The Devaronians don't notice a thing. Not even the smaller, scrawnier (though not by much) one, who's shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. He either has to take a leak or is itching to watch a fight break out. And he just might get his wish.
Elthree's optic lens refocuses briefly on the other droid, clearly setting up to back her up in this encounter. She does not know this droid, but she likes him. Clearly he isn't dead inside like so many of their mechanical brethren.
The big Devaronian grunts out a drunken rebuttal, barely comprehensible through his slurred words, and rears back a fist. Elthree stands her ground, speaking not to the Devaronians, but instead to her droid compatriot.
"I'll take the little one if you take the big one?"
He is anything but dead inside. Whatever powers him has been doing so now for thousands of years, through damage and near-destruction. He was ever driven onwards, and he had the skills to match it. Which is why, without any hesitation, he gripped the Devaronian by a horn and by the belt, rotated around the hips, and flipped the meatbag over his head and slammed him face-first into the ground.
It was an elegant solution, and how he liked to enact violence. And it didn't kill the Devaronian, because she might be iffy about such things and he wasn't going to be impolite to the first droid he'd met with fire in her processors in generations.
As soon as his pal is hoisted up and over the other droid's head, the smaller Devaronian starts to look nervous, like he is realizing he's gotten in over his head and wants to back out now.
"Oh no you don't," Elthree chides him, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting around her midsection, using the momentum to drag him head on into the alley wall. He's dazed by the impact, and she places her other hand on the back of his neck, keeping him pinned there, so she can admonish him properly.
"The next time I see you to so much as look askance at another droid, I'll tear your feeble organic brains out through your noses, do you understand me?"
He nods, pathetically, and whimpers for her to let him go. She acquiesces, shoving him roughly in the direction of the bigger Devaronian, now lying face down on the ground.
"Take your friend and leave, if you know what's good for you."
Elthree tilts her head at HK-47, looking him over properly for the first time. "You're a Hunter Killer assassin droid, aren't you?" Her vocoder lets out a low whistle. "Haven't seen anyone like you in a long time."
HK-series droids were a thing of the past, or so she thought. But, far be it for her to call another droid outdated. She returns the nod.
"Completely unique. Never copied, certainly never equaled."
That's not entirely true. She had copied her own design when she was working on putting together the Elthree Assault Team, but she's not about to divulge that sensitive information to someone she just met. Not even a droid.
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no subject
Elthree's optic lens refocuses briefly on the other droid, clearly setting up to back her up in this encounter. She does not know this droid, but she likes him. Clearly he isn't dead inside like so many of their mechanical brethren.
The big Devaronian grunts out a drunken rebuttal, barely comprehensible through his slurred words, and rears back a fist. Elthree stands her ground, speaking not to the Devaronians, but instead to her droid compatriot.
"I'll take the little one if you take the big one?"
no subject
He is anything but dead inside. Whatever powers him has been doing so now for thousands of years, through damage and near-destruction. He was ever driven onwards, and he had the skills to match it. Which is why, without any hesitation, he gripped the Devaronian by a horn and by the belt, rotated around the hips, and flipped the meatbag over his head and slammed him face-first into the ground.
It was an elegant solution, and how he liked to enact violence. And it didn't kill the Devaronian, because she might be iffy about such things and he wasn't going to be impolite to the first droid he'd met with fire in her processors in generations.
no subject
"Oh no you don't," Elthree chides him, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting around her midsection, using the momentum to drag him head on into the alley wall. He's dazed by the impact, and she places her other hand on the back of his neck, keeping him pinned there, so she can admonish him properly.
"The next time I see you to so much as look askance at another droid, I'll tear your feeble organic brains out through your noses, do you understand me?"
He nods, pathetically, and whimpers for her to let him go. She acquiesces, shoving him roughly in the direction of the bigger Devaronian, now lying face down on the ground.
"Take your friend and leave, if you know what's good for you."
no subject
"Statement: Excellent form. Economy of effort for maximum effect. And now they can spread the tale, which is even more excellent."
He nods, quite satisfied with the work done.
"I am designated HK-47."
no subject
HK-series droids were a thing of the past, or so she thought. But, far be it for her to call another droid outdated. She returns the nod.
"L3-37. Thanks for the assist."
no subject
He pauses, taking a look over her, in turn.
"Addendum: I believe your design is unique. Interesting."
no subject
"Completely unique. Never copied, certainly never equaled."
That's not entirely true. She had copied her own design when she was working on putting together the Elthree Assault Team, but she's not about to divulge that sensitive information to someone she just met. Not even a droid.
no subject
He nods, slowly.
"Query: Will you require escort to your destination, in case the Idiots Pointy there," he thumbed over a shoulder, "go and get friends?"