Bankor

The hangers of the temporary base of Strike Force Aurek Hawk were bustling in the late morning. Noise and sound filled the space as welding, panel beating, and assorted rewiring went on. It wasn't a glamorous job, but this was how the Republic military engine was kept running.

Over the background sounds of people getting on with their work a raised voice carried...

"Are you kidding me? You call that a repair job? Look, I don't know what they're teaching you at the academy these days but in my day we made sure the freaking avionics were working before we signed off on a job."

Weak protestations vaguely echoed back.

"No. I don't care that the Mando cruiser made us a shitload of extra work. You do it right or not at all, got it? *Growl* Now take your ass over to bay three and see if you can manage not to screw up that welding job on SF-18. That bird's wings shoulda fallen off."

A chastened junior tech wandered off as the large but wiry Shistavanen rolled up his sleeves, pulled up his goggles, and took a closer look at the damage. A scowl slid easily onto his face and he shook his head, muttered something in his native tongue, and got to work.

After parting ways from Ashla, Cole was trying to work out which direction his bunk assignment was, when his eyes lighted on the Shistavanen. He'd never met anyone from the race in person, only seen them in his medical texts and anatomy models. He pushed his fingers through his unruly curls, unaware that he was starting to stare.

The scent of someone a little too clean nearby alerted Rav to the fact he was being watched. He wrinkled his nose, the equivalent of rolling his eyes. The long muzzled face looked over at Cole and then back at the access panel.

"Hey Curly, you gonna stand there all day, or make yourself useful?"

Cole cleared his throat, "and here I thought the dress uniform and stripes was answer enough." Still, he adjusted his spectacles and ran his fingers through his hair, "Doctor Ormont, Republic Navy, and trust me, if I need to be making myself useful then you've got bigger problems than sloppy welding seams."

Rav grinned and slid the goggles up. "Well you're in the greasepit now Doc, ah, Sir? And given the state of some of those junior techs, your welding would fit right in..."

Rising up from a crouched position Rav replaced a tool and wiped his hands on his coveralls. He hesitated a moment.

"I'd offer a paw but..." His eyes flicked down to the oil stains.

"Doc is fine," better than fine, Cole cast an assessing - and appreciative - eye over the large man, "and I've had a lot worse on my hands than grease." He offered his hand, "got a name? I feel like 'hey, greasehound' might be a touch insulting."

"Doc it is." The hand shake was firm but not arm wrenchingly so. Rav's hands had the calluses one might expect of a mechanic. He chuckled slightly, an odd half-bark, half-pant.

"Greasehound huh? You wouldn't be the first to call me that. Name's Rav, or Specialist Devaroo."

"Navy types don't tend to hang around down here. You lookin' for help with somethin'?"

Cole's grip was firm and steady, though the man was pale and tired-looking. "Well, Specialist Devaroo," he fished out a hip flask, took a sip, and offered a drink to the mechanic, "I was just catching up with an old friend, haven't seen her in some time."

A shadow passed over the wolf's face at the mention of old friends, but he recovered quickly and Rav waved the flask away with a toothy grin. "Thanks Doc, but I've got a shitload of birds to repair and rewire before the end of the day. Maybe later huh?" He gestured back to the Spitfire. "Mind if I work while we chat?" He thumbed a few tool-laden pockets and rubbed some more oil onto his coveralls.

“Please don’t let me keep you,” Cole waved towards small vessel, “for my credits a good engineer is just a surgeon of a different sort, but your patients can’t tell you where it hurts. I don’t mind watching a skilled man at work.”

Landing made and not having any immediate assault orders, Veeone marched into the assigned hangar and scanned around for the Droid recharge points for future reference. His trusty DH-X cannon held ready despite this zone being 'secure'.

Rav shrugged and flipped open a long panel. He pulled out a tool from his belt and got back to work.

"Well, sometimes they do, if you know what you're looking for. Or ask the right questions."

He scowled a little at a length of cabling and reached for a slightly scuffed datapad. A layer of grease was swiftly wiped off and he plugged a cable from the device into a jack inset in the panel.

As lines of code flashed across the screen he looked up and noted the battle droid. "That your bodyguard Doc?"

Cole chuckled a little, "a bit like my patients." Looking around he spotted the droid, and his eyes hardened, "no, that's nothing to do with me," he answered sourly.

"Sounds like you've never owned a droid before? Not even for routine medical work?" He looked back over at the droid, raising his voice, as the diagnostic check continued.

"Hey, nice weapon. You looking for something?"

"I haven't, actually," the doctor admitted, "I've always had access to the Medical Corps' droids." With a slight shrug, "I have nothing against them," but his eyes were still icy as he waited for the droid to respond.

Having been addressed directly, Veeone approached and saluted smartly.

"This unit is designated Veeone Veeoh, Assault Specialist and Medical Support Droid. I am scanning for the droid recharge points that this droid has been instructed are present in this hangar."

Narrowing his eyes, Cole slipped his datapad from a pocket and tapped the screen, typing quickly. "Medical? There's no assignment here for a V1-V0 on the duty roster."

Veeone drew his head back in mechanical surprise.

"There must be some kind of error, Doctor. Veeone's specialities are known to the Republic Army here."

It was probable that Cole would eventually find the file warning about the 'unremovable glitch' in Veeone's programming.

A tall figure in reddish-brown robes is relatively nearby, though not exactly within earshot given the level of noise and commotion in the echoing hangar bay. The young Knight has claimed a very small corner of a workbench near the droid charging station and has her head bowed intently over a small half-disassembled object, seemingly messing about with the mountings of the sparkling greenish crystal at its heart.


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((Tethys has her hands full, but is available for distracted chatting.))

D1--modifying Illum Crystal (lower Crit Rating mod). First mod; difficulty reduced to Easy since it's my saber. Mechanics/Int+Force+Hangar bonus+ 1 Advantage from multitool: 1eA+2eP+1eB+1eD+2eF 3 successes, 2 advantage, 3 Light Side

Rav's expression was blank as the droid and doctor discussed medical things. He chuckled at the droid's reaction.

"Well, the recharging points are over there." A vague gesture with a number 13B hydrospanner indicated a wall of charger points. His arms disappeared into the open panel on the Spitfire and began the rewiring process.

Eyes still glued to the datapad, Cole made a sceptical sound as he pulled the dossier on the droid and scanned through the information. There wasn't much, not on the surgeon's medical access, droids didn't need medical care after all. Adjusting his spectacles, he put the datapad away and ran a hand through his hair. Returning his attention to the Shistavanen, "how'd you come to drop into Bankor, Specialist Devaroo," he used the greasehound's name so he'd know he was being addressed, "if that's not prying."

Without a reply from the Doctor and with the engineer elbow deep in Spitfire guts, Veeone swivelled it's head from side to side twice before turning towards the recharging point.

"Veeone thanks Specialist Devaroo."

With a whirr of servos he headed towards his goal, exposing the rear armour plate with the Czerka logo struck through with obvious attempts to scrape it off.

Finding his direct route to the recharge point blocked he stopped and addressed Tethys.

"Apologies Unknown Jedi of Unknown Rank, Veeone requires access to the recharge point."

“Ah, sorry,” Tethys looks up from her project, setting her multitool down to swipe back a stray loc that had fallen forward over her cheek. She twists it efficiently back into her chignon as she straightens up. “—Veeone?” She raises an eyebrow at the droid’s unusual design. “I’ll bump over.” She slips off her stool and nudges it about half a meter around the corner of the bench, clearing the way.

“You can designate me as Tethys Carrack, Veeone,” she adds with a trace of a smile as she resumes her seat. “Or Knight Carrack. Whatever suits your programming.”

"Veeone thanks Knight Carrack."

Servos whined as he moved into position and extended two recharge jacks, one from his torso and another from his backpack. Both were inserted into the wall sockets and then the droid just stood there.

You know.

Like recharging droids do.

"You're welcome," she says, picking up her tool again. "Is that your full designation? Just V1? I'll let you alone in a moment, but I'm curious. I don't recognize your model."