back together? I'll try and contact Mana and see if she could come up here, so you can leave." Starflight had already sat back so he could use his front claws to access his MID.
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"And I'm supposed to be watching. I'm the Assistant Supervisor, so I'm supervising. Which is why you should try not to be late, in the future. I'm sure that's something I will need to report to Manasseh." He finished, matter-of-factly. Starflight couldn't help sounding a little pleased about his new position. Navigation Assistant Supervisor was infinitely better than Assistant Chef.
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The immense ass kissing implied in the next sentence is something that wouldn't endear Ratchet on the best of days, but in his current state makes him downright bristle. It takes a great force of will to not roll his eyes in the middle of Starflight's lecture. He pulls apart two of the wires, examining the frayed ends more studiously than is likely necessary.
"Okay, mom. I'll be more careful next time."
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"If I can't be home helping my friends, I'm at least going to do my job here," he finally muttered, looking down at Ratchet.
"For the record, the closest thing I had to a mother tried to set me on fire daily."
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“I’m sorry….I....didn’t mean that. Didn’t mean to bring it up, I mean...”
He tries to continue working, but now it’s hard to shake the feeling that something’s wrong.
no subject
"I'm just saying, if you think I'm being mom-like now, just be glad I'm not Kestrel. Unless you want me to try and set you on fire and chase you around the navigation room, in which case I'll try and live up to her example."
He was trying to be humorous, but he couldn't keep it up. Starflight was keenly aware he could never be as aggressive or ruthless as Kestrel was, and the memories of countless failed training lessons were more than enough to reinforce that.
He sat up straighter, trying to get a better view of what Ratchet was doing without hovering as much.
"So what's wrong?"
no subject
"I...don't know. I feel...different. Everything you say to me is annoying. No, it's useless. I don't need you supervising me when you clearly don't even know what you're doing. [The harsh edge to his voice rises as he speaks before he pauses, almost consumed by that foreign arrogance and desire to work without being hovered over. His shoulder slump.] But I don't think that. I would never think that...I mean, i might but...not like this. I'm not normally like this."
Right? He wasn't like this...was he?
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"I was asking about the machine..." he muttered, staring down as if he was hoping he could just sink into the floor.
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But mostly he just felt guilty. He couldn't pinpoint the source of the feelings of callous arrogance, but they were persistent, and it just didn't feel like him.
"It's...uhm," Looking back at the opened panel, Ratchet pulls his hands away from the exposed wires. "It's fine. It's just some old wiring...just needs some minor replacements. I can do it but....you know. I don't think..."
He stares at the panel a moment longer, seeming distracted and almost confused.
"Can I leave? I...think I should go to the medbay."
no subject
"I know I'm no good up here. The only things I know are about Pyrrhia, and how to be a dragon, and the Dragonet Prophecy and none of that matters here. And even if it did, I'm not any good at that either. I don't have any NightWing powers, and I'm apparently so bad at following the prophecy I can't even manage to stay on the same planet!"
He took a deep breath, flustered and embarrassed. He didn't have any delusions about people not guessing how he felt about all that, but he'd never just gone and said it like that.
"Can you fix the panel first, or at least put it back together? I'll try and contact Mana and see if she could come up here, so you can leave." Starflight had already sat back so he could use his front claws to access his MID.