Out of earshot of the Ghost crew, the newest droidal arrival, the former inventory drone, barraged Chopper with questions. AP-5 was still flush with confusion, stunned by his new friend's generosity and abnegation. Not to mention, the concern for his welfare shown by these Rebels. Never would he have ever thought that Chopper would have sacrificed the stolen ambulatory strut to save him. He certainly owed Chopper and his friends, and was determined to help them in any way he could. He had never considered this before, the remote possibility of his joining the Rebellion. Yet, here he was, enjoying their company, feeling bound to them. 'Life,' such as he knew it, experiencing the highs and lows, was truly astounding, ever contradictory.
Such was, too many things that defied explanation.
One of many important things that AP-5 wanted to know caught in the squat droid's audioreceptors. The taller droid authoritatively asked, "Who is the one who repaired me?"
Pride figured in heavily when Chopper quickly furnished: "Sabine Wren. She fixes mostly everything when it breaks, runs down, explodes, ruptures, goes fluky, fatigues, malfunctions, gets blasted—"
"Like me." The memory was still raw. Before continuing, AP-5 reflected on the pretty, plucky girl's considerable skill, as Chopper and he continued traveling along the corridor. "She's Mandalorian. To be sure, seeing her takes me back…" Graphic recollections flooded his memory circuits. They were far more than bounty hunters. They were loyal, knowing how, and when to come through when times were beyond tough. A lot like this band wherein a wisp of a Mandalorian had salvaged him. He owed her much.
"Yes. Mandalorian. Brave and strong. One of the best friends I've ever known." Quick again to respond, the droid with two mismatched struts cross-examined, "Why are you asking?"
Non-defensive in the least, AP-5 said, "Oh, no reason in particular. Just curious, and grateful to her and her laudable talents." He made a sound quite akin to a sniff. "It's most disconcerting being fully functional one moment and scrap, the next. I would never wish it on any non-sentient." He thought, shuddering, about how his former master had enjoyed with what could only be thought of as fiendish delight, referring to him as 'clank-clank.' Deplorable. After the Clone Wars, he'd been stripped of being a Republic navigator, demoted to inventory drudgery by the Empire. He had never felt any particular loyalty. The irrational disrespect shown to him had been shocking. Activated moments ago, already, he sensed that wouldn't be the case among this colorful assortment of sentient persons. "It is most reassuring being here," he said surveying their immediate circumscribed confines.
C1-10P, Chopper, when he wasn't being reamed-out by Hera, had long gotten used to his new friend's flashy, flowery way he put things. "If you think her technical talents are something, you don't know the half."
"Enlighten me then," AP-5 insinuated, having been about to ask where they were going. Proportionally, this ship was miniscule compared to the expansive layouts of Imperial vessels. But, complain he would not. Freedom beat spaciousness linked with browbeating any day.
"To my housing area," was Choppers snippy, quick-draw response.
Unable to resist a snippy retort of his own, AP replied, "Yours? You don't expect me to restore myself in, what I imagine must be, a very cramped, pint-sized space." What had he just been thinking? Well, he was allowed some concessions. Wasn't he?
Giving the protocol-bound droid some leeway, Chopper fed back, "Sabine will come up with something to accommodate your hugeness."
"Well, I hope so," AP huffed, not meaning to have sounded quite so put-off. Back to the Mandalorian, a subject he found most interesting. No, that was putting it mildly. Intriguing was more on-point. "Tell me. You hinted at her other talents. I gather latent ones. Such as?"
In a spate, Chopper related, "She is a great artist. You've seen a little of what she's done with practically every spot that's been decorated on this ship. On the Phantom too. That's her. All her. She's amazing." What was truly amazing was all this praise. The likes of which Sabine has never heard come from the eccentric, feisty astromech 'wunderkind,' to date. "I won't be surprised if you ask her, she'd dazzle you up."
The removal of the restraining bolt was all the improvement he needed. "I like myself as is, thank you very much," AP huffed, then thought to ask before he thought better of asking, and dropped it. Maybe it wasn't his place to inquire, but that didn't hold him back from getting some sort of confirmation on his speculation. Preconception coursed through his mechanized body, his circuits roiling in suspicion. Time he tested the scuttlebutt waters. "That…that blue-black-haired young one—well, maybe not as young as I'm imagining he is. Are he and—"
"Ezra Bridger. You mean him. Right?" Chopper threw into the spotlight with a spunky bite to it. "We picked him up from Lothal."
"Precisely whom I mean, C1." AP repeated the kid from Lothal's name, drawling it out, its twang bouncing off the corridor's solid walls. "Uh…"
Sounding impatient, Chopper spluttered, "What about him?"
"Now, this could be considered a brash exponent, as I'm well aware. However, I feel I should voice my grasp of the situation, as I see it, realizing I haven't been afoot for very long. Yet, aside from that, I feel I should. Should, speak…"
If there was one thing that got Chopper's all too nearly melted-down circuits in a tizzy, it was time-wasting beating around the bush. Sputtering, he assailed, "What situation? Stop dragging your over-elongated ambulators! What?"
AP reviewed, absorbing Chopper's testy outburst, while having second thoughts about his being given more respect in this new setting. Shaking off C1's insolence, he put the bug in his ear, so to speak. "Are Sabine and Ezra…shall I say…in-synch? Compatible? On course?" When he got nothing from Chopper that satisfied his blatant curiosity, he spelled it out in more non-droidal terms. Perhaps offbeat Chopper was more comfortable with human, since they were in the majority with this crew, patterns of understanding. "Are they together?"
Chopper gave himself a thorough shake, his photoreceptors fairly popping, as he gyrated from side-to-side. He was the spitting image of being knocked for a loop. Like what the two humans were, was any of this newcomer's business. How should he, an instrument for achieving efficiency and progress, not to mention discretion, know? Baffled, Chopper rolled off, putting some distance between himself and the nosy-body.
Escape was futile.
"Wait, come back," AP protested, "you haven't told me anything. Anything useful I should know. Don't be like that. Surely, you must know something that's plainly evident, observable. Evidenced by how they act with each other. Chopper, Chopper, tell me what you know! It's vital—vital I say!" AP gained ground faster than Chopper appreciated, running him down with ease.
Under his electronic breath, the squat droid irritatedly swore, "Back off, Snoopy!" Then loudly, "I'm a droid, not a holo-scandalmonger!" When Chopper lost him down a stretch of corridor AP had no possibility of being familiar with, the astromech evader sighed in relief, having lost his tail, hiding in a small storage hatch.
Aside from having gifted navigator credentials, this chatty newcomer had a definite gossipy bent. A true gossip hound in the guise of a machine. Even when he'd had his restraining bolt snugly in place, he'd craved knowledge considered trivia. What had Chopper done?