You swore and kicked at the sand when you saw what ship was gently floating down towards you. A dinky Razor Crest, held together by cane gum and wishes if you had to guess. You hated pre-Empire ships. Their wiring was always blown to hell and back, a mechanic had never been involved in their repairs. Your curiosity was piqued when the landing gear extended and a Mandalorian walked down. He cut an imposing figure, seemingly more a statue carved of beskar than a man. At least you thought it was a man, it was difficult to tell with the helmet. He wasn’t the scariest thing to come through your shop. One of the Hutts had come through and nothing would compare to them.
“How much for repairs?” He asked, voice modulated by his helmet. You took your eyes off him to look back at the ship, your stomach sinking. You were a professional though and you bounced your head back and forth, trying to gauge just how many hours repairs would take. His t-visor helmet never moved from you, giving you an eerie feeling. You didn’t like the feeling of being watched.
“I’ll run a diagnostic. You do maintenance on it?” You asked, squinting at the dirty engine coils and the panels hanging off. His silence meant only when absolutely necessary. “Alright. Give me a couple hours.” You groaned, eyes moving to the sky to ask the Maker what the hell you did wrong.
Your fingertips were almost completely burned off, the old wiring determined to give you hell for trying to fix it. The wiring was so fine and delicate, that you had to take your gloves off. This is why most times you refused to work on pre-Empire but saying no to a Mandalorian seemed like a terrible idea. Not that this Mandalorian was much of a mechanic. The information you had taken from the silence was bullshit, you thought, as you gazed at the buildup on his filters.
“Almost done?” A modulated voice spoke from behind you, your head almost smacking on the panel door.
“If you had performed some routine maintenance maybe.” You said standing. You were sure that you looked like a mess, smudges of oil everywhere, your flyaways swaying in the breeze. Unsurprisingly he was unintimidated by you, your coveralls losing to a suit of beskar. Whatever. He still hadn’t answered you but you gave up on that. You hadn’t exactly heard about Mandalorians in terms of their conversational skills. The silence stretched and you ducked back down to continue trying to scrape off the grime from his filters.
“It might be a little longer. If you are going to make such long trips, you need to keep an eye on carbon filters.”
my first attempt at writing for the Star Wars fandom and also posting my writing on Tumblr. hopefully i’ll be motivated to finish this but i’m praying that because i’ve posted it, it’ll kick me in the butt lol.
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