White is the Color of Advice
White is the color of the lights in the med bay, when they're actually turned on properly. Carrion knows this because he's spent enough time staring up at them, plating folded back, while Knock Out tries to repair some minor damage to his chassis.
"Now, I know that a great many of the more artistic designers died in the war, leaving the sad engineers that put your sorry self together," the older medic purrs as he looks up from his work, distracting Carrion from the clean white of the ceiling, "And I know that the only 'Cons who would bond long enough to produce offspring aren't the brightest – again, leaving your procreators. So I know that, through no fault of your own, you're both stupid and ugly."
The young Seeker heaves a long suffering sigh that's only half sincere, unwilling to give in to Knock Out's bait when the other is wrist deep in his innards. "Feeling witty today, are we?"
"Don't try to be smart; you're far out of your league," the other chides, raising a sharp claw to flick Carrion's face plate. The gesture is much sharper and stings a bit more than if Starscream were doing it, and the difference is interesting. "Honestly, do you think this is doing any good for you?" He gestures with his raised hand at the rest of Carrion's body, sweeping over the dents and scratches and peeled away paint; to the exposed wires and broken pumps and smeared energon. "Do you really think destroying yourself doing something you're absolutely terrible at is going to get you anywhere? Do you think it impresses anyone?"
Rolling his optics, he returns his stare to the ceiling. "I do my job just fine, thanks."
"When you chose to do what you were built for," the ostentatious automobile states smoothly. "Instead of flying around doing what you like to pretend to have been built for. No one is fooled; not even your dear Air Commander."
Generally speaking, Carrion is very accomplished at the verbal fencing they engage in whenever he's forced to come down to Knock Out's corner of the ship. Those words, however, hit in just the right way to slap him into silence, so he can only glare at the other medic.
Returning to his work, grinning as unsubtly as ever at what he surely thinks is victory, Knock Out adds one last murmur before joining his patient in silence. "Just something to think about, you know," he says. "I do so get tired of seeing you on my operating table."
