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The Great Tirahnn Fair was one of those see-before-you-die suggestions that travelers of all types shared around the galaxy. From tourists to smugglers, petty thieves to corporate nobility, anyone could be awed by the size and scope of it. Going back more than a millennium, the fair had been held every five Tirahnn years in the wide marshlands outside the capital city, land too soft and sinking for cheap development, but safe enough for ships to anchor for a few days. Those traveling merchants who landed to participate remodeled their ships as galleries for their wares, and opened their airlocks and boarding docks for the massive platforms that ran over the marshlands, connecting one ship to the next. The platforms spun together in a massive web along the ships, hovering droids at the ready in the days leading up to the fair to connect the new arrivals.

The second day of the Great Fair brought undeniably perfect weather - sunshine that glinted across the sea of interconnected ships, with the marshlands still cool enough to protect the fairgoers from too much afternoon heat. The platforms that stretched ship-to-ship buzzed with droids hawking snacks or drinks, buyers slipping from one sale to the next, and the occasional law enforcement speeder whining overhead. As was tradition, many of those selling decorated their ships for the occasion, with streamers and string lights, neon signs and garish paint jobs, sometimes even bottle caps or flowers. And inevitably holoprojections advertising their products. Enormous salvage haulers sell refurbished hyperdrive engines alongside star yachts advertising jesmin perfume and light freighters brimming with Cambrian wine and Trandoshan ale.

A few meters from Hera, another holo rotated through images of freshly painted astromech and GNK droids. What had actually been for sale down below hadn’t been nearly so impressive, but then, Hera hadn’t really been looking to buy. Settled on the platform along the open upper hatch of the B-7 light freighter, a Rodian boy of about fifteen stands over her as she kneeled in front of his R4 unit, affixing the new radar eye in place.

“Some people just secure it with a hydrospanner and leave it at that,” she says. As she speaks, she gently moves the probe of a sealer around the droid’s eye, careful as though she were spreading bacta over a wound. “But it’s not just about sticking it on. You really need to make sure nothing gets in there that could mess with her sensors - that’s a problem that can spread to all her systems.”

Hera at last finishes with the sealer, switching it off and recapping it as she gets her feet. She reaches out to the R4, tapping along her circular dome. “How does that feel?”

The R4 answers with a few satisfied beeps, and Hera holds out the sealer to the Rodian boy. “Secure and seal, right?”

“Right, Hera.” The boy takes the sealer from her and slips it into his bag. “Don’t know how long it’ll last, though.”

The R4 pipes up again, in a chiding tone, and Hera laughs. “She has a point - she’ll always know better than either of us.”

“Well, thanks for the help.” The boy hesitates, and then, “My family’s ship is over by those big Calamari freighters, MC-18 with seaweed all over it, if you come by I can give you a free bag of vine-caf.”

Hera smiles - that comes more quickly, as she thinks briefly on her answer. “Sure, I’ll stop by later.”

He doesn’t linger any longer than that. The boy gives her an excited nod, and calls to his droid in Rodian before they head toward the nearest walkway. “Bye Hera!”

“Bye Qebna, R4 -”

She’s just finished waving when another droid rolls up behind her, intoning a rather sulky set of beeps. Hera rolls her eyes. “Because your leg works fine, Chop.”

The resentful beeps continue as they move to rejoin the crowds along the walkways among the ships. So much for the droid knowing better

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Once every five years, Chir'da thinks, as she wanders over the walkways between ships great and small, means that is was definitely worth turning down a new gig while out in this corner of the galaxy. Sure, the pay would be good, and it'd be free board to a new planet, but --

All this life, all this crowded thrum of new sights and sounds -- totally worth it.

She's already bought a few new ribbons to tie around her lekku -- jewel-bright sapphire and burgundy and a deep golden yellow -- and some silken cloth in similarly bright colors to turn into the newest loose wraps she likes to wear over her functional gray bodysuit. There's a list of a few items she'd like to pick up -- mostly missing tools, datapad memory cards, and three spare droid parts to ship back to her foster mothers', whose R2 unit could do with some sprucing up.

There's a moment where Chir'da skips back a step to avoid colliding with a Rodian boy followed by a R4 droid. She's laughing, though, lekku twitching in a fond commentary about the energy of kids (from the ancient perspective of being seventeen), when she pauses, caught by a display of jewelry and carved wooden statues laid out on an elaborately decorated table.

She'll be here for a few minutes, fingers gently touching each stone chip, each smooth line of the carvings. It's soothing, in a way.

Except --

"Oh, sorry!"

Maybe it's a good idea not to block the walkway while browsing. Hopefully the other Twi'lek and her orange-topped astromech don't get too upset at the obstruction.

As he often is, Chopper is leading the way, and is quickly the one who becomes affronted at the blocked pathway. But Hera doesn't seem to share his concern.

"Chop, if you're going to complain so much, you don't have to stick around."

The droid turns on her, but its little arms swing into a salute before he speeds up behind her, before his rocket booster launches him away. Hera's head turns to follow as the droid swings in the air among the platforms connecting the ships, heading for the other side of the fair. She rolls her eyes.

"Sorry about him."

Chir'da smiles, shaking her head (and her lekku, repeating her own apology).

"I'd be grumpy, too, if I had a rocket booster and someone was blocking the path."

Or even without a rocket booster, if she had somewhere else she really needed to be.

"He doesn't like markets?"

"Oh, no, he just likes complaining. Always has."

Her eyes still flicker for the flash of orange in the distance, but she quickly looks back to the other woman.

"Though I was the last one to program him, so I might have myself to blame for that."

There's something to be said for programming a droid cranky and then not reprogramming them if it's inconvenient.

Chir'da likes that way of thinking.

"I bet he appreciates not being changed around for convenience's sake," she says, lekku twitching again.

"I know I would."

Hera raises an eyebrow.

"It didn't cross my mind. But there wasn't much choice when I first found him."

There's a pause, and then Hera's right lekku lifts, slightly encircling her shoulder in an introductory signal. "My name's Hera."

Edited 2022-01-01 04:36 (UTC)

Chir'da inclines her head, her own right lekku shifting in the same gesture.

"I'm Chir'da. And I never have much choice with droids, because I couldn't reprogram one if you paid me. It used to make my cousin despair."

Said cousin is a Bothan with a significant devotion to astrogation, piloting, and anything electronic they can get their hands on. Plus upkeep and maintenance of their beloved astromech.

"Well, I had the two of the best advantages you can have," Hera says, with a small smile. "Help, and time."

'Resources' would be the third, but you can't have everything.

"Even with help . . . " Chir'da trails off, chuckling and shaking her head.

"Fortunately I have other talents, so I'm not completely at a loss out here."

Not that she's working now, necessarily. Just -- she can make credits when she needs to!

"What's his name? Your droid friend."

"Chopper."

-There's a beat, before she adds, "C1-10P, but - that's how I've read it since I first found him."

Edited 2022-01-19 21:59 (UTC)

"Oh, that's good!" Chir'da says, transparently pleased.

"I've known a few people that go in for demeaning names, and then have the gall to get angry when they don't have their droid anymore."

Not that Chir'da has anything to do with that. Ever. Nope.

Her eyebrows raise, in a kind of measured curiosity. Stories about mistreated droids are common. Someone willing to openly complain about it, less so.

Hera answers simply, "I'm not given to calling my friends anything 'demeaning.'"

But her faces relaxes into a small smile as she adds, "Chopper's the one who likes to do that."

(Though Hera is, of course, the exception.)

Edited 2022-02-07 05:51 (UTC)

"Well," Chir'da says, still smiling cheerfully, "I can't say I blame him. He looks like he's been around the galaxy a time or two."

And Chir'da has certainly met her share of grumpy elders.

"And I've never minded, with a certain type of friend," she laughs, quick and soft.

"Being called names, I mean. From some of them it's pretty much affection."

Not all, though. But grumpiness can be fun to poke at, so there's that, too.

"Well -"

Hera finally steps down, from the platform she and Chopper had visited and onto the main ramp. "My first calling was kreki, so I hope that's true."

"They're fairly robust, as insects go," Chir'da says, mouth quirking up at one corner. "And good at persevering, which I would say is a compliment."

Her lekku twitch in a precursor to a humorous observation.

"My first calling was evirul, so."

Trouble is what she does.

"Oh, I got plenty of that, too," Hera says with a laugh.

"I was prone to wandering off, and being everywhere I wasn't supposed to."

"That's why children are born small, obviously."

Chir'da sees that laugh and matches it.

"Both harder to see and quicker to slip out of someone's grip."

"Both traits I got plenty of use out of."

She's smiling as she says it, speaking in the same playful tone. But there's also a quick snap in her left lekku, adding a trace of a question to it. To those who could spot it, the gesture is easy to read. Hera is feeling her new acquaintance out.

Edited 2022-06-07 19:21 (UTC)

"Me, too," Chir'da says, her mouth tilting up at one corner, a hit of sly humor in her voice.

It's matched by the flick of her right lekku, in swift counterpoint to Hera's own motion.

She still makes use of that kind of thing now. There's always work to be done for a Twi'lek who thinks on their feet.

And thinks about other people.

Hera nods, letting a moment pass as they join into the crowds of the main ramp. Her eyes quickly surveyed those around them, though the crowd never stayed the same for long - a group of Jontz pilots took a turn off toward an enormous freighter, shining signs blinking offers on refurbished ion thrusters and repulsorlift generators. A human and Trandoshan couple drifted past them, at a much slower pace than the rest of the crowd, shaded by a circle of glittering energy panels that rotated above them. A whizzing sound passed over them, and Hera spotted the shadow of an old STAP airhook and the bulky armor of a Stormtrooper.

"So, what brought you to the Fair?"

"Got bored on a return trip, decided to hop off here instead of waiting until we got back nearer the Core."

She grins, her own gaze flicking over the crowd, and the merchandise. Most of it here is larger pieces, like the ion thrusters, but there are a few bits and bobs here or there. Nothing outstanding, nothing very memorable or unique, but useful -- oh yes.

"I'd always heard about this place, since I was knee-high to a Woookie -- okay, maybe calf-high. And once I realized we were traveling through this quadrant, I wanted to stop and visit. I'll never get a better chance."

Plus, sometimes when you pull a job, you leave the crew that was your cover story to confuse your trail. She twitches her lekku again, first the left then the right.

Hera's eyes fall platform of shining swoop bikes, the vibrant metallic paint slathered over the chips and dents that betray each one as well-used.

"Are you looking for a ride out? We'll be heading for the Outer Rim, we might be going in your direction."

There's a slight twist to her left lekku as she speaks.

"The Outer Rim is definitely where I want to be."

More room for her sort of trouble, anyway.

Chir'da grins, right lekku knocking against her left then brushing against her own right shoulder.

"If you've got space, and any odd jobs that need doing, I'm not terrible at grunt work. Or waitressing, but I don't think that'd help you, specifically . . ."

Unless it would.

She trails off, leaving the offer open.

Edited 2022-12-18 00:03 (UTC)

"We have rooms for another pair of hands, anyway."

Though she adds, with a wry smile, "I have to warn you, it would mean you'd be spending more time around Chopper."

"I'm sure I'll grow on him," Chir'da says, "Like a Gundravian hookspore."

Then she laughs, lekku flicking back and forth restlessly, even as her gaze flicks around their environs, noting an older Mirialan woman perusing some electronic pieces for a speeder, and a set of teenagers apparently flirting.

"I've been told I can be uncomfortably persistent in pursuing friendships."

Look, people and droids are interesting, and Chir'da always wants to understand.

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