The Games We Play
By Rey
Children need entertainment, playtime, toys.
Well, this child is nothing like the usual children. But that just makes it more imperative to occupy their mind and hands and feet peacefully, no?
Din can try, anyway.
1.
Started on: 2nd November 2021 at 11:01 AM
Finished on: 17th March 2023 at 08:20 AM
2.
Started on: 17th March 2023 at 08:40 PM
Finished on: 30th March 2023 at 04:59 AM
3.
Started on: 30th March 2023 at 05:45 AM
Finished on: 31st March 2023 at 09:03 PM
1.
Din has been meaning to replenish or otherwise renew the rations his little-but-not-little charge stores in their secure box. So, when he has accumulated a decent amount of good rations that the picky eater would eat and drink, he asks the latter to open the box for him. And… "Té… why is your box full of… scraps?" he can't help but squawk in incredulous offence. "I didn't buy it for you for you to fill it with those things, you know."
Little Tarre crosses their arms and glowers up at him from their post beside the box, which is now open and proudly displaying things like swatches of discarded fabrics, Din's sewing kit that went missing last week, various attachments and bolts and also scraps of wire and durasteel the ship can no longer use, dried grassblades in bundles, a few differently shaped and differently coloured rocks – well, those. Din can't even see where the original supplies might be, not even the bigger ones like the spare cooling blanket. And then they sign, proudly and petulantly, "I need my entertainment."
"Entertainment," Din repeats, incredulous and flummoxed.
"Entertainment," Té glares harder. "You never let me pilot or improve your ship or carbonite system."
"For good reason," Din grumbles, now crossing his own arms. "And no, my answer's still the same. You're too small for all that. Wait until you're able to reach the control panel without sitting on it."
"And I told you that, if I have to relive my childhood all over again, it will take at least a millennium, Din," Té sighs, slumping in place, now exuding frustration tinged with ruefulness and melancholy.
Din's heart twinges similarly in response. They rarely talk about Tarre's longevity for this very reason: An insurmountable gap seems to yawn between them each time, while both are still here, still alive, still together.
So he quickly changes the topic and asks, "So, how do you make these into… entertainment?"
It's his turn to sigh when little Tarre immediately perks up, looking blatantly relieved and even excited.
And then the pipsqueak dives into the box that nearly dwarves them, rummages round inside, and pops back up triumphantly holding… "Is that a… mini you?"
Well, the doll is lumpy and made of scrap fabrics stitched together, but the stitching is neat and sturdy and well-hidden, and the shape is clearly bipedal with two arms at either side and a head on top.
And small scraps of durasteel, plastoid and even thick flimsy have been made into various pieces of armour glued to the right spots on the doll, including an awkwardly shaped Mandalorian-like helmet. They're even painted, and Té may have nicked Din's markers – which he usually uses to mark places he needs to cut and whatnot – for the little artist has even drawn some detail onto the tiny pieces of makeshift armour in red, black, blue, green and yellow, which are all the colours Din has on his markers.
The said artist shakes their head, though, and signs, "No, my parent."
And all Din can say at first is, "Oh," followed – after a long, startled, sad, awkward pause – with, "I'll…. Well, do you want more supplies for that? You don't need to use scraps, then."
And how Té glows for just that!
2.
The latest hunt has been successful.
Very long, though, and a battered, frazzled, severely tired Din receives his pay with an empty sort of acknowledgement.
And, curled in the satchel, his little passenger hasn't moved for a while, after saving the two of them from an explosion the very, very desperate bounty tried to trap the pair in. Exhausted from using their magic, no doubt, since their vitals show on his HUD as slightly lower than their baseline sleep but thankfully steady for all that.
Well, this gives Din an idea.
Both of them need a pick-me-up, so why not?
He veers from the way straight to the spaceport and goes to the market district instead. He spends the remaining chunk of the local afternoon relaxing there, haggling for scraps of various materials that his satchel nester would almost definitely like. Glues, paints and colouring devises follow suit.
And then he comes upon a toy store.
He never paid attention to any store, shop, stand, booth or kiosk selling toys, before. Not even when he was young. Not unless the covert had enough funds to spare for them, which was rare. But he is in charge of a little one, now, although it can't be said that Té is just a little one despite their tiny, tiny physique. And Té deserves a pick-me-up beyond more craft supplies, this time.
So he strides into the store, ignoring how startled its keeper is, and immediately browses the displays.
The bigger, non-collapsable toys are out for the sheer fact that Razor Crest has little room as it is.
The box of blocks is out, as well, because his little menace seems far more interested in stacking odds-and-ends that they sometimes nabbed from his stores – or even person – rather than anything as… mundane… as these.
The cushions shaped like animals are a maybe, seeing that Té loves nesting. But, again, the space.
The toy blasters are stupid, as they are useless. He could buy Té a small, hold-out stun blaster if the latter wishes it.
The ellaplast fat shapes which send bursts of different colours when pressed or hit are promising, though, especially the ball-shaped ones. Mainly because he knows Té loves colours and squeezable things, and the treated jell filling the things turns out to be rechargeable and replaceable whenever necessary.
So he buys one – a ball that is half the size of his little charge – and desperately hopes that the little brat will not play the dratted thing during bedtime, when the lights in the ship are lowered to just emergency strips and will no doubt make the bursts of neon colours on the thing glaringly obvious.
And then, because Té is still very much asleep when he brings them away from the planet and into hyperspace, he takes time to situate his little charge in their mobile nest, shuck off his armour, and hold the ball close to him alongside his helmet, as he inspects the ship for the best places to hide the things he bought for the little imp to dig out. Because he still remembers how fussy the little brat about the clothes he bought for them, and who knows if they would demand the same of this damned ball.
He falls asleep in his bunk some time after, helmet on and alone for once, after dropping the ball carefully on Té's little legs.
But, well, maybe he shouldn't have done that, for he is then woken up rudely by the said ball bouncing on his legs.
And Té greets his squawk of surprise and jolting off the mattress – bumping his helmet against the low ceiling of the compartment in doing that – with peels of laughter.
Only long after, with the time in-between spent chasing the darting, squealing, giggling little womprat up and down the ship, does he realise that he has heard Té's voice for the first time.
3.
It's tiring and oftentimes heartstopping, to always clean up the many heavy crates and pipes and boards after Té is finished running and crawling and swinging and jumping up and down on a precarious-looking structure made of all those. But the little brat is so happy doing that, so Din never objected until now.
Now, when a malfunction on the hyperdrive has sent a heavy jolt throughout Razor Crest and sent many things tumbling, including those heavy things currently populating the hold, which Té is in the process of stacking up with their magic.
The little womprat squeaks, Din yelps, and off those heavy things clang on his armour as he leaps over the half-built structure and shields the little menace with his own body.
`Never again,` he vows to himself, even as his everything flares in throbbing pain. And, given that promise to himself, he troubleshoots the hyperdrive and lands the ship on the first decent planet he can find on short notice, then off he goes to find the little brat lighter things to fashion as a sturdy structure for their own damned beloved obstacle course.
He goes through the course himself, to check if it will bear their weight and won't just fall off in inopportune moments. He also makes sure that all the various surfaces are either padded or made from semi-ellastic plastoid. Té whinges about it, insisting that they can do with what they had before, just with a little more caution, but he studiously ignores it.
"Never again," that's all he tells them, and he stuffs them into their satchel-nest when they complain about that, too.
How they distance themself from him for days after that is not good. In fact, he feels miserable, just as they do.
But, if he could turn back time and have the choice to relive the moment, he doubts he'd change the sequence. He'd maybe just try to be a little softer about it.
Because, if he could save even just one loved one from death, especially a stupid one like this, he would gladly do so, regardless of the consequences.
And little Tarre Vizsla has indeed – unexpectedly, unknowingly – wormed themself firmly into his rarely used, well-guarded heart.
He doubts he could even relinquish Té should Paz ever know of them and claim familial relations to take them away from him.
Damn, now he remembers that he is a little overdue about dropping both supplies and credits at the covert….
