Saga - PT The Makeover | Cassian Andor, Bail Organa & more | Short story AU | Fic-gift for divapilot

Title: The Makeover

Timeframe: 6 BBY
Continuity: This could pass off as canon-compliant when I started writing it, but now that Andor came out it’s definitely AU.
Length: Short story
Genre: Humour
Characters: Cassian Andor, Bail Organa, Leia Organa, Grand Moff Tarkin, Orson Krennic, WA-2V, OCs
Summary: How an unexpected combination of circumstances provided Cassian with a clue to the construction of the Death Star

Notes: This is my 2018 holiday fic-gift for @divapilot, who wanted a fic in Saga with:

Spoiler

- a hug
- an emotional droid
- someone saying “That’s totally up to you.”
- no character deaths, injuries, or other pain
- anyone from Rogue One, OR Rey, Poe, and Finn (writer’s choice)
- no Vader

Related stories: This fic is set in the same ‘verse as The Detective Eliskandro Stories. It is a sequel of sorts to the fic-gift I wrote two years ago for Briannakin, which is titled Cinnamon Bun Earmuffs, but you needn’t read it in order to follow what happens here.

Divapilot, I hope you enjoy this, and happy 2019!

 

The Makeover

Part I

“When a mission goes south, be sure that it will go south in every possible way.”

This was a motto that Davits Draven drilled into his men at every opportunity, but as Cassian Andor revisited the past several minutes of his life, he was quite certain that even the seasoned Rebel general wouldn’t have thought such a pile-up of coincidences to be possible.

Despite being one of the youngest recruits of Rebel Intelligence, Cassian had acquitted himself of his duties admirably so far. He had been granted the rank of lieutenant upon reaching the age of twenty a few months earlier, and he took the trust that his superiors placed in him very seriously. But, as he stared in petrified horror at the three people before him, he was beginning to think that his luck had run out – and, with it, the luck of the Rebel Alliance as a whole.

The fact was that this mission had started out on the wrong footing, and Cassian only had himself to blame. He knew full well that things could go awry all too easily when your meeting took place in the middle of a bridge, yet he hadn’t pointed out to his contact on Coruscant that this would mean a single escape route if one of them had the Imps on his tail, and none at all if both of them were followed. And indeed, both had been spotted and followed. This left him with the sole option to jump overboard when stormtroopers appeared at either end of the pedestrian gangway overlooking CoCo Town. It was a painful landing on another passage two levels below, but a landing nevertheless – and the young Rebel ignored the burning ache in his knee to scramble to his feet and disappear into the alleys of Imperial Centre’s commercial district.

His second shortcoming in planning for this mission became apparent immediately. He hadn’t taken the time to memorise a detailed map of the area before leaving Yavin IV, and soon he was lost in the twists and turns of the back streets without the foggiest idea where he was going. At some point he saw bright lights at the end of an alley and, deducing that he was coming up on a central thoroughfare, he breathed a short-lived sigh of relief – short-lived because, upon stepping onto the main road where hundreds of humans and aliens were going about their business, he saw his own face staring at him from every holoscreen in the vicinity with his name underneath and the word “wanted” in blocky Aurebesh characters.

He raised the collar of his jacket to conceal his features and let the throng carry him away, with the intention to dive into the first side street that would present itself, never mind that he didn’t know where it led. But then, he caught a glimpse of white plasteel ahead and he immediately understood that stormtroopers were setting up a roadblock. Without hesitation, he shoved aside a group of giggling Twi’leks who stood between him and the storefronts and pressed his hand to the activation panel of a door under a flashing neon sign.

He found himself in an airlock of sorts where a flock of colourful avians surrounded him to slip a gown over his clothes and a breathing mask over his face, and a second door wooshed open to allow him into a most unusual grooming salon. An Hutt in a bright pink waistcoat lay on a dais in the middle of the room, a Bith musician played his Kloo horn in a corner and a heavyset Chevin surrounded by more fluttering avians was already waddling along to greet him as fast as his fat legs would carry him. Suddenly, the Karkarodon who was tending to the lone customer sitting in the back of the salon stepped aside, revealing a balding head above the jacket of an Imperial Navy uniform – a head whose emaciated features and aquiline nose were all too familiar to anyone with the faintest grasp of Imperial politics.

The young man took a prudent step back towards the anteroom, wondering how he would manage to make an about-face and leave without attracting attention to himself, when the door wooshed again behind him. Cassian spun on his heel to seize this opportunity to flee, but the sight of a tall, olive-skinned man with a black goatee and a twelve-year-old girl escorted by a WA-2 attendant droid caused him to freeze in dread.

It was bad enough that the Imperials knew his face, that they knew his name, that they were after him and that he had walked into the barbershop where Wilhuff Tarkin had come for a shave. Now Bail Organa, one of the secret leaders of the Rebel Alliance, was here too with his daughter, and Cassian was certain that the Grand Moff wouldn’t miss this golden opportunity to cart off this most outspoken of senators when stormtroopers inevitably came around to search the salon.

* * *​

Bail Organa sensed immediately that something was amiss, and he silently thanked the deities of Alderaan that his daughter’s squeal of delight was keeping Tarkin’s attention focused on herself and the Hutt, who had lifted her in a bone-crushing hug and set his dais to spin upon itself with dizzying speed. The features of the young man standing by the door were hidden by the breathing mask he was wearing, but his general outlook was worryingly familiar and the way he had retreated into the shadows as Bail made his entrance told him all he needed to know. The viceroy took a step towards the Grand Moff, who was tut-tutting disapprovingly at Leia’s display of affection towards the slug-like alien, and made a show of brushing his forehead with his thumb to remove an imaginary speck of dust.

“Governor Tarkin! This is an unexpected pleasure.” In the corner of his eye, he saw that Cassian was twisting his earlobe between his fingers. He manoeuvred carefully to place himself between Tarkin and the young Rebel spy.

Between the nose clip, the aquata breather and the Karkarodon barber’s straight razor, the Grand Moff was unable to emit any sound other than clicking his tongue. He merely nodded in response.

“Ah, the inconvenience of these regulations about alien-run grooming salons,” Bail sighed. He examined his cufflink pensively and gave it a sharp tug. “I assure you that they are unnecessary in this case. Our dear Eliskandro is living proof that Jill Ett’s Gastropod Glop Desiccant works wonders. Not so much as a whiff of Hutt bodily fluids here in Shazam.”

Tarkin raised a contemptuous eyebrow and angled his chin towards Leia, who was still giggling in the Hutt’s embrace. Back near the entrance door, Cassian was scratching his left wrist. This was the confirmation Bail had been expecting. He gave Tarkin a wide smile.

“Like all parents, I must sometimes indulge my daughter’s whims, Governor. Eliskandro is her favourite hairdresser. The only hairdresser she will tolerate, as a matter of fact.”

“I beg to differ, Your Highness”, the WA-2 droid jumped in. “Princess Leia has been more than amenable to allowing me to style her hair, despite the unfortunate nickname she has chosen for the royal hairdo of Alderaanian crown princesses, and –”

Bail raised a hand to interrupt her and glanced at Eliskandro, who was blinking his nictitating membranes questioningly. “Now, now, TooVee. I believe that, every once in a while, Lelila should be allowed to do away with the rules of etiquette. We, or at least she, is not here for the cinnamon bun earmuffs today.” He gave a microscopic nod towards Cassian and added for the Hutt’s benefit: “This young person needs a complete makeover.”

 

What a fun gift and I can just imagine Cassian's "I gotta get out of here!" and Tarkin's snooty contempt. Love Bail and am happy to see Aleskandro make an appearance.

 

Aw this is so clever! Looking back, I was too stringent in the requests. I'm sorry! I shouldn't have requested so much. But you, genius woman, you found how to make it work.

First of all - talk about dropping us in media res: I mean LITERALLY dropping. There goes Cassian, jumping off a bridge. I could see him trying to keep his head down as he shuffles his way through the crowd, all the while the holosheets are screaming his image everywhere.

And of all places - Eliskandro's salon! It is NOT Cassian's lucky day, is it? Tarkin of all people! This could be disastrous for both the Organas and Cassian. I love the idea, too, that Leia might have some memory of Cassian from such a young age. After all, it's only seven years later that Rogue One takes place.

But I have faith that Eliskandro will figure out the danger here, and he will create the most MAHVELOUS solution, one that will not only allow them to save the day but look stunning in the process.

Thank you, dear @Chyntuck, for this delicious treat! Can't wait to see what happens next!

 

So happy that Cinnamon Buns are part of the Star Wars universe. All lifeforms deserve them.

You didn't let Tarkin speak!
I loved imagining Jimmy Smits talking, but to have the Grand Moff enunciating in my head would have been a great joy.

"We need a shave, not a manicure. A hot towel will be enough for today."

 

Poor Cassian, he’s definitely having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day! The kind where having to jump off a bridge on Coruscant is just the beginning of his problems. That said, he’s doing quite well all things considered -- he got away and managed to find his way to a sort of sanctuary. Just, you know, a shame about the GRAND MOFF BEING RIGHT THERE. Oh, and also his Rebel boss and said Rebel boss’s daughter. Of course.

Thankfully, this isn’t just any old hair salon and Eliskandro (glamorous and clever as always) is not just any hairdresser! I loved the description of Cassian’s entrance to the salon; you can tell right away that he’s gone through the looking glass. Even street-smart Cassian doesn’t quite know what he’s wandered into here.

Glad to see that Bail has the situation (sort of) under control for the moment. I also enjoyed the reference back to the dreaded cinnamon bun earmuffs! I cannot quite imagine what a “complete makeover” might turn out to be, but knowing Eliskandro I have confidence that he and his crew will come through in spite of the odds.

 

You are a true wizzard of words, plots and character mash-ups. Plus you made me laugh a lot here. Thank you!