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“I fix it,” The little girl said firmly, pointing at the toy starship in Luke’s hand.
“Alright, captain, what does it need?” he asked.
Luke leaned forward, grateful for all those Jedi flexibility exercises as he sat on the floor with his niece. She studied the toy, her set jaw and pursed lips all Leia. Then she took a comically-oversized toy screwdriver from one of the pockets on her tiny vest (just like Daddy’s!) and jabbed it at the ship. After several aggressive twists in opposite directions, she straightened up and swiped at the hairs that had fallen out of the braid across her head with pudgy, sticky hands.
“All done!” she declared and pushed the toy back toward Luke.
“Good job!” he said. He picked up another ship, this one blue with white accents. “What about this one?”
She looked at him and put her hands on her hips. “No, green one goes next,” she said. “Then blue, then red, then purple…”
Clearly, toy starship repair involved a level of strategic organization beyond Luke’s comprehension. It was lucky for him that he had Leia Organa’s offspring to orchestrate such a complex operation for him.
“Right, sorry,” Luke amended. “Say, that’s an awful lot of ships. I’m not sure we’ll get through them all without a snack.”
She shook her head, already setting the green speeder in her lap and taking hold of a toy wrench. “I bring-ed them.”
With the other hand, she reached into another pocket of her vest and pulled out a fistful of slightly-smashed cheese crackers. She stuffed them into her mouth, her eyes never leaving the ship. Grabbing another handful, this time with wet fingers, she offered some to Luke.
“Oh, no, thank you, dear,” he demurred. “You can eat them.”
She nibbled a few, then wiped her hand on the inside of her pocket to dislodge the rest and grab the next ship.
Han and Leia are sure in for a surprise the next time they do laundry, Luke mused as he tried not to laugh or gag at the scene before him. Then again, they made her this way. A perfect, chaotic reflection of my two best friends.