Private Try Not To Cut Yourself On That Edge

[Anna Sachae]

SOME BUSTED OLD HYPERLANE STATION
Middle of Nowhere, Local Time 1715

Another week, another decently successful run. Unlike her recent, more lucrative hauls, most of the salvage this time was for ship repairs. Junk and desh, circuitry and wiring, nothing too old or rare. As a result, Anna would likely be on the station for another couple of days supplementing the meager change her crew share had been from this with some raw technician work. For now, though, she had enough to get some soup and a room at a stationboard hotel. That'd tide her over until tomorrow, when the dirty work began.

Not that Anna minded. Even as she took a seat on one of the stools outside what seemed to be some kind of cultural noodle shop, she was still covered in the grime and oil from the inside of that old, busted freighter. Spend most of the day dissecting a ship and you wind up with its guts all over your body. Her hands and face were clean enough to eat with, and that was really all that mattered. She could freshen up later.

As she took a look around the dimly-lit, junky corridors of a city-sized space station, Anna couldn't help but smile. This was the kind of place that she loved. The kind of place she wanted to be. She almost felt like she should have been there before now. Almost like... she'd missed something...

Family?

A tear streamed down Anna's cheek, splattering onto the counter beside her bowl of hot noodle soup. No need to think about that. Focus on the food, and the work. The rest of it would fall into place. There were only two living people in the galaxy she was directly related to, and both were quite capable of taking care of themselves. When she'd touched Fabula's memories back in the Netherworld, she even felt a home to go back to. The two of them were doing better than she was, frankly.

The thought of Fabula and now Fable living well left Anna with a quiet, warm smile on her face. Made the noodles taste all the better.

 

[Daria Cavill]

What a miserable little station.

It was too crowded, for one. Daria could barely maneuver through the crowds without rubbing shoulders with everyone around her, and given the general crime-positive atmosphere of Redshift station, most of those shoulders were armored. Hard plasteel edges and sharp corners to dissuade... something, she assumed. The air filters were old, if they even existed, which meant that a musky, dusty, wet smell hung in the air on the lower levels, tormenting her sinuses. Luckily, Redshift station would serve the purpose she needed it to serve; it was a waypoint, a stepping stone, a place of transit neither designed nor suited to long stays. Her heart went out to the people who had to live here, but she had no intention of remaining any longer than usual.

Where was she going? She had no idea. Not here. Away from the core. Daria had rolled the idea around in her head, of hopping on an exploration vessel to the outer reaches and beyond to see what was there, but it felt like too big a step. It would, she had been ashamed to realize, require more courage of her than she possessed. Wandering the Galaxy to stay a step or two ahead of the mercenaries that she was sure her father had tracking her was scary enough, but it was a comfortable sort of scary. A demon she knew, as opposed to the Vong she didn't.

Settling onto the creaky stool of some sort of ethnic food place, Daria set her bag between her feet and gave the menu a skeptical look. Far too many of the options had quotation marks around them for her comfort. Glancing up into the unimpressed, beady, and impatient eyes of the Besalisk cook, the sturdy farmgirl adjusted her glasses and sat up straight on reflex. Shoulder square, don't slouch. "I'll have a number 4." Daria decided in a hurry, planting a trailworn pair of creds on the bar. "Don't skimp on the pepper flakes." If she looked weak, even to a cook, she'd just become a target. And targets didn't live long in places like this.

The Besalisk rolled his eyes and snatched up the credits, waddling off - pulling his pants up, Daria noted quietly, and scratching his behind at the same time. Appetizing. Hopefully he wouldn't be using those arms to prepare her food. Hopelessly annoyed and looking a little queasy, Daria flipped through her datapad to search for cheap booking off of this station.

 

[Anna Sachae]

Hm? Oh! She was young! There were a few little station urchins running around, Anna had noted, but most of them were urchin-grade, not... what, sixteen? Eighteen? Hard to tell. As the seat to her left was filled by a brand new visitor, Anna turned and gave her a bright smile. "Like it a little spicy?" Her voice was as sunny and energetic as her expression. "There's a pretty good wrap shop two blocks down, past the reactor plaza. Half their menu has a kick."

It would have been very rude to peek over the girl's shoulder to see what she was doing. Anna's curiosity would have to wait until later. Honestly, it wasn't really important information anyway. There was no reason to create resentment seeking it out. She satisfied herself with more things that were largely direct and polite. "You don't look much like a native. Not dirty enough. I take it you're just passing through?"

Anna did look like a native, and honestly kind of felt like one, too. She wasn't, of course. KDY was a very similar but wholly distinct kind of space city. Not as gritty or violent, just as dirty and much louder. Schedules and quotas were more important than contacts and leads. It was pretty clear that this girl had been on a few ships, but not a city-station for too long. For Anna, it was pretty much like coming home. No reason not to make her feel as comfortable as she could.

[member="Daria Cavill"]

 

[Daria Cavill]

[member="Anna Sachae"]

Daria was more than a little confused when somebody's mom struck up conversation with her, and the surprise was evident by how suddenly off of her game the brooding young woman was. She'd been glaring at her datapad, as though sheer force of will alone could manifest affordable transit that was clearly where she wanted to go (not that she knew where that was, exactly). When Anna spoke, she started upright, eyes wide, inhaling sharply as though she'd been expecting to have to defend herself in some way.

The woman sitting beside her didn't look like a marauder or a bad character of any sort, though, so Daria forced herself to relax and to offer a smile that she hoped was polite, but not too polite. People who were too friendly got stabbed or got their wallets knicked in places like this. She adjusted her glasses before speaking.

"Ahh, yeah. Passing through." The wayward girl confirmed simply, giving no more details than she had to. All of her things were in a threadbare leather bag between her ankles, and while the dust of a the hyperlanes hadn't quite washed all the blue from her top-of-the-line jeans or rendered the crisp brown of her leather 'work' boots into the murky shade of dishwater, the process had clearly started. Daria had noticed, but couldn't bring herself to care enough to keep up with cleaning them.

Jacen Cavill had insisted that his acolyte have the best that his fortunes could offer, so that he could compel her to earn his riches. The more ragged and torn they became, she felt, the less they were His things on her body. Further and farther from Coruscant.

Daria gave the woman beside her a brief glance over, appraising her. Oil stains. Tools. "You're a mechanic?" She guessed politely, trying to make conversation, since she was still there and smiling expectantly. "Must be a lot of work for a mechanic around here."

 

[Anna Sachae]

Anna decided to keep her eyes on either her food or the girl's face as she replied, to maintain the courtesy of a conversation. She might've been able to glean more from her clothes or belongings, but that'd be kinda rude. "Among other things," she agreed, her smile refusing to fade. "I'm Anna. I'm actually not from around here, either, but it kinda feels like home." She offered a wave instead of a hand shake, since the poor dear seemed a bit... stiff?

The curly-haired Kuati looked down at her noodles, giving them an idle stir. "Station's kept in a pretty good semblance of working order. I'm not really here to fix things." Though she always wound up doing it anyway. If she were a bit more mystical, she'd say it was the Force or something. From her perspective, it was more just personal inclination. After all, she wanted to fix things, so of course she'd wind up fixing things if given the opportunity.

"I came in on one of the salvage ships. Sometimes we get lucky with antiques or, like, curios." Shaking her head, Anna took a quick slurp of noodles and shrugged back at the girl with the glasses. "This time it was just desh plating and spare parts. Nothing glamorous. Not even clean, really." Little smirk. It wasn't easy to hide it when you loved your job.

[member="Daria Cavill"]

 

[Daria Cavill]

[member="Anna Sachae"]

It was perplexing, in a way. She was a salvager and a mechanic - not an easy job - and she'd just admitted that she hadn't made much recently. But as far as Daria could tell, Anna didn't seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she almost seemed pleased. Daria tried to wrap her head around this, and as best as she could figure, it was some 'wholesome blue-collar work-ethic' nonsense that felt gross to her. She'd grown up on a farm and hated it, she'd become a Jedi and had been bad enough at that that she'd been shipped off to the Agricorps to do more farming - and she'd hated that as well. She'd lived in the lap of luxury, and had found herself restless and frustrated in the rare idle moments she'd had to 'enjoy' that luxury.

Daria was keenly aware of the old adage about meeting one nerf herder versus meeting nothing but assholes. If everything she did made her unhappy, the problem was likely with her. But that didn't make it any less frustrating.

"I'm Daria." The young woman returned, adding a polite "Nice to meet you." on reflex, as a matter of course when speaking with somebody's mom.

She was running out of money, Daria reminded herself. And while that did raise the immediate concern of keeping herself fed and off the street, it also meant that getting off of Red Shift station and rolling the dice that she'd land someplace better would be much more difficult going forward. She didn't have any marketable skills, aside from making plants grow and beating people up, maybe arguing. If she were a mechanic or salvager, she would find it easier to get around. Even if it meant she had to get her hands dirty again. Literally, not figuratively. Daria angrily considered her limited options, glaring into her noodles, as though the greasy sheen on them might help her divine an easier or more palatable path.

She glanced sidelong at Anna through her curly hair, looking terribly annoyed for reasons that likely wouldn't be apparent. "...Are there, uh, normally apprenticeships for things like that? Salvage? Fixing things?" Daria asked cautiously.

 

[Anna Sachae]

Oh, the poor dear. Anna had to do her absolute best to keep her sympathy from showing in her smile; chances were pretty high it'd be taken as pity, as it usually was. Instead, she offered a quick shrug. "In a more formal setting, sure. I learned it from my parents, forever ago." Closer to forever than she'd like to admit. This girl wasn't interested in her life story, though. She was interested in spicy food, her datapad, and looking for a job. Fortunately, Anna could help with all three of those things, even if the second one didn't need to be addressed right now.

Crossing her arms, the Kuati lass turned on her stool and leaned against the counter, her noodles momentarily forgotten. "I know a couple of guys here by name, but no one well enough to get you into a real program, or an establishment." As she paused, she placed a hand to her chest in self-indication. "But I can show you around and get you in on a couple of my jobs, if you'd like. It's not easy, or clean, or glamorous. It either pays consistently or well, never both."

Teaching a young wastrel marketable skills sounded like a fantastic way to spend a couple of weeks. Anna prepped an offer. "Since you have no training at all, you'd be signed on as an assistant, rather than a technician. You'd get a cut of my pay, and hopefully learn the basics of what you're dong." She grinned and gave a single nod. "And from there, it wouldn't be as hard to find someone on the station that could give you a proper apprenticeship."

Zero hesitation. Help now, think never.

[member="Daria Cavill"]

 

[Daria Cavill]

[member="Anna Sachae"]

She could have just answered, but Anna had gone a step further, personally involved herself in trying to help. It stung Daria's pride, even if it had been the logical conclusion of her question. Shame, gratitude, embarassment, each burned in her throat like acid. Daria clenched her jaw to fight back the reflexive shows of emotion that she'd never really managed to cauterize. Her gorge rose, her shoulders tensed, and the young woman nodded curtly while staring into her noodles.

It'd been awhile since she'd been desperate enough to ask for help, and she hated every second no matter how badly she needed it or how readily Anna offered.

"I'm a hard worker." Daria promised grimly, adjusting her glasses. "You won't be sorry." She might hate dumb labor and sweaty work, but she hated feeling useless or indebted even more. Someone's mom was sticking her neck out for her, taking her under a wing, and the very least that Daria could do was respect that kindness and return it with work ethic. Maybe even help her turn a profit.

Brows pushed together, Daria offered Anna a crooked, slightly forced smile that she hoped looked thankful and not concerned or something else. "I grew up on a farm. Everyone had to carry her weight, you know?" The sturdy young woman explained, picking at her lunch. "I can at least move heavy things from one side of the room to the other, as much as you need it."

 

[Anna Sachae]

Well that was clearly a painful response. Sometimes pride was a difficult hurdle to overcome, and Anna silently acknowledged the steps Daria had taken in pursuit of bettering herself. Acknowledging them aloud would likely just cause this poor girl more grief. Instead she continued with the same bright, smiling chatter as before. Less casual, more business. "No doubt we'll have to haul some stuff, yeah, but that's not the point of this. How much do you know about atmo filters?"

Just changing atmo filters was the very definition of blue-collar work. It was what you sent the new kid to do, because it required very little knowledge of any complicated machine anatomy, but it needed to be done, or the air got stale and occasionally caught fire. It was pretty easy to tell when they'd gotten it right, too, since the air would be neither stale nor on fire. Perfect beginner stuff. Anna would have to find one before tomorrow, when the two of them would show up for station maintenance.

"Actually, what kind of technical knowledge do you have? 'None' is a perfectly acceptable answer, but if you've got any experience, it'd help if I knew what I was working with." She slurped at her noodles quietly, her full attention on Daria. Apprenticeships left you inherently vulnerable. It was important to be respectful and supportive of any potential apprentice, to make sure they felt at home.

Daria Cavill

 

[Daria Cavill]

Anna Sachae

Daria shifted in her seat, the heel of her not-quite-new boots tapping idly against aged linoleum. "Same as any other filter, I'd guess?" She surmised, her tone a middle ground between hopeful and annoyed. She didn't like knowing the answer to something, she liked other people knowing that she didn't know even less. Her peppery noodles all but done, Daria furrowed her brow. "You take the old one out, put a new one in, just like an oil filter?" Granted, there WERE those fancy ionized air filters that were - Daria dimly recalled - thin sheets of metal that had been slightly electrified or static-charged or something of that nature. That might be how ship atmos worked? Weighing this possibility, the young woman frowned and glanced thoughtfully forward, kicking herself for not leading with that. Coming up with another answer now would just seem desperate to be right (even if she was) - if she was correct, it was clear she didn't get it right the first time. If she was wrong, she was wrong twice in a row. Neither were acceptable.

"We had a couple machines on the... farm." Daria explained vaguely. "Big ones. They'd break sometimes, and when the droids were busy, they'd send us out to try and figure out what the problem was." Spinning the last of her noodles around her fork, the tall young woman shrugged a shoulder. "I know how to use a wrench or hit a nail with a hammer. I can work a plasma cutter, too, I guess. I've never done it, but I'm pretty sure it's fairly straightforward." Point the hot, sharp end at the problem, apply force until it cut through whatever. Not that hard, right? Drumming her fingers on the worn counter, Daria shrugged a shoulder and offered Anna the first of many, many dry and slightly sheepish smiles. "I don't know much of the specifics of things, but I'm pretty good at figuring things out." She promised. "I'm a quick study."

 

[Anna Sachae]

More defensiveness. Daria wasn't a machine and Anna could still feel her stress. She assumed the vast majority of it was self-inflicted and likely that there wasn't much genuine ground for concern or irritation. Edgy teenagers tended to look for reasons to be upset. With themselves, with other people, with just situations in general, it didn't matter. Find something to be annoyed by, act as annoyed as possible. Daria, at least, was trying. Thank the Force for that; Anna didn't know how long she would have been able to keep up her positivity with some spruced-up rich kid thrown to the wilds of the galaxy and generally miserable because it was the only reaction they'd ever learned.

Anna gave a quick nod, pulling out her own datapad. Well-worn, but extremely well maintained. She tapped the screen a couple of times with one finger while the other hand stroked gently on a bulkhead nearby. Felt like... high-energy. Ionized air filter in a wide grid. She brought up a Dactyl Manufacturing GX-288 ionic filtration system, then tapped the screen a couple of times to show a cutaway. "You've got the basic gist of it, then. This'll probably be what you're working with tomorrow. It's not glamorous work, but it's vital on a station this big. One errant spark could set a whole hab block ablaze."

Anna drummed her fingers on the counter, then dropped a couple of credit chits and waved at the chef. "It was wonderful. Thank you so much." As she stood, she half-nodded to Daria. "That should take care of hers, too. Keep the change." The Kuati tech hefted her bag over one shoulder as she stood, passing her datapad to the surly, moody young woman she was hanging out with. "C'mon. Got some things to take care of, and I'd like you to be there."

Daria Cavill

 

[Daria Cavill]

Anna Sachae paid for her lunch, which Daria wasn't crazy about even if she dearly needed the handful of credits that the generosity had allowed her to hold onto. Mentally, she made a little note of the kindness in the form of a numerical amount, a debt to be settled as quickly as possible. Unlike kind words in a hard time or nebulous training as a mechanic's apprentice, the bowl of noodles was something she could quantify and put a cost to. Daria staved off the guilt of owing somebody something by dropping some of her newly-liberated credits alongside Anna's tip, adding to the noodlesmith's take. Murmuring a simple 'thanks', she shouldered her backpack and stepped up alongside Anna, her cargo entirely ordinary save for her pike 'disguised' as durasteel baton or collapsed staff hanging from the side in a not-entirely-convenient grip.

The sort of place somebody might keep a weapon if they'd never really had to use it quickly before.

The tall young woman was, despite her misgivings and self-inflicted guilt, clearly engaged enough to regard Anna's reference material with obvious curiosity. "I thought that Dactyl went out of business four cycles ago." She remarked in surprise, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "Wouldn't any parts the station management could come up with be just as aged as this one? How are we going to replace a filter without parts?" Daria asked curiously, looming beside her shorter instructor. She'd matched her long stride to Anna's fairly well, and walked with a noticeable slouch that seemed more to do with bad posture habits than anything indicative of her mood or mental state. She flipped through the datapad thoughtfully, looking over the GX-288's angles and surrounding systems, trying to wrap her mind around how it all worked together - all the while, fully aware that her second guess had been the correct one and what she should have gone with. Chalk up an incorrect answer, even worse that it was the first real 'test' Anna had given her. "It can't be as simple as wiping the ionized blades off with, like, a wet towel or something, could it?"

 

[Anna Sachae]

Anna's smile might well have been apologetic. She gave a quiet shrug in response to Daria's questions, still casually walking at her own pace across the station. "I did say it wasn't glamorous, didn't I?" Cleaning filters was pretty much the most basic thing you co do on a rig like this. The equivalent of mail boy duties in a white collar office... but everyone started somewhere. "There's more to it than just wiping them down, of course. You've got to access them, clear physical debris, give them a thorough rub-down, refill the disinfectant, then test them to make sure they're still working properly. They're pretty simple machines, but very important."

That had been enough for Anna, when she was younger. "This needs to be done, and you're the one we chose to do it." That she'd moved up from there had been incidental. For Daria, who seemed to be constantly at war with her own self-image, she'd likely need more than that. "Air filters only need to be cleaned once every couple of months, so when we finish a block, we're done for good and we can work on something more stimulating." Redshift functioned. It flew, it breathed, and it was warm enough. But this kind of patchwork border station was largely mesh tape and wishes. There was always something to repair, review, tune-up, or renovate. She'd never be bored.

Hm. No need to be openly manipulative, but Anna did feel the need to at least poke at Daria a little. Her smirk was encouraging, head tilted to one side. "Think you can handle it?"

Daria Cavill