Corso Riggs licked his lips and reached down, lifting carefully. "Heeeere we go, darlin'," he whispered as he cradled her to his chest, unbending his knees to stand up. "I've got somebody I'd like you to meet." He turned to the workbench and lay her down as gently as he could, though she still thunked heavily against the cold metal surface.
"Looks like somebody at least kept you useful," he said, leaning close to examine the jetpack he'd salvaged from the corpse of the bounty hunter Rogun had sent after them. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "But not much more," he added, spinning one of the fans on the left thruster and noting its sluggishness. He straightened, rolling his shoulders, and smiled. "Don't worry, girl. I'll take good care of you. I promise. And hey, you'll have a new partner, here, soon's I adjust the holster to fit alongside ya."
It was several hours before Corso as much as looked up from his new sweetheart. He hadn't done much more than get her cleaned up – perhaps the bounty hunter just hadn't had a chance, what with being dead and all – and check her features. She was a Mitrinomon Z6, but she'd had her grapple switched out for the missile launcher, which was even hotter, to his manner of thinking. He couldn't seem to take his hands off of her or even so much as look away. It was going to be torture to wait until morning to slip her straps over his shoulders, power her up and send himself hurtling through the air at breakneck speed.
He smiled, resting his palm on her fuel cylinder. "I'm gonna call you Ms. Puffs."
Putting away the various brushes, greases, cleaner and oils he'd used to restore Ms. Puffs to pristine condition didn't take long, and he returned to the workstation and set Grabber beside her, resting his hand on her barrel for a moment. "Didn't think I'd forgotten you, I hope?" he asked his faithful harpoon with a smile.
Corso took a step back from the workstation, looking at his two ladies sternly. "Now I want you two to play nice together. I know sometimes it ain't easy to share. You want all the attention for yourself. That's understandable, but it ain't acceptable. I might be workin' with Hewie, Sugarbomb, or Sparky for awhile, and goodness knows I miss Torchy pow'rful bad, but that don't mean you oughta kick up outta nowhere just so's I notice you again."
Though he'd never admitted it to anyone, or even so much as spoken the thought aloud, sometimes Corso felt a little bad about using a blaster pistol – any blaster pistol, even one as smart and reliable as Sparky – when the one he really wanted was still in the hands of that dirty rotten thief Skavak. It always ticked him off when he saw people treat their weapons disrespectfully, so he tried to make sure he didn't neglect Sparky just because she wasn't Torchy. But he still couldn't seem to shake the feeling of dishonor.
Even though it wasn't by his choice that Torchy was gone, it felt like he was cheating on her. And worse, it was like he was just stringing Sparky along, because he knew that the second he had Torchy back in his hands, Sparky'd be in storage. He glanced guiltily back at the crew locker. "Don't worry. I promise I won't just vendor you, Sparks. I'll find somebody who'll treat ya right."
Most people never realized what it was like to find a weapon that seemed like it'd been designed and crafted just for you. One where as soon as it rested in your hand, somehow you knew it so well you didn't have to think about how it'd respond in unusual or stressful situations because it was like a part of yourself you hadn't known was missing. You didn't have to think about what to do with it because it came as natural as breathing. The timing of a charge, the heat of an overloaded fuel cylinder, the angle of the crystal, everything just worked together to make it right.
Not perfect, mind. There'd likely be plenty of folks she wouldn't suit. To Skavak, she was probably just another blaster. He probably hadn't even intended any kind of personal insult when he took her, just figured another gun would likely come in handy. No, Torchy wasn't some kind of mystical ideal weapon.
But they'd been right for each other.
Corso let out a long sigh as he shook himself from his reflection, then looked again at the workbench.
There were dozens of drawers of varying sizes that held all kinds of tools, equipment, and materials for adjusting their gear and even sometimes creating new pieces. Corso rubbed his nose, humming a bit as he looked through some of the smaller drawers for the supplies he'd need to attach Grabber to Ms. Puffs' harness. "All right, guess that oughta do it," he murmured, setting things out neatly on the counter.
He slipped on a pair of tinted goggles, tightening the cords, and then turned Ms. Puffs on her side. He looked over her rigging carefully, then punched a row of holes in one of the straps along her right exhaust. That way he could reach back over his shoulder to pull Grabber out of the holster.
By the time he was tightening the bolts on the holster that he'd secured to the harness, he'd lost all track of time, though he could feel the strain in his knuckles, up through his arms and shoulders, and in the general exhaustion that ached through him all over. So he shouldn't have been too surprised to hear footsteps behind him. It was the sound of the captain's voice that made him whirl around with a pasted-on smile, his heart in his mouth.
"Corso Riggs – WHAT is THAT?"