[ She's more than accustomed to earning her keep.

All things considered, it's a fair trade: food, shelter, clothing — all the tools for survival she would need in this strange world in exchange for bouts of training that will, in the end, benefit her. In a land without allies, without any familiarity with its environment and its people, it would be too reckless to throw it all away. For now, adapting and adjusting is the only way to continue onward, self-preserving.

Even then, the advantages can't keep her wariness at bay.

Still, despite the skepticism, she raises the moment she's roused, however begrudgingly. Better to get to work than to draw unnecessary attention, though there is something to be said for the freezing air, even without the sting of cold water on her skin. In the cold air, her skin prickles with gooseflesh, teeth gritting from it as she's paired off. ]

Come on. [ Her breath ghosts out of her, frosting in the air, a visible puff of air. Without waiting for an answer, she turns to the rack of weaponry stashed aside, watching — for a brief moment — those partners that have already begun clashing. Immediately, her hands gravitate toward a set of staves. ] It shouldn't be that difficult.

[ Working with her hands comes easily.

The schematics are hardly simple, but they're familiar — comfortable, in a way. Finding which parts fit together, discovering how they work, each purpose and value — it's what she's good at, what she's learned. Just as it had on Jakku, it brings with it an outlet, an easy distraction from her predicament.

Her partner, as it stands, hardly catches her attention — at first. To some extent, it's a frustration to be paired off once again — and it shows as she's pulled out of twisting wires and her narrow-eyed concentration by her partner's crackling liquid concoction, frowning as she snaps, impatient, ] Stop pouring. You're going to get both of us blown up.

[ As far as trades go, it's a ridiculous request.

They're being paid for it, all the same. She can't complain about the reward — three jars of food and decent blankets offered in a bid of desperation — even if the weeping woman who had come to them had wasted her resources on begging them to follow her alleged "cheating bastard of a husban, out at all times of the night, deep in his shady business" to soothe her curiosity.

So far, it's slow-going.

The only crime their target seems to be guilty of is a slimy charm and a tendency to be deep in his cups, inebriated within the hour they've been trailing him to the inn. She frowns, nudging her partner in the side with her elbow when their gaze lingers in that direction for too long. ]

Could you be less obvious about it? [ It's a fevered whisper that hardly qualifies as a whisper at all. ] He's drunk, not blind.

[ Feel free to bring me your scenarios! I'm very much open; PM me if you'd like to plot something out. ]