revivalproject | (open) weapon-crafting 101

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(open) weapon-crafting 101

WHO: Boba Fett and you!
WHERE: Around Temba
WHAT: Boba decides the first thing he needs on a new planet is a weapon. Naturally.
WHEN: Early May, but after Sports Day
WARNINGS: Brief mention of child slavery

i. required materials

To say it had been a difficult first day on Agra-10 for Boba would be a massive, massive understatement. He’d spent most of it bouncing between confusion and panic, chased by his fears of what might be waiting for him if he should return to Tatooine too late and, at one point, literally chased by an angry cyborg clone through the empty Temba streets. Somehow, a day that had started with him being hunted for sport and almost enslaved on Tatooine had gotten worse. At least when he was being chased in Mos Eisley, he had an idea of why.

Now, on his second day, he’s decided that things are going to be different. He’s done panicking; now he’s going to come up with a plan. First things first: he needs a weapon.

He spends most of the first part of the day combing through the city, searching for the materials he needs. He thinks a spear would be a good start; he knows how to use one for both self-defense and fishing, the latter of which he needs to pay Tommy back for the meal on his first day. He makes for an odd sight as he searches for the necessary components; a short-statured figure in a blue cadet’s uniform, face hidden under a silver-and-blue Mandalorian battle helmet, picking through junk and debris. Unlike his first day, he won’t run or hide if he sees another person approaching—though he will stop and watch them, the black visor of his helmet turning to track them as he weighs whether or not they might be a threat.

ii. steps 1-6

By the time Boba finds everything he needs for a spear, it’s already past noon. He kneels in the shadow of an abandoned storefront, taking in his finds. A broken mop handle, a clump of electrical wiring, and a few sharp fragments of scrap metal—it’s not much, but it should be enough for what he needs. He spends the next while putting it all together: using one of the pieces of scrap metal to score a notch into one end of the wooden mop handle, inserting another piece of scrap to be the spearhead, and tying it all together with frayed bits of electrical wire. The result is an ugly, haphazard thing that will probably fall apart the second he tries to puncture anything firmer than flesh—but it’s better than nothing.

Grimy and exhausted, Boba examines his new weapon with grim acceptance. He knows it’s nothing amazing. He also knows that with the sun going down, he probably won’t be catching any fish today. Maybe he can go back to Tommy’s diner? It feels wrong, taking another meal when he can’t even repay the man for what he’d eaten yesterday, but… he’s hungry. And at the very least, he can think about catching something tomorrow.

He stands and, after a quick glance at his communicator to figure out where he is, begins to walk in that direction, still holding his improvised spear in one hand.

{OOC: Feel free to encounter Boba either at the diner or on his way there!}

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Link's not hiding either - but the boy might spot Link as he climbs and leaps from building to building using his newly re-acquired paraglider. It's here, from his vantage point up-high, that he spots the boy.

He looks for a moment. Notes that the boy is doing something very, very familiar to Link: scavenge and collect anything and everything that looks remotely useful. Or pretty. Or both.

Leaping off the building, he glides down to the ground just near Boba. At which point it will become clear that Link is also armed; on his back is a long Sword, and a complicated-looking compound bow. He does not, however, have any armour.

"...Hi," he says. "You looking for something?" Maybe Link can help?

As a matter of fact, Boba's attention is focused so intently on searching his immediate surroundings for components that he doesn't notice Link leaping around above him until he's already descending towards him. It's then that Boba sees the movement of his shadow on the ground and looks up with a start. He does so just in time to see a figure drop from the sky a few feet away, assisted by some sort of glider on his back. Boba leaps back on instinct, brandishing the one component he has found so far—a broken mop handle—as if in preparation for a fight.

Yet, when the young man speaks, his words are far from hostile. Boba stares for a moment— then, slowly, lowers his weapon.

"Uh," he says. "Yes? I'm looking for the parts to build something..." His eyes flicker enviously to the shape on the young man's back. "How'd you get that sword?" he asks. Certainly something like that would be better than a spear made of junk.

Huh. Just from that one reaction, Link can see that the kid must know how to fight - that movement was too fluid, too practiced, to mean anything else. It's just not something he's used to see in kids.

Unfortunately, at Boba's question Link has to shake his head. "Came here with me," he says. And even if Link was willing to give it away, he couldn't - not this sword.

Lucky, Boba thinks. Somehow, Boba had actually lost things when he came here; namely, the jetpack that had been strapped to his back during his mission on Tatooine.

Seeing that fine sword, Boba almost feels embarrassed to admit his own purpose in scavenging. "I need to find something sharp," he mutters. "And something to use as cordage."

Technically, he's found plenty sharp bits of rusted metal scattered around the city. It's finding something small enough and of the right shape to use as a spearhead that's been tricky.

Oh, Link had lost things too. Many, many things. The Sword was the only thing that did come with him, apart from the clothes on his back.

But for now, he looks at Boba's broom handle and hums softly. "You need a blade?" he says, thinking. "Blunt weapons are easier."

After all, it didn't need a point to be effective. You could do a lot with a club, or even just a staff.

"I need something I can fish with, too," Boba says. "A spear would be best."

He actually has experience fishing with a spear. Maybe clubbing fish over the head would work, too, but Boba hasn't actually tried that before. Generally speaking, you didn't actually want to get into the water on Kamino unless you wanted to go from hunter to prey.

He glances over the man's shoulder again, this time at the glider on his back. "Did that come over with you, too?"

Link makes a soft, slightly surprise noise of acknowledgement. He's...actually never thought of using a spear to fish before, although now that it's been suggested to him it's immediately obvious. He always just used bombs. Or Urbosa's Fury.

As for the glider, he shakes his head. "There were competitions. It's mine. But it was a prize."

He's not entirely sure how it came to be a prize. If the Agrii had it all this time, why didn't they just give it to him at the beginning?

Competitions where you can win back your stuff from home? Now that's intriguing.

"Huh. Maybe I can get my jetpack back that way." And his father's book. Not that Boba is going to mention that now. He'll just make a mental note to keep an ear out for such events in the future.

For now, though: getting a weapon. He turns back to his search, frowning as he scans their surroundings. He'd been heading towards a dilapidated building when the stranger had interrupted him, one that looks like it might've been a workshop before part of the roof caved in. Boba continues towards it now.

"I've found lots of scrap metal lying around," he says, glancing uncertainly back at the stranger. "But none of it's the right size or shape. And I don't have the tools to change either of those things..."

It'd probably be too much to hope for that the stranger has a fusion-cutter among his belongings...

Link thinks about the problem for a moment. It's a pity they couldn't just...smush something sharp onto the end of the handle, and just have it stick. That would be useful.

But this kind of tool use isn't something Link is familiar with. He certainly doesn't have a fusion cutter, whatever that is. But, maybe there's another option.

"Could sharpen your staff," he says. "Make it pointy."

"I could," Boba muses, "if I really can't find anything."

He's not quite ready to give up on his original plan yet. Still, as he glances over again at the stranger, another idea occurs to him.

"Can I use your sword for a second? I just need to notch the top of this." He raises the wooden pole by his side. "It'll make it easier to set a spearhead in."

Link has to shake his head. "Other people can't wield it," he says. Zelda's probably the only person apart from him who could even touch.

Still, that doesn't mean he can't help.

"I could do it?"

Edited 2023-05-13 02:55 (UTC)

"Oh." His helmet tilts to the side, slightly puzzled. He's heard of biocoded blasters before—weapons attuned to someone's unique physiological signature so that only they can fire it. Still, he's never heard of a sword with such limitations. How would that even work?

He considers for a moment—then steps closer to Link to show him where to cut. "Right here," he says, drawing a line with a finger on one end of the wooden handle. "Maybe just this deep." Again, he uses his fingers to demonstrate, holding them about one-and-a-half inches apart.

And then, because he can't help his curiosity: "What happens if someone else wields your sword?"

By the holy power of a goddess, that's how it works. And it's not really coded to his biometrics, so much as his soul.

He draws the Sword. It's a beautiful blade, and anyone with any appreciation for weaponry will be able to tell that this is something special. And this, the Sword that Seals the Darkness, the Sacred Blade, the legendary Master Sword...Link uses to casually cut a notch into the pole.

The question, however, has his pausing a moment. He's not entirely sure exactly what would happen to someone else, if they tried to wield the Sword. He just knows, a deep instinct embedded down into his bones, that it wouldn't be good.

"They...can't?" He pauses again. Remembers how the Sword tested him, judged whether he had the strength to wield it. Remembered the Deku Tree's warnings. "Maybe painful. Maybe deadly."

Boba watches curiously as the stranger draws the sword. Boba himself has been trained to wield all sorts of weapons, but he's never seen one so exquisitely crafted before. Weapons, he was taught, are purely practical tools. If one is fine enough to attract attention, then there's something wrong with it. Even so, he can't help but step forward for a closer look as the stranger angles the blade to carve a notch into the tip of the pole, admiring the shine of the blade—

—and then quickly steps back at the words 'painful' and 'deadly.' Pretty or not, Boba's definitely not touching that thing.

"Thanks," he says, taking the pole back from the young man. He examines the notch made on the end and gives a hum of satisfaction. Then, he keeps heading for the collapsed storefront. He still needs to find a spearhead, after all.

"I bet you could use that sword as a trap," he says, voice tinged with envy. "You could just leave it somewhere you a know a target would be and wait for them to pick it up." And then they'd explode or whatever happens to non-authorized would-be sword-wielders. He shoots a glance back at Link. "You're lucky something like that came through with you."

It's not that Link is adverse to setting traps. He's certainly done it before, after all. But it's not a suggestion he expects from a child. And it's certainly not something he would ever consider with this sword.

For a moment, there's just a heavy silence as Link looks at Boba.

"...No," he says quietly. "Not with the Sword that Seals the Darkness."

Not ever.

Even before the stranger speaks, Boba can tell he's said something wrong. Maybe it's the stony silence his idea is met with, or perhaps the piercing stare with which he's fixed. Boba tenses, not sure what he'd said to get such a reaction.

...Maybe it has something to do with the fact that this blade is, apparently, 'the Sword that Seals the Darkness.' It's an imposing name, one that has Boba re-evaluating if it really is just an ostentatious, bio-coded blade. It sounds almost... magical?

"...Okay," Boba says after a long moment. "Um. Don't do that, then." A pause. "Do you still want to help look for parts?"

It was just an idea.

Just an idea, yes. But one that was also...unsettling. And wrong, and levels Boba does not seem to understand.

But even if Link is still deeply unnerved by Boba's suggestion, it's not enough for him to refuse to help. "What else do you need?" he asks, as he sheaths the Sword.

Honestly, Boba is glad when the stranger puts away the sword. He’d said earlier he was lucky to have it, but after their brief conversation, Boba can’t help but feel that it’s a bad omen.

“I still need to find something to use as a spearhead,” he says. “And something like rope, to tie it.”

He ducks into the threshold of the partially collapsed storefront. There’s some faded signage for hardware at the entrance, which Boba finds promising. “It has to be sharp, but not too brittle. My dad told me that even a sharp stone can work, but a most of the time you need to carve it first…”

A pause. Boba realizes he’s forgotten something. He glances back at the stranger.

“My name’s Boba, by the way.”

Link nods, and follows Boba into the storefront. "Link," he says, before he starts to search.

There's pieces of broken glass. Sharp, certainly. But not durable. He rummages through some of the rubble inside. There's some broken off pieces of wood, once part of some shelving. Not quite right, but Link collects them anyway, just in case.

He does, however, managed to find a curled up piece of thick cord. This, at least, should be useful.

He wonders back to Boba, and shows it to him.

A child pretending to be a knight. That's what Wesker sees as he walks the steadily darkening paths of Temba. He is carrying his own weapons, of course, but a lot less visible than the boys handcrafted spear.

While he isn't too interested in the boy or where he might be going, Wesker finds himself yet again wondering what exactly the reasonings of their captors might be for trapping children in this place. Children that will be little more than additional baggage when things inevitably turn serious.

"Don't hurt yourself with that, little Lancelot." Wesker hears himself saying dispassionately as he passes the boy, towering well above him.

It's a testament to how much more confident Boba feels with a weapon in hand that he comes within earshot of the man in the first place. He's been wary of his fellow captives since he got here, often preferring to keep his distance. Perhaps that's why he tenses when the man speaks, already expecting trouble—and, although Boba isn't familiar with the term Lancelot, he can tell by the stranger's tone that it's meant to be condescending.

"I know what I'm doing," Boba growls at the man's back. He's used to people mistaking his age for ignorance, but it's never not annoying.

Wesker actually stopped at that, if only to let out a dry chuckle. "Ah, yes. The infantine misperception of reality and one's own capabilities universally shared among children. Children who are invincible and full of bravado until one day suddenly they are not." A simple truth even Chris had to accept at some point.

Turning his head back just about enough to cast a glimpse back at the boy, Wesker gives him a dismissivle wave. "Go slay your dragon."

What's this guy's problem? Boba stops too, glaring behind him under the visor of his helmet. Maybe he doesn't understand every single word the man says, but he understands he's being mocked—and he's not about to let that go unanswered.

"I'm not invincible," Boba retorts. "But I've still killed worse than you with less than this."

Maybe he's only killed one person and maybe 'killed' could be more accurately rendered as 'tricked someone else into killing him for me,' but there's little doubt in Boba's mind that anyone could be viler than Libkath, even this arrogant stranger.

Quietly, he hopes that this isn't going to become a physical altercation—though if that's the only alternative to letting the man talk down to him like that, then so be it.

"I find that highly doubtful." Wesker replies plainly, unimpressed by the boys' claim but not surprised. Children like to exaggerate. An attempt to make themselves more impressive that usually has little effect unless the adult in question is receptive and willing to play along. Wesker however has never been a man willing to humor anyone, child or adult.

He gives a short shake of his head. "I'm not in the business for hurting children, so you can refrain from attempting to bait me, little knight." A pause, then: "What's your name?"

The man thinks Boba is trying to bait him? "You started it!"

He's the one who started the name-calling out of nowhere. All Boba is doing is making sure it doesn't go unanswered. The request for his real name just gets an indignant huff.

"Do you really think this is how you meet people?" Boba asks, throwing that condescending tone right back at him. "Insulting them in the streets?"

Boba's reaction earns him a small, secretive smirk. "No. It's how I learn whether or not they are worth my time, little knight." And the majority of people simply aren't worth his time in his opinion. Unfortunately this entire place seemed littered with them. People that he has no use for, yet can't simply get rid of. A frustrating circumstance but one he can't change.

He makes the conclusion of his little experiment clear by simply trning away again fully and proceeding on his way.

After having a bounty hunter seeking her out, being a little wary after being told that someone here is looking for her seems entirely reasonable, especially considering whom it was to inform her.

Needless to say, Omega is curious, but she hasn't yet gotten around to reaching out to set up a meeting. She's been thinking about it though.

She's doing so right now at the diner, over a bowl of soup, dunking a piece of bread into it. The girl hasn't bothered to unsling her energy bow from her back, but she's used to having it there in its folded position.

Settled on the table beside her is a mothcat, a green-furred feline with strange, feathery antennae and fanned out wings with a speckled design. This one's small and a bit on the pudgy side, and currently looks to be napping.

It's dark by the time Boba reaches the diner. By now, most of the guilt Boba had felt earlier about taking another unearned meal has been swallowed up by hunger and fatigue. Right now, all he wants to do is sit down and eat something; not being able to pay for it just yet is a problem for future-him.

There's only one other person inside right now, though Boba is initially too focused on getting something to eat to pay them much mind. It's only after he orders his own soup and bread that his gaze wanders to the only other person inside the diner—

—and their pet. Honestly, it's what grabs Boba's attention first: the fuzzy, winged creature sleeping on the table to the stranger's side, intriguing in its alienness. It's only after a few moments of observation that his attention turns to the stranger herself—and that he feels jolt upon realizing that he's seen that blonde hair once before, in the directory shortly after his arrival.

He's not hunting her. If he were, he'd be much more subtle in his approach. As it stands now, he walks up, only slightly tense, and speaks as plainly as anything:

"Hi. Are you Omega?"

The girl absently strokes the lazy mothcat's fur as she chews on her soaked bread. She glances over when she hears the other person's approach; she'd been aware someone else had come but that's not all unusual considering it's the diner.

Omega blinks at the person, the helmet putting her on guard instantly. But the voice...she squints at the t-visor.

"Who's asking..?" she says cautiously, more out of uncertainty for what this other kid could want from her than that he had any designs to attack. Except that he does have a weapon. Her eyes flick to it briefly. All she has in hand is a piece of bread, and Tumble isn't the best of her mothcat squad.

Wow. It's weird seeing her face in-person. Boba has never had much face-to-face interaction with other cloned children and it's even weirder because Omega's face isn't an exact match. She looks like she could be his sister and, as someone who grew up hearing stories about how the rest of his biological—and adoptive—family was massacred, Boba can't help but find it a little uncanny.

Unnerved as he is, it takes a few seconds for Boba to realize that he probably doesn't cut the friendliest figure right now. He's wearing a Mandalorian battle helmet and holding a spear; he'd be wary, too, if someone approached him like this.

"Uh... My name's Boba?" he says after a moment. He wonders if she's heard of him. With his free hand, he lifts his helmet up to expose his face. "I'm a clone—like you, I think."

Not exactly like her, obviously—but if there's another explanation for her looking the way she does, he can't think of it.

Given her lack of reaction, the name doesn't seem to strike her as familiar. It's the latter that does, especially once Boba reveals his face. She's seen it plenty of times back in Tipoca City, not that she's ever engaged with the cadets.

"I'm Omega," the girl finally confirms, some of her wariness easing off in favor of a smile. She sets the bread down so she can turn towards him. "It's nice to meet you, Boba."

Most clones tended to ignore her, so she's happy to actually be acknowledged by one. Perhaps because of their whole situation here?

"Have you been finding things all right, here? As well as anyone can, anyway."

She doesn't seem to recognize him—that's usually a good thing.

"I guess," he says with a shrug. No one has truly tried to harm or kill him since he got here, which makes it technically less hostile than most of the planet's he's been to previously. His main problem with it is that he isn't allowed to leave. "I haven't been here very long."

He's not so interested in talking about the planet, anyway. He's more curious about Omega herself and the circumstances behind her... well... existence.

"Can I ask you something?" he broaches. Somehow, just coming out and asking her why her face is like that strikes even Boba as a little tactless.

"I didn't think so. But most of the people here are nice and helpful, at least."

Omega tries to offer him some reassurance with her smile. She nudges the stool beside her with a foot, an open invitation if the boy wants to sit.

Her expression is open, innocent and curious as Boba asks his question, a question to lead into another question. Clearly she's already accepted him as someone to trust, or at least not someone who might cause her trouble.

"Sure," she nods, looking at him expectantly.

He hesitates for only a moment before taking a seat beside her. Maybe he’d be a little warier around an adult, but other kids usually aren’t so bad. She only looks a few years older than him anyway.

Once he has the go-ahead to proceed, he asks his question: “Why do you look so different?”

It’s blunt, but not malicious. If anything, the fact that she does look different inclines him to be a little friendlier than he’d be with most of his father’s other clones. At least with her, he doesn’t have to think about whom she’ll grow up to serve—or whom she’ll grow up to look like.

Wow. The point-blank question definitely catches her off guard. Omega blinks, looking a little confused, perhaps unsure how to answer.

"I don't know," she admits. "This is how I've always been."

She tilts her head at Boba. "Why do you ask?"

Boba blinks back, equally surprised by her response—or lack thereof.

“Well… you’re a clone, right?” he broaches, feeling a bit bewildered that he has to explain it at all. “And so am I. But we only look kind of alike.” A pause, and then, in case she hasn’t figured it out: “That’s weird.”

Surely she couldn’t have missed that she’s the odd one out amidst all the other clones. Could she?

“I mean… Did they make you like this on purpose? Or was it an accident?”

"Yes...?" The line of questioning makes it seem like she shouldn't be. But Boba's not denying that she is like him, in that sense anyway. "Is it though? ...well no, I guess you have a point. I wasn't created to be a soldier like the rest of you were." Omega's still assuming he's a cadet, after all.

"I don't know though. If I have a purpose, that is. I've mostly been Nala Se's assistant once I was old enough."

Honestly, Boba is so baffled by her answer that he hardly notices that she's mistaking him for a cadet. She wasn't created to be a soldier? How could that be? The entire reason the Kaminoans had needed his father's DNA in the first place was so they could create an army. Why would they make a clone who not only looked different, but also didn't even share the same purpose as the rest of them?

"I don't get it," Boba mumbles, brow furrowed. "Why would they use my father's DNA just to make Nala Se an assistant?" There must be another reason. Unless... "You are a clone of Jango Fett, aren't you?"

It seems unlikely that she isn't, but then, none of what she's said sounds very likely in the first place.

The turn of this conversation's certainly not something Omega's expected, and the fact that she isn't able to provide Boba the answers he's apparently looking for make her feel like she's disappointing him, somehow. It's also frustrating, like he knows something she doesn't.

"Your father's..?" She latches onto that phrase. No clone's ever referred to the originator of their DNA as 'father' so far as she knows. "That's the only DNA sample that the Kaminoans have been making use of for all this time," she admits with a frown.

"I'm a clone like you, but no one's ever told me much about why I'm different. I just know that my brothers are too. But they were genetically altered when they were young, part of an experimental unit. So most of them look a lot different now than Regs - that's what they'd call the regular clones."

It sounds like the Kaminoans were doing all sorts of experiments with the clones that Boba hadn't known about. If Omega's right, then there's a whole unit of clones a little bit like her—made from his father's DNA but different from the others.

'Kaminoan experimentation' seems like the closest to an answer he's going to get. Boba accepts it with a nod, though, to his own surprise, he doesn't feel much satisfaction in finding it out. If anything, it makes him feel a little unnerved to imagine them experimenting with his father's genetics. He tries to play it off with a shrug.

"Okay. I was just wondering." A pause. "I'm different, too, even though I don't look like it. Jango Fett was my father. They didn't alter my DNA at all."

A fact he evidently takes some pride in given the way he says it.

Omega wouldn't correct him on that; so far as she's concerned, she's always been a part of the 'Bad Batch.' The defects, so far as things went from the standard model. She hasn't yet been told otherwise.

The girl blinks at him, brightening a little. Someone else who was different. Just...not in the way that her squad is. "Really? How old are you?" she asks, all at once curious. "I never knew there were any direct clones. So...you're not a cadet, then?"

"I'm eleven now," he says. "And no, I'm not a cadet. I haven't even been on Kamino since, um..." Well. Since he'd tried to go back after his dad died and Taun We had called the Jedi on him. Boba suffices with, "In a while."

Boba thinks it's a little odd that she'd asked about his age. Could she be like him in that regard as well? "What about you? Did they make you grow up faster like the others? Or do you age normally?"

Her eyes widen at that. "My brothers and I left Kamino too, if pretty recently. Things have changed there now that the Empire's taken over the Republic. I didn't think it was a good idea to stay..."

But things are better because she's with them- or at least she was. Still, she doesn't think staying would have made anything better for them. Omega smiles a little.

"I'm about fourteen now. Dustin helped me calculate when my birthday will be, here, so I'll be fifteen in a few months."

"The Empire?" If the Republic has been taken over by anything, it's news to him. Even on Tatooine, he thinks he would've heard of something as momentous as that. "What do you mean?"

Omega blinks. "Oh... You must be from...before? Is the war still going on?"

Time differences are still such a strange concept to her. Even though she knows Echo's from some point ahead of her, it hasn't seemed so far as to be disruptive.

"When the Clone Wars ended, the Republic became known as the Galactic Empire."

"'From before?'" His expression grows more confused as she keeps talking. Then, something seems to click and he grimaces. "Is this more... time stuff?"

He knows this place has some kind of dysfunctional relationship with time. That's how they can be here for so long and then return home with no memory of it nor time having passed—allegedly, anyway. Boba prefers not to think about it too much precisely because it sounds so impossible. It makes him feel like he's being told a lie and worse, he wants to believe it.

But now here's someone else telling him that she's from after the war—and Boba realizes, it makes some amount of sense. After all, how else could she be older than him? He was the first clone of his father ever made.

"So you're from the future?" His tone is uncertain. Maybe her aging has been accelerated like the rest of the clones and she's lying, but why would she do that? "Does that mean the Republic won?"

A nod. "Yeah, more time stuff," Omega confirms, with a faint twist of her own lips. As commonplace as it is here, she doubts she'll ever get used to it. Who possibly can?

"I guess you can say that. I'm not sure when you're from to really know otherwise. "The Republic won, and the Supreme Chancellor became Emperor."

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(open) weapon-crafting 101

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