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Warlords are warlords, as far as Peli’s concerned, but she has to admit the ones who’ve taken over Jabba’s Palace this time seem to be better than the usual fare.
At the very least, they don’t skimp on payments when they come to her for repairs, which is more than Peli can say for most people. Their insistence on staying away from her hangar is another mark in their favor; the… employees they send in their stead are more than happy to take a load off and supply Peli with enough gossip that she’s almost tempted to give them a discount. She doesn’t, though, not even after one of them lets slip that she came highly recommended by one of the Fett’s friends, an armored bounty hunter who Peli is going to have words with the next time he docks his ship in Hangar 3-5—but that’s just good business.
The woman making her way down towards Peli’s shop is new, though. And overheating in her all-black outfit, no doubt.
“Offworlders,” Peli mutters under her breath, shaking her head with disapproval. She whistles once, high and sharp, to make sure her droids aren’t slacking off before turning back to the ship that came in this morning. The jackasses who brought it in had thought pretty highly of themselves, and Peli’s spent most of the day calculating precisely how much she can overcharge them without tipping them over from frustrated into murderous.
Peli ignores the speeder as it pulls into her shop in favor of undoing the paneling on the outside of the ship. There’s a giant dent in the panel she needs to pry open, and the damn screws are, predictably, not cooperating. Peli adds another fifty credits to the bill, sparing a glance at the woman where she’s leaning against her parked speeder, apparently happy to wait in silence.
Peli has a lot of skills, but unfortunately silence isn’t really one of them. “What do you want?”
The woman pulls off her helmet, turning to secure it on the speeder’s handles. Peli’s glad for the distraction; even her side profile is striking, the set of her jaw defined, her black braids somehow sleek and lustrous even on dry, sandy Tatooine. By the time she turns around for Peli to see her face Peli’s already taken back her initial judgement. Well. Mostly. She is still wearing all-black armor in the middle of the day on Tatooine. No one’s pretty enough for Peli to let that slide.
“I came down here to see if the repairs were done,” the woman says, nodding to the other ship in Peli’s hangar, the one her pit droids have been finishing up.
“Well?” Peli calls to the droids, half her attention on fitting her hydrospanner around a slightly misshapen screw. “Are you done?” She’s— almost— “Ha!” The tool jams into place with a jolt, and Peli turns it on with a vengeance, pulling the screw out from the panelling and tossing it onto the scrap pile. The panel gives an ominous groan, and that’s all the warning Peli gets before the whole thing comes loose with the ear-splitting screech of metal-on-metal.
Before she can react, someone grips her arm and yanks her out of the way, safely to the side where she can watch the panel shear loose and fall to the floor, all those pesky screws plink-plinking down underwhelmingly after it.
“Fierfek!” Peli spits, her heart racing in her chest. She adds another five hundred credits to the bill, then reconsiders, makes it a thousand.
Peli turns to look at the woman, who’s also gratifyingly wide-eyed.
“Are you okay?” the woman asks, looking Peli over.
Belatedly Peli realizes she’s still holding onto her arm in a death grip, and she lets go as subtly as she can. “I’m fine,” she says, brushing off her jumpsuit and nodding. “No thanks to you. Don’t you know not to distract a mechanic when she’s working?”
The woman raises her eyebrows, incredulous, so Peli soldiers on. “Anyway. I think the droids are done with the ship.” She moves over to the other ship, away from the mess, and the pit droids, thank the Force, beep an affirmative. “So, what, Fett send everyone in that palace out to do his chores?”
The woman snorts. “You could say that,” she says, and Peli abruptly decides she doesn’t have time for gossiping today. The decision has nothing to do with the woman’s smile, the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes and makes her mouth, plush and red, even more appealing; no, it’s just going to take hours for Peli to hunt down every loose screw from the other ship. Sure she has droids for that but droids need supervision.
“Well,” Peli says, dragging her eyes away from the patterns woven through the woman’s braids and back to the ship, “let me get you your bill and you can be on your way.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
Peli turns to see the jerkoff whose ship just tried to kill her stalking towards them, his crew of assholes fanning out around the hangar. All of them are carrying blasters, and they look more than happy to find any excuse to start shooting them. Next to her, the woman palms her own blaster, holstered at her hip. Peli tightens her grip on her hydrospanner, then cuts a glance at her droids, who shuffle out obediently.
“Fennec Shand,” the ship’s owner drawls. “Not quite as smart as they say you are, hmm?”
“Depends who they are,” Fennec replies. She flicks her gaze over the crew and scoffs, unimpressed. Great, Peli thinks, and she’s not nearly as exasperated as she should be. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“Who—” the man starts, glancing at his crew in disbelief. “Who am I? Lady, I just told you who I am, and what I want, at the palace, this morning!”
Fennec makes a dismissive little noise. Peli has to adjust her grip on the spanner.
“Must have slipped my mind,” Fennec offers.
The man stares at Fennec for a beat before puffing out his chest. “I,” he says, and Peli can’t help but exchange a long-suffering look with Fennec, “am Tannor Lowsyk, of the Thalassian Lowsyks, and Boba Fett owes me a debt.”
Fennec takes a moment to think, going so far as to raise a hand thoughtfully to her chin and shoot Peli a considering, questioning look. Peli shakes her head once, more at her astromech where it’s trying to sneak up on one of the crew than at Fennec, but it seems the message gets across regardless.
Fennec turns back to the man—Tannor Lowsyk of the overinflated egos, apparently. “Doesn’t really ring a bell,” she shrugs. “Besides, as you can see, Boba Fett’s not here. You could try seeking an audience with him at the palace?”
“Oh could I?” Lowsyk asks, throwing his arms out. “Thank you ever so much, Shand, how can I repay your wisdom?” He moves closer to where Peli and Fennec are standing, and Fennec maneuvers to stand slightly in front of her. “Where do you think I’ve been all morning?” he yells, and Fennec smirks, just a little. Peli— well, she’s already decided Fennec’s attractive, but if she hadn’t, that smirk would have convinced her.
“That son of a schutta’s been giving me the run-around all day, and you were right there watching it happen,” Lowsyk accuses, and he finally seems to catch on to their amusement. “And now you’re laughing at me,” he says, stalking closer. “We’ll see if you’re still laughing when I’m dragging your sorry corpses across the sands and back to the palace!”
“Technically—” Peli says, but she’s interrupted almost immediately.
“Shut up!” Lowsyk yells. “Just shut up!”
“Uh, boss,” one of the cronies says, stepping forward, and Peli doesn’t have to follow his gaze to know what he’s seeing.
“Now!” Peli hollers, and thumps him over the head with her hydrospanner. The droids move, too, electrocuting the rest of the crew, and Fennec gets off two shots of her blaster, taking down Lowsyk and the crewmember closest to him.
“Nicely done,” Fennec says, surveying the bodies strewn around Peli’s hangar.
“You’re Fennec Shand,” Peli says, finally letting the hydrospanner drop to the ground. It rings in her ears, and she’s vaguely aware of one of her pit droids flitting in to pick it up, beeping at her admonishingly, but Peli’s too busy processing the past ten-actually-maybe-less minutes to notice. “No wonder those poor kids are so terrified of you.”
Fennec raises an eyebrow at her, bemused.
“You didn’t just come down here to check on the ship, did you?” Peli muses, and Fennec laughs lightly.
“Not just for the ship, no,” she says. “I’ll call someone down to deal with all this, and I’ll be sure to let Boba know you and your droids are more than capable of handling yourselves.”
“Well,” Peli hedges, drawing out the word, “don’t stay away on my account.”
Fennec’s smile sharpens, just a little. “Well,” she echoes, leaning in, “that is my ship you’re working on. I’m sure I could I find a reason or two to swing by sometime.”
“That’s your ship?” Peli asks, sidestepping the body in front of her to move towards it. “Well hey, I’ve got a few upgrades in mind that’ll make it a better ride, if you don’t mind leaving her down here another day or two.”
Fennec hums thoughtfully, following after her. “Can’t say no to a better ride,” she agrees, and when Peli slants a look at her she gets a cheerful smile in return.
Wow. Okay.
It’s fine, everything’s fine. She’s just offered to extend her interactions with the most gorgeous woman she’s ever seen, that’s all.
“Let me guess,” Fennec continues, dry and a little amused, “it’ll cost me?”
“Y’know what?” Peli says, glad her droids are occupied with the bodies and ship paneling and loose screws littering the hangar floor instead of listening to her, “just this once I think we’ll call it even. You did save my life, after all.” Yeah, her droids would be very upset, hearing her imply that they couldn’t have handled a little crew of uppity sleemos on their own.
Fennec snorts like she knows anyway. “Anytime,” she says, and then she’s distracted by the beep of her comm, turning away to, presumably, deal with the bodies.
Maybe, Peli thinks, watching her go, things won’t be so bad with these new folks in the palace after all.