Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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An Upgrade, of Sorts

Being thrust back into the world of the living brought with it many issues, events that Lirka had entirely missed out: colleagues and trusted “associates” lost to the all-consuming void of battle, but these were commonplace things to one who had lived well over a century at this point. No, the most annoying part was the complete and utter state of disrepair that her armor was left it. They had given it little mind after they tore her burned and wrecked corpse from the ruins of Zomnira, and only through the very stern blade-diplomacy of her sole Bodyguard lost to the stars was it not melted down for the raw materials that went into it’s creation. Reforged, refitted, and now in need of modification.

And so, she had ended up on Denon: the mercenary trash the Confederacy had hired having their own little tech under their wing, useful enough to one such as her. The “Sephi” had quickly decided she hated Denon. She hated City Worlds. She hated the aliens that didn’t know how to just get out of her way, she liked that about humans now: they were intimidated enough to just step aside when she started walking. So the armored behemoth of a woman made her way down to the shop of one [member="Olive Theila"]

Lirka entered the shop, nearly hitting her head on entry. Merely looking around the clutter, not quite the establishments she was used to: but not too dissimilar then the shop of the armorsmith who had originally made her baroque plate all those years ago above Anzat. She said nothing at first, if she knew these vendors right this little rat of a woman would come to her first.
 
Tag: [member="Lirka Ka"]

"Welcome!" A sing-song voice floated out of the back of the shop. The comparatively tiny blonde sat at a small work table next to the far wall, hunched over an even smaller device of an unknown kind -- a little metal box with a variety of mechanisms inside. The young woman herself seemed to be hiding in metal; she wore some kind of headset, a half-dozen little lenses stuck on a metal helmet of sorts. It was as odd and messy as the rest of her shop; the place was illuminated by a few quiet yellow fluorescent lights. Tools and projects seemed to be strewn haphazardly across the room, and one could count a dozen doors leading out of the main area -- and that wasn't even counting the trapdoors on the floor and on the ceiling.

Olive didn't look up from what she was doing. This project came first, after all, and those who came into her shop usually knew that she had an amount of focus when she was working, and that it was best to let her keep that focus. Work like this was too precise for loud interruptions... well, not that she could hear most of the interruptions above the rock music blaring from speakers in the corners of the workshop. Still, out of respect for this new patron she touched another small device on the table to turn it down slightly. "What can I do for you?" She called, her eyes not moving from her work.
 
She knew this sort, disappointedly. It had none of the craftsmanship of an exiled craftsman finding work above Anzat, making his art of crafted metal and weapons of war. And the shop just seemed too small. Though to be fair, Lirka was an utterly massive woman now, few things were large enough at this point.

[SIZE=11pt]She strode along, tossing her helmet down on the closest open “desk” she could find. Her voice was thickly accented, even after her revival it was impossible to lose the “Thustran flair”, that and the wild blood red tattoos that covered her face. That was a hard trait to miss.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“I need a voice modulator reinstalled in this.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It was a simple request, but Lirka valued her gear over most living beings. This kid wouldn’t be allowed to rip the rest of it up until she proved herself.[/SIZE]
[member="Olive Theila"]
 
Tag: [member="Lirka Ka"]

With a wave of her hand the blaring music died down to a quiet background hum, as much as rock music could be quiet and background. Though at first it had been obscured by the piles of various bits and bobs and projects in between Olive and her new client, as she began to move she revealed the most ingenious piece of technology in the workshop -- a chair with wheels. Indeed, the comparatively small woman rolled through the room with such precision and grace that it could be mistaken for some kind of high-class repulsorcar. Or at least, that was what Olive imagined it looked like.

In any case the young woman arrived at the desk closest to the door, her goggled eyes not lifting enough to see the woman just yet. She took one look at the helmet, picked it up, then rolled off again, speeding towards one of the doors on the other end of the room. The door slid open without her even lifting a finger, then slid shut.

It took about thirty seconds.

Olive again slid out into the main room, spinning in her seat, holding the newly-vocabulator'd helmet in her hands. She rolled to a stop, finally looking up at the looming super soldier that had found her way into her shop, and simply held up the helmet for her to take. But all new things deserved her attention, so she took off her own pseudo-helmet to reveal her eyes. They sparkled a brilliant blue as she studied the specimen that had wandered in.

"Your armor is incredible. I can't say I see that many actual metalworked armors these days, but some types are old fashioned, mmmm..." Her eyes wandered down to the slightly more battered bits. "I'm not exactly a smith, but I can certainly help. Welding's a whole lot of fun." She slipped off her own helmet and put it on the desk, before looking at the behemoth. "Well, come on. I can't work on it if you're in it."
 

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