#Rigby O'Faolain

[palpipeen]

One Year, Eight Weeks, Two Days: Days -9 through -365

They didn't wake up in prison, only somewhere they've never been before, and they also don't remember the names of their family or the planet they're from. But lucky for them, some generous benefactor left holo-recordings for them to watch when they woke up. So, all things considered. Waking up in a room they’d never been in their entire life could have gone a lot worse! Rating: R for Language, Canon-Typical Violence Future Ratings: NC-17 for Sexual Themes Warnings: Amnesia, corrupt police, mentions of drugs/weapons smuggling, mention of slavery/trafficking, mentions of violence/war, a Mandalorian being big and scary and imposing This is an OC centric fic where the MC is AFAB Non-Binary and goes by They/Them pronouns WC: 2122 AN: Part two! This was actually all one chapter, but it got up to over 6k words. And that is just too many IMO. This one introduces the secondary MC - our Mandalorian. But not the Mandalorian. This fic is ENTIRELY OC centric, it is set during the events of The Mandalorian. The Mandalorian featured in this is not Din - he's his own guy. Hope y'all enjoy!

It wasn’t a jolt of panic or a wave of nausea that woke them up every morning. It was usually something slightly pointed jabbing them in the leg, over and over again, that once they recognized they pointedly tried to ignore. Keyword being ‘try’ of course. Because once their droid companion got her mind set on something, she wasn’t likely to let it go. 

And most of the time she set her mind on getting under Rigby’s skin. Multiple times a day.

A year later and Rigby was certain the droid was still a little pissed, but things could be worse. They’d held down a steady job. And they had friends now. Okay so they had coworkers, but when Rigby knew no one else in the entire universe, they counted as friends. Whether they liked it or not.

Somehow they got the distinct impression that it was the latter.

Regardless, Rigby wasn’t going anywhere. Against all odds, they actually sort of liked their job at the diner. The work kept them busy, they actually got to see and talk to people, they got free food when Kaati was in a good mood.

Oh, there was also the bounty hunter that became one of Rigby’s regulars.

Needless to say: plenty happened in the diner. A lot more than most would give the place credit for. Rigby had seen firsthand the dissolving and reforming of relationships. Heard stories that would make the most hardened and experienced individual blush. Laughed until they thought they’d broken a rib at some of the stories. And they’d experienced genuine connections with the permanent or temporary residents of the station.

In fact, the diner was probably the key to them learning all there was to know about Mahak Orbital Station after Kaati’s quick crash course on the lift.

She was an older model - made sometime near the end of the Galactic War. What most in recent years called ‘the clone wars.’ For years the station had been orbiting what was now the shell of a planet that was inhospitable, but had a great deal of resources that could be mined from below its surface. All of those resources had been taken now, but the station still remained. One of the last bastions of civilization before one got past the furthest major civilization recorded in any starmap. It wasn’t the nicest place to live. The law was a lot looser here, the local law enforcement were more prone to looking the other way after an exchange of credits than actually doing the right thing. Or committing crimes themselves.

Now that the planet had been mined out, it was no wonder crime rates started to increase. No resources to process and export meant that everyone had to turn to other means to make ends meet. There was good money to be found in repairing the ships that docked here before flying out into Wild Space, and manufacturing parts from the scraps. But other than that, there wasn’t much. So the population had depleted by a lot, but for some, there was nowhere else to go. People got bored. People got desperate. Spice rings, weapons smuggling, slave trafficking.

Even knowing next to nothing, Rigby knew this place was definitely not somewhere they belonged.

It was a fact they were made keenly aware of on a near daily basis. Life on the station had hardened them somewhat, but Rigby was still afflicted with something that was very…unfortunate this far out from the Center Rim. That being compassion, and an unhealthy dose of gullibility. ‘Soft’ was a word that those who Rigby got closer to called them, and there had been more than one attempted robbery.

Fortunately for them, there always happened to be someone within earshot who looked out for Rigby (much to their chagrin) to intervene.

Rigby knew they were lucky. Kaati had given them a safe place to be as they floundered. Everyone who worked at the diner looked out for each other, as distant as they all tried to keep themselves from one another. It was dangerous to get too close. People disappeared often, or got murdered, or shipped off to the nearest prison barge. Or worse. The diner was something of a safe haven to patrons and employees alike, one of very few in this cold, dangerous corner of the galaxy.

Like it or not, though, this was Rigby’s home until they figured out something.

And, frustratingly, they were no closer to figuring anything out than the first week they’d been conscious on this station. Who knew how long they’d been asleep in that apartment for? They certainly didn’t. Which was frustrating, and terrifying, and instilled Rigby with a deep urge to do…well.

Something.

A good seven months had passed until Rigby knew they would need something with more to offer than the diner by way of credits. They had no idea where Nugget had come from, but they knew how to perform basic and a few major repairs on the droid. And they’d done minor repairs on some of the ovens and deep freezers at the diner. So they’d gone looking for a job at one of the garages.

The many, many garages.

It had taken an additional month to find anyone willing to even hear them out. But Rigby was nothing if not stubborn when they had a feeling about anything. The crotchety old Bothan who ran the garage near one of the bottom levels of the station hadn’t been happy about it. But, Rej had no one else to help out. And when asked to perform a basic repair on one of his pit droids, Rigby had completed the task with...well, not flying colors.

Gliding colors. Barely touching the ground colors. That counted for something, apparently.

“‘Sides,” he’d gruffed as he drafted up a contract for Rigby, “got a high-paying customer paying for services I can’t do on my own.” His yellow eyes had narrowed at Rigby, “And if you keep your mouth shut, you’re getting half.”

“That’s mighty generous of you.” 

Rigby hadn’t bothered trying to hide the suspicion from their voice. They’d learned some things - kindness offered rarely came without strings attached, and Rigby had played the part of sucker way too many times. It would happen again, but on good days, it was rare. And this would turn out to be one of their last good days.

“Let me finish.” His teeth had flashed, reminding Rigby that any and all individuals on this station could be just as deadly as the next. “You’ll get half…once you’ve finished your apprenticeship.”

Well, they already had a steady source of income, paltry though it was. Rigby didn’t have it in them to argue. As difficult as Rej could be, learning his trade would pay off in the end. Rigby could just feel it. They didn’t feel that way all of the time.

Especially not when they’d met Rej’s mysterious customer, or seen his ship.

A customer that had quickly become their customer at the diner, through a series of embarrassing events.

He’d cut a very imposing figure when Rigby crawled out from under his ship a week into their apprenticeship. Mainly because he’d decided that the best place for him to stand was directly in the path of their exit, which meant when Rigby wriggled from under his ship they were sprawled out between his boots. Causing Rigby to freak out. Which had meant their skull clipped the edge of the underside of his ship when their body instinctively tried to shoot up to escape. 

Rej had really ripped them a new one for that. Their customer paid a lot of money for silence, and Rigby shouting loud enough to wake the dead would likely bring undue attention. Plus, them shooting up like a womp rat touching a live wire and maybe giving themself a concussion on his ship might’ve caused them to bleed all over it.

But how could a walking, talking, breathing suit of armor not draw undue attention?! Or not scare the shit out of Rigby when he just popped out of nowhere?! It defied all logic and reason, both of which Rigby only had so much of. For one thing, the man was huge. 

Rigby had left that part out when they’d tried to defend their reaction, feeling their customer’s eyes on them from behind a jet black, T-shaped visor. Something told them he wouldn’t appreciate them pointing that out. Or pointing anything about him out. Rigby wasn’t particularly keen to actually do that, so as Rej had reemed them, they’d studied Rej’s strange benefactor. Figuring it would be the last time they ever saw him, after their less than professional first impression.

It would take months until Rigby wasn’t convinced that the armor was covering some sort of droid. It almost entirely covered the man from head to toe with bits of his dark flight suit showing. Making his already broad figure even larger, but he seemed to move like it barely affected him. 

Honestly the whole ensemble spoke volumes of how stealth was on this man’s side more often than not. The majority of his armor was a muted, storm-cloud gray, and they got the idea in their head that it might make staying hidden easy for the very large man. Accents of deep gold along his vanbraces, gloves and bordering the visor were the only splashes of color that stood out. 

The armor looked well worn, at least to Rigby. Countless scours from various weapons, mysterious stains. This person had been in many, many fights. Probably a war or two, even. And come out, huge and somehow unscathed. Or in one piece, if there was anything humanoid under all that armor. Which made an altogether terrifying package. Alarm bells kept ringing in the back of their head the longer they’d studied him surreptitiously out of the corner of their eye.

Only for that alarm to be cemented when they’d tuned back in to Rej’s tirade.

“- bounty hunter pays for your silence, you stay. Fucking. Silent.” Rigby’s head had snapped around to gape at Rej. “Understand?”

“He’s a bounty hunter?!” 

The words came out in a barely audible squeak. All the exasperation on Rej’s face that had been commonplace when it came to dealing with Rigby seemed to add a decade of age to his features. But could he blame them? As little as they knew about their life, the concept of bounty hunters wasn’t new to them. Thanks to asking Kaati about it, after seeing someone getting caught by one months ago. 

But knowing now that this man was a hunter of people on the run brought back Teb’s words with a wicked vengeance.

Don’t leave the room.

“Yes, and a Mandalorian at that.” Okay, that word meant exactly nothing to Rigby. Grasping their upper arm, Rej had steered them out of his office and back into the main work room in the garage. Shoving them forward, he’d waved a hand impatiently as he stalked past Rigby, “Go apologize and get out of here. Don’t have time for your shenanigans.” Before he’d started work on the ship again, he’d whirled around and jabbed a finger at them. “And if you bled on this ship, that’s a week’s worth of pay!”

“Y-yessir.” Rigby nearly yelped again when they turned to the bounty hunter to find him standing right next to them. Watching them. Waiting. “Uhhh.”

Don’t talk to anyone.

“S-sorry, uhh, for before.” Rigby clutched the front of their shirt, taking a step back so they weren’t anywhere near the Mandalorian’s space. Only for him to take a step forward. So they took another step back. Another step forward. This continued as Rigby rambled out whatever apologies they could think of, but they couldn’t think so it was a lot of nonsense and bullshit. Backing away from the bounty hunter as he followed them, his movements slow and measured while Rigby was struggling to keep themself upright. Eventually their brain caught up with their own words, and they wanted to swallow their own fucking tongue. “ - sure you get tired of scaring the piss out of people, I bet it really sucks having that happen with the person who’s helping fix up your ship --”

“Dammit, Rigby!” Rej’s voice echoed through the garage, making them nearly jump out of their skin. “I told you to apologize, not talk the man’s ear off! Get the hell outta here!”

“R-right, sorry!” And just before they turned to scramble away, they heard the low, modulated voice from the man towering next to them.

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

It was a foolish hope that they would never, ever see that man again.

-------

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[palpipeen]

One Year, Eight Weeks, Two Days: Days -1 through -6

They didn't wake up in prison, only somewhere they've never been before, and they also don't remember the names of their family or the planet they're from. But lucky for them, some generous benefactor left holo-recordings for them to watch when they woke up. So, all things considered. Waking up in a room they’d never been in their entire life could have gone a lot worse! Rating: R for Language, Canon-Typical Violence Future Ratings: NC-17 for Sexual Themes Warnings: Amnesia, non-descriptive vomiting, mention of top-surgery scars, mentions of slavery, implied kidnapping, smoking, mild-gaslighting, mentions of gang fights, corrupt police (DM me if I missed anything, this is a long one) This is an OC centric fic where the MC is AFAB Non-Binary and goes by They/Them pronouns WC: 3937 AN: Alright, here it is: my baby. Well one of my babies. These two OCs are actually a handful from an original universe high-fantasy story I was working on a few years back, that I'm still working on, but this came to me in a dream and I was like "...hey that's really good actually." Eventually the original fic will be finished, idk what I'll do with it or this story, but here - have it. This fic is ENTIRELY OC centric, it is set during the events of The Mandalorian. The Mandalorian featured in this is not Din - he's his own guy. Anyway - hope y'all enjoy!

Waking up disoriented and confused about what time of day, or what day, or even what week it was seemed pretty commonplace for them. But they didn’t remember their decor ever being quite this…gray. Though the bed was pretty comfortable. Comfortable enough that they phased in and out of sleep when they initially took note of their surroundings. For another two to six hours. It was comfortable, and warm, and no one was waking them up.

It was the first decent amount of sleep they could remember having in…well, ever.

Right up until they felt a jolt of - something. This jolt made them sit bolt upright, the vestiges of panic just barely releasing its sickening grasp on their throat. Struggling with the covers tangled around their legs, they barely managed to stumble out of bed without falling flat on their face. Then rushed to the fresher. Just in time to empty the contents of their stomach and make it all into the bowl. And when they looked up in the mirror, Rigby O’Faolin recognized themself.

So, all things considered. Waking up in a room they’d never been in their entire life could have gone a lot worse!

At least, that’s what they told themself over the course of the next week. Often. As often as they could without feeling like they were going to lose their absolute shit. Which was a lot, multiple times, each day. It really was the only thing that kept them sane, all things considered. Mostly sane, anyway. But could anybody blame them?

With little to no recollection of their life before waking up in a stranger’s room, the finer threads of sanity would fray fairly quickly.

No, really. Rigby knew themself, their name, flashes of the planet they were from. Not enough to know the name, but enough to remember a house big enough for the family, all six of them, and a few masiffs. They could remember everyone’s favorite colors, most of their birthdays. Well, their dad had never been big on his own, neither had their youngest sister. They also remembered that every summer, the family would spend a week at a lake.

But no names, for the planet or for their faceless family members that lived there. And no real desire to go back home. Maybe that’s why they’d never felt any pressure to try and get help right away. There wasn’t a sense of urgency, or any guilt over knowing that it was very likely their family didn’t know where they were. Rigby at least could remember that they came and went from the family home, that they were old enough that their parents didn’t question it. They were also old enough to have their own family, but they hadn’t gotten around to it. Nor did they particularly want to.

In Rigby’s own mind, that had become an impossible pipe dream once they’d gone through top surgery.

Oh there was also that. A discovery that was equal parts thrilling and jarring, to say the least, when they’d done that first check the morning they woke up. They couldn’t remember when it had happened. Only they’d saved up for years for it. And it had apparently been long enough that the scars didn’t bother them. They also couldn’t remember when they’d gone through with the piercings, but they were glad they hadn’t lost those - or their nipples - during the process. 

Which in hindsight was maybe a weird thing to get hung up about.

So, even if they couldn’t remember the name of their planet, or the circumstances of how they’d ended up in this room, they could remember enough. What a damn shame it was that most of what they remembered made certain that most of their insecurities were intact. Such as the panic of not having anything that belonged to them in this room - nothing to bring them any semblance of comfort. Or the nagging fear of stepping outside and being berated for it. Plus there was the void where about eighty percent of their memories needed to be. Not to mention the imposter syndrome being ramped up to a mind boggling degree. Because this apartment was definitely not theirs. 

It was Teb’s.

Who the hell was Teb? They had no idea. Even with their hazy memory, Rigby knew with certainty they’d never met the man in their entire life. But damn, did this guy need to do some serious reorganization. That was the first thought they’d had when they started poking around that first day, and found an old holo-letter with his name on it. Given the strangeness of their situation, it was surprising they were able to get up and look around with their hands and feet free. One of the first things they’d checked after that revelation was if they had anything around their neck - no dice.

Thank gods. Rigby couldn’t remember ever having thought they would be sold into slavery, but stranger things were apparently happening.

But this Teb guy - he’d apparently been anticipating it. This…strangeness. After moving things around - piles of things, it was all just so much fucking junk - they’d found a few holo recordings. Almost entirely by accident. With added the misfortune that most of them were busted to the point none of it was intelligible. But there were a few that gave them some context clues.

Some very, very confusing context clues.

“If you’re seeing this, my plan has worked.” 

With a yelp, they’d fallen flat on their ass after touching the holo-display under about a dozen pairs of one-size-too-small pants. Rigby stared at the grainy, jumping projection of a man’s torso, eyes bulging and jaw hanging open and with their heart in the back of their throat. The projection of the man didn’t look like anyone they could remember - but they got the distinct impression he’d lived one hell of a life, and still had a lot of life to live. Deep circles under his eyes, with softness around the edges that belied some youth. And he seemed so calm, like he’d been expecting this.

So clearly he’d been expecting someone to be here when he’d ditched the place. Maybe not Rigby, but somebody. Whatever the reason, Rigby had watched the shitty pre-recorded message often. Enough times that months after the last time they’d watched it, they could remember it word-for-word. They’d memorized every syllable, his accent, all of it. Down to his micro-expressions.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. It’ll all make sense in time.” 

The man adjusted his glasses on his nose. That first time they’d watched it, Rigby snorted, folding their arms across their chest as they waited for Teb to make it make sense. 

He didn’t. 

“Just know that for now, this apartment is paid for until the end of the next standard year. I know it isn’t the most ideal situation or place to be in. Mahak Space Station is a shithole.”

That was news to them. And the first time they’d heard where, exactly, it was they even fucking were.

It didn’t ring any bells.

“In a compartment at the foot of the bunk is a cache of credits.” Rigby glanced at the compartment they’d just raided half an hour ago in question, dubiously glancing back at Teb’s projection. “Use it to keep yourself fed and out of trouble. Don’t worry about anyone coming by to turn you out. Stay in the room and order whatever it is you need. Don’t leave the room. Don’t talk to anyone. The less anyone on this station knows about you, the better. No one will ever find me. I might as well be a ghost. Maybe we’ll meet in another life. Until then - Teb, out.”

For days, weeks, months after discovering the messages, Rigby would obsess over every little detail they could glean from the recordings of ‘Teb.’ And over time they’d decided one thing.

That absolutely none of it made sense and all Teb had made clear was he liked being a vague, cryptic motherfucker. Who in the hells just happened to have some kind of recording poorly hidden under a pile of dirty clothes? Who was kind enough to just let a squatter take up residence in their apartment? They didn’t get it. 

And they certainly weren’t going to wait around to find out if what Teb was saying was true or not. If that was his real name. Regardless of how little they knew about their life, Rigby wasn’t the type to just languish around feeling sorry for themself. Most of the time. And even if they had no recollection of anything actually helpful, Rigby knew they hadn’t been born yesterday. 

Some strange benefactor had the foresight to pay the apartment forward, leave behind holo-messages, and explained exactly nothing about the situation Rigby found themself in? And expected them to stay cooped up with no one but themself and the holonet (which only turned on after they’d tried watching all of the recordings) for company? 

Yeah right. Needless to say, a week into trying to figure things out, Rigby decided they’d had enough. Maybe they’d get yelled at for leaving their room. Maybe they would actually find some of their things outside this room. And maybe, by some fucking miracle, they would remember things again, other than a name and a few faces and a lake. Regardless. Thanks mostly entirely to their stir craziness, they finally ventured outside of their room.

Only to nearly trip over a droid.

The droid that had apparently been waiting outside the door, for gods knew how long. She was a strange looking piece of machinery, but a droid nonetheless. Watching her gather her balance under long, multi-jointed, angular legs after nearly stepping on her was an interesting spectacle. The huge, semi-conical ocular apparatus at the top of its body was almost shaped like a beak, and the exposed wires and antennae on the back of her head lifted and fanned out in a way that seemed more at home on a bird. 

The moment Rigby had tripped over the droid, or corrected their fall and then fallen flat on their ass to avoid landing on the droid, they heard laughter. And coughing. With a groan, Rigby had pushed themself up until they were partially upright, and looked for the source of the sound. What they noticed first was how drab the very long hallway they found themself in was. The vague smell of cig smoke, mildew and cooking oil permeated the filtered, recycled air here. Rigby got the impression it was just always like that. And there were doors - lots of them - with faded numbers printed on the wall panels just to the sides.

“Geeze, kid.” 

The rough, smoky voice drew Rigby’s attention to the source of the laughter. From a few doors down, a middle-aged Twi'lek woman meandered slowly their way. She was the only colorful thing in this hallway, down to her clothes. Bright orange skin with her lekku wrapped twice around her neck with one dangling between her shoulder blades. Crouching down next to Rigby, she spoke over the droid screeching in indignant binary. 

“You look like you just crawled out of a pile of bantha shit. You just move in?” Rigby flinched when the droid used the massive ocular apparatus to actually peck at their leg. The Twi’lek took a drag off the cig she’d been nursing and aimed the smoke away from Rigby’s head. “And is that angry thing yours?”

“Yes.” Wait. Really?! Rigby didn’t recall buying a droid. Even as the droid in question shrieked out another few curses in binary, intensely enough to make her speakers pop with feedback, Rigby felt like they knew this droid. Maybe not own, but they certainly knew her. “She’s NG-1T - Nugget.” The droid’s head snapped round to stare at them, wires quivering. “Stop scaring the neighbors.”

Of course, the droid did the exact opposite of this. Shaking her strangely shaped head, she shrilled in furious binary. Loudly. She caused such a fuss that Rigby was forced to follow the incredibly amused Twi’lek when she advised that they both ‘avoid a noise complaint’ and left the hallway. Eventually resorting to carrying the droid after Nugget began pecking at their ankles.

“You’re lucky, you know.” Their guide said as she led them down the hallway. Rigby struggled with the kicking and flailing droid in their arms as they tried to listen to the strange woman. “Anybody else finds you like that in a place like Mahak, and you’re liable to get any credits to your name taken.”

“Oh.” Rigby blinked as the woman turned to glance at them, one brow quirked over amused hazel eyes. “Thank you.” The woman laughed again.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not from here, huh kid?”

“I don’t - think so.”

“Ah, you’re one of those.” 

She held up a finger when Rigby sucked in a breath, a hundred questions immediately bubbling up and just as quickly trapped behind their teeth. They watched as the woman drew in the last of her cigarette, their guts tying themselves in knots as they waited. Exhaling the last plumes of smoke, she shook her head at Rigby with a sympathetic look. 

“Before you ask, no, I don’t know your exact circumstances. But you’re not the first and I’m sure you certainly won’t be the last to be dropped off here after being wiped by a bender.”

“Y-you think I was drugged?!”

“Either that or some space wizard got to you.” Wiggling her fingers towards Rigby’s face, the woman cackled softly as she gestured for them to move along. “Either way - you’re gonna need credits if you’re gonna keep staying here. Yeah?”

“R-right. That’s why I left. There wasn’t much I could find out about this place.”

“Ahh, well then. Welcome to Mahak Station.” The Twi’lek rolled her eyes, pausing next to a disposal unit and flicking the stub of her cig into it. With the same motion she gestured, almost grandly, towards the doors they’d come to a stop at. “The best-worst shithole in the Outer Rim before you hit no-man’s-space.”

It took Rigby a moment to blink through the light that flooded the hallway until they could see through the doorway. And to process the sheer amount of sound that bombarded them. A nice courtesy for those living in the hallway behind them, that the doors blocked out the hundreds of thousands of neon bright lights and the sounds of a huge, bustling city. Wait…

A city.

When Rigby was able to, many, many minutes and levels later, that’s what they realized they were in. A city. Multiple levels housed anything from apartments to power processing plants, from dingy hole-in-the-wall bars to shopping centers and fresh food markets. Eventually they dropped Nugget when their arms began to get tired in favor of leaning against one of the railways along the edge of the level their ‘neighbor’ had let them out to.

Then quickly darted away from the railway on discovering just how high up their current level was. And how far down the station apparently went.

“Not a fan of heights?” The Twi’lek didn’t even bother hiding her amusement at Rigby’s expense. When Rigby shook their head emphatically, she laughed again, jerking her head in the direction of a clustering of people around a far wall. “You’ll love this part then. C’mon - I’ll give you a quick tour.”

Their neighbor, as it turned out, was a wealth of information. More than fucking Teb had been. And more vital in Rigby figuring out just how they were going to navigate their life now that they had such little recollection of what it had been before. It was a good thing that she was a living, breathing databank, too. Because once she let Rigby - and a still miffed Nugget - onto the lift, it was all Rigby could focus on in order to keep themself from throwing up.

“Mahak Station is the last stop in civilized space,” the Twi’lek explained. “You’re gonna find rough folks out here. People trying to make enough credits to get back into the center rims - back to places where they can actually make something of themselves. Or you’ll find ones who don’t give a shit about any of that anymore.” She gestured at herself. “I didn’t come to Mahak by choice, but when I found myself stranded I decided to make the best of a shitty situation.”

“That’s resourceful.”

“In a galaxy this ruthless, you have to be.” She’d given Rigby a scathing once-over, eventually sighing with clear exasperation. “Keep your wits about you, kid, or this place will chew you up and spit you out faster than a nexu will claw your eyes out.”

“I’m not a kid.” Rigby blinked owlishly at their own outburst, but let the words flow regardless. Because they intrinsically understood they were the right words. “I’m thirty.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” their lift-companion said with an amused chuckle. “Must be that mind-wiped, glazed-eye look that makes you look younger than you are.” Brushing off that exchange, the woman continued, “You won’t want to try and make friends here with just anybody. Most folks will want something in return for kindness, and it’s usually not worth the price.” When she tugged down the deep pink sleeve on one arm, Rigby barely glanced over in time to see the twisted flesh of a scar on the woman’s shoulder. They decided it wasn’t worth pressing her. “Keep an eye on the people with orange patches on their back - and the ones with purple gloves on their right hands. Don’t mix with them. Ever. Or the guards.”

“As in, law-enforcement ‘guards?’”

“Yeah. They’re just as much of a gang as the other two. If not worse.” The doors hissed open, and Rigby followed their guide out on shaky legs. “Don’t buy spice from anybody who’s selling it on the street.”

“I don’t -- “

“-- use spice, I know kid, nobody does.” Rolling her eyes, she jerked her head again, indicating for Rigby to hurry up as she picked up the pace. “Nobody this far gone in the Outer Rim is free of vices. I’d say to keep your nose clean but I’d be a hypocrite - just find someone you trust not to shove the business end of a blaster down your throat if you’re going to buy.

“And seriously, don’t accept kindness from strangers. There’s always a price to pay.” She slowed to a stop in front of a building that jutted out slightly from the streamlined shops and buildings lining the level. Arms folded, hip cocked to one side, as she glanced around quickly before asking, “So, you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good. Because I’ve got a shift and not enough bodies to keep this place running.”

Gesturing to the building behind her, she drew Rigby’s attention to the flickering sign. ‘Last Greasy Spoon’ glowed in an almost offensively bright blue, casting an eerie, contrasting glow across the woman’s skin. The lights were off save for one of the rooms in the back, and Rigby squinted to try and glean the general shape of the structures inside the building. It took some focus and filling in the blanks on their part, but they eventually saw booths, a bar, and a register. Rigby almost drew back when their guide crowded in their space, not realizing they’d almost pressed their nose to the transparisteel windows. 

“You have two choices,” their neighbor announced. “You either find your way back to our apartment wing, or you stick around for the next eight hours, and get a free meal by the end of it.”

To Rigby’s recollection, the steaming plate dropped in front of them after the next twelve hours was the best worst food they’d ever tasted. It took them a while to shovel it into their mouth, exhaustion making everything difficult. All parts of their body were tired. But their mind was still abuzz, trying 

Once the lights had gone on, folks from all over the station had begun a steady and continuous flow of business. And Rigby was tasked with helping out from open to close. Their Twi’lek neighbor had loaded them up with anything and everything she could. From taking orders to serving tables, cleaning up spills to deep cleaning the ‘fresher that had obviously needed some attention for a long, long time. But they were glad for it all just the same. Something they made abundantly clear to their neighbor as she led them back to their door.

“Don’t thank me, kid.” Flicking their lighter back on, she lifted one brow at them. “It was just a fair exchange. Information for labor.”

“What about the food, then?”

“I expect you to work that off. And for the next one, too. Or however many times you feel like it.” She paused as she lifted the lighter to the cig between her lips, taking a long, steady drag. Exhaling as she leaned against the wall next to Rigby’s door, she let her head fall back, one lekku slowly sliding off her shoulders and nearly touching the floor. When she addressed Rigby again, her words came a little slower, a lot calmer. “So. Your choice - keep working for free food, or we do this the ‘official’ way and I pay you.” She paused. “Food’s gonna be half-price after that.”

“Mighty kind of you to offer.”

“I’d be a fool to not try to snatch you up before someone else does.” Taking another deep draw on her cig, Rigby’s neighbor squinted at them. “You don’t complain - you do things quick, and if you don’t do them right the first time you don’t try pawning it off on someone else. And you’re good with customers. Probably better than they deserve. I’ll be by tomorrow, same time as today. After that I won’t show you the way to the lifts, so I expect you to get to the diner on time, without a chaperone.” Her eyes darted down to Rigby’s shins. Rigby followed her line of sight to the droid partially hidden behind their legs. “And keep the droid out of my diner - nearly tripped over her a dozen times.”

For a few seconds, they considered the Twi’lek woman staring back at them. The fresh memory of the scar on the woman’s shoulder resurfaced, and Rigby suddenly saw the more subtle signs of age on their neighbor’s features. And her own apparent youth. She couldn’t have been more than five, maybe seven years Rigby’s senior - but she had been hardened, scuffed up and maybe a little broken by the life she’d lived. She was just as much of a mystery as this station was to them. But she hadn’t tried killing Rigby, hadn’t tried robbing them. Well, of anything but their time, which they had way too much of anyway. And she’d fed them.

“Rigby.”

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Rigby.” Holding their hand out, they waited until their new boss hesitantly did the same, and Rigby shook it once. “And if you’re going to make me work more than my actual shift, I expect a free meal.”

“A free drink.”

“Desert?”

“Fine.” Rolling her eyes, Rigby’s new boss smirked at them. “You’re gonna regret this.”

“I doubt it.” As their boss waved them off and made her way further down the hall, Rigby glanced down at their droid companion. For a moment the two just stared at each other, before Rigby’s head snapped back up and they called out, “Wait, who are you?!”

“Folks call me Kaati.” In a plume of smoke, she disappeared into her apartment. “Welcome to Mahak, Rigby.”

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