The Art of Broken Pieces

22 Porgs

Rey tried to keep her focus on the Portmaster, not the porg lounging in the crook of the man's arm, as she brought their account current and informed him both the Betrayal and the Mynok (as they were calling the Falcon) would be staying an extra day or so. The Portmaster was smartly-dressed and stately, with white hair and dark eyebrows that almost matched the porg tucked in his arm. He seemed studiously unconcerned at Rey's lack of footwear.

"Why does everyone seem to have adopted one of those things," she gestured at the porg.

"Oh, they're everywhere," the man said. "Came in on one ship or another and just started imprinting on the locals, following us around. Lucky they're cute, and they actually appear to eat carbon buildup and calcium deposits, so I don't mind them around. This little fellow has been cleaning my pre-Clone Wars era pod-racer."

Eyebrows lifting, Rey stared at the little porg, who stared back, its black eyes unfathomable. It could have the wisdom of ages from Ach-To stuck behind those eyes. Or it could be dumb as a brick. She thanked the Portmaster and headed back toward the Falcon.

Just seeing the ship made her feel steadier. The concerned trills of porgs and echoing strings of droidish beeping trickled down the hatch, and Rey climbed gratefully aboard. Most of the porgs were clustered in one corner, preening nervously. But a single Porg lay on the lounge bunk like a fat, feathery pillow.

"Hello, Lunch," she said, stroking down his tummy with a finger. The porg cracked one eye, trilled a lazy greeting, and shifted unsteadily onto its feet. It looked at her, blinked slowly, and gave a second grunting trill. "You're not pregnant are you? I don't even know if you're male or female or...neither. Both?" Lunch insisted on mystery, and began attempting to preen beneath one wing. He didn't seem to be capable of reaching.

Rey headed for her bunk, gratefully donning trousers, her blaster belt, and boots. She kept Ben's shirt. It was good, sturdy fabric and warm enough for the chill of space. If he wasn't going to use it anymore, she could repurpose it. Scraping her hair into a queue, she reached for the lightsaber on her drawer and clipped it on.

"Now I feel right," she said. Sturdy boots on the floor. A familiar ship around her. Blaster at her hip. Lightsaber balanced on the other. Yes. This was who she was, and it felt good to be back in her own skin. With a quick stretch of her arms, she walked off to find Ben and check in with Finn on the progress of their grab team.

The dress box containing the pale gown had been brought to the Betrayal the evening before the masquerade, and though Ben had no idea what to do with it or if he was ever going to give it to her, he transferred it and stashed it under one of the bunks in the sleeping pod Rey was not using. It didn't make sense to take up residence in the gun well again anyway, so this was as good a place as any to hide the blasted thing. Stuffing the few things he had brought over from the Betrayal on top of it, he stood and went to meet up with Rey in the main lounge.

It was good to see her looking so much like herself again. She looked comfortable, confident, and Ben's chest tightened slightly when he realized she was still wearing his shirt. It made him feel as though the progress they had made was not quite as distant as it seemed.

Sliding onto the couch beside her he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to finish up her communication. The spoon wielding porg reappeared, hopping up onto the other seat and climbing onto the fat porg that lounged there. Little weapon still clutched in its mouth, it settled down into the downy fur of the large porg's stomach and curled up to nap.

As Rey closed the channel he glanced at her, testing her mood. "I was thinking it's time to find out what the bastard knows." He said quietly. "Do you want to be involved? I think I can handle him myself without killing him, if you'd prefer."