(no subject)

[quigonejinn]

There were only four fingers on this one. The fifth looked like it had been melted off at some point; even before that, though, the bearings in between the joints were clearly of an inferior quality. Anakin's hand had been dritanium with fully-articulated ball-bearings under a gold-plated neural network. This one was hardwire only, it seemed, and Obi-Wan remembered the process of seeing Anakin learning how to fight when one of his hands no longer had the Force running through it.

"Cheap. Throw it on with other purchases, very cheap."

Anakin flexing his fingers. Switching the lightsaber to it. Making a face because of some unsympathetic harmonics between the power cell of his lightsaber and the battery in the hand.

"Make me offer. Like you did before. Give you price. We bargain, hag-gle."

Obi-Wan looked over at the junkyard owner who'd been trailing him through the shop. Worried, perhaps, that the man in the ratty clothes and obviously altered identity documents would shoplift, and after studying him for a moment, Obi-Wan shook his head. He wouldn't make an offer, and if he had turned his head, he could see the pile of salvage parts that he'd already committed to buying; he was going to have to scrape by for the next few months to afford those as it was, and --

From what Qui-Gon had told him and what he'd heard later, Anakin had grown up in a junk parts shop much like this. Working on droids with hands much like this one.

The shop owner was almost tipping over with anticipation at the idea of skinning the obvious non-native for more than he already had.

"No," Obi-Wan said, and he let out a slow breath before he drew the hood of his robe back over his face. "I'll just pay for what's already done."