Gleep, The Grumpy Mechanic

Princess Astra, now sporting a rather fetching if slightly ill-fitting space cadet uniform, found herself standing on the landing bay of a ship that looked less like a vessel of interstellar exploration and more like a collection of particularly stubborn scrap metal that had decided to fuse together. It wheezed, it groaned, and it smelled vaguely of burnt toast and forgotten socks. This, she was informed by a disembodied voice from a cracked intercom, was the "Star Wanderer," and its pilot, mechanic, and sole inhabitant was one Gleep.

A heavy, metallic clanking announced Gleep’s arrival before he even rounded the corner. He was, to Astra’s mild surprise, not reptilian or insectoid, but rather a squat, moss-green creature with four arms, each ending in a set of surprisingly nimble, pincer-like digits. His face was a permanent scowl etched onto a bulbous head, complete with two large, perpetually narrowed eyes that seemed to be perpetually scanning for something to be displeased with. He wore a greasy jumpsuit that had seen better millennia, and a wrench the size of Astra’s forearm dangled from one of his many appendages.

“What is it now?” Gleep grumbled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the metal floor. He didn’t even look at Astra, his gaze fixed on a patch of rust near the ship’s hull. “The hull’s not going to patch itself, you know. And neither are the engines. And definitely not the life support, which is currently emitting a faint odor of… regret.”