Tinker Tinker

[J3C0]

Valerie sat within a hangar bay on one of the half opened crates laying around., her black hafted spear and her helmet lay on the crate beside her.

Within the hangar sat an AT-120 Freighter, a heavy near corvette sized ship that belonged to a woman of some renown, and by renown Valerie meant some hearsay about her being able to fix ships and other things of that nature. It was a talent that Clan Vizsla was in desperate need of. While Valerie could forge weapons and even armor and maintain it somewhat, she couldn't fix tanks, rifles, and other things like that.

They needed help, and as much as Valerie hated to admit it, that would only come from looking outward. So they had made a stop here on the way to their next battlefield, searching for anyone who could fit the job description. Of course after a bit of searching Valerie had been pointed towards this hangar bay currently occupied by a woman who supposedly was quite the mechanic.

Valerie was hoping to find out.

 

[Quietus]

Like a train chugging along a well-traveled track, she came slowly winding through the thin crowds of the station. Rhythmic tamping of boots on duracrete, the jingle of a crate of bottles carried under one arm and the persistent plume of smoke trailing behind her - there just was no other way to describe the woman. Were it not for the soldiering gait, one might've pinned her as a wreck.

It slowed none upon nearing the ship and spying the other sitting on a crate, but did ellicit a keen eyeball and a grunt.

The woman veered right, ascended the ramp of the ship and disappeared inside without a word, blond mohawk leading the way.

She returned moments later to lean in the doorway, arms now free of the crate, lucid eyes taking in the site of some fairly expensive looking armor.

"Goin-rates double for anyting made of Mando-metal. poodoo's tough as hell te work with."

[member="Valerie Vizsla"]

 

[J3C0]

Valerie didn't speak up when the woman walked passed her and into the ship, she simply observed and waited to be acknowledged.

Of course she was recognized as what she was almost instantly, with Fennec calling her out on her armor and Spear. Valerie smiled, and took it as an indication that at the very least the woman was knowledgeable about cultures and the various metals they used since apparently she was experienced with Mandalorian Iron.

“That won't be necessary.” Valerie said. She maintained her own weapons and armor, not what she was here for. “I'm here to offer you a job. After an interview anyway.”

She wasn't in the business of just handing out work after all, she needed to see if this woman was talented, talented enough to fix what Clan Vizsla ended up breaking.

 

[Quietus]

Another grunt. She thumbed her cigarette, tapping off the ash to the floor, and returned it to her lips, sallow eyes never leaving the armored woman.

An interview - words. Words she wasn't good with, but money she needed. The station clients had recently run dry, leading to losing a few pounds. At least the price of bad habits was something she could always afford.

Puff, pull, plume. Arms folded at her front, she reached for the cigarette once more, pinching it between forefingers and motioning to [member="Valerie Vizsla"] to go on with the interview.

 

[J3C0]

From behind her back Valerie pulled out a small device.

The thing was vaguely cubed shaped, and would be easily recognized as a very old, very rusty holo-projector. The thing looked to be ancient, and truthfully was. It was a relic of the past, some eight hundred years old now, a prop from the Clone Wars. It had been passed down through Clan Vizsla for generations.

This was a similar theme within all of Clan Vizsla's technology. Most of it save for their armor was absolutely ancient and outdated.

They made due on the battlefield, and were of course still very effective, but it was difficult to repair things when they got broken. Hence why she was holding this little audition for Fennec. With a smile, Valerie tossed the small holo-projector over to Fennec.

“Fix this.” Her tone wasn't demanding or commanding, simply stating what she wanted.

 

[Quietus]

A blink, a twitch. The woman craned her head to peer at the object in question, moving forward to take it, examine it.

"It's old," she said, the words seemingly directly only at herself, thinking aloud, she turned and made her way back towards her ship, "ver' old."

There was no lack of respect for dated technology. No incessant need to upgrade or update. Many old things still worked perfectly fine today, given proper maintenance and repairs. If it wasn't broke - why waste it? Why, she'd have a vintage ship if it didn't cost more to find the parts to get one running than to simply buy newer goods on the market.

She disappeared into the ship leaving a plume of smoke behind her.

Inside? A crude workshop, collections of oddities and eclectic things. Old. New. Broken. Unfinished. Spare parts. The walls crawled with mouse droids.

She nudged a stool aside at a workbench to take a seat, pulling a custom headpiece on that boasted lenses of varying uses, small lights, clips and clamps, tiny tools. Her mohawk sat squashed under the straps, loose spikes sticking out. A hand roved backwards through the air, grasping for something. There came the soft clinking from nearby of glass bottles and quite suddenly one found its way to her palm. A moment later she cracked it open and took a swig.

No checking on the woman or potential employer, no offering a seat or a welcome in or a beer from the case. Just the job.

She set to work.

[member="Valerie Vizsla"]

 

[J3C0]

[member="Fennec"]

Valerie followed the woman inside the ship, mostly because she was curious about the womans process. She left both her helmet and spear outside, not really worried about thieves. Most people saw a Mandalorian Helmet and knew better than to steal it, plus both of those things had tracking devices in them, so it was hardly a concern.

With quiet, patient steps Valerie moved into the ship.

She took up position behind Fennec, her eyes searching as the woman took up work on the ancient holo-comunicator. She found herself sincerely hoping that this woman knew her stuff. Clan Vizsla was in desperate need of an engineer capable of repairing tons of similar technology, and having someone to be able to do it would be a great weight off her mind.

Especially since up until now, it had been her job.

With the clans rising however, and Vizsla being among the head of a pack of very outside minded Mandalorian Clans she knew that she would no longer have the time to try and fix things.

Mostly because she would be breaking them.

 

[Quietus]

Articulated movements of hands and calloused fingers quickly pulled apart the device, pausing only for a puff of her cigarette or a swig of her bottle. Head craned over the workbench, the woman turned the exposed innards this way and that, hunting for signs of rust and age and wear. She immediately began to remove tiny wires and metal pieces with precision tools.

Around her mouse droids buzzed and wheeled, sneaking through their feet and under the bench. A flick of a hand sent a box flying from a wall nearby to land in her grasp. On her other side a new tool spilled in from some shadowy corner as if on its own accord. Things and pieces and parts strewn in from various areas around them - technomagic, Force-geekery. Soon enough there was a larger mess of things surrounding her and all the while she remained completely oblivious to [member="Valerie Vizsla"] watching over her shoulder.

She performed surgery on the device quickly, efficiently. She was a maestro and the parts and tools her orchestra. Within no time it was reconstructed, original plating snapping back into place. Cig pinched in her lips, she flipped up the lenses on her headpiece, activated the power nodule on the side and watched it spring to life. Sweet, dusty, haggard life.

The woman turned on her seat, eyes still focused on the item, and moved to stand only to find the Mandolorian right there.

Grunt, grumble - she pushed the hand holding the device at her, " 'dere."

 

[J3C0]

When the woman used the force Valerie tightened. Her muscles seemed to tense and her eyes strained slightly.

She didn't like the force.

It wasn't that she thought it useless or a danger or was scared of the force itself. To her it was a crutch. It was something that Jedi and Sith used to rely on in combat when they could train. She didn't mind it so much as a day to day tool, she could understand making things easier, but in combat? In combat the force was something that disgusted her.

Her lips turned down, then the woman turned about to face Valeria.

She stuck out the device, which Valeria carefully took.

The head of Clan Vizsla pressed the button on the side of the device, and slowly the box opened up into a strange almost circular shape. A small beam of light broke up from the device, and almost immediately it showed a map of a sector of Mandalorian space.

Valerie grinned.

 

[Quietus]

Standing there, puffing away, waiting on wilting patience, she reached the end of her cigarette just soon enough before realizing it and grimaced as the bud burned into her lips. Her face flickered as she spat the butt to the floor and quickly searched for, found, and lifted her bottle back to her lips, wetting them with a bit of drink.

There was a visible black burn now, it stung like hell, but she didn't seem to care.

The woman watched for a few moments longer before tapping her bottle on the Mando's metal gauntlet. Patience done.

[member="Valerie Vizsla"]

 

[J3C0]

She got over the force user thing rather quickly.

This device was a star map of sorts, one that she hadn't been able to fix herself. It was something that she and Bestala needed to move their plans forward, and now that they had it, she knew exactly what their next step would be.

And she knew this woman was the right person for the job.

“If you want it, you got the job.” She paused for a moment, casting a glance around the ship before explaining what the job actually was. “I represent the Mandalorian Clan Vizsla.”

She began, the name wasn't too famous outside of the clans, but within the Mandalorians they were infamous. “Were an old clan, ancient. Most of us died out, but we still hold much territory. Unfortunately much of that territory, and the things that came with it is beyond ancient. Most of our weapons, armor, equipment, ships, are all outdated.” She had come out here in an ancient vessel that hadn't been used since the Clone Wars. “We need someone to travel with us. Fix our things. Pays well, you get food, board, and payed extra for each job you come with us on.”

 

[Quietus]

The woman listened, expression blank and unchanging. A paying job was a paying job, she didn't care who footed the pay-stub. Be it far from her to be impressed by the dropping of names, none of that ever mattered.

"I don' fight," the woman intoned, looking [member="Valerie Vizsla"] up and down once to indicate the woman's apparent warrior status, "I build, I repair, I fly. Dat's it."

Anything else was a perk...or maybe a flaw. It really depended on who you asked.

 

[J3C0]

She liked that.

It meant keeping the Force out of Clan Vizsla, it meant not being a hypocrite. Valerie was not a hypocrite. There was a reason no force users made their way into the Clan, there was a reason she didn't ally with the Ordo's or the Skiratas. It was a crutch.

“Good.” She said with a confident nod. “I don't need you to fight. I need you to do your job.”

Valerie paused for a moment, then spoke. “I can't promise you'll always be safe though.”

They lived in battlezones, thats what they did. They were mercenaries, sometimes they had to live in the stink to get things done, if they did they would need their engineer to come with.

 

[Quietus]

Deadpanned, she gave a short glance around the ship. Clearly she was not living in the lap of luxury. Clearly the woman had seen hard times.

She shrugged.

"I noh how to survive."

And that was that. Until-

"One rule," her eyes settled back on [member="Valerie Vizsla"] and shifted from a dull grey to a curious shade of green, "no one enters my ship while I sleep."

 

[J3C0]

[member="Fennec"]

The eye change was an oddity, but Valerie played it off as though she did not notice it.

There were many things that she could tell from that, her first guess was that it was some sort of technological trick with contact lenses or something of the sort. The punky look that the girl carried suggested it could be something of the sort. Other guesses floated in her mind, but she played them off as unlikely for now.

“Done.” She said with a smile. “We'll get you a lock.”

That had been easy.

 

[Quietus]

"I have them already," she replied stepping past [member="Valerie Vizsla"] and back down the ramp of her ship out into the mess of supplies and cargo to begin repacking, "when do we leave."

Were Valerie to look at the hatchway she would see quite a few custom-made locking devices already implemented. Bizarre locks. This woman liked her privacy.

 

[J3C0]

Valerie followed the girl out, moving at a quick pace until she stood on the ground once more. She made her way over to the spear and the helmet, cradling one beneath her arm and taking the other one in a tight grip in her hands.

She had noticed the locks, but decided not to comment.

Who was she to judge?

“Immediately.” From beneath her gauntlet she pulled a small piece of flimsy. “This is where the Clan is. Meet me there.”

That was that. She would be payed the first commission there.

 

[Quietus]

THERE


Days had passed - perhaps too many for what was really required to travel to wherever There happened to be. Molotov touched down on a landing pad with the nonchalance of an elephant, a testament to the speed of the ship itself. Engines whirring to a steady dying pitch, the ramp touched down to reveal the slumped figure of Fennec. Little of her attire had changed, though strangely enough the woman's mowhawk was now dusty raven black with longer sections of hair braided and beaded, clinking along her back. Her tattoos had changed and she sported several new body piercings.

Fen pushed a set of pilot's goggles to her forehead and gave a glance around, blue eyes glinting, grimacing expression pale with spacer sickness. She smelled of smoke and alcohol, which although wasn't a terribly appealing perfum, it was better than vomit and stomach bile.

She stepped down the ramp, combat boots hitting the durasteel steps hard, gait stilted. Somewhere around There was a Mandolorian woman, but all Fen particularly cared about at this moment was a bit of fresh air and solid ground.

[member="Valerie Vizsla"]

 

[J3C0]

Valerie was in the midst of the camp, her armor stripped from her, her helmet placed to the side, and her long brown hair tucked into a single ponytail. Her clothes were ragged and muddies, her face was covered in bits of dirt other mess, but there was a smile on her face that told of accomplishment. In her hand she juggled several knives, three small piercing blades that she flipped intermediately.

Twenty paces to her left was a single Target, three knives with blue bands already sunk into the wood.

Today was a day of celebration.

Only two days ago they had arrived on this planet to find a rebel uprising already in full swing. Within only a day of arriving Valeria and Clan Vizsla had silenced the opposition within the capital, pushed the rebels into the mountains, and had very nearly broken the spine of the enemies. They would make the final push tomorrow.

Today was a day of rest and relaxation, a day to unwind from the heavy fighting.

Valerie, like many Mandalorian women, chose to unwind by showing up her male counterparts in the arts of combat. She grinned slightly, turning suddenly and whirling one of the blades directly into the center of the target.

A loud cheer rose, and that was the scene that Fennec would walk into.

 

[Quietus]

She followed the sounds of cheering and the perfume of a warrior tribe that likely lived in their armor. Wasn't terribly different from her own brand, and given the setting it likely meant she'd go rather unnoticed aside from being the new unknown. Arriving on the scene the woman pulled out a cigarette and sparked up, silently taking note of the gathered faces from a ways back. Fen watched the the goings on with a detached expression and when, finally, someone did take notice she barely flinched as they approached.

Whether or not they were expecting her she couldn't say, but Fen barely gave the person a moment to speak before lifting a hand and pointing it directly at [member="Valerie Vizsla"], "Wit her."