Activity from the Mando'ade was normally something Azrael would keep abreast of, and yet for the duration of his visit to this rather inhospitable planet he'd turned off his comms. However he wasn't ignorant of the situation, and he was already assured that several Field Marshals were about to keep the vode on track, and resolute in their missions. He personally was not needed to secure the planet once more under Mandalorian rule. The handful of times he could count that he'd touched down on this rock since leaving it originally for Manda'yaim had been replaying over and over in his head. He'd come here for answers, for industry, for retribution, and for solidarity -- and yet still the salvager found himself walking his former home, tracing a path not only through the scrapyard but through time itself. Flashbacks of his youth spent in these wastelands of dying and decrepit machines washed over his concealed vision, while he saw the echos of the past playing out as if he'd recorded them through the holonet. He'd cut his teeth on this planet, as he'd only known the toil and struggle it offered, allowing him to learn a singular skill that was applied day in and day out for the chance for a continued existence. In this world, you either produced, or you were left by the wayside.
The cloak about his form shifted with every arid gust of wind that swept up and down the lanes of reconstituted metal and scrap. The piles of derelict vessels and vehicles rose line miniature mountains on the horizon, blocking ever feasible exit, save for the path that led to the casinos and passed that to the lowly slum like hovels that the workers were given. Even through the air filtration in his helmet, Azrael could recall the smell of this planet, and it did nothing but heighten his memory of it. On the first return, he'd come back as a trained Mandalorian, who wrestled the allegiance of the foremen for each yard away from the trade-posts and tourist traps of the casinos. After that he'd come to rebuild Ord Mantell, to setup outposts to use their industrial machine to fuel MandalMotors with continual usable and valuable scrap. Once more he'd come for information, as a parcel had been delivered and an old friend had contacted him for help. That memory, more than most, stuck in his head while he passed a large fuselage shell that had been sitting in the same place for years. Piles of scrap had filled in a bit of the base, but it was a location he wasn't about to forget. Passing by to lift his bionic hand and touch the exterior, a moment of silence was offered while he recalled a memory that was both bitter and sweet.
"What is it?" The Arkanian asked with wide-eyed interest. Her hands held the metallic object nimbly for closer inspection. The three ton durasteel tube that the two sat in giving the pair a bit of privacy as Azrael showed the girl the trinket he'd designed. One part chrome, two parts titanium and in the shape of a winged insect he's seen often on Ord Mantell. Lahswee rotated the device in her hands back and forward running her pale white fingers over the surface before she glanced up in Azrael's direction with a curious and thoughtful expression written on her face. A ruddy and amused visage returned her gaze with his own gray eyes before he held out his left hand and took the device back for a demonstration.
"It's a keep-sake. Crafted it from a few pieces of left-over scrap and designed it to keep something inside." Pressing his left fingers against the wings and shifting them apart, he bent the head part down and it released a hidden latch that opened up to reveal a small alcove inside. A miniature holo-recorder lay inside, and when activated by the opening latch, it showed Azrael's face with a smile on it. The blue holographic image flickered to life and faced her, playing in a four and a half second loop. "You can record a fifteen second feed, I just did this as a test run." Azrael said as he offered the girl the trinket back. Lahswee's bright smile was offered as she took the object back and watched Azrael's holographic image give her a smile.
"It's perfect. I don't always get to see you smile. And now I can whenever I want." It was a cheesy thing to do, but sometimes cheesy went a long way. "Thank you." The distance between them vanished as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and offered him a small kiss on his ruddy hued cheek. Azrael's gray eyes closed as he held onto her for that moment in time. A moment in time that he'd not soon forget.
"Even though life was hard, things were far more simple back then, eh Lahswee?" The Mand'alor commented, recalling the first girl he'd ever loved, a girl that had broken his heart, and that he'd buried off world years prior. "You saw what I became, and you once said you were proud of me for getting off of this rock. Now look at me, I'm Mand'alor, the entire weight of the culture rests on my shoulders. Part of me wishes you could see me now, but that life is behind me. I still miss you though, you helped make me who I am, and I just hope I did right by you." The salvager said in a whisper tone, inaudible outside of his helmet while that memory rang true in his mind. The odd shift of his senses though and the helmet's amplification stirred his attention. Shifting his focus, and searching around one of the larger wrecks, the Mand'alor's footpath took him to a scene all too familiar to him. A trio of trouble makers picking on a far more defenseless and jaded young Twi-lek who truly didn't know how to defend himself. One of them held a crude wrench in his hand aiming to beat the poor kid with the instrument before it was snatched away in his bionic hand.
"Kee baatu baatu, bukee." The salvager said in a tongue he rarely used, speaking Huttese in a deep timber, which make all the boys look up to see a cloaked warrior, standing resolute over them and casting his long shadow on the situation. Frozen for a moment, until Azrael uttered a single warning. "Boska!" Immediately the three fled the scene as the Twi-lek instinctively recoiled from Azrael's image. A glance at the wrench was given before he took a step forward and knelt down to one knee, offering the wrench towards the Twi-lek. "I was once in your shoes young one, take it from someone whose been there. This can repair more than some broken down ship - it can save your life." The far more calm demeanor of the salvager offered the tool towards the young boy who slowly began to uncurl and take the offered wrench. "This world can teach you a lot, if you let it, and if you find yourself lost in the rat race, look for this symbol, and you can find help when you need it most." Azrael turned slightly, tapping the crest of his bionic arm, indicating the symbol of the Mysthosaur.
