The Errant Adventures of Trip and Wyl!

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl turned at Trip's announcement and watched as a hulking man with an irritated scowl advanced. The boy found himself unconsciously stepping in front of Trip, eyebrows arching suspiciously. He didn't appear to be in a friendly mood. In fact, he looked like he wouldn't hesitate to pick up errant droids (or smallish-sized boys) and toss them off of a pedwalk if they irritated him.

Jeepers he was huge.

He regarded Amos with a careful eye and then shrugged, making the motion as casual as he could. "I'm a friend of Trip's. He invited me over." Which wasn't entirely true, but wasn't a lie either.

[Amos Iakona]

Stunned disbelief grabbed at Amos' eyebrows, and wrenched them into a retreat towards his hairline. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that; though the kid was clearly intimidated by his appearence - as were most members of most species - the efforts towards bravery were somewhat endearing.

Wait, no. Not endearing. Annoying child. Go away, annoying child. Amos reinforced that thought in his mind, and tried to narrow his eyes suspiciously; instead, the corners of his mouth twitched in a barely restrained smile. His hand rose to his face and smoothed its way down his jaw. "Did he, now?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

"Yes." The boy responded with an earnest frown, apparently mistaking Amos' tone for one of disbelief. Silence stretched between them as Wyl waited to see if the man was going to make any sneaky moves; when he didn't, the boy exhaled.

"You told Trip to get lost." It was said in a tone which belied Wyl's opinion of the pilot before him. Amos ranked somewhere between people who ran puppy mills and green vegetables, apparently. "That's a lousy thing to say. He thought you meant it!"

[Amos Iakona]

Amos had a blanket dismissal prepped and ready, but it never made it past the back of his throat. While the phrasing had probably been a little different - go away, leave me alone, or something like that - he did vaguely recall sending the droid from his presence earlier in the day. In hindsight, considering how literally the droid seemed to say everything, they might perhaps have been poorly chosen words.

Another dismissal formed in his mind, but the kid's face looked like it was prepping for some kind kind of rupture or explosion. Oh god, Amos thought, dread forming an icy pit in his stomach. He's not going to cry, is he?

Despite the fact that the droid lacked anything even closely resembling emotions, Amos still found himself looking down at Trip, wondering how on Bespin he was supposed to appologise. It seemed almost surreal, but his somewhat pittiful understanding of how one dealt with children suggested that this was the safest option.

"I -" He struggled to find the right words: ones that would satisfy the child, but without leaving him feeling totally ridiculous. The kid's eyes didn't shift off him. He crouched, hitching his trousers a little to allow his knees to bend as he squatted down to eye-level with the droid. "I'm sorry, Trip," he tried, eyes flicking to the kid periodically to see if his efforts were having any kind of effect. "I spoke rashly earlier, without considering my words carefully enough; I should have known you would misunderstand, and should have tried to be clearer in my instructions."

Still no sign of approval from the droid. "I'll give you -" He searched his mind, trying to think of some kind of activity that might sound - to the boy at least - like an appropriate penance for his actions. "- a full overhaul? Oil bath; new spark plugs; the works. I'll even see if I can fix that limp in your left servos as well." His eyes sought out the boys. "That sound okay?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

"And he'll teach you t'fly," Wyl added, patting Trip consolingly while he leveled a quick, meaningful glance at Amos that clearly implied the man had no other choice but to agree. The (very much required) apology had come as a pleasant surprise but the boy wasn't going to give the impression that he could be satisfied so easily. Especially by a stranger, irregardless of whether that stranger had an awesome ship.

Casting a curious look about the landing, Wyl wondered whether or not his absence had been noticed yet. It hadn't taken he and his droid friend very long to navigate the city but neither would it take a great deal of time for Daria or Morgan to locate him. The boy just hoped that they were still engrossed in their various errands.

"I'm Aron," He finally said, turning back to Amos all business-like. An excited rush flooded over him as he doled out the alias; this must be what it felt like to be a spy. Wyl fought back a grin and thrust his hand out. "Aron... Racewing."

[Amos Iakona]

Aron Racewing.

Amos almost cringed, but apparently the kid had no idea of how painfully obvious it had been that he'd made that name up on the spot. He considered interrogating the droid, to see what name 'Aron' had provided to Trip, but decided against it. He already been reprimanded enough for his interactions with the droid; risking any further imposed punishments from the kid wasn't worth the effort.

Speaking of which, Amos briefly considered pointing out to the kid that Trip didn't have the necessary programming to actually understand the principles of spaceflight. But again: not worth the effort. He'd just tell Aron that he'd do it later, just to keep the kid quiet and get him out of his hair.

He adjusted his face into what he hoped was an expression that looked like he completely accepted and believed everything that Aron had said, which required a little manual adjustment of his jaw and beard that conveniently hid the amused smile trying to form on his lips.

"Pleased to meet you, uh, Mister Racewing," he managed to force out eventually. "I'm -" He considered making up an alias of his own, but no doubt the droid had already revealed his true identity. That was unfair, frankly, but his mind didn't seem ready to offer up any appropriate alternatives anyway, so he just stuck with what he knew. "- Amos Iakona. Pleased to meet you, kid."

[Wyl Staedtler]

"You're huge; are you part Mandallian?" An enthusiastic shake of the enormous palm seemed to indicate that Amos' efforts at reconciliation with Trip had been approved of by the boy. Without waiting for a reply, Wyl reclaimed his hand and stuffed it in his trouser pocket, jockeying back and forth a bit on his heels. "You don't have to call me Mister Racewing. Or kid. Aron's fine."

Sticking close to Trip, Wyl circled around a few steps, scrutinizing the ship with eager eyes. There was enough distance between he and Amos to maintain a sense of safety and the ability to run away should anything go awry, but not enough to make it seem as if he were unnerved by the man.

"So," Wyl cleared his throat, kicked at one of the crates littering the loading dock with a sneakered foot, "M'a pilot, y'know."

[Amos Iakona]

Amos felt his eyebrow arching, at the overload of strange questions, queries and behaviour radiating from the kid. For example, Amos had no idea what a 'Mandallian' was, though based on the context it sounded like some particularly tall species of humanoid; maybe one of those really freaky things with the really pointy cone-shaped heads, or with the super-long necks. He frowned for a moment, wondering if eating and breathing and stuff felt really weird if your neck was that long. And would it take longer for you to get that sensation of bile or vomit rising at the back of your throat?

The kid - Aron, or whatever - kicked a crate. Amos' mind retreated from its inner wandering, and arranged for a scowl to form on his features. It didn't last long however; what concentration had been expended on looking angry was quickly diverted into stifling a laugh at the child's absurd claim. "Yeah, and I'm a Jedi Knight," he muttered, a subtle thread of sarcasm laced into his words. Kid'd probably need to stand on a box just to see out of the damned viewport.

[Wyl Staedtler]

The sharp look that passed across the boy's face as his startled eyes met Amos's was fleeting, but fierce in it's intensity. Wyl cocked an eyebrow as he stared at the man curiously, little mouth pursed and twisting as he angled his head first to the left and then to the right, as if the changing view mattered.

It wasn't there, solid and undeniably present, as it was when prodding at his master or the others, but the boy was surprised to find that he could feel the low buzz of ability that thrummed around and through Amos. Interesting. He wondered if the man knew about it and was just trying to lay low like all smart beings did, or if his sarcasm was genuine. At any rate, the discovery emboldened the boy and his afternoon of hooky was suddenly a much more rewarding quest; Daria was always telling him to slow down and concentrate - wouldn't she just be impressed to know that he did actually listen sometimes!

Chuffing a breath, Wyl shook his head. "No, you're not," He declared in a tone that bespoke his universal knowledge. "That's illegal. But I am a pilot; I can fly just about anything, practically, and when m'old enough m'gonna have my very own ship for me'n Tak--that's my wife--to live on."

[Amos Iakona]

Wife?

Okay, so the galaxy was a pretty diverse and varied place. There were planets were kids were married off at young ages as part of inter-family negotiations; but that was usually royalty or nobility, and this half-pint pilot hardly seemed like the type. More likely was that this so-called 'wife' wasn't anything at the sort. Amos' eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. From what he'd experienced of the kid so far, it wouldn't have surprised him if it was some kind of imaginary friend.

Amos decided to let the statement pass without any comment, despite the overwhelming urge to hit the kid up the side of the head for being such an idiot. Instead he winced, looking around himself at the cargo containers that still needed to be stowed aboard the Astral Queen. Mildly entertaining as this exchange was, it wasn't like he was drowning in time at the moment. He sucked a pensive breath between his tongue and front teeth, reluctance playing almost invisible across an expression that always betrayed almost nothing.

"Listen, Aron -" He sighed. "Nice as it is to meet you, this cargo won't load itself; and I've gotta be out of here by 1800. Would you, mind... you know -?" He let his voice wander off, lest his words fail to tell the kid to frak the hell off and leave him be.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl's expression brightened and he nodded eagerly. "Sure! I don't mind at all, I totally don't!"

With obvious glee, the boy hopped over the the nearest cargo container (which was nearly as tall as he was) and pushed his sleeves up until they bunched about his elbows. Rubbing his hands together, Wyl bent and began pushing against the crate, small arms straining as he fought to scrape it along the ground and toward the ship. It remained stubbornly in place, and after a few moments of determined grunting, he stepped back and frowned at it.

"I'll supervise," He suggested, smiling at Amos and pointing at the crate. "That one needs to go in first."

[Amos Iakona]

Oh. Joy.

Amos bit down on a tirade of curses, instead truging over to where a repulsorlift loading sled had been abandoned, hovvering near-silently on a cushion of anti-gravity. With a single booted foot, arms folded across his chest, he kicked the floating device across the cargo deck towards Wyl. "Supervise, my ass," he muttered, shaking his head and sighing. "I assume you can work out how to pilot that thing, genius?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

Was Amos deaf? Had he not heard him when he'd said he could fly anything? Morgan was teaching him, after all, and Morgan knew everything there was to know about the business.

"S'easy enough," Wyl scoffed cheekily, catching hold of the bar on the sled and stopping it's forward motion. He gave Amos a smile full of sweet innocence and pointed again at the crate. "That one still hasta go first."

The man grumbled and the boy couldn't quite bite back a giggle as he winked at Trip. This was great; he'd help load up Amos's ship and in exchange for all his hard work, the man would no doubt agree that transferring ownership of the little droid to Wyl was only fair. Tak was going to be so surprised when he showed her the new mascot of G.R.O.S.S.!

While Amos hefted crates onto the repulsorlift dolly, Wyl studied the small console at it's base, fingering the tiny individual controls for adjusting the thrust and elevation of the device and the small toggle switch that he assumed turned it on and off. This was baby stuff. Why, it was hardly any work at all to push the loaded sled toward the ship and with his new shoes he was really able to build up some momentum before he hit the ramp, twisting every couple of seconds so he could peer around the boxes and assure his trajectory wasn't leading toward a sudden stop into a hard wall.

Stopping with the acquired speed was a little harder, what with the sled and it's cargo outweighing him significantly, but Wyl planted his feet and dug in, skidding across the ship's grating a few feet before it finally eased to a halt. The boy toed the airlocks on to keep the sled from drifting and looked over his shoulder at Amos. "That was fun!"