A Bid Farewell (Streghe Members)

[Yuri Thrice]

Coruscant...

A DL-44 Heavy Blaster lay upon the workstation table, stripped down to its bare components. Hunched over it, a young man, black hair and blue eyes, squinted through the magnified, holographic image of the components before him. He found the problem easily; the transistors were too low-grade, unable to hold the increased charge that the overloaded power blast that the DL-44 was capable of. Without even looking up, Yuri reached out and grabbed the needed transistor plate, not even noticing that it was once out of his reach, but was somehow beside his hands, right when he needed it. With the precision of a practiced hand, Yuri Thrice lowered in and sodered down the transistor plate, checking the charge once more in the diagnostic. It would do even better than before. Now that the transistors were replaced, the heavy blaster would now fire with more efficiently than before. This order was done, save for reassembly.

With another blur of motion, Yuri had the weapon reassembled in virtually no time. Not even someone who had owned and maintained a DL-44 for his entire life could reassemble it that fast. Not without some sort of help....Snatching up the bottle of Corellian whiskey, Yuri downed it in a few gulps, then scooped up his death-sticks, and lit one up. Dragging down, and letting the burn soothe him, Yuri let out a plume of smoke into the air. It had a reddish tinge to it, as did the rest of the shop. The hues came from the buisness boards across the street. Looking out of the viewing glass, Yuri shook his head. They were busy today. But his shop, A Call To Arms, was dead and empty. The shop was polished, clean, appealing, and finely displayed, with various models of blasters and weapons displayed on racks and cases. Yuri himself felt for his Dallorian-alloy-finished Westar 34's, both strapped under his work jacket. They were still there, though he knew it without reaching for them. He drew one out and inspected it again. It was finely crafted, a good thirty plus years old, and in mint condition. Thank god that his dad could keep up a good weapon or two, otherwise Yuri would not be blessed to wield such fine blasters, the same model and finishes that made Jango Fett infamous. They were modified and refitted, of course, to keep up with the times, so they could be reloaded with standard issue gas cartriges, and new wiring and working to make it even more efficient than ever, yet they were still basic components, and classics to boot. Reholstering the weapon without even looking, Yuri takes another drag of his death-stick....

....And nearly chokes on the fog that surrounds him, reaching the very core of his being, enveloping him in it. Yet somehow, Yuri felt at home....then he saw her, the beautiful woman, clad in black armor, feeding some large creature in the mists. As he crept closer, Yuri realized, with awe-stricken near-horror, than it was a legendary monster, a COMMON denizen of this world, known as the rancor....Yuri reaches again for his blasters....

...and coughs, breathing as the blur of motion brought out both Westars, ready to fire. In an empty shop, void of any noises, save for the powering down of his equipment. Shaking his head, Yuri wondered what the frell just happened. He could still see the woman, clad in black, very good looking, very fit, ample body, et cetera. And feeding a rancor..... Holstering his blasters, Yuri shakes his head.

"Jeez, Yuri. Gotta lay off the late night, naughty, horribly-written holo-skin-flicks....They're makin' ya see things...."

The Corellian takes another drag, letting the smoke rise into the air....