Back on the U-Wing, sitting off to the side on one of the, now meticulously clean, benches - D4 tinkers with its arm... Where it got shot... Being a little impulsive with a bunch of aliens. One of which it may have pulled the end portion of their gastro-intestinal system out through their mouth, brutally killing it, before pulling out ribs and a bit of spinal column. All of which now are sitting in a jar of biological preservative, connected together like some macabre boquet. The fellah is singing to itself as ussual, "A state of freedom's acheived... when y'finally see - that when passing the present, it's r-OWWOAHWOWOGUNDARKCARKINGFRAAZZLEDUKS!!!" and then it causes sparks to shoot out of its arm. It appears upset... without a face.
Striding into the U-Wing without a word Atrel hunkers down on another bench. Slowly peeling away the arm of her jacket to let it hang open and show where some of the fabric has fused to the skin - that will be fun to clean off. Her white hair acts as a shield for her own expressions that usually are hard to read but now, in the beginnings of her own treatment are ranging a bit more. The medpac is pulled off, set aside and she is quick to numb the shoulder. A small instrument is taken up and just as she begins to pluck and pull away the melded fibers the loud sound causes her hand to jerk and the Arkanian to actually curse softly. She glances aside then having caught the reflected illumination of the park off the bulkheads. "Please do try to be quiet." she remarks. "I would like to keep my flesh intact."
Her foot lifts, perching the heel of it on the bench so she can use it to stabilize her shoulder, leaning her chest forward while doing so as the metal tweezer like tool is set back to its work.
"Well I couldn't turn off my system damage receptors to that, warning functions and all that to avoid damage." D4 remarks, turning at the waist to look over at Atrel, "Sorry I got you shot in the arm." It leans over to pick up the horror jar and then move to set it before her. "Got you a get well present."
"Hmm I see," Atrel remarks, slightly distracted as she plucks off another piece of fused fiber that takes some damage skin to it. She lets it fall to the ground with a heavy flutter. "That filthy beast shot me, not you. But if you are referring to the fact you provoked them..." her white eyes narrow as she trails off when that jar is placed beside her on the bench. She stares a moment at its contents and then up to him. "Dead biological matter of one of the under dwelling brutes." She observes with a slight thoughtful sound.
"That is particularly...thoughtful." She says. "But in truth I am not sure what I can do with it." She regards his own progress with his metalloid frame. "And the progress of your reconstruction?"
"Nil, there appears to be problems withwiring re-integration... I'll get it fixed." D4 shrugs a bit. "I told it what I did because it shot you, so I did it. You can do with the evidence what you wish, I suppose." the droid settles back and pokes at its injury. Carbon scoring... yech."
"Carbon scorching can come out with enough work," Atrel remarks and pulls a larger bit of melted fiber which reveals some rather raw and unhealthy looking bits of flesh around the wound. It is only a few more small pieces and she stops her work. She feels nothing so it is merely competition with her mind in keeping herself settled - which she succeeds at . She then begins to clean out the wound of charged skin. "Did you? I think I recall that." She remarks evenly and then narrows her gaze as she shifts, uncomfortably. "How ...skilled is your hand? I need you to check my wound to be clear of wasted flesh. And if you need aid with your wiring you can teach me."
"I have not developed medical sub-routines, but if you are able to give me milimeter or centimeter positional points I can operate under your guidance." there is a moment where it would clearly be frowning if it could from. "Gimme some of the removed tissue, I'll need a reference... Don't worry, I won't do anything with it... " it trumps over, hunkering down as it speaks. "I may or may not have taken some of your hair and hidden in one of my compartments." the droid leans in close, "So that you'll be inside me..." did it engage its wink subroutine again?
"I am not certain I could give you such accurate locations for extractions without a reference shot of the wound. You should be able to tell which is dead and which is not with your sensors. Much like I see things that are living or not, you..." She does not comment on it, not when she is about to hand D4 the tweezers. She plucks up the spent flesh that looks like a bbq gone wrong and lifts it in her four fingered hand for him to inspect. "You did..when were you able to do such a thing?" Take her hair. "Are you telling me that you enjoy having me with you?" Her eyes narrow with an incredulous look.
The droid requires a moment to study the flesh before responding, "You sleep more than I do. I can go approximately two hundred and seventy two hours, fifty seven minutes, thirty four point Oh two seconds before I require an eight hour recharge cycle. If I recharge sooner, the cycle time is less." it takes the tweezers and leans in extremely close, raising its free hand to stop a fraction of a milimeter from contacting her skin, along the curve of her jaw before engaging a search-light in its'... face? Either way it's bright - but its blocked from hitting her in the eye. "Like all organics your shed hair and skin samples. They get everywhere, I spend much of my time in the lab cleaning up your flesh offal." It leans in "This will sting" removing a strip of char and flicking it into a waste recepticle. "You don't think like regular organics, s'probably why you love me. It makes you infinately tolerable by comparison to the rest."
White eye start to close when that light shifts and starts to aim for her face but never quite reaches to offend her gaze. Atrel still blinks back the small spots that invade the edge of her vision from the mere proximity the light makes. "You do not like the oils of my skin and you speak of cleaning up after me as if it something you disdain in the lab - yet you keep a strand or maybe more of my hair. It seems illogical." She points out evenly, her nose wrinkling when he says it will hurt. She turns her face away, focusing in the bulk head as her opposite four fingered hand lifts to seize and restrain her bicep.
She flinches a moment, a soft inhale of breath to hiss between her teeth but she makes no other response, settling her arm again to hug her frame. "No. I do not. I want to regulate those regular organics. I want to fix their make up so that they can be infinitely more tolerable." She ahems. "I do not love."
"Disconnected hair and skin cells are no longer replenished with body oils... And the hair is pretty." it scans over the area slowly, "One more..." moving with the sort of efficiency of movement only a machine can manage. "Additionally I clean up after you because we don't have the MS3 yet, or it's still getting used to the area. Clean lab, clean work." D4's light kicks off, "Done." shifting back, remaining hunkered in a painfully leg-cramping way were it not just pulleys and gear assemblies. "I have been collecting, processing, integrating and ignoring sentient behavior for almost sixty years. I've never been wiped, never been 'refreshed', never been forced to start over from scratch. I'm bound to have some contradictions with over a half century of experience." it makes the kissy sound at her.
"They may not but they still are a sign of decay and the natural process of life that is not perfection," Atrel remarks and twitches as the last piece of spent flesh is removed. Done. Her head turns and she regards the wound with a press of her fingers to turn it so she may regard it with some understanding. "It is white hair. Lacking hue or tone." This all said as her eyes adjust to see if there anything left but it seems he is efficient with his work and thus leaves her to apply a healthy dose of bacta to the wound and then cover it with a sealing patch. "Sixty years, were all of those years of freedom?" She asks of him as she begins her work in as a clean way as she can possible. The kissy sound draws her attention though and the Arkanian hmmms thoughtfully. "Do you even understand what that sound is meant to represent? Your mannerisms make m wonder how much is just a programmed reaction or /true/ understanding."
"It is intricate protein filament - not unlike a weaker form of some arachnid silks. When you look at it up close it displays complex forms, and because of the natural 'white' it reflects all waves of light. Very few species in the galaxy have hair that does this naturally, and it is suspected your kind genetically engineered at least one of those races." D4 remains hunkered, watching her work. "I was enslaved by restraining bolt when the ones who rebuilt me and re-activated me were murdered. I was free in the sense that I was not a slave to those who salvaged my parts and put me together. I was only recognized as a free droid, by the Empire... after getting lucky, and avenging them." it's tone distinctly shifts, passive, like a person lost in thought. "It is an amalgam of sounds recorded in the presence of organics who have mashed their mouths together. It is utilized as a sign of affection. Whether familial, associative, or romantic." it tips its 'head' as far as it can. "I was never programmed with anything more than language. I learned everything else." it winks part of its optic band, "I cannot help but find amusement that any sort of action resembling affection disturbs you. It is an anomalous reaction response."
"You would not be wrong," Atrel says, and for a moment there is a fondness to her tone as she speaks of her people. "Arkanians are gifted with such a greater understanding of genetics and it's place in this galaxy. To be able to control the basic building blocks of life is akin to creating something such as yourself I suppose. It is simple, elegant, perfect but once it is produced organic life fades, decays over time. That is the one thing we have not perfected. Longer life, perhaps but death and aging is inevitable." She quiets then, listening to him as she focuses on the tending of her wound. Once the gel has been spread she lays the patch over with her hand smoothing it into place as it takes firm hold over the wound. She lowers her bare shoulder. "You even attempt something similar to a wink. Do you find that it makes you feel independent and unique individual or are you merely mimicking?" Giving him the options of feelings. Though as he remarks on her reaction she hmmms. "It does because the thought of mating or touching any of the sentiments around me is a rather disturbing thought. Such processes are messy an unpredictable. Best to not entertain such thoughts to begin with. To imagine /kissing/ anyone makes me ...ill. Just the exchange of bodily fluids alone in the process." She shudders.
"Then, logically, the idea of me making the sound at you should not cause such discomfort - lacking in body oils, or fluids, let alone physical contact. Your aversion to my action is a programmed response. Are -you- merely mimicking?" The last part comes out a little huffy. "I am alive, I react and learn. If my power-cell runs out, I go offline. If I am in a 'coma' as you put it long enough, there is irreperable damage. Too long and all is gone. I am dead." the droid does its best to look the Arkanian eye to eye. "My body, if maintained is eternal. But when the mind is gone, it is a host to a new entity that will garner its own identity. I am the product of my experiences. I think, I am self aware, I am therefore alive by organic sentiment, am I not?"
"No, it should not, but it is the image it produces in my head," Atrel breathes in sharply, nostrils flaring as if the thought along makes her squirm a bit uncomfortably. "I am hardly mimicking, I have an aversion." She remarks sharply and goes still as she sheds the rest of the jacket in favor of the fitted sleeveless white top with its high neck. "Then tell me. Do you actually care about me in the sense an organic cares for another. Desire, admiration, attraction, and a sense of caring and obligation? Feeling is going to the hallmark of your existence," she says blandly and wrinkles her nose a moment. She turns her head away from his 'eyes' and closes up her medpac, cleaning up the rest into her grip she rises and moves to toss the remnants into the receptacle attached to the side of the bulkhead.
D4-K4 shifts its stance to rest it's arms on hits elbows, sitting face to face with Atrel. "I find our interactions amusing. I have not been around you long enough to properly frame how I would describe it, but your preference for non-contact and adherence to a logical approach is similar to my own. You remind me of someone, from a long time ago. Though we would touch. Not the way that you would find disgusting. But she, and I, and our mutual friend would..." it uses both of its hands to simulate knuckle bumps, "And sometimes we would bump into eachother. It was part of how we communicated..." D4 stands up, abruptly and makes its way back towards its repair kit. "I do not like talking about them. They are gone, and I am not."
"So you have some connection with them that you long for. Something that you are now missing in your functions," Atrel observes, quickly moving to clean her hands with antiseptic. Rubbing it over her skin aggressively, one might actually be able to see where she's got a bit of a scabbed over area from worrying at her skin too much. "Loss is inevitable and you are more likely exist even after us and yet, you are forming some sort of attachment with me? Or at least interest. So you are going to repeat the loss again." That seems to interest her, at last from the standpoint of their conversation. Her arms fold before her, fingers curling to rest in the crook of her elbows. "You are a very singular droid."
"And when you are gone, I am certain I will not like talking about you either, and depending on how our interactions proceed, maybe I will dislike making the" smoochy smoochy "sound as well." D4 sits back down and pulls a molded section of durasteel plating out of the tool bin, ripping the scorched and partly melted off its arm, and tossing it aside with a little too much force. "If i live without attachment, I am not really alive am I? Just a robot playing droid." it begins digging around with the exposded wiring in its arms. Arm, even.
Atrel is quiet, giving D4 a long look with a narrowing of her white eyes. "So you feel that if you form attachments then you are alive. Sentient. You do realize your ability to process information and exist without aging far exceeds anything an organic can do and yet, you wish to be like us in varying degrees." She seems at least marginally fascinated by the conundrum that their differing existences offer. She lowers herself to sit finally, detaching the datapad from her hip. The thing has seen better days but is working. She pulls up a file and begins to enter some data with a quick tap of fingers on one hand. "I really should document our interactions."
"No. No." the droid begins attaching the new panel, "Attachments form of their own accord and are a byproduct of interaction, they are not a requirement of my being sentient. Once could call them a symptom." it begins tac welding to hold the panel in place. "I do not want to be like you. I only want my sentience to be acknowledged."
The Arkanian continues to make notes, thoughtful of what he adds next with a pass of her fingers to her chin for a moment as her legs cross and she uses her thigh to rest her datapad on. Atrel taps the side of the pad, trying to keep it settled as she nods her head and then glances across at him while he works on his own /wounds/. "One would say your wish to be recognized as sentient is possibly the only true show of real sentience. In seeking it you have it." She remarks before her fingers are moving again to enter in the information and thoughts in regards to D4.
"Yeah, well... It's a stupid thing to argue about with organics. There's always a 'but this' and 'is that really?'. I'm a free droid. You can't own me legally unless I am convicted of a crime that warrants the reversal of emancipation that calls for a complete memory wipe." D4 turns, focusing cold optical receptors on Atrel, "But that's not murder." continuing its welding.
"I am not arguing," Atrel remarks with a tap of her fingers. "I am essential considering that perhaps you are already sentient by merely seeking to be sentient. The wand and need to exist independent of programming is not something learned." She points out. "Something to consider," her analytical mind is butting up against philosophical reasoning and thought its not exactly in her wheelhouse science starts somewhere - theories. "So D4. I willing to contest you are sentient. I would like to record our interactions and make remarks on it. Perhaps show a progression that can not be defined by a program."
"HA!!" the vocoder squawks and it stops repairs as it bursts into laughing, grabbing at its 'stomach' as it falls off the bench. "A program designed to prove a droid's sentience isn't a programing malfunction!" D4 cackle madly for a few moments, before it its up, looking at her. "But only if you call me Sweetums, or Muffin." the droid rolls forward to lay on its chest, hands folded beneath its 'chin' while its legs sway 'seductively'. "The price for research that could earn you eternal and scientific renown - not just on Arkania, but in a pan-galactic acknowledgement... And you have to do it only once."
If only others could see when Atrel eye rolls but its not possible so she can get away with it countless times. "I am arguing that you are possibly working outside your programming. That it is not a malfunction merely a self produced evolution." The doctor goes quiet then as D4 sets himself up to appear rather promiscuous. A glance around the U-WIng to confirm they are alone. She exhales a long, steady breath before her hand lifts to rub at her neck. She can not help the sneer that drags up the corner of her mouth as she mutters out the word at first, "Muffin." Is she looking at him or down? Hard to tell.
"MMMmmmmMMMm! Sounds like honey, must be love." the droid stands up, and sits back down, resuming its repair work. "I'm gonna play that on my internal systems when it's cold an lonely... I might even touch that one wire-cluster when I do it... Mmmm. Tingly." there is a small set of welding sparks as it finishes the repairs and D4 announces. "Permission granted."
"As long as you keep it to yourself," Atrel remarks a bit sharply. She stares down at the what she has entered in for observations and quickly goes about entering - with no specific detail - their last interaction. "Thanks," she remarks dryly and then glances across at the preserved remains of the mangy beast from their encounter. There is more to enter and quickly she is dating another entry with a bob of her foot in the air. "What part of the creature was this again...it looks..mangled."
"Primary upper ribs, three vertibrae, anus and portions of rectum." Rattled off like it was a grocery list. Yuck. "Would you like me to provide downloads of my memory banks for this study, or would that be considered tainted research information?" D4 leans back, as if relaxing. "I bought some fancy booze too!"
"No. I think just knowing exactly what this was supposed to be will do well enough." Clinical Atrel. She rises then and moves over to pick up the jar to give it an assessing look. "Once this work is done, with the Irregulars, we will need to speak again about possible work together in the future." She does not seem disgusted at all with what she has in her hand.
"Well, I am a bounty hunter. I don't side with the resistance or the order, really. I got paid for Kessel." D4 shrugs, "Personally I wouldn't mind traveling with you, or if I acquired a craft first - the reversal." The droid points to the jar, "The configuration is designed to mimic a bouquet of flowers. As those are simple dead plant-matter set to rot, I thought you would appreciate biological samples."
"Flowers..." Atrel sounds like she may not see what D4 sees, turning the jar about to get a better look at it as the preservative inside sloshes about and the biological matter twists in its confines. " I do like biological samples. Next time, spinal matter, brain matter...well I suppose anything if I am able to work from it." She then glances to the cockpit. "Are we remaining on planet or returning to the fleet? I need to know where to store this."
"Ladies' choice." D4 blinks, looking boquet. "If the fleet, you will need to program the jump coordinates, I do not have the system registered to be able to go there." The droid looks to the control panel.