[Sometimes it's hard to tell (eyes shut, head swimming, thoughts a waxy, faded mess) the exact differences between medbay equipment and its droid keepers. Between all of the above and BB-8's soft, cooing chirps, cropping up whenever he gets a spare second to pull away. It isn't farfetched or weird-- they're not human, droids; built to service organic life without question-- he's seen utility drones persist with automated affection while the lieutenants they serve insult and debase them. Hate them, sometimes.
But life outside rigid hierarchies isn't the same; the little droid could have left any time he-- it-- wanted. Maybe it's broken.]
Hey little guy. [His voice cracks when he says it, eyes starting to pull open.]
no subject
But life outside rigid hierarchies isn't the same; the little droid could have left any time he-- it-- wanted. Maybe it's broken.]
Hey little guy. [His voice cracks when he says it, eyes starting to pull open.]