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Description
Part 1

Mr. Cuttings pulled his tall top hat down over his eyes, a bottle of Flahney's Strong Whiskey cradled in his hand like a cherished heirloom. He belched loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his thick hand. He was sure with the parade and the Fourth Tax Movement that he would be devoid of customers for at least the rest of the day. But the people couldn't ignore their lusts for long. Those lusts, at least, Cuttings could count on. Sotherby might have the longer-lasting models, but Cuttings could always be depended upon for the most alluring droids. He made sure they were that way--he used them himself. Of course, he marketed the new ones as unused, no matter what. Pleasure droids rented better when they were new.
He trailed his fingers over his large, slightly twirled, dark red mustache. His thoughts drifted with the twinkling music from the floats, bagpipes and violins part of the flowing armada. His feet were propped up on the counter-top and his pinstriped pants could be seen from underneath his long black coat. A striped bandanna, stained and sticky with sweat, was tied in a loose knot around his neck. A white undershirt, also stained with sweat, peeped from under the rather out-of-place coat, accompanied by pompously embroidered suspenders. Mr. Cuttings' eyes twinkled brightly. He smiled.
The young man could be seen on the outside pavement, his dark curly hair being tossed by the late spring winds. His clothing was immaculate, but there was something about the face that showed he wasn't all that concerned with his status, or the state of his expensive-looking attire, for that matter. The lines, barely there, were relaxed and easy, and his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. He lit a golden pipe-stem on the front mat with a silver lighter, puffing it for a moment before opening the glass door with a ring of the ironic welcome bell. He also wore a long coat, considerably cleaner than Cuttings`, which was dark navy blue. His eyes were never still, dark as cedar wood but full of sparkling curiosity and mischief.
"Lord Deneb, my fine fellow, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?" Cuttings grinned and put a finger to his hat, mockingly.
Deneb tapped his ash onto the polished floor, raising an eyebrow.
"Skip the protocol, Cuttings. I'm looking for a very old model for my father--one of the first Half-Eyes, I should say. He says he wants a female type. Small. And he didn't tell me what for, so don't try on prying it out of me." His voice was no-nonsense, but still light and careless. It was easy to see that he was quite young, barely twenty, and as untrustworthy as a poor man with your purse. Something about the way his eyes flickered and the easiness of his dry smile. He brushed a dark curl out of his eyes, and took a puff of the gold stem again, blowing out the smoke in a stream. A gold pocket-watch chain hung from his white waistcoat and square-toed boots, polished to brilliancy, stood far apart from each other on the shining wooden boards.
Cuttings took a swig of the whiskey before answering.
"Half-Eyes are almost impossible to get anymore, what does the Master think I am, a bloody antiques dealer? I do pleasure androids, young gentleman." In one smooth movement Cuttings stood up and walked over to a cigar box on the mantel, pulling out a large cigar and lighting it. Deneb wrinkled his perfect nose at the pungent smell of cheap tobacco.
"Well, he said you had one, and no doubt on that, so there'll be no cheating me. I know they're worth no more than four set at the most. The last one at auction only went for two."
Cuttings looked at Deneb over his shoulder and smiled his witty, wise half-smile again. Den's eyes flickered over his surroundings, never resting on something for more than a moment or so before speeding on. He held out a cigar to the young man and Den put up a hand in protest, shaking his head full-heartedly. "To each his own," Cuttings chuckled. Den sullenly puffed on his pipe-stem, flicking off the ash rebelliously.
"Well, no mistake, I have got one Half-Eye. The Master always knows me, doesn't he?" Den's eyes flicked on him then down to the floor, making no answer. "She's old though. Nearly fifty, and she had a real breakdown five or so years ago. I never used her much, but she wandered off and came back all cracked. She's up there..." Cuttings pointed his thumb behind him at the trap door in the roof, a rickety ladder leading up to it. "I'm not sure where, but she's as sure as Haven up there. No one ever goes up. Haven't been myself for more than three years."
Den sighed disgruntledly and flicked imaginary dust from his coat.
"Get one of them to help me..." he said out of the corner of his mouth, his pipe-stem stuck in the other side. He brought out a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket and pulled them on, his face a mask of dislike.
Cuttings sat back down, propping his feet on the counter. He reached behind himself, smiling, and pulled on one cord of a set of five small silver bells that hung side-by-side. An unusual name was embossed in gold on a plaque below each, with a four-digit number after it. The one Cuttings had pulled read 'Corderoy, 5643'. It was the first bell.
A pleasant humming began in both men's ears, like the tinkly tune of a music box. In fluid, drifting steps, a pleasure droid hummed in, one that Den was vaguely familiar with from his other visits to Cuttings`. She was pleasantly medium-sized, not too tall and not too small for a man, and immaculately straight and glittering golden hair hung down her back. It swayed with her steps, but not a hair was out of place. Her face was only slightly shiny, for as the years went on skin simulation was being perfected, and her cheeks were pleasantly pink and healthy-looking. Her lips were as red and shiny as a rained-on rose. The only really obvious android feature was her eyes, two glittering sapphires set deep in her pupils. They looked fascinating, if slightly eerie. Her dress was made of flowing white and pink chiffon, with a fanning bosom-piece and skirt front.
Deneb blinked and sucked on his pipe-stem. He was one of the few gentlemen his age who could really ignore pleasure droids. It took quite a bit of self-discipline, but he was never that interested in women to begin with. They got too attached to things. Were too serious about everything. Including him. And Deneb didn't even take himself seriously, much less feel comfortable with others taking him so. Still, even her smell was alluring--honey and fresh lavender. He snorted quietly under his breath, looking away.
"Daryl, did you call for me?" Her voice was only slightly metallic, but it seemed to linger like the ending clicks of a wind-up toy. It trilled, as though she found all around her quite amusing. She set a white forearm on his shoulder, fondly, letting Cuttings draw her in and hold her possessively around her slender, perfectly curved waistline. Deneb briefly saw the mechanism in her ear that followed a thin cord around to the back of her neck. Her primary functioning mechanism.
"Yes, Corderoy, Master Deneb needs some assistance, help him in the attic."
A look of slight confusion clouded her flawless face, as he said the words. "The attic? Where you told us never to go?" The musical sweetness of her voice made Deneb bite his lip and stick his free finger into his ear, as if to clear his head.
"Aww, don't be frightened, rose bud, he only needs you to help him find the Half-Eye I stored. She shouldn't be hard to find, she's the smallest..."
Cuttings kissed the pleasure droid on her white slender neckline and Deneb looked away in disgust. "Vile..." he muttered under his breath. Cuttings heard him and laughed.
"Of course, Daryl!" Corderoy trilled happily, stepping angelically to the ladder and going up. Deneb followed slowly, reluctantly. "She better find it quickly, Cuttings, I don't like being seen in this den any more than you like having me in it. And remember, no more than four set. Or I'll have my father take it up with you."
He stepped up the ladder after Corderoy, who Cuttings could hear humming and giggling. Mr. Cuttings didn't like letting the boy up there with her, but he noticed him trying to avoid her sen chips, so he figured it wouldn't do any harm. Let her seduce her little heart out.
"You father, eh?" he mumbled to himself. "Wanting to get the Half-Eye out in the sun again, does he? I'll see what can be done about that. I'll see what can be done." He smiled to himself, and downed the rest of the whiskey in a gulp.
"Yes, I'll make sure something's done. Gunther will be pleased to do something..."
Mr. Cuttings laughed.

Deneb emerged behind Corderoy into the dust-covered, dark interior of the attic space. The only light came through a circular window on the left wall, which was broken in several panes in odd ways. Bullet holes peppered it, and long slender chunks of crystalline glass littered the wooden floorboards beneath it. It was also covered quite thickly in pigeon feces. Den wrinkled his nose once more. The floor was also coated in a slippery sea of the white substance, and he could hear the coos of the animals in the rafters above.
Corderoy did not notice, though, as she had a warm, alive, male body in a secluded space, the kind of thing that PDs were programmed to respond to best.
"Find it, will you, I don't have time to be wasting," Den said huffily as he tried to avoid the alluring scent that he knew she was pumping out more of every second. Her sen chips were practically docking overload. He puffed sullenly on the pipe-stem, almost desperately. "And stop trying, I'm not as hormonally desperate as the rest of my sex."
Corderoy's perfect face was clouded with the same confused look she had given to Cuttings downstairs. "You don't like me?" she asked. She looked on the brink of tears.
Den moved a few steps away, averting his eyes. "No," he lied.
Fake crystalline tears seeped down her cheeks. She was programmed to do that. Deneb hoped that Cuttings wouldn't exercise any of his rumoured temper now that the young Master had upset one of his PDs.
He instead tried to focus his attention on his surroundings. Through the dark he could see the outlines of human-like shapes, most of them bent in odd angles. Broken droids. Den tried not to think too hard about how some of them may have been broken. He stepped over to them to get a better view, avoiding the excretions on the wood floor as well as he could, looking for the small one. The only Half-Eye. It would be easy to locate, mostly because of the eyes. They would look Eastern, the droid would more than likely resemble a small girl.
He heard the music box humming of Corderoy as she moved up behind him. Her hand touched his shoulder and he had a mad urge to kiss the white fingers.
He turned around, resilience forgotten for a moment. The sapphires set into her eyes glittered like so many more of her diamond tears. Fake tears.
He made a face of disgust and pushed her arm away forcefully, quickly pulling out a new red cigarette and sticking it into the stem. He held his smooth silver lighter to it and sucked on the end, quite annoyed. Looking every inch like a sovereign’s spoiled son.
"I told you," he said, gritting his teeth, "to stop trying."
Corderoy let out a metallic sigh and her chips slowed down, as the smell dissipated that surrounded her. PDs did lose interest after awhile, if their culprit didn't respond in good time.
Den cleared dark curls away from his eyes, and began to look through the droid faces again. They chilled him. Some of the necks lopped to the side like grotesque dolls, and mouths hung slackly like those of senile old men. A spider crawled out of the mouth of a droid with no arms, and Den recoiled.
"Just find it," he hissed, patience waning. He didn't want to go on this errand in the first place, but he knew better than to try to disobey his father. And he knew well enough that the parade was going to be as bland as usual, even more so, with the new Fourth Movement. He wanted to be back by eight anyway. Time to regain his patience before the banquet. He would need it. Even worse than PDs were real pleasure seeking young women. They didn't shut down when one showed no interest. They started up more intensely, determined to charm.
His attention came back to the attic as he saw two small, white feet sticking out of a pile of blankets and old bits of newspaper. They were tiny, like the kind his mother used to talk about in fairy stories. Small and smooth and white as snow.
He pointed to the pile. "Is that it?" he questioned the pleasure droid.
She blinked at him slowly and he could see her sen chips starting back up. He sighed. "The bad thing about you droids is you can't ever stop unless someone shuts you down."
She smiled beautifully, looking oblivious.
He wrinkled his nose and grabbed the two feet gingerly, even with his gloves, pulling the droid out. It was indeed the Half-Eye he was looking for. She was small and slenderly built all around. She was naked, and despite himself Den couldn't help but admire her fine shape, but dust and dirt and more pigeon excretion covered her flawless body. Her eyes were open. He looked curiously at them and noticed that they were made of black obsidian stone. Her hair was black and messed, and as dirty as the rest of her little form. Her lips were slightly open, and Den could see that beneath the grime they were frosty pink. He slowly, gingerly reached his hand behind her neck and flicked the switch there, her start-up mechanism. A sweet humming, like Corderoy's alluring sound, filled the air. He jumped back, slipping on the wet floor slightly as her head began to move back and forth, spastically.
"Alas my love, ye do me wrong to cast me off discourteously, but I have lov'd you so long, delighting in your company!" She spouted out, her voice sweet in song. It was small and fresh, but a broken metallic clicking obscured every few seconds of her speech, making it distorted and chopped. He quickly shut her off.
"What in Glouster Haven happened to this little mite?" He asked, mostly to himself, breathlessly, frowning, chewing on the end of his stem.
"I was there, I remember!" Corderoy said, too cheerfully, her sweet humming drifting over him. "She disappeared, wandered off like a bad one, for all of a month! Just vanished one night. I suppose someone turned her back on without asking..." She shrugged as only a droid can. "But she came back all wishy-washy. Singing strange things and such. So Daryl called her Song for all the tunes and switched her off after another month or so. She was broken too bad to be of use anymore. No one likes a noisy droid."
She giggled and held her hand over her red mouth, glancing at Den again. He ignored her, looking down at the little broken android on the floor. Her arms were bent in odd angles and one of them was twisted around behind her back. More excrement ran down her face, making it look as if white tears were streaming out of those dark, deep black obsidian eyes.
Deneb felt an odd fondness and sympathy for the small broken thing. She reminded him of a dead white kitten he'd found in the Glass Garden, back at the villa in Ruby Avon, all mangled and sad and sweet at the same time.
He sighed, and came back to himself. His pipe-stem had burnt out and he relit it, puffing and tapping the smoldering ash to the floor at his feet.
"Song, you say? She was called Song? Does she sing in snitches like that often?"
"Oh, all the time. She was naughty to run off like that."
Den dismissed her comment with a wave of one black-gloved hand.
"What kind of things does she sing?" he asked.
"Oh, everything. Just everything."

Description
Part 1

Mr. Cuttings pulled his tall top hat down over his eyes, a bottle of Flahney's Strong Whiskey cradled in his hand like a cherished heirloom. He belched loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his thick hand. He was sure with the parade and the Fourth Tax Movement that he would be devoid of customers for at least the rest of the day. But the people couldn't ignore their lusts for long. Those lusts, at least, Cuttings could count on. Sotherby might have the longer-lasting models, but Cuttings could always be depended upon for the most alluring droids. He made sure they were that way--he used them himself. Of course, he marketed the new ones as unused, no matter what. Pleasure droids rented better when they were new.
He trailed his fingers over his large, slightly twirled, dark red mustache. His thoughts drifted with the twinkling music from the floats, bagpipes and violins part of the flowing armada. His feet were propped up on the counter-top and his pinstriped pants could be seen from underneath his long black coat. A striped bandanna, stained and sticky with sweat, was tied in a loose knot around his neck. A white undershirt, also stained with sweat, peeped from under the rather out-of-place coat, accompanied by pompously embroidered suspenders. Mr. Cuttings' eyes twinkled brightly. He smiled.
The young man could be seen on the outside pavement, his dark curly hair being tossed by the late spring winds. His clothing was immaculate, but there was something about the face that showed he wasn't all that concerned with his status, or the state of his expensive-looking attire, for that matter. The lines, barely there, were relaxed and easy, and his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. He lit a golden pipe-stem on the front mat with a silver lighter, puffing it for a moment before opening the glass door with a ring of the ironic welcome bell. He also wore a long coat, considerably cleaner than Cuttings`, which was dark navy blue. His eyes were never still, dark as cedar wood but full of sparkling curiosity and mischief.
"Lord Deneb, my fine fellow, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?" Cuttings grinned and put a finger to his hat, mockingly.
Deneb tapped his ash onto the polished floor, raising an eyebrow.
"Skip the protocol, Cuttings. I'm looking for a very old model for my father--one of the first Half-Eyes, I should say. He says he wants a female type. Small. And he didn't tell me what for, so don't try on prying it out of me." His voice was no-nonsense, but still light and careless. It was easy to see that he was quite young, barely twenty, and as untrustworthy as a poor man with your purse. Something about the way his eyes flickered and the easiness of his dry smile. He brushed a dark curl out of his eyes, and took a puff of the gold stem again, blowing out the smoke in a stream. A gold pocket-watch chain hung from his white waistcoat and square-toed boots, polished to brilliancy, stood far apart from each other on the shining wooden boards.
Cuttings took a swig of the whiskey before answering.
"Half-Eyes are almost impossible to get anymore, what does the Master think I am, a bloody antiques dealer? I do pleasure androids, young gentleman." In one smooth movement Cuttings stood up and walked over to a cigar box on the mantel, pulling out a large cigar and lighting it. Deneb wrinkled his perfect nose at the pungent smell of cheap tobacco.
"Well, he said you had one, and no doubt on that, so there'll be no cheating me. I know they're worth no more than four set at the most. The last one at auction only went for two."
Cuttings looked at Deneb over his shoulder and smiled his witty, wise half-smile again. Den's eyes flickered over his surroundings, never resting on something for more than a moment or so before speeding on. He held out a cigar to the young man and Den put up a hand in protest, shaking his head full-heartedly. "To each his own," Cuttings chuckled. Den sullenly puffed on his pipe-stem, flicking off the ash rebelliously.
"Well, no mistake, I have got one Half-Eye. The Master always knows me, doesn't he?" Den's eyes flicked on him then down to the floor, making no answer. "She's old though. Nearly fifty, and she had a real breakdown five or so years ago. I never used her much, but she wandered off and came back all cracked. She's up there..." Cuttings pointed his thumb behind him at the trap door in the roof, a rickety ladder leading up to it. "I'm not sure where, but she's as sure as Haven up there. No one ever goes up. Haven't been myself for more than three years."
Den sighed disgruntledly and flicked imaginary dust from his coat.
"Get one of them to help me..." he said out of the corner of his mouth, his pipe-stem stuck in the other side. He brought out a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket and pulled them on, his face a mask of dislike.
Cuttings sat back down, propping his feet on the counter. He reached behind himself, smiling, and pulled on one cord of a set of five small silver bells that hung side-by-side. An unusual name was embossed in gold on a plaque below each, with a four-digit number after it. The one Cuttings had pulled read 'Corderoy, 5643'. It was the first bell.
A pleasant humming began in both men's ears, like the tinkly tune of a music box. In fluid, drifting steps, a pleasure droid hummed in, one that Den was vaguely familiar with from his other visits to Cuttings`. She was pleasantly medium-sized, not too tall and not too small for a man, and immaculately straight and glittering golden hair hung down her back. It swayed with her steps, but not a hair was out of place. Her face was only slightly shiny, for as the years went on skin simulation was being perfected, and her cheeks were pleasantly pink and healthy-looking. Her lips were as red and shiny as a rained-on rose. The only really obvious android feature was her eyes, two glittering sapphires set deep in her pupils. They looked fascinating, if slightly eerie. Her dress was made of flowing white and pink chiffon, with a fanning bosom-piece and skirt front.
Deneb blinked and sucked on his pipe-stem. He was one of the few gentlemen his age who could really ignore pleasure droids. It took quite a bit of self-discipline, but he was never that interested in women to begin with. They got too attached to things. Were too serious about everything. Including him. And Deneb didn't even take himself seriously, much less feel comfortable with others taking him so. Still, even her smell was alluring--honey and fresh lavender. He snorted quietly under his breath, looking away.
"Daryl, did you call for me?" Her voice was only slightly metallic, but it seemed to linger like the ending clicks of a wind-up toy. It trilled, as though she found all around her quite amusing. She set a white forearm on his shoulder, fondly, letting Cuttings draw her in and hold her possessively around her slender, perfectly curved waistline. Deneb briefly saw the mechanism in her ear that followed a thin cord around to the back of her neck. Her primary functioning mechanism.
"Yes, Corderoy, Master Deneb needs some assistance, help him in the attic."
A look of slight confusion clouded her flawless face, as he said the words. "The attic? Where you told us never to go?" The musical sweetness of her voice made Deneb bite his lip and stick his free finger into his ear, as if to clear his head.
"Aww, don't be frightened, rose bud, he only needs you to help him find the Half-Eye I stored. She shouldn't be hard to find, she's the smallest..."
Cuttings kissed the pleasure droid on her white slender neckline and Deneb looked away in disgust. "Vile..." he muttered under his breath. Cuttings heard him and laughed.
"Of course, Daryl!" Corderoy trilled happily, stepping angelically to the ladder and going up. Deneb followed slowly, reluctantly. "She better find it quickly, Cuttings, I don't like being seen in this den any more than you like having me in it. And remember, no more than four set. Or I'll have my father take it up with you."
He stepped up the ladder after Corderoy, who Cuttings could hear humming and giggling. Mr. Cuttings didn't like letting the boy up there with her, but he noticed him trying to avoid her sen chips, so he figured it wouldn't do any harm. Let her seduce her little heart out.
"You father, eh?" he mumbled to himself. "Wanting to get the Half-Eye out in the sun again, does he? I'll see what can be done about that. I'll see what can be done." He smiled to himself, and downed the rest of the whiskey in a gulp.
"Yes, I'll make sure something's done. Gunther will be pleased to do something..."
Mr. Cuttings laughed.

Deneb emerged behind Corderoy into the dust-covered, dark interior of the attic space. The only light came through a circular window on the left wall, which was broken in several panes in odd ways. Bullet holes peppered it, and long slender chunks of crystalline glass littered the wooden floorboards beneath it. It was also covered quite thickly in pigeon feces. Den wrinkled his nose once more. The floor was also coated in a slippery sea of the white substance, and he could hear the coos of the animals in the rafters above.
Corderoy did not notice, though, as she had a warm, alive, male body in a secluded space, the kind of thing that PDs were programmed to respond to best.
"Find it, will you, I don't have time to be wasting," Den said huffily as he tried to avoid the alluring scent that he knew she was pumping out more of every second. Her sen chips were practically docking overload. He puffed sullenly on the pipe-stem, almost desperately. "And stop trying, I'm not as hormonally desperate as the rest of my sex."
Corderoy's perfect face was clouded with the same confused look she had given to Cuttings downstairs. "You don't like me?" she asked. She looked on the brink of tears.
Den moved a few steps away, averting his eyes. "No," he lied.
Fake crystalline tears seeped down her cheeks. She was programmed to do that. Deneb hoped that Cuttings wouldn't exercise any of his rumoured temper now that the young Master had upset one of his PDs.
He instead tried to focus his attention on his surroundings. Through the dark he could see the outlines of human-like shapes, most of them bent in odd angles. Broken droids. Den tried not to think too hard about how some of them may have been broken. He stepped over to them to get a better view, avoiding the excretions on the wood floor as well as he could, looking for the small one. The only Half-Eye. It would be easy to locate, mostly because of the eyes. They would look Eastern, the droid would more than likely resemble a small girl.
He heard the music box humming of Corderoy as she moved up behind him. Her hand touched his shoulder and he had a mad urge to kiss the white fingers.
He turned around, resilience forgotten for a moment. The sapphires set into her eyes glittered like so many more of her diamond tears. Fake tears.
He made a face of disgust and pushed her arm away forcefully, quickly pulling out a new red cigarette and sticking it into the stem. He held his smooth silver lighter to it and sucked on the end, quite annoyed. Looking every inch like a sovereign’s spoiled son.
"I told you," he said, gritting his teeth, "to stop trying."
Corderoy let out a metallic sigh and her chips slowed down, as the smell dissipated that surrounded her. PDs did lose interest after awhile, if their culprit didn't respond in good time.
Den cleared dark curls away from his eyes, and began to look through the droid faces again. They chilled him. Some of the necks lopped to the side like grotesque dolls, and mouths hung slackly like those of senile old men. A spider crawled out of the mouth of a droid with no arms, and Den recoiled.
"Just find it," he hissed, patience waning. He didn't want to go on this errand in the first place, but he knew better than to try to disobey his father. And he knew well enough that the parade was going to be as bland as usual, even more so, with the new Fourth Movement. He wanted to be back by eight anyway. Time to regain his patience before the banquet. He would need it. Even worse than PDs were real pleasure seeking young women. They didn't shut down when one showed no interest. They started up more intensely, determined to charm.
His attention came back to the attic as he saw two small, white feet sticking out of a pile of blankets and old bits of newspaper. They were tiny, like the kind his mother used to talk about in fairy stories. Small and smooth and white as snow.
He pointed to the pile. "Is that it?" he questioned the pleasure droid.
She blinked at him slowly and he could see her sen chips starting back up. He sighed. "The bad thing about you droids is you can't ever stop unless someone shuts you down."
She smiled beautifully, looking oblivious.
He wrinkled his nose and grabbed the two feet gingerly, even with his gloves, pulling the droid out. It was indeed the Half-Eye he was looking for. She was small and slenderly built all around. She was naked, and despite himself Den couldn't help but admire her fine shape, but dust and dirt and more pigeon excretion covered her flawless body. Her eyes were open. He looked curiously at them and noticed that they were made of black obsidian stone. Her hair was black and messed, and as dirty as the rest of her little form. Her lips were slightly open, and Den could see that beneath the grime they were frosty pink. He slowly, gingerly reached his hand behind her neck and flicked the switch there, her start-up mechanism. A sweet humming, like Corderoy's alluring sound, filled the air. He jumped back, slipping on the wet floor slightly as her head began to move back and forth, spastically.
"Alas my love, ye do me wrong to cast me off discourteously, but I have lov'd you so long, delighting in your company!" She spouted out, her voice sweet in song. It was small and fresh, but a broken metallic clicking obscured every few seconds of her speech, making it distorted and chopped. He quickly shut her off.
"What in Glouster Haven happened to this little mite?" He asked, mostly to himself, breathlessly, frowning, chewing on the end of his stem.
"I was there, I remember!" Corderoy said, too cheerfully, her sweet humming drifting over him. "She disappeared, wandered off like a bad one, for all of a month! Just vanished one night. I suppose someone turned her back on without asking..." She shrugged as only a droid can. "But she came back all wishy-washy. Singing strange things and such. So Daryl called her Song for all the tunes and switched her off after another month or so. She was broken too bad to be of use anymore. No one likes a noisy droid."
She giggled and held her hand over her red mouth, glancing at Den again. He ignored her, looking down at the little broken android on the floor. Her arms were bent in odd angles and one of them was twisted around behind her back. More excrement ran down her face, making it look as if white tears were streaming out of those dark, deep black obsidian eyes.
Deneb felt an odd fondness and sympathy for the small broken thing. She reminded him of a dead white kitten he'd found in the Glass Garden, back at the villa in Ruby Avon, all mangled and sad and sweet at the same time.
He sighed, and came back to himself. His pipe-stem had burnt out and he relit it, puffing and tapping the smoldering ash to the floor at his feet.
"Song, you say? She was called Song? Does she sing in snitches like that often?"
"Oh, all the time. She was naughty to run off like that."
Den dismissed her comment with a wave of one black-gloved hand.
"What kind of things does she sing?" he asked.
"Oh, everything. Just everything."