Private Superstition

[Finley Dawson]

​

Kashyyyk Orbit,

After months of spelunking across the Southern Outer Rim, Finley was home.

Almost. Home was right down the local hyperlane to neighboring Balamak, but he had some things to take care of down at the Rest. Drop off his Wookiee mate Krost to the fam, deliver new specimens to the Library, and...get a haircut. The shaggy Corellian wanted to look somewhat presentable before seeing his family. Already, his mother was blowing up his comms as soon as she caught wind of him reentering Silver Space. Any new glance at his comm always reward him with a riser ticker of notifications.

While he helped Krost push crates up into the Moonshine, other shuttles and ships were already departing from the carrier. He was hardly the only one eager to make planetfall. Krost certainly moved with an extra pep in his step while helping Finley load up the freighter. As they neared completion, Krost snatched up a barrel from Finley's cart before he could begin pushing, and just strode off up the ramp.

"Ha ha, it's not a race a mate." he called out, clapping his gloved hands together. "Those ookiees ain't goin anywhere!"

<Pfft, do you remember my kids?> He growled in Shyriiwook. <It'll all be gone by twilight.>

"Oh yeah..." Finley slowly recalled. "Six of them now?"

<Seven!> he boomed from inside the ship.

Finley whistled as he left the cart headed for the cockpit. His friend sure kept busy, though at age 213, Krost had a lot of time for family building. As well as his wife cooked, he had no chance if his children and extended family couldn't resist the bountiful spread awaiting him in Kachirho.

With thoughts on food, the Corellian's stomach loudly rumbled for nourishment. For the vast majority of the expedition, he had subsisted on little more than reheated rations, questionable xeno barbecue roasts, and the occasional Pizza Hutt run on the way back to civilization. He required real food.

The Rest's immaculate dining halls simply weren't ready for the black hole that had become his stomach.

Kyra Perl

 

[Kyra Perl]

Kyra didn't ask for a ship, but now that she had one... it was kinda exhilarating? All the places she could now go ran through her mind, and ironically none of them were in Silver Space. She ran her hand over the metal hull, the paint still fresh and clean from the single flight over from Kattada to Kashyyyk.

Coren Starchaser had clearly taken great care in preparing this ship for her, which made it feel almost... special. Her mother's money could have bought her so much more, but she hadn't wanted any of it up until this point. He wanted to empower her and teach her how to fly. And he spent his time building it for her. It was a gesture of labor and love, and for a spoiled rich girl that had grown up fighting amongst her many siblings for attention, Coren's gesture spoke volumes. She still didn't believe she was that capable of flying. Clearly he didn't either, for the autopilot droid chirped up at her through the ship windows.

His shrill screams complained that the door was jammed, he could not let her in.

She understood none of it, and grew frustrated for it. "It's me you doof, open up!"

"Wooweeeeeee!"

"I'm not gonna try to fly-- is he having you watch me? I just wanna get in. It's my ship you twirp, open up!" She slammed her good fist on the jammed door, her frustration seeping out into the air around her. Kyra's empathy was palpable to those around her, the girl often projecting her emotions around her like an aura.

"Weeeee!"

The miscommunication carried on further.

 

[Finley Dawson]

One drop-off later, and Finley was nursing a large (but increasingly sack) of ookies as he nudged the Moonshine into one of the hangars of the Silver Rest campus. The local starport was buzzing with activity, a myriad of vessels coming and going, most likely on some far-flung mission across Silver Space and beyond. Being productive and all that jazz.

He felt just a smidgen of guilt watching an E-wing depart, wondering if he was doing enough as a Jedi. Everyone had their own role within the order, but how much did it really help spending most of his time playing spelunky at the edges of the galaxy?

There you go again, pesky conscience.

It was best to take care of business before it grew. After landing, he polished off a few more ookies before stuffing the remains in the front storage department and heading to the back of the freighter. Right after the rear ramp was lowered, he was greeted to quite the show, some woman banging on the side while yelling about something. He had his hand on a pulley, but the nosey Corellian let it drop as he took a few more steps down to observe.

Then it hit him, waves of frustration and angst, clearly emanating from the woman. So definitely another Forcer, and a peeved one at that. It was pretty clear she needed help.

Sometimes Finley wished all women were blessed with the Force, so they were all so easy to read.

"Hey!" He called out as he approached her, deciding to play the good Samaritan. "Contrary to popular belief, machines don't respond well to random beatins, or mechanics would all be out of work."

Kyra Perl

 

[Kyra Perl]

woosh, wibblywoobly time skip forward to post cyber arm--> kyra's official departure from silver rest

Kyra looked over her shoulder, her metal hand sliding down the bulkhead and creating a grating noise that made her cringe. She abruptly dropped the hand, cradling it to her core. That would take some getting use to. She deflated at the face of the man's chastising, a wash of emotions shining across her eyes. She looked close to tears, only a wave of fiery determination seemed to keep them back. Someone was having a bad day.

"It won't open. I need to go," She informed the stranger, her tone brisk and bordering a whine. "Tell him to open up, or I'll scrap him and send him back to my father." Her words were amplified but a threatening look upwards, the misunderstood flight driod taking the brunt of her hard day. The faces of those closest to her kept flooding her mind, each bringing its own unique wave of guilt or pain. It urged her onwards.

She didn't want to linger.

Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

He winced as a screech was produced from her fingers scrapping against the hull. His dark eyes were immediately drawn to the offending hand, gleaming and clearly prosthetic. It looked like it could do some serious damage - had that been the cause of the loud pounding he heard across the hangar?

Oof.

Best to stay on her good side.

Fortunately, she wasn't throttling her starship anymore, but she clearly looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown, muttering something about the need to leave.

"Hey hey," he cautioned, throwing up a hand. "It's best not to come at this angry, or you'll be sitting here all day. You should be nicer to your ship too - I know I wouldn't feel comfortable cruising in a ship I just threatened to scrap."

He wasn't sure if droids had a soul, but they definitely had feelings, and if you mistreated them they could become unreliable and unruly, failing to inform you of accidents, or making "accidents" of their own.

"Just give me a minute and I'll have yah sorted out in a jiffy."

His upturned hand became a wave as he jogged back to his freighter. About a minute later, he returned carrying a toolbox in one arm, and the sack of ookies in another. Back with the woman he offered up the sack.

"I had planned to polish off the rest of these myself, but I think you could use them a lot more than me. Now, I haven't worked on a U-wing before, but all Incom units tend to have a similar layout."

It was true. You could be flying a Skyhopper one day, and immediately jump into an X-wing the next and feel right at home.

"Do I have permission to check out your ship?"

Kyra Perl

 

[Kyra Perl]

Kyra took a half step back from her ship and casted it a wary glance. ...Could electronics lash out for revenge? It was a statement not founded on logic, but the girl was left considering it all the same. Her unease built as the man excused himself and ran to get something, the girl left to stand alone with the hunk of metal she was feuding with.

"You can't kill me, my father would have you scrapped," she grumbled to the ship. Despite her assertions, she was still not convinced. The small seed of doubt was planted inside of her, left to grow there as the man returned and handed her something.

Cookies! Her eyes lit up, her fingers already fussing to open up the sack. The motions were awkward and choppy, the metal hand still very new. Kyra did not seem to notice, all too happy to be able to get into a bag herself and shove the first cookie between her lips.

Whole.

"Yeshpwease." Came her permission, muffled by the mouthful. The heavy weight to force began to lessen, like a breeze clearing away storm clouds. She chewed through the doughy goodness, not paying attention as he started his task.

"Mm.YUm.Youknowvhatvisneeds?" She swallowed hard, crumbs hanging on her lip. "More sugar." Zeltros was notorious for its overly sweet food preference. She made a happy noise, fussing out for another cookie.

"Want one?"

What were they doing again? She had seemed to already forget.

Finley Dawson

 

[Finley Dawson]

Upon his return, her demeanor took a complete 180 as he offered up the half eaten sack off ookies to her, the woman practically sucking up one cookie whole.

Eyes raised in surprised by her vigor, she reminded him of Charlie in that moment, a walking vortex when it came to food.

Great, now there are two of them.

He gripped the sack a little tighter, afraid his hand would end up next. He let he have her fill so that she could cool down and give her poor ship a break. She made him chuckle when she asked if he wanted a cookie, the Corellian shaking his head and handing off the sack to her. He doubted there would be anything left to return to the Moonshine anyway.

"Thanks, but I'm good. Had a little in-flight snack of my own before landing," he replied as he brushed past the cookie monster for the ship.

He ran his hand over the hull, right along the seam of the door. It wasn't flush with the rest of the hull, indicating a lack of alignment. That could probably explain why it was stuck. If the misalignment wasn't fixed, then the door wouldn't seal right and pressurize the cabin - meaning a real short flight beyond a few kilometers off the ground.

Taking a knee, he reached into the toolbox, pulling out a crow bar. It was little more than a bent slab of neutronium, but he never had to worry about it going out like a power tool.

Often simple was best.

Raising the long end to the door, he pushed the taped forked tip into the gap at an angle, digging in as he applied pressure to pop the door. At first it didn't give, but with a little elbow grease, the door began to part with a small screech.

"There were go. Hey, why don't you come put that neat arm to use."

It wasn't any trouble for him to finish the job, but he thought it was important that she get involved as a little lesson about patience.

Oh look, not even here five minutes and I'm already doing Knight teacher stuff.

So far, he had no complaints.

Kyra Perl