<i>"One reacted, sourly, to the other..."</i>Commented Zevion, now reassembling the final layers of tech and metal to the guard's augmetic legs. A syringe extending from the utility arm and squirting precise amounts of blessed lubricating oil here or there, while his hands diligently cleaned every other peice of metal, practically polishing it to a shine before reattaching the shell of thin armoring.<i>"Finished." </i>he declared, stepping back with audidable thunks of his metal boots on the floor.<i>"I trust, you can tend to your guns alone?" </i>Though his voice broke a hint of skeptisism... Already turning away, however, as he cataloged this tasking, and which item within the room deserved his diligence next. The servitor making no sound as she collected his thick, broth like drink and follwed, as if hoping he would not starve himself...<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>