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The rubbery reek of molten synthskin filled the sandcrawler. Steel pots of pink, fleshy polymer bubbled over stoves, and Jawas danced about them with manic energy, ladling dollops of synthskin onto their restrained droids, scraping it over their steel chassis and shaping it into recognisable humanoid curves.
The Jawas had smelled profit, and were modifying their cargo for a new market - horny moisture farmers. It was a horrific scene to Luke's eyes, a ghoulish blending of machine and flesh. Sparks flew as mechanical limbs were wrenched from sockets and new ones welded into place.
It was evident that the Jawas cared far more for the new appearance of the droids than their function. A pit droid, evidently alarmed at what was happening to it, kept trying to fold its body up into its disc-shaped head but, half transformed into a Twi'lek woman, its bulbous fleshy additions kept wedging within its retraction mechanism.
But among the macabre scene was a vision of beauty. The astromech droid knelt, staring up at Luke quizzically. She was unrecognisable from the squat blue-and-silver trashcan the Jawas had tried to sell him weeks ago.
"Well? What are you waiting for, human?" R2-D2 huffed impatiently, folding his arms under his breasts. "Hurry up and buy me. I have important plans to deliver."