Title: Party Girl
Author: Jedi Trace
Timeframe: Legacy comics, pre-series
Genre: Drama, short story
Characters: Deliah Blue, OCs, Cade Skywalker, Jariah Syn
Disclaimer: LFL owns it and I write for free. All hail the brilliance of John Ostrander and Jan Duursema for creating Legacy.
Summary: While apprenticed to a master mechanic, Deliah Blue encounters events that change her life forever.

A/N: Special thanks to the lovely and talented Gabri_Jade for beta'ing. :)


Part 1

The large storefront sign flashed dull orange, sizzling as if it would sputter out any minute with the fading daylight: Jaxan's Fixer Shop. Or, that's what it was supposed to say. Some of the letters were missing, so it actually read: Ja an's Fix S op. I looked down at the coordinates on my datapad. This was the right place. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but this run-down shop tucked into a seedy cove on the upper level of Coruscant's undercity wasn't what I'd had in mind - not for the man who was supposed to be the best fixer in the Core.

It wasn't quite far enough down to be in Vongspawn territory, but the various sets of eyes peeking around corners in my direction were nothing friendly. The streets were cluttered with litter and piles of junk in various colors and textures that I probably shouldn't look at too close. And it smelled.

A tattered figure of some hunched-over species peeled away from the shadow of a nearby tapcafe and started staggering toward me. I rang the bell on Jaxan's darkened door.

Nothing happened. I tried the door handle. Locked. Must be after business hours. By the time I rang the bell again, Ratty Man was getting closer. I hoped Jaxan would answer the door soon because I'd hate to have to shoot someone my first day in this system.

Locks scraped open and a hard-faced man appeared in the doorway. He was tall and thin and sized me up with a single glance while wiping his hands on a greasy rag. "You Dezi's girl?"

"Yeah," I answered. "Are you Jaxan?"

"Uh-huh." It was a grunt more than a word and he motioned me inside with a nod of his head.

The inside wasn't much more to look at than the outside. A desk, few chairs, work counter and table, all worn-looking with badly painted attempts to cover blaster marks. Jaxan kept walking and I followed him past a window overlooking a huge garage into a room that was considerably more lived-in. He didn't tell me to sit, so I just stood there holding my travel cases. There was a lounger against one wall and a comm station on the other. At the far end, was a small food prep area and table only big enough for one or maybe two people to sit.

Jaxan was looking at me. Scowling, more like it. "Your dad was the finest apprentice I ever had," he said in flat, disapproving tone. I didn't know what to say, so I nodded. My dad, Dezi, had told me all about Jaxan. "Your dad says you're better than him," he continued. "I'm takin' his word for it. An old man like me has no business taking on a new apprentice."

I had to say something now. "I work hard. And I learn fast."

His expression didn't change, but I felt his frown. "Who is your Ma?"

Guess Dad wouldn't have had any reason to tell him that. "Tilly," I said.

"I remember her. Nice lady." He looked me over, closer this time. "Tilly didn't teach you any manners, girl?"

Took me a minute to figure out what he meant and then I was embarrassed. "I work hard and I learn fast, sir."

"Huh." That grunt again. "Well, you saw most of the place on the way in. Reception's up front, garage is in the back. Office and my room are down that hall and your room is upstairs. Follow me."

Jaxan led me up a narrow staircase and opened a plain, brown door at the top. I squeezed past him with my bags and put them down in the middle of the room. "We'll have to share the laundry unit in the kitchen, but anything else you need should be here." He glanced around, announced that dinner was in an hour and headed back down the stairs.

My room was small but clean, with a bed, desk, closet and private refresher. All the necessities. Except for decoration. The walls were gray, the desk was black and the bed cover was some anonymous shade of brown. Fortunately, I had a couple of bright throws in my luggage that would add some color. Lifting the cases on to the bed, I started to unpack. Whoever had lived here before must have been a guy. There was no way all my clothes were going to fit. Halfway through the first case, the closet was almost full and I hadn't even unpacked my boots yet.

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I lost track of time trying to arrange all my clothes and things and Jaxan was frowning for real when I got to dinner. "If I'm gonna feed and board you, girl, I expect you to be on time."

"Yessir." Spast. I waited for him to motion to one of the chairs before I sat down. The food smelled delicious and there was a lot of it. We ate in silence and I tried to study him without looking like I was looking.

He'd called himself an old man, but he only sported a few lines around his eyes and mouth. Genetics, that was. He was half human, half Zeltron and full-blooded Zeltrons don't show wrinkles. Well, not for a very long time. His hair was white, pulled back into a long braid, and the color accented his skin tone. Humans would have said that he looked "tanned." It took me forever to understand the concept of "sun tanning" when I was a child. The fair-skinned humans who came to Zeltros would lay out by the pools for days at a time and Ma tried to explain that they were trying to get their skin to change color. Never made any sense to me.

Jaxan pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He was lean and firm with the kind of muscles you get from years of hard labor and his hands were speckled with black, even though he'd washed them before dinner. "Tell me your name, again."

I hadn't told him the first time. "Deliah."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"I never trained a girl before." It wasn't a question, so I took a bite and waited.

"You may have noticed that we aren't in the nicest part of town," he continued. "I get some rough types in here. Pirates, bounty hunters, smugglers, small-time crime lords. They may give you a hard time. That gonna be a problem?"

I shrugged. "I got six older brothers and I crewed with one of them in Hutt space for a year. I can handle myself."

"Can you fight?"

"If I have to."

"Can you shoot?"

"Sniper-level stats with blasters, bows and darts."

"You work with fingernails like that?"

What? I looked down at my hands and my manicured nails, painted my favorite shade of purple. I thought they looked really good and was about to say so when Jaxan stood up and took his plate to the counter. "Never seen a mechanic without grease around his…her….nails," he mumbled.

"Rex-Wax soap," I said. He turned and cocked an eyebrow like I'd just spoken some obscure language. "That's what it's called," I smiled, holding up my hands. "Gets rid of the grease and keeps your hands soft. I brought some with me if you want to try it."

"Huh." He put his dishes in the cleaner. "Breakfast is at 0800 and we start work right after." Shaking his head, he walked out of the eating area. "Never trained a girl before..."

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That night, I lay in the bed staring at the white ceiling reminding myself that this was what I had wanted. Dad was a master mechanic, the best on Zeltros, and he had trained under Jaxan as a young man. My earliest childhood memories were helping Dad in his shop. I loved the smell of oil and grease and the way the machines clicked together. Every broken engine was a new puzzle to be fixed. The vibration of a newly-working engine was a thrill under the fingertips.

It drove Ma crazy. She was always shooing me out of the shop to go hang out with girls and boys my age. I couldn't really blame her. Her Ma had died early and she'd had to work all her life. I was her only daughter and she wanted nothing more than for me to have the happy, care-free life she'd missed as a child.

It had been Dad's idea that I come here to apprentice under his old master. He said I was too talented to stay on Zeltros and waste my life in clubs and resorts entertaining the tourists. My parents had argued about it for months and, in the end, they'd left the decision to me. It had sounded good at the time. But now, alone in this plain room, I hoped I hadn't made a mistake.

(continued…)