"Ratchet?" the soft voice called from the med bay doors. Ratchet turned, his mouth open, ready to shout at the miscreant who was disturbing him. He shut his mouth with a snap at the sight that greeted his optics.
"Do you have any solvent?" Skyfire continued.
Ratchet stared at him for a moment. Across the giant jet's white midsection was a spray of blue paint that looked fairly fresh. "What happened?" Ratchet managed to ask.
Skyfire turned slightly and pulled Bluestreak out of his hiding place behind the jet. Standing next to Skyfire the blue spray of paint continued across Bluestreak, covering his head and doorwings. Ratchet's optics brightened in dismay when he saw the young gunner. Grabbing a cloth and solvent, he gently began to clean the paint from Bluestreak's optics.
"Bluestreak volunteered to help me with my shooting. Apparently shooting cans off a fence is considered appropriate target practice."
"Cans of paint?" Ratchet asked. "I don't think so."
Holding as still as he could, Bluestreak said, "Well, you know, it seemed like a great idea. It's always so much better hitting a real target instead of shooting at those holograms in the training room. Besides, Sideswipe said they were empty."