Greeting and acceptance. Hera takes a step forward, and lowers herself onto a stool across the table from the Jawas. It's too short for her, which is no surprise, her knees high enough to rest up against the edge of the table.

She doesn't waste time trying to get comfortable. Hera looks down, taking a few seconds to rummage through her cloak, before pulling out a slender steel vial, a streak of orange light flashing across it as she sets it on the table. It gets the Jawas' interest immediately - they murmur as she sets it down, already noting its size, what the clink of it against the table indicates of its weight, its small sprayer nozzle.

"It's carthonine sealant," she says, quieting their speculation. "Nonflammable, keeps out dust but lets in oxygen."