Ambulonās lipplates twitch, not quite holding back a snarl as he glares at the intruder with burning yellow optics. The nearly invisible, feline-like focuses are narrowed to furious slits.
āYeah, I guess you could say that,ā he agrees, his harsh Stanixite accent bleeding through his usually level tone. He changes the angle of the scalpel slightly, making sure the intruder can feel it against the rather vital fuel line in his neck. āIām upset. Tends to happen when I have intruders in my medbay.ā He cocks his helm, expression turning mockingly curious. āMind explaining just how that came to be? I am dying to know.ā
The doorwinger was still, his visor dimmed but managing to hide the optics underneath all the same while he scanned over and took readings of the medic at his throat. His helm was back, doors attempting to twist against the wall he was pressed to, but there was an obvious lack of fear even as the scalpel was shifted to brush itās medically sharpened edge against the fuel lining of his throat.
āWell--as yājusā said. This is a medbayĀ yer in... an ah was hopinā fer treatment--ā There was a twitch even as he said that, a sudden terror that welled up and threatened to deafen him with pain in his helm. Heād been working on it, through journals and autoscript programming in his visor, Hotshot hatedĀ forgetting and the last thing he wanted was to be terrified of the only kind of mech that could help him now.
He grimaced and raised a servo up to his helm, the movement more than enough to cause a nick in his cabling if the scalpel was still being held in place. His frame at least looked to be in decent health, though there were clear signs of build up in his joints in the form of hitches in his doorwing movements and shoulders, places that a mech couldnāt easily clean on their own, and thus telling of this idea that he was alone.Ā ā...didnāt mean ta freak yāout..ā
