Lyra Ventor
Character
The rain had only lasted twenty minutes. Just enough to knock the dust out of the air and turn the hard-packed ground outside the garage into streaks of dark mud and shallow puddles that reflected the pale gray sky overhead. The storm had already passed eastward now, leaving behind the sharp mineral scent of wet dirt and cooling metal that drifted through the open structure in slow currents whenever the wind shifted.
Inside the public garage, life continued like it always did. Engines turned over. Welders sparked in sudden bursts of blue-white light. Someone cursed loudly two bays down after dropping something heavy onto their foot, while an astromech rolled past, dragging a fuel hose behind it like an annoyed pet. The entire place carried the layered noise of people trying to keep old machines alive with varying levels of success.
Lyra felt more at home here than she did almost anywhere else in the galaxy.
The Starling rested above her in its maintenance cradle, scarred hull plating partially stripped away near the port engine assembly, while access panels and tools littered the floor beneath it in organized chaos only she seemed capable of understanding. One sleeve of her slate-gray work shirt had been rolled nearly to the shoulder while the other remained halfway down her forearm, stained dark with grease and hydraulic fluid. Smudges of black marked her jawline and cheek where she had absently wiped sweat away earlier with dirty hands.
She was currently halfway inside the open engine compartment with a hydrospanner clenched between her teeth.
"No, no, no…" she muttered around the tool before pulling herself back enough to glare into the exposed machinery. "You do not get to make that sound after I rebuilt the compression manifold twice."
The engine, unsurprisingly, refused to care.
A sharp metallic clang echoed through the bay as she reached deeper into the compartment and smacked the housing with the side of her palm. Immediately, the whining vibration stopped. Lyra froze. Slowly, suspiciously, she narrowed her eyes at the engine. "You're joking." The engine remained silent.
Somewhere nearby, rainwater dripped rhythmically from the edge of the corrugated roof into a growing puddle beside stacked cargo crates. Beyond the garage entrance, speeders occasionally hissed through damp streets while travelers and mechanics wandered in and out freely beneath flickering signs and hanging work lights.
Nobody paid much attention to anyone else here unless something exploded. Which was exactly why Lyra liked the place.
She finally slid fully back out from beneath the engine compartment, pushing loose blonde hair away from her face with the back of her wrist and leaving an even darker streak of grease across her forehead in the process. Her fingers hooked into the edge of the ship's hull while she leaned back to inspect the exposed assembly from a different angle.
"If you start behaving now," she warned the ship quietly, "I'm still holding a grudge." The Starling answered only with the soft ticking sounds of cooling metal and the distant hum of the garage around her.
For a moment, Lyra simply stood there beneath the open maintenance cradle, listening to the layered rhythm of the place. Welders crackled somewhere farther down the line of bays. Someone started up an engine that immediately sounded unhealthy. Boots splashed through shallow puddles near the entrance where the recent rain still clung stubbornly to the dusty ground outside.
The garage remained busy without ever feeling hurried. Pilots drifted through checking cargo seals, mechanics argued over parts inventories, and travelers came and went beneath hanging lights and leaking roof panels without much concern for anyone beyond their own corner of the hangar.
Lyra preferred it that way.
She tossed the grease-soaked rag back onto the tool cart and reached for her hydrospanner again before pausing briefly at the sound of movement somewhere near her bay. Her eyes lifted from the exposed engine assembly toward whoever happened to be passing through the garage next.
Then she leaned back against the side of the Starling, still grimy, still half-covered in grease, looking far more at home here among tools and broken machinery than anywhere else in the galaxy.
Stella Braxus
Inside the public garage, life continued like it always did. Engines turned over. Welders sparked in sudden bursts of blue-white light. Someone cursed loudly two bays down after dropping something heavy onto their foot, while an astromech rolled past, dragging a fuel hose behind it like an annoyed pet. The entire place carried the layered noise of people trying to keep old machines alive with varying levels of success.
Lyra felt more at home here than she did almost anywhere else in the galaxy.
The Starling rested above her in its maintenance cradle, scarred hull plating partially stripped away near the port engine assembly, while access panels and tools littered the floor beneath it in organized chaos only she seemed capable of understanding. One sleeve of her slate-gray work shirt had been rolled nearly to the shoulder while the other remained halfway down her forearm, stained dark with grease and hydraulic fluid. Smudges of black marked her jawline and cheek where she had absently wiped sweat away earlier with dirty hands.
She was currently halfway inside the open engine compartment with a hydrospanner clenched between her teeth.
"No, no, no…" she muttered around the tool before pulling herself back enough to glare into the exposed machinery. "You do not get to make that sound after I rebuilt the compression manifold twice."
The engine, unsurprisingly, refused to care.
A sharp metallic clang echoed through the bay as she reached deeper into the compartment and smacked the housing with the side of her palm. Immediately, the whining vibration stopped. Lyra froze. Slowly, suspiciously, she narrowed her eyes at the engine. "You're joking." The engine remained silent.
Somewhere nearby, rainwater dripped rhythmically from the edge of the corrugated roof into a growing puddle beside stacked cargo crates. Beyond the garage entrance, speeders occasionally hissed through damp streets while travelers and mechanics wandered in and out freely beneath flickering signs and hanging work lights.
Nobody paid much attention to anyone else here unless something exploded. Which was exactly why Lyra liked the place.
She finally slid fully back out from beneath the engine compartment, pushing loose blonde hair away from her face with the back of her wrist and leaving an even darker streak of grease across her forehead in the process. Her fingers hooked into the edge of the ship's hull while she leaned back to inspect the exposed assembly from a different angle.
"If you start behaving now," she warned the ship quietly, "I'm still holding a grudge." The Starling answered only with the soft ticking sounds of cooling metal and the distant hum of the garage around her.
For a moment, Lyra simply stood there beneath the open maintenance cradle, listening to the layered rhythm of the place. Welders crackled somewhere farther down the line of bays. Someone started up an engine that immediately sounded unhealthy. Boots splashed through shallow puddles near the entrance where the recent rain still clung stubbornly to the dusty ground outside.
The garage remained busy without ever feeling hurried. Pilots drifted through checking cargo seals, mechanics argued over parts inventories, and travelers came and went beneath hanging lights and leaking roof panels without much concern for anyone beyond their own corner of the hangar.
Lyra preferred it that way.
She tossed the grease-soaked rag back onto the tool cart and reached for her hydrospanner again before pausing briefly at the sound of movement somewhere near her bay. Her eyes lifted from the exposed engine assembly toward whoever happened to be passing through the garage next.
Then she leaned back against the side of the Starling, still grimy, still half-covered in grease, looking far more at home here among tools and broken machinery than anywhere else in the galaxy.
Stella Braxus