The Under City

As the ship lifted off from the Under City and made its way towards orbit, Tarfang paced the hangar bay collecting parts, building a makeshift pile in the center of the room as he decided what was useful and what wasn't. Fortunately Mal seemed to have a good supply of tools and equipment, so once the aged addled 'wok had gathered the things he thought he was going to need, he got to work assembling a case.

"Hold this." He said to R3, handing the astromech a plate of metal to hold in its utility arm. The retired pirate then slid a welding shield over his furry face before turning the crank on a tank of energized gas connected to a plasma torch. He sparked the torch and began to weld, sparks and bright flashes visible as the stench of burnt ozone assailed his nostrils. Nimble fingers worked diligently as he stripped four different thermal detonators of their baradium cores, carefully moving the volatile substance to its new housing. It wasn't pretty, but after about two hours of work, he had a serviceable shell for the seismic charge.

Stepping back, he raised the face shield and nodded as he observed his work.

"Not bad if I say so myself." He said, cleaning his soiled paws with a dirty rag he had found. "Actually, it still needs something."

Finding a sharpy, Tarfang began to write on the seismic charge case, spelling out in unequivocal terms and in perfect italicized galactic basic, 'From: The crew of the Lack of Faith', 'PS: Here's to returning the favor'. "That's better." He exclaimed, noticing Mal was working on his own armour, appearing to winterize it to some degree. Tarfang scratched his chin.

Not a bad idea, actually.

As they traveled from one planet to another, the ewok made himself at home in the ship, stripping the occasional sofa cushion of its insulation to stuff the lining of his coat.