Elena was on her way to find some Jawa’s in town, having just made a pass at the female Twi’lek Ta’Lenna and received her cred chip to assist in the purchasing effort.

So . . .

You’re on the street in Mos Eisley, keeping to the shadows because the suns are wicked hot, eyes and ears open for the squeakings and clickings of Jawa trade talk, or even the scent of Jawaese pheremones.

Search Rolls:

Hour 1 — 1d20 = 6 +6 Search — no luck
Hour 2 — 1d20 = 1 Mistakenly stumble into a junk yard where thugs are chopping stolen speeders

“Hey, you! What are you doing here?” The human male is almost two meters tall and quite fat. He is covered in grease and holding a wrecking bar in his hand as he approaches you menacingly.

Seeing the men and knowing if she ran she’d end up like those speeders over there she took a relaxed stance with a hand on her hip.

“Lookin’ for work…I can chop a speeder like the best of them and all I require are a few droid parts as payment. If you two Sculag’s are smart, you’ll take me up on my offer and I won’t ask twice,” she said in a confident tone. “If not I’ll just go ask Jabba for more work, he’s always lookin for good Gearheads,” she added.

“Get on your way, girlie!” growls the big man. “Don’t be dropping that fat slug’s name ’round here. We got protection,” he nods at a hovering eye ‘droid that has moved forward to observe their interaction.

He lowers the pry bar and stops his advance, but he watches her until she leaves, and locks the gate behind her. *

[Unless you want to push your luck with them?]

Back out on the streets, it’s now hour 3 since she started looking, about mid way into the fifth watch of the day.

Search roll 1d20 = 16 + 6 = 22. Success

A couple of blocks farther on she spots a small clan of Jawa’s pitching their wares to a repair shop that looks like it specializes in racing gear. The have a cart towed by a decrepit old speeder bike that is coughing it last guts out, but somehow stays afloat. The cart is covered by a tarpaulin, but she can see bits of gear sticking out, including a much battered leg of some kind of protocol ‘droid.

When they notice her interest, one of the clan who is not actively involved in the negotiations with Besalisk who is running the shop moves towards her. Strong scents of pheromones waft on the hot still air, and then it chatters in Trade Talk.

“You want buy buy?”

Elena tried to look uninterested as she passed by them. She paused when they addressed her and making sure her cred cards were where she could feel them she adjusted her pack higher out of their grubby little hands reach. In jawanese she said as she points, “I eyeta (friend) to ayafa (clan) look for Bom’loo (Bargain), if like, Buy buy. Lift Okka (up),” she said and gestured up to them for the tarp. “I look for Droid for Kurruzza (repair)

“Ya ya ya!” the Jawa chirped moving towards the covered cart. “We gottum good droid. Big bang up. Good fix. You buy buy. Little creds. See see!”

It reached up and pulled back a corner of the tarp to expose the rest of an old RA-7 unit, the so-called Insect Heads much used on Imperial ships. The body had been torn apart by laser fire and the plating had been thoroughly scoured by sand. Further down in the tangle of old blaster barrels, burst cooling units and coiled fiber optic cable, however, is the domed head of what just might be an astromech droid — though it could also be part of an HVAC unit as well.

Making sure they don’t get her sticks or get into her bag she reaches in and begins to clear away the miscellaneous junk to what she saw underneath.

The Jawas cluster around, gesticulating and squawking indignantly at her, poking at her with staffs as she burrows deeper and deeper into their cargo of junk. The strong smell of their pheromone language fills the air, making her sneeze with the distress hormones she is inhaling.

Slapping their feeble efforts aside, she manages to unearth the object she had spotted and giving it a good tug she can see that it is indeed the head of an astromech droid, a really ancient T5 series. The rest of its body is well jammed in, however, and she will need to unload nearly half the cart to get the old unit out. Is it worth it? Hard to tell. It is an astromech. If she can get it running it will do everything they want a droid for. But she cannot accurately evaluate the condition its in — except to say it is not obviously damaged in any critical way.

“Back, back, back!” the first Jawa is clinging to her leg and trying to pull her off the cart.

Zzzzzzt! A cattle prod of some kind zaps her on the ass. It stings like a dozen insect bites at once. (1HP)

Elena barked a ‘yow!’ when she felt the prod. She hopped back and gave them a scowl. She produced her cred chip quickly. “Sabioto! (stop) I buy buy Ko lopo (broken) Droid! The T5 Droid! Mambay? (ok)” She pointed at the T5. “You get droid, I pay!?” She said quickly.

The Jawas make a collective “aah!” sound as she displays her cred stick, and the one she had first spoken with begins to dicker while the others rummage about in the cart freeing up the old droid from the bottom of the jumble.

“Good, good! Very good droid. Very new. Very full software. Ten tens of tens of tens credits,” which she translates to be 10,000 credits — a ridiculous price for the ancient relic they are managing to pry out. She can see clearly there are missing parts and some blaster damage along one roller pad.

As they lift the droid over the edge of the cart onto the sandy hard pack, the damaged roller pad actually falls off with a loud clang.

The Jawa talking to her barely registers the event, but immediately reprices the item.

“Some repair needed. Spare parts included. Two tens of tens of tens credits. Pay now.” It stretches out a cowled arm for her cred stick.

Elena looked on in obvious outrage. “10000 Credits! I said Bom’loo(bargain, Nyeta(no) Jar k’osa(large) Toineepa(credits) for rubac(rust) dooka.(junk) I eyeta(friend) of Jabba. I speak him of M’tuske(stealing)!” She said and pointed at the droid. “I buy buy for 500 credits for droid and parts! And I no speak him you stealing!” She threatened.

There is a flurry of conferring between the tiny monk-like figures with glowing eyes. Their pheromone based language stinks up the area around the cart as Elena continues to examine the droid, which is damaged and has parts missing, but seems relatively intact — though old. Perhaps hundreds of years old.

“Ten tens of tens,” the counter offer comes back. One thousand credits. They seem unimpressed by the threat of Jabba’s enmity. It probably gets hurled about a lot in this part of the universe with the Hutt crime lord living right over the horizon.

Deciding they had probably offered her their best deal, Elena agreed to their price though she would not let them take her cred stick. Instead she took theirs and removed the funds herself. She also made sure to take up as many of the loose parts as she could get her hands on before they chivied her away. She did not wish to get the prod again. From her pack she removed a tarp and wrapped the droid and the parts in it and set to dragging or carrying her load, whatever she could manage away from the jawas. She stopped to purchase what Te’Lenna had asked for and with whatever was left bought a a few things for herself like a new tool kit and what survival gear she could afford.

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