KStrausser
Night Owl
"A... sexbot?" Waltz could see where they were coming from with the first guess: unshackled AI, heavily modified moral coding,... The list of names recovered from his memory only further supported this particular theory. He had suspected something along that line before, but never thought it important enough to follow up on, nor had any solid leads to do so with. But a sex bot? Waltz would have required extensive modifications to his chassis for that particular purpose. Some folks clearly have been letting their imagination run far too wildly. "I won't even ask how that rumour began, though I have some idea". His faceplate did not allow for facial expressions, though there was a meaningful glare in the tone of his synthetic voice. Once the wound was properly washed and sterilized, quickly grabbing some bandages from one of his medical cabinets, Waltz began to bind up Lucy's injuries with machined precision and efficiency.
It was not long before Lucy's arm was neatly treated and dressed, and he nodded to signal that he was finished. Thus, Waltz began working on the momentous task of cleaning his clinic up, starting with the playing cards started on the floor, along with the handgun. Picking it up, the heavy metal felt... familiar in his hands. This was not the first time he had had this sensation; rather, it was every time his hands laid grip on a firearm, though he had never discharged one in the years since his arrival. The two he kept in the backroom - the shotgun and the revolver - were always meant to be a "worst-case-scenario" kinda deal, meant more for intimidation than combat. Waltz tightened his grip on the weapon - it felt frighteningly right and wrong at the same time. His hands had been manufactured for scalpels and forceps, not handguns and rifles. Yet, they more than possessed the dexterity for handling them. Perhaps his "creator" had taken note of that.
2 to 1 odds. They were likely onto something, all right. The question was: did he really want to dig deeper?
"Right. This is yours, I believe" Waltz carefully turned the weapon so the grip faced towards Lucy before handing it back to her. He briefly wondered how long he had been staring at the thing, and if she had taken note of it. "I'm not one to pry, miss Valentine - I was only asking as your physician, so you can stop buttering me up, now. I'm sure you know what you're doing." There was no lack of painful pasts around these parts - most people did not come to a frontier colony on the edge of nowhere for a vacation, after all. Along with them came an unspoken rule about personal histories in New Eden, which perhaps was why he was here and not elsewhere. Waltz had since adopted the age-old philosophy of 'Not his problem'. Pointing at her wound, he continued:
"Keep it clean. Change the bandage once in a while. I would advise to stay out of trouble, miss Valentine, but you might take it as some sort of challenge"
Avari
It was not long before Lucy's arm was neatly treated and dressed, and he nodded to signal that he was finished. Thus, Waltz began working on the momentous task of cleaning his clinic up, starting with the playing cards started on the floor, along with the handgun. Picking it up, the heavy metal felt... familiar in his hands. This was not the first time he had had this sensation; rather, it was every time his hands laid grip on a firearm, though he had never discharged one in the years since his arrival. The two he kept in the backroom - the shotgun and the revolver - were always meant to be a "worst-case-scenario" kinda deal, meant more for intimidation than combat. Waltz tightened his grip on the weapon - it felt frighteningly right and wrong at the same time. His hands had been manufactured for scalpels and forceps, not handguns and rifles. Yet, they more than possessed the dexterity for handling them. Perhaps his "creator" had taken note of that.
2 to 1 odds. They were likely onto something, all right. The question was: did he really want to dig deeper?
"Right. This is yours, I believe" Waltz carefully turned the weapon so the grip faced towards Lucy before handing it back to her. He briefly wondered how long he had been staring at the thing, and if she had taken note of it. "I'm not one to pry, miss Valentine - I was only asking as your physician, so you can stop buttering me up, now. I'm sure you know what you're doing." There was no lack of painful pasts around these parts - most people did not come to a frontier colony on the edge of nowhere for a vacation, after all. Along with them came an unspoken rule about personal histories in New Eden, which perhaps was why he was here and not elsewhere. Waltz had since adopted the age-old philosophy of 'Not his problem'. Pointing at her wound, he continued:
"Keep it clean. Change the bandage once in a while. I would advise to stay out of trouble, miss Valentine, but you might take it as some sort of challenge"
Avari