OOC: This is just something that popped into my head while I was in the bath an hour or so ago. It may be a one-off, or not. In any case, it'll likely start off slow, so please be patient and don't run off with it when I'm not looking.
Trahern started humming as he finished putting the blaster back together again, and set to cleaning it. This was the boring bit, so he had to occupy his mind with other things. This time there wasn't any particular tune taking shape, so he thought back over his recent adulthood.
Twenty-five years was definitely the limit for childhood, at least for humans. There was probably a minimum as well, but he'd never had to worry about it. Twenty-five years to grow up, twenty-five years to be grown up; twenty-five years to grow old, twenty-five years to be old. Trahern had been an adult for a year now, and so far he had enjoyed it more than childhood because he was doing stuff that affected other people as much as himself.
He'd taken a practical view to his apprenticeship. What was the first thing people would need? Clothes. So he started making clothes. When he'd had enough of that, he tried armour. Armour was interesting, but while it seemed like a kind of upgrade, there was less of a necessity for it. He moved on after learning the basics; he could always go back if he had a reason to. Now he was training under the local weapons-master. He wasn't sure how he felt about it yet. There was something of an ethical dilemma involved; he saw people who wanted to buy blasters as either 'shoot-first' or 'shoot-back' types, but the weapons-master treated both groups exactly the same.
Apparently he wasn't far enough in his apprenticeship to be told why. It could be just for profit's sake, but the weapons-master didn't seem to be motivated by large amounts of credit.
Trahern sighed and looked the blaster over. He could still make a decent belt or cloak, perhaps the odd helmet. Everyone had a blaster for as long as he could remember, so he'd learn how they worked and everything before moving onto bigger machines, like astro-droids.
"All done? Tested it yet?"
Trahern glanced at the weapons-master as he slipped the blaster's power cell into its housing, then poked the muzzle into the test-fire chamber and squeezed a shot. A moment later, the display confirmed the successful repair. The weapons-master chuckled. "On the shelf then. The owner will be back for it in the morning."
"Am I finished for the day?" Trahern asked.
"Can't wait to get to the spaceport, eh? What was the plan again? Blasters, droids, shuttles, snub-fighters..."
"I'll have my own YT-1300 someday." Trahern finished for the nearly-old man. "Something to give the Millenium Falcon a run for it's money."
"What will you do with a ship of your own, anyway?"
"Ply my trade across the galaxy." A pause. "Whatever trade that will be."
The weapons-master barked a laugh. "Why can't you stick to what you're good at?"
"So far, I seem to be good at everything. I'm waiting for something I'm great at. Something I'll feel passionate about."
"If it's passion you're after, I know this-"
"No thank you."
Another laugh. "You'll find it eventually, I'm sure. Someone, as well. It's the way life goes."
"Allow me the opportunity to find out for myself." Trahern intoned with smile and a mock bow, before taking his leave.