Creation | seol
There’s a certain sense of freedom in putting something together that is entirely of your own design. Knowing that no one else is going to understand it as well as you do, nor will anyone ever be able to use it as well as you do. Jackson revels in this freedom, which he finds every time he puts something together. This time around, he is putting the finishing touches on a personalised blaster he made, which will only work for the person whose palm print is registered in the device. Currently it’s his own, but he has inserted a way to change the owner on the blaster, so that he might give the gun to someone who’s actually good at using one. Because even though he could probably hit a starship from two feet away - performing a wondrous headshot is definitely not anywhere in his future.
It’s a side mention that these so-called ‘finishing touches’ have already been going on for several hours now, and they’re well past lunch time in anyone’s book, but Jackson’s just too damn excited about finally finishing his blaster to realise his stomach is crying out for something to fill it with. It’s starting to get hard to focus, too, so he would love to finish his weapon quickly, before his concentration is busted entirely. The idea that maybe his lack of concentration stands in direct relation to his lack of nutrition is one entirely foreign to him, so he doesn’t even attempt to find even a small bite to eat before continuing.
He can already see the end result of what he’s making. He’s taken a regular blaster and increased its power significantly. There is even a tracking device inside of the weapon so that the owner will be able to find it again even if it has been lost in battle. And the palm print recognition makes it so that the entire weapon refuses to function when not in the right hands. It’s a masterpiece, one of his proudest works to date, and he truly wishes Antario was still around so he could show it to her. The delight on her face at being given such a gun... Well, Jackson would do pretty much anything in the entire world to be able to see that.
Another loud rumble from his stomach attempts to tell him that it is high time for food, but he doesn’t even hear it, already having become immune to the feeling of hunger in his stomach from all the times he had to make do without a proper amount of food - be that because they were low on it or because the rest of the crew took it from him. That perhaps the noise might startle other people walking by, is another one of those thoughts he just doesn’t have.
