Jorga the Hutt
When life gives you Mandos, make Mando'ade
[member="Spencer Varanin"]
ESHAN
CONNORY’S WORKSHOP
“It's not much, Your Majesty, but I like to think it cleans up well.”
Snow had piled halfway up the windows. Even at high noon, the workshop felt comfortably gloomy, like a perpetual twilight. Connory sat by a workbench, applying a sonic servodriver to his leg. An actuator twitched and shivered from heel to knee. He closed an access port and let the servodriver roll away across the bench.
“Sorry that you're catching me indisposed. Legs needed a tuneup bad enough that I couldn't make it up to the roof when you landed.” He rolled down his pants to the ankle and stood easily. “Welcome to my house, and thanks again for the invite."
ESHAN
CONNORY’S WORKSHOP
“It's not much, Your Majesty, but I like to think it cleans up well.”
Snow had piled halfway up the windows. Even at high noon, the workshop felt comfortably gloomy, like a perpetual twilight. Connory sat by a workbench, applying a sonic servodriver to his leg. An actuator twitched and shivered from heel to knee. He closed an access port and let the servodriver roll away across the bench.
“Sorry that you're catching me indisposed. Legs needed a tuneup bad enough that I couldn't make it up to the roof when you landed.” He rolled down his pants to the ankle and stood easily. “Welcome to my house, and thanks again for the invite."