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"Ah, opportunistic free trade. I missed those days.", the droid chirps out. "I like your entrepreneurial style." Placing a hand on its hip, OOM waves it over the group. "There's the salvage in here, and, hey, we made it through the blockade, so I'm sure we can do you a favour once we're in the position to?"
"Hey!", the droid perks up quickly as it receives a knock on the head. "I'm an artefact, not a relic, organic.", it responds indignantly in its monotone voice, crossing its arms. "And, yeah. Dry land, charging station and an oil-bath would be appreciated."
Roger, roger.
OOM's dug deep into a console as it hears the turning on of Rod's lightsaber. "Hey! Jedi around!", it blurts out, suddenly standing up with insane speed and pointing its blaster into the nearest face - it being Dara's. "Get down, the Je-", it rumbles out, before noticing the Stormtrooper burying the blade into the walker's side. Of course it's the vatjob., it seemingly slumps it shoulders, and lowering the blaster. The sight of the exact compoments it's been looking for in Dara's hands, however, seems to brighten its mood a tiny bit, as it reaches for a ventilation fan. "Wow. I do-o-o-on't want to be the quartermaster responsible when you're around, young human.", it adds, thought it's clear that its pride is slightly wounded. "Hey, uh, you. Do you know a thing or two about droid rep-rep-repair, too, while we're at it?", it quizzes as it climbs up the ladder to start the raft assembly on the walker's side.
"Y-yeah.", the droid replies wearily, its vocabuliser still glitching as it reaches to fiddle with a shaking shoulder. "Don't know about you, vatjob, but I don't like being surrounded by dead people. Very poor conversationalists." It glances back down towards the messy insides of the walker, the flickering emergency lights brightening the broken interior. "Let's check for flares. I-i-if that fails, you look like someone who crawls through junkpiles.", OOM suggests, picking idly at its restraining bolt. "A fan from the vents and a steel panel should be good enough to make a raft, too. I have enough battery for at least two weeks." It leaps back down, then looks up and shouts. "You know, in case we do-o-o-on't feel like announcing our presence to whoever's in charge here."
The droid seems to glance at Dara, somehow making disbelief appear in its photoreceptors. "Either this, or a really, really large space station. Also, fun fact - I'd rather not swim to shore. Because I can't particularly swim." It glances at the pilot seat. "So, all that's left is our in-int-repid pilot. Can you make the walker bantha-paddle?", it asks in a sarcastic tone.
Rising slowly from the shattered, sparking consoles of the cargo bay, OOM meekly glances down at the ground, then with a disdainful gesture unbuckles its harness. "Yeah.", it remarks a loud thud later. It stands up slowly a moment later, and as it shakes its twisted arm, there's a jingle and rolling voices indicating that it's at the very least, not intact. "Better than the day I walked out of fa- fa- fa- fa- factory." The droid's outer surface, once light matte gray, is now battered, dented and smoked. "I can sa- sa- sa- safely say.", it blurts out, its vocabulator glitching as it turns its photoreceptors towards Zel, "Would not recommend this liner. Hey!", it suddenly snaps towards Dara and the rest. "Should you be leak- leak- leaking those excretions?"
Alright! Looking at what's here, I've decided on the following. OOM-93b will take a level in Soldier, as behooves a battle droid. Another consideration was taking another one in Noble and picking up Skill Focus: Persuasion, but Ral already got that - and I think it befits an actual noble a little more than it does a clanker with delusions of grandeur. (And I'll probably still pick it up later, since Distracting Droid is by far the most flavourful feat I've seen available to me!) Rolling for HP, since I'm a daredevil like that:
Gear: 4000. Two Questions:
- the Independent Droid Prestige Class requires Use Computers, which was something I wasn't aware before I started playing, even though that was definitely the first thing in my sights. Could I change Knowledge(Life Science) to Use Computer, and keep OOM's interest to plant life non-mechanical?
Yay! I'm definitely back online. I'll think about how to proceed for my level 2, and I'll post the upgrade tomorrow. Alongside a sarcastic comment from OOM about his situation improving sideways.
The droid stumbles onto its legs, its arm shaking clearly from the damage. Glancing up at the remains of the shuttle, it seems to let out a distorted groan, just in time to see Janara run back to the walker. "Y-Yeah! Run back to the walker, unless you can breathe vacuum!", it blurts out, limping quickly towards the vehicle. Well, don't I just have the luck with masters. Or in general. The dinged droid clammers next to the ropes, stowing its blaster onto his back.
"Yeah, tha-", the droid snarkily starts replying to Ral, before the shuttle crashing sends it sprawling into cover. The might of the Imperial fleet facing towards the Deception, however, seems to send it into flight, as the droid seems to break into a dash towards the second shuttle, the blaster damage on its flank seemingly limiting his ability to flee very little. "Can you organics stop talking about sphinters? Not the time!", it blurts out over the radio as it closes to the ramp. "I can co-pilot, let me handle astrogation!", OOM shouts over its shoulder, its carbine lowered towards the bay waiting for any additional Imperial troopers to appear.
"I-E-E-E-eee!", the droid responds to the blaster shot, crashing down as the catwalk shakes. "Why didn't I go into the big armoured walker?", it mutters as it glances down at its injury, just in time to see the Storm Troopers get crushed. "You know what, organic, give me a hand this time. Should've just pretended to be a protocol droid...", it grunts quietly, and adding a stream of Binary capable of making a Wookiee blush. Struggling to get up, it leans onto the console, it instead looks for the commands to shut down the door. Doors, doors, doors, come on, you scrap-heap!
"Hey, so what's the plan now? Hope the big walker kills everything?", the droid chirps out, before it pokes its head towards the troopers. "Does this place have any turrets we could turn towards those new bucketheads?", it blurts a question towards Mith, before turning towards the console, seemingly displeased to leave its cover. That marks the fourth time in my runtime that I wish I were an astrodroid., it thinks to itself as its fingers start tapping onto the keyboard.
"Aw, no.", the droid blurts out over the blaster fire of the Storm Troopers rushing into the room. "It's the War all over again. And like always, I'm not inside something big and armoured, like everyone else.", it shakes its head, before glancing at Ral. Damn restraining bolt!, the droid thinks as it glances towards Mith's body, as he nods towards Ral. "Hey, Noble! Help me drag the big Rebellion hero into cover until the walker kills everything!", it blurts out, leaping out of its own flimsy cover to run and grab Mith's hand, its own metal uselessly scraping against the Chiss' prosthetic. "Why are organics so heavy!", it screeches out, as it pulls out its blaster, facing towards the console.
OOM's head tilts to the side, seemingly in shock as Mith suggests his idea. "Uh. I'm firmly against that, just so you know, boss." It points to the restraining bolt on its chest, then shrugs in an overly dramatic manner. "Fourth-degree droid and all that. So, no self-sacrifice before you give me direct orders to leave you to die, please. Then, I'm off." The droid looks around, before raising its hands. "What? Can't fight my programming!", it hisses. Scratching its durasteel headplate, the droid continues. "I could see the selfless sacrifice of my current master working out. But...", the droid points towards the cargo, and the walker. "We've got a lot of Jedi pada-wannabees in here. If we start a fire there,", it points towards the cargo, "and we kill the lights, heat-vision isn't going to catch us and it'll serve as a distraction." OOM turns its head towards Mith. "Although, I'd still like that order to leave you, since you'll still be a lot slower than the rest of us. Master." The last word is somehow almost sarcastic.
OOM's steady gait is suddenly broken as it glances at Mon Cala. "Wow. That's a pretty planet.", it exclaims, raising its snout. Imagine what things are in the deeps. All sorts of creatures made by the chaos of organic evolution. Plus, it looks a loot better than Geonosis. And probably a lot less sandy. Realising it had stopped, it quickly carries on alongside its thoughts, rapid, clanking steps carrying it towards the others. The sight of the Grand Moff doesn't seem to spark any reaction in the droid, though it spits out. "Wow. You'd think someone in that sort of a rush would help their troops pack. For efficiency, at least.", its monotone voice whispers. "Something big, unfriendly and with bigger guns than we like pointed at us.", the droid replies, "Same with the black-armoured troops. I say we skulk and wait until the first shuttle leaves, then storm the second one."
"Oh. Wow.", the droid quickly blurts out as the former prisoner is cut practically in twain in front of it. "That. Is a lot of blood.", it quizzes, blaster at the ready, as it takes another step forwards. Cautious of the door, it lifts the corpse's pouches off his belt. "He doesn't need it. We'll read them both a eulogy or something later, but first, make sure there is a later!", it barks. Ouch. Poor organic., it sheds another glance towards Flarb's body. At least he got to try and escape? Maybe?
"Hey, if anyone wants notes on being rebellious or a fugitive, I've got databanks full of 'em.", the droid snarkily replies as it clangs down the shaft. "Mostly the latter, thanks to the Jedi Order's amusing lack of perception." "Rebellion is the easier choice, at least for me." A strange noise blurts out from the droid. Perhaps a chuckle, a laugh, or even a chortle, though the low-ish quality vocabulator makes it hard to discern. "And the award for 'being the last to realise how bad centralised power is for those outside it' goes tooo..." The droid's head turns around, its colourful 'ears' twisting around its neck. "It's you. You get an award.", it chirps out, before hanging its head in surrender. "Though, a decade and a half late's better than never. I'm completely with the vatjob on this one. Rebelliousness is part of my programming."
The conversation about the joys of pop music causes OOM to audibly groan, its head tilting backwards in what would've been a neck-breaking eyeroll, were its photoreceptors mobile. "You. You are all terrible people. Pop music is harder to scrub from memory banks than literally ANYTHING! It's basically a virus.", it comments, before it tilts its head at Zel. "You know what? Could we keep those things a mystery?" The droid quickly leaps into the vent, its collapsible limbs used to being folded in cargo mode. "Oh, this is great. I love how my restraining bolt is locking my olfactory detection to 100%.", the droid's hushed mutters are barely overheard as it does its best to clamber down the vents. "So.", it chirps out a moment later. "Boss? Vat-job? What's the plan for taking out the Moff? Let's start working on that before planning our Rebellion acceptance speech."
"Oh, great.", remarks the droid as the song begins tearing down at its audioreceptors. Turning to Flan, she almost feels as if the droid's tilted head is judgementally pouting at her, despite the lack of mouth or lips. "Just when I was about to say how impressed I was by Republic public workers.", it blurts out, before. Despite itself, however, one could hear the droid's low-definition humming along the tunes of the popstar. As Mith displays the vent, OOM-93b nods. "Roger, roger.", it replies, before poking its head around the corner.
"Hey, even you don't have to hate reason!", the droid dramatically shrugs as Rod agrees. "Now, the posh one is correct. Vengeance goes after survival in the list of priorities. If we come across the Moff, I don't mind putting a blaster through him, but if you want to chase and get killed, don't expect me to join in." Seeing the card in Mith's hand, the droid nods, then starts heading for the door. "Let's go before the Mon Calamari becomes jerky!"
"If the Moff isn't on the bridge, maybe they're on their way to their shuttle?", the droid replies snappily. "I agree, there's no tactical advantage to decapitate the bridge now.", it shrugs. "I say we double-time it for the Moff's shuttle bay. Hey! You two do computers well!", it blares out at Flan and Zel. "Could you re-route the controls for here on someone's datapad and we could leave? I'm not an expert," it points towards Zel, "but that's not a healthy Mon Calamari colour. So let's blow up the comms array and get moving!"
The droid moves towards the console. "I'd say vent the bridge and close all doors, except the ones towards the big Hangar Bay. I suppose we're going to try and save our enemies, after all." It glances towards the clone trooper. "And tell the gunners that if they don't leave, we'll lock them inside." Pointing the blaster towards the ceiling, it adds. "Ideally, that'll let us intercept the commander at his dock, and escape in his shuttle while everyone else fights over the other ones. It's a win-win-win, if you ask me." It gestures sarcastically. "Even if it'd be more tactically advantageous to let the bridge crew suffocate and we steal Baldwin's shuttle under his nose, while everyone else is trying to get to the hangar bay." The glimmer in its photoreceptors is almost malicious. "Organics can't give orders to shoot down shuttles when they don't have air to breathe."
"Oh, great.", the droid blurts out, as it crouches next to the buried Mith and Dara, trying her best to life the shattered wall off his master. "We'll get you out. Hey! Witch Clone! Little help?", it blares out, as its clear that its thin arms and legs are quite inept at lifting heavy cargo.
The droid looks down the hallway after the escaped engineer, then shrugs. "It's not like we were keeping a low profile.", it sighs, shaking its head. "Good job welding the clone back together.", it chirps, as it nods to Zel. "Datapads can be more useful than blasters. If we're lucky, this one might have access to the Engineering computers." "Speaking of which.", it adds a moment later. "I'd suggest we move, unless you want to take in the sights. I can take point."
"We'll get to the pleasure cruiser later.", the droid quips sarcastically, as it points its blaster at the nearest engineer. "Fire, Fire! You should've listened, Imperials!" The blaster shot fired, the droid runs to the doorway.
"Hold your fire, droids!", the droid blurts out as it races out of the turbolift and into the room. Pointing towards the engineer who fired a weapon, it continues. "You there, astromech! Prepare this bridge for the arrival of Emir Kak Tivoni of the Techno-Union! Are you tin-cans working on a Hutt Pleasure Cruiser, or a Providence-class destroyer?", it barks out in its monotonous tone. "This is a mess!", its head begins jerking heavily towards one side, as if its glitching. Rolls/OoC:
"You know, boss, no offense.", OOM chirps out, scratching its head. "But for an interrogator, you don't seem to have that much insider information." The droid shrugs with open arms, as if it can't help but tell the truth. "So, the Grand Moff mentioned an alien turning the crew against him? Nothing you've heard at all that has him riled up?" The droid pauses, then stands straight as sound comes out of its vocabulator.
The droid stands at ease once more, scratching its head. "You can see why we assumed he's talking about you, boss.", it says, before raising a hand. "Not that I think you're alien scum. All organics are the same to me. If that's not the case, then..." Turning to the two prisoners, it continues. "Hey! You two! Have you heard of a prison riot started at some point earlier? By a non-Human?"
The droid stands watching the argument, as it tilts its hips and crosses its arms. And they said clones were less prone to go haywire. "Organics self-preservation is a weird thing.", it says out of nowhere, as it shakes its head, holding up the schematics in its three-fingered hand. "We could also try the Officers' Quarters, which isn't too far awa- A-ha!", it suddenly interrupts itself. "Maybe, they'll shoot at a shuttle leaving the ship. But would they shoot at an inert piece of debris?" "If we locate where the shuttles are and clear the area, we can rig the place up to blow as soon as we nudge the shuttle out of the bay. Human girl!", it points towards Dara. "You can work demolitions, right? If our pilot can pull off a sharp stunt at the moment the debris starts flying, then turn off the engines, the explosion might shield us from their initial scans." Its hand does a waving motion. "And after that, it's just drifting aimlessly until the battle is over and we can leave."
"I suggest we adhere to main objective being survival. ", the droid chirps out as it seems to impatiently pace. It points towards Flan, then nods. "This one makes a good point. No point looking for conflict if the risk-reward affects are unclear." "Which way to your shuttle, boss?", the droid asks Mith, clearly eager to get into action.
The droid makes its way across the shattered hallway, and for a moment, it stops. No feedback to audioreceptors..., it ponders, as it takes in the sight of the massive space battle unfolding in front of it. Its memory banks kick into gear, as images of grand battles long ago, patched together from the retrieved holo recordings of thousands and thousands of battle droids, followed by their destruction. Not this unit., it says to itself a few miliseconds later, as it brings up its blaster and rushes forwards to catch up with the rest. Closing the blast door, the air and sounds rush back in together in the room. "Roger, roger.", it replies to Ral, kneeling in expectation of cover fire as the organics recover their breath. "Any casualties?", it asks, not moving its head from the carbine's sights.
"A-ha!", the droid holds the trauma kits in the air, pointing them towards Janara. "Told you I'd fi- Hey!", it shouts, clearly displeased, as the girl unceremoniously grabs the trauma kit from its hand. "Were you raised by rancors, lady?", it asks, before handing the second kit to the much more polite, if distant woman and marching out of the room, practically huffing. As Mith asks his question, the droid quietly waits for an answer, before chipping in. "I don't know about you, but most clones tend to store air in their cranial cavity."
As the young woman makes her surprisingly calm and reasonable proposition, the droid nods in approval. "Likewise.", it answers in a flat monotone. "I think that having more trauma packs would be beneficial for the resident organics, regardless.", it blurts out, before carefully making its way towards the officers' quarters. "Can I get some assistance?", it blurts out before disappearing into the room, and starting to rummage.
Hey guys, quick update - I have an emergency trip to make over the weekend, and I'll be driving for most of it. Sorry about that! I'll be once again fully available come Monday. I'm aboard with the clone's plan.
"Great. Senile old clone's talking to himself.", the droid shrugs, before shouldering its blaster. "I say we go through the halls. Finding you organics pressure suits and worrying about fire is going to take an unknown amount of time. And a group our size is bound to do better than most in an every one for himself situation." Standing by Mith's side, the droid tinkers with its purple mech-tentacle. "But staying here is the worst option of all.", it nervously taps the ground with its foot. "Even if you all die, I'd raaather not float in space for all eternity."
Why do those ships need to have such heavy gravity., the droid ponders as it finally manages to clear the last rung, and practically collapses in relief at the sight of a hallway, nice and horizontal. "That, or someone saw us leaving.", the monotonous tone of OOM-93b adds. "And now they want us to go down with the ship." Glancing down towards the corridors, the droid's head tilts left and right at every open door, as it points its carbine inside. "I don't need a glowrod. I'll take point a couple of paces ahead, sir?", the battle droid suggests, its plasteel feet surprisingly quiet on the ship's floors. The tone of its voice suggests that underneath the logical solution lies a bruise of wounded pride.
"Aa-a-a-aa-a!", the droid starts screaming as it plummets down the shaft. "Aa-a? A!", it adds, as a cushion of force seems to stop his fall, only for it to be pulled upwards. "Uh. Thanks, sir!", it replies a moment later, as it grabs onto the ladder, continuing to climb, until it reaches to stand back at Mith's side. I should've asked for the marine unit legs..., it thinks, staring back down at the abyss.
Well. The droid reflexively steps back as the darkened shaft of the turbolift opens, the flow of air rushing past its sensors. It is deep., it thinks, as it waits for everyone else to get onto the stairs. Sheathing the blaster onto its hip, it grabs onto a girder, and glances downwards. "Uh-Oh.", the droid blurts out as it starts to lose balance. Rolls/OoC:
Vicious!, a though passes through the droid's processor, as the Imperial is cut down. The droid's glance hovers over the girl for a long moment, before turning its gaze away. Flicking a switch to put the 'blast' back in blaster, it carries down the corridor, clanking with every step. At the turbolift, the droid's shoulders droop. "Great.", it says in a sarcastic tone, before opening its chassis to grab a power pack. "This might work, or it might blow up.", it adds, as it tears open the lift's console, prying away the wires and connecting them to the console. "I'd suggest stepping back." Pushing the charge button on the pack, it steps back.
The blaster in the droid's hands leaps up as OOM unfolds itself from the corner. Switching the control of the rifle to stun in the final moments, a ray of blue circles shines upon the stormtrooper. "Get him!", the droid's monotonous screech roars out between the blaster fire. Rolls/OoC: - I assumed that these are the same guns that stunned Princess Leia in the first film, so I think they would have a stun setting, but if they don't - add another d8!
Crouching low behind a table, the droid grabs its carbine in its right hand, readying itself for a confrontation. Disadvantageous combat numbrs. Avoid direct confrontation. Crouching in cover, it nods at Mith. Why is the stormtrooper lying to bridge crew? Politics. It's got to be politics.
Shrugging single-handedly at Mith, OOM-93b replies. "It isn't technically a lie. If you were to say there's Rebel-affiliated agents towards the escape pods, it'd even be a truth. With the pods unlocked, we can suggest that they flee for their lives. Which action may push the Moff into a tactical misstep, and aid our integration with the Rebel Alliance." With that, however, the human with the faulty memory processor manages to make her way through the console, and the Mon Calamari slices through the crummy Imperial protocols. "Biologicals before droids.", OOM beeps out as the bays unlock, holding its rifle up.
"Affirmative.", the battle droid replies to the girl stuck in the panel. "A single individual.", it adds, before flicking its blaster carbine to stun mode. "A deserter, perhaps? We could acquire them as a bargaining chip for the Rebel Alliance."
"Roger, roger.", the OOM unit replies to Rod, feeling the weight of the blaster in its hands. Nodding at the clone with an uncharacteristic for its model tilt of the head. "Tabling semantics discussion until safety's reached." "Uh... Sir?", the droid glances at the seemingly stressed interrogator, hand scratching its metallic head. "Would a targeted deception at the bridge aid in the Grand Moff announcing that evacuation? If we're to suggest that there's Rebel saboteurs attacking the ship from within, or damage is worse than their systems indicate at the bridge?" It grips the carbine once again. "No reason why we should wait on the miracle when we can ask them for one."
The droid glances back at the Clone trooper, and if its metallic face could show emotion, it'd undoubtedly be disdain. The lightsaber being tossed to the clone has the droid jump back a step. A clone with a lightsaber? Nodding as the Clone admits, then renounces its loyalty to the Empire, it nods. "I agree with the Clone about the lack of time.", rushing forward alongside the others towards the armory. "I am not like you." "You're correct, CT-3276.", it replies to Rod as it marches next to its master. "My unit was mass-produced in secret by a political force aiming to rule the galaxy, given numbers instead of names, then thrown away like garbage when no longer needed." Its voice is as monotone as ever. "Whereas you are a clone."
Hm. That's fair. Sorry if it's getting a little weird, playing a separatist clanker has its confusing downsides at the start. Not that it wouldn't be above insulting clones, since they destroyed millions of battle droids, and were quite literally the enemy! And I apologise for apologising too much. ^^ That's what living in Britain does for you.
EDIT: The deception is about the obedience chips. Not sure if the Empire removed those from the clones. The fine clothes is an overlook on my part, will edit. Sorry! Got excited in my post. EDIT to the EDIT: Okay - I can swallow being naughty. And I'll keep my programmed loyalties in mind. Never actually played a droid before!
@GM - I guess that would mean I'd have been able to assemble personal assessments of the group? Also, does the Empire-loyalty a part of the Restraining Bolt? Would that be loyalty to the interrogator, or the Empire? I imagine the former. @Group - OOM is currently bantha-puduing, so don't be hating! Turning the two parties it's trying to get away on each other is a classic approach. I don't think I'd be able to convince the Interrogator to do anything, anyway! Also, yay, the party's all together now.
OOM-93b glances at the stormtroopers and Imperial commanders on the deck, doing its best to remain immobile. Worst case scenario, I gain information about the Empire before they dismantle me. Best case - I reach the trust of the Interrogator. Its photoreceptors glancing over the Moff, it remains immobile as the battle unfolds. Wrong tactics. Learning what we did during the Clone Wars, immediate fire until destruction is preferred against terrorists and Jedi. It pauses, regaling its new master. But there's no reason to speak if you're not spoken to. As the battle unfolds, the cheap shot from the Rebellion brings emotions of respect into the droid's circuits, despite its overriding programming. Guerilla Warfare in its excellence. The Republic-Empire still hasn't learned..., it thinks to itself, as the battle turns.
"I wish to defect to your rebellion." The B1 battle droid's seemingly gone over some significant personal modifications. The usual tan plasteel casing is replaced by a shining gray Durasteel carapace, and the twin buns next to its head have been dyed in cyan and purple, colours not affiliated with the battle-droid command structure in any way. It regales the interrogator with a curious gaze, then blurts out in confusion. "Wait, what?" The B1's monotonous vocabulator mutters out in surprise, before glancing over the captives, then back to its new master. "We're Rebels now?", it asks in a honest tone. A Mon Calamari and three humans, two of which seemingly of good stock, despite the prison jumpsuits. And a clone trooper, a vatjob. "But sir, this is a clone!", it raises a three-fingered hand towards the clone. "They're loyal to the Empire, sir! They got loyalty programmed in their brain processors!" Despite the lack of armaments, the droid stands in a wary, battle-ready motion, defending its new master. If they're confused, all the better for me., a thought crosses its processor. Rolls/Ooc:
Oh! 5e. Haven't played that one, but I hear it's good! Can't be worse than 4e, I s'pose. Also, damn, that's one wilful man. Almost as if being lied to is a daily occurrance to him. I changed the Skill Focus(or was it training) for the Distracting Droid feat as I moved the stuff to my character sheet. I felt it's a little more flavourful! I'll update my profile tag, too, while I'm at it. @Rod - OOM-93b will not be excited to see a Clone, either. I am looking forward to some antagonism going on!
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