friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Pirate Batch- Halloween Edition

Want to hear a story?

___

The night was dark, the sea was calm. The inky water lapped against the sides of the Havoc Marauder as below a red moon the ship drifted. The sea was silent. No land, no birds, no ships in sight. Within the belly of the pirate ship all was quiet as well. The crew adjourned to sleeping or quiet, solitary activities. Until a soft hiss broke the still air.

“Want to hear a story?”

Crosshair whispered into the quiet of the crew quarters. Omega, his target, looked up from where she was drawing on the floor.

“What sort of story?”

“Cross,” a sleepy voice interjected, “she really should be getting to bed-”

“Oh, come off it, Hunter. She can stay up a bit longer. It’s a good story.”

“Pleeeeeease Huntah?” Omega wheedled, “I promise I’ll go straight to my room when its done.”

With some more grumbling, Hunter relented. “Fine then. Make it quick, Crosshair.”

The lanky gunner looked offended. “You cannot rush good storytelling,” he admonished. He took a seat on the floor across from Omega and drew her lantern to him. Holding it up to his face, his sharp grin was ghoulishly cast in stark light and shadows. “And this calls for some very good storytelling.”

The others began to take interest in his odd display. Echo watched Crosshair with open puzzlement, for he considered himself lucky if to get any more than a sentence out of the skulking sniper. Was he about to speak for actual minutes? Tech found his curiosity piqued as well, and Wrecker was edging a little closer to the group on the floor- he seemed afraid to come to near to Crosshair.

Casting Wrecker an amused glance, Crosshair began. “This is the story of a girl who lived many hundreds of years ago. She was very sweet and kind, with golden ringlets of hair and big brown eyes-” Omega blinked hers in surprise at the familiar description.

“She was called Arla. She was a polite and kind girl, but she was also a very curious little girl. She lived with her stepmother and her old dog. Her stepmother was a strange old lady, who kept little Arla very close. She always told the girl it was to keep her safe. One day, Arla asked, ‘why mustn’t I stray beyond the courtyard? Why can’t I go to the water with my friends?’

The answer was always the same. ‘It isn’t safe by the water. There are dark things about the shore at night.’ Arla was a good child, and so she listened. But as she grew older, her curiosity grew too. What was so terrible that haunted the sea at night? Arla decided she would be bad. She decided she would go down to the shore when the moon was high and bright. After all, Arla thought, if it is bright enough to see, it couldn’t be so dangerous.

Arla had a plan. She packed up a bag with candles and rope and a sharp letter opener she took from her stepmother’s writing desk. She was all ready for any danger she could think of. But she could never have prepared for what happened next…”

Crosshair trailed off mysteriously. He let the silence remain, dramatically. Tech, who had found himself being drawn from his reading into the story, broke in and snapped, “oh come on, Cross! Get over yourself and tell the story.”

Crosshair snorted. “Fine. Heathen. If you’ll let me continue…”

“One night, under a bright red moon, Arla patted her dog goodbye and slipped out her bedroom window and tiptoed barefooted and silently out through the courtyard. When she came to the gate, she paused. Her stepmother’s warning echoed through her mind. Don’t go out. Stay away from the water. But Arla made up her mind and eased the gate open just enough to squeeze through. Under the red moonlight and distant stars, she hurried towards the shore.

She found her way to the beach. The sand was cool between her toes and the water looked like the blood of titans slowly drowning the world. Arla crept toward the sea. She wanted to know what she was missing for so long…

Trepidatiously, she touched a toe to the water. The surface rippled around her foot. But the ripples didn’t stop. They spread out and out and got bigger and bigger and Arla was so frightened she pulled her foot out of the water and hid her face behind her hands. She heard the waves crashing louder, louder.

She was scared, but she wanted to look. She peered between her fingers and saw a towering shape lurching across the water towards her. She scrambled away but it was upon her.

A great old ship. The sails were rotten and torn, the hull was in no way seaworthy. It looked like it had already seen shipwreck and yet here it was, running aground on this little strip of beach before her eyes.

it crashed to a halt, throwing up fountains of sand and seawater. Arla watched with horror as shadows began to writhe and erupt from the deck of the dead ship. The shadows congealed and became creatures. They scuttled down the sides of the ship and swarmed up the sand. Within moments, Arla was surrounded.

There was a creature in front of her. It was bigger than the others. It was not made of shadows anymore. Where it had been dark it now shone with blue iridescence. It had a face of sorts. Not human, and not like anything Arla had seen in her books. It reminded her of a painting she had once seen in Stepmother’s study. The painting had disappeared when Stepmother found her snooping about through Stepmother’s study for things to read. She had been put in her room with a few choice books. Stepmother told her not to go looking again. Arla had listened. Mostly.

The creature opened an incorporeal mouth. Its voice was not a sound so much as a feeling in her head. She heard it as if it were her own thoughts.

‘You are ours at last, child. We have need of you. Arla opened her mouth to scream or cry, or perhaps to ask ‘why,’ but her voice was stolen before she could utter a sound. The glowing creature grinned needle-sharp teeth and Arla was swept up by creatures of sea mist and shadow. For a time, she knew no more.

She woke up again in a dark room that swayed with the sea.

She found herself again staring into the there-and-yet-not eyes of the mist creature. This time, she found her voice. ‘Where am I? What are you? Where are we going?’ She was scared, but she wanted to know.

The mist creature twined tendril limbs around her arms and pulled her to her feet. ‘You are coming home with us. You will make everything well again.’ Arla did not understand, but she didn’t resist as she was swept along through cramped corridors and up a ladder to the deck of the dead ship.

She looked around. There was no land in sight, there was no wind, and the red moon painted everything in blood and darkness. She was frightened, but she was also excited to finally see what lay beyond her little world. She felt alive among the waves and the stars. But the feeling was fleeting, and she was soon consumed by worry as the mist creatures swirled around her.

The creatures all spoke in one voice as they swept about and nearly knocked her off her feet. ‘You will be one of us now… you will be the best of us… you will make the bleeding cease and stop the hurting of our homeland…’

The mist solidified into spikes, and she found herself surrounded by whirling blades of light. With a rush of air, a spear of mist shot towards her and sunk into her chest. She screamed, her voice joining the rushing wind. Another struck her in the back. A third shot into her head and her screaming stop. No sound came from her gaping mouth, but her eyes and mouth cast light out from her skull in radiant beams. Her skin began cracking and more fissures of light erupted out from her. She couldn’t see, could speak. She had the strength left for one more thought before the world dissolved into whiteness. ‘Why didn’t I listen?’

“WHAT?!” Wrecker barked. He’d been listening with horrified intensity as Crosshair told his tale. “She’s dead? Is that the end of your stupid story?”

“Stop interrupting me!” Crosshair snarled. “I’m not done yet. If you’d just let me finish…”

Arla’s body was lost, but her spirit remained. Somehow, Arla woke up again. She was in a whole new place that was as alien and mysterious to her as the red sea and the dead ship had been. The land was all reddish rock.

She felt floaty. She looked down at herself and saw only iridescent blue mist. Like the creatures that brought her here.

There was a pull in her mind. She turned her head and began to walk. Or at least to drift. As she went the reddish rock grew redder still. Streams of blood traced her path, growing wider and more numerous as she approached the source of the pull.

A great crater in the rock, the sides casting deep shadows, the whole thing glistening with dark blood. She drifted to the very edge, beside the largest of the red rivers. She knelt beside the stream and considered her own glowing hands.

‘You will make the bleeding cease…’

Arla did not want to be here. She did not want to help the mist creatures that took her here. But Arla was a good and kind child, and she was very good at helping those in need. And so, she put her hands into the blood and thought very hard.

Not about going home.

Not about how she was scared.

Only a little about how she missed her dog.

She thought about making it better.

The river began to glow around her hand. It spread quickly through the stream and into the crater and soon it was a blinding well of misty light. Before her eyes the very rocks that surrounded her lost their red color and lightened to clean grey.

And Arla found she could not move her hands.

‘you will make everything well again….’

Forever.

Arla never returned to Earth. Her stepmother never got to know what it was she had failed to protect her child from. Her dog never again licked her face and lounged with her while reading. Instead, they simply watched the white moon and knew it was Arla who kept the blood from flowing and held the mist spirits away from the shores.

Except for the couple times a year when under a red moon she returns to Earth. She comes down from the moon to find another to take her place. She searches for inquisitive souls that might stray too close to the sea when the mists and the blood are abound.

Sometimes she wanders in a shape like the one she wore in life. Sometimes she is simply the mist on the sea. Other times she appears in people heads. She slips into the minds of curious little girls and draws them to her…

And they are never seen again.”

Crosshair stifled the light, and Omega gave a little yelp as the room became lit only by the red moonlight filtering through the porthole.

“Is it true Crosshair?” Omega whispered, “is Arla really out there somewhere tonight?”

Crosshair chuckled darkly. “Oh yes. And you are certainly a perfect target.”

Wrecker gasped loudly and folded Omega into a crushing embrace, as if to stop her from dissipating into nothingness and leaving them. “No! She can’t take ‘Mega from us!”

Tech rolled his eyes and sighed, “it’s just a story Wrecker.”

“Or is it…” Crosshair whispered with a wicked grin. He got a pillow to the face, courtesy of Hunter.

“Yes, it is.” Their captain grumbled. “Now everybody shut up and go to sleep.”

“But Huntah… I’m scared…” Omega said in a very small voice.

“Fine. Omega, you can stay with me. Crosshair, we will be having WORDS about this.”

Tech and Wrecker both attempted to add their own two cents, but they were swiftly cut off but more flying pillows- Hunter tended to keep a lot of them around for just this purpose.

Eventually, sleepy silence descended. Omega cuddled close to Hunter’s chest; the others all burrowed into their respective refuges. The last sound that was heard was a muttered growl from the lump of blankets that presumably contained the ship’s captain. “Honestly, why can’t you all be more like Echo? He fell asleep ages ago.”

___

I haven't edited this or anything. But Halloween, y'know?

I haven't written pirate AU Omega's introduction yet, but here she is.

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Pirate Batch! Echo- Part 3

Coruscant didn’t sound so bad to Echo. He’d been there several times, and he had fond memories of shore leave with his squad before…

Before.

But clearly things had changed. Echo guessed that Coruscant was not a popular place to go if you wanted to stay under the radar. At least, that was the impression he was left with as he watched the reactions of the Havoc Marauder’s crew.

In the wake of Hunter’s announcement, the entire group fell into an uncomfortable silence. Eyes darted around to one another’s faces; many throats were cleared. After several long, strained seconds, the tense atmosphere was broken, surprisingly by Crosshair. He snorted and stood up from the table abruptly. The hissing sound he made could have been considered a laugh, but not one with any sort of mirth. “We’re all going to die,” Crosshair said, before stalking out of the room. The others simply watched him go.

Then the spell broke. Wrecker stood and slapped Echo on the back- nearly sending his nose through the wooden tabletop- and began clearing dishes. In no time, he stacked everything up and disappeared towards the galley.

Next to go was Hunter, who had a perturbed look on his face as he muttered, “I’d better go make sure Cross doesn’t kill anything,” he gave them all a nod and an apologetic smile and left to follow the wayward crewman.

Last to leave were Tech and Phee. They had spent the last few dragging moments talking quietly about something Echo didn’t bother to overhear. Before he left, Tech paused his conversation and turned back to Echo.

“I imagine this reaction is not what you would anticipate, Echo,” Tech said. He did look mildly regretful, which Echo was starting to realize was about as much as could be expected from Tech. “I assure you we have good reason. I promise I will explain everything to you shortly. For now, I must simply implore you to trust us. You may claim a hammock, if you like, or return to my office if you prefer. I will be along to check on you shortly, once a few matters have been settled.” With that, he and Phee left.

 Echo didn’t appreciate being sent to his room like a misbehaving child, much less being ‘checked on,’ but he supposed that there was something he was missing. Tech certainly seemed to think so. Out of uncertainty- or perhaps spite- Echo didn’t move from the table. Everyone had jobs to do or important conversations or something of some importance at least. Meanwhile he was simply here. Because there was no where else he could be.

He didn’t know how long he sat there at the deserted table, enjoying his impromptu pity party- he seemed to have a lot of those these days- when a motion caught his attention from the corner or his eye. He turned to see the scraggly tooka, Gonky, wobbling up to him. Echo stared at the tooka. The tooka stared back. It meowed. At least, Echo thought it was a meow. It could have been hacking up a hairball or wailing like a sea spirit for all Echo could tell. Clearly there was something very wrong with this tooka. The tooka butted its head against Echo’s metal shin and then took couple steps back and leapt up to land on his lap. Gonky settled himself on the astonished Echo’s legs and purred. Echo was torn between pulling the thing off him or letting himself enjoy the sensation of a living thing being near him. Even if it was a horrible orange tooka that seemed to be missing an ear, some fur, and most of its braincells.

Well, Echo mused, bitterly running his hand across his own hairless scalp, we might have some of that in common. Echo hooked his metal arm underneath the creature and heaved it up to lay across his shoulders the way he’d seen Wrecker do earlier that day. Finally finding the motivation to overcome his odd inertia, he stood up and clomped his way back towards Tech’s ‘office.’ The man had offered, after all and Echo did not fancy encountering a wild Crosshair in the crew quarters at some ungodly hour of the night.

Echo settled himself in the office hammock. It was a nice one. He wondered how frequently Tech left this room when there wasn’t a weird stray Echo inhabiting it. From the general state of the place, he guessed not often.

Echo tried not to feel to discouraged that his mind started to blur with fatigue the moment he lay down, transferring Gonky to lie on his stomach. After all, what did it matter if he was useless now? He could only hope that the crew of the Havoc Marauder would manage to get to Rex, and that maybe – just maybe- that would somehow make everything better. Rex had to know something, didn’t he? If he were honest with himself, it was a faint hope. So, he simply lay and petted Gonky’s scraggly head while he waited for things to make sense again.

__

He must have dozed off. When he woke up, he was staring directly into a pair of sharp and angry eyes. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out in alarm. Crosshair was perched on the edge of Tech’s desk, face alarmingly close to Echo’s and glaring as if he planned to set Echo’s skull ablaze by sheer will. Gonky awoke and hissed at the man. Crosshair tore his eyes from Echo’s just long enough to switch targets and hiss back at the cat. Gonky mewled and cowered beneath Echo’s metal knees.

Suddenly, the door opened with a bang and Wrecker tromped in. The giant man wasted no time in coming right up to them and hauling Crosshair off the desk by the back of his coat.

“Hunter said he wasn’t a security risk Cross. You can lay off the stalking now,” Wrecker set Crosshair down in the doorway, carefully positioning himself between Crosshair and Echo. Crosshair held Wreckers gaze defiantly, before taking a reluctant step away. Before he was out of sight, he cast one more glare straight into Echo’s soul. I’m watching you, was the clear message in his eyes, I do not trust you. Then he was gone.

“Be a person!” Wrecker shouted after him.

“Sorry ‘bout him,” Wrecker said, turning back to where Echo was extricating himself from the hammock, “he’s just jumpy around new people. Eventually he’ll get over it. Or not. We’ll see.” Wrecker snorted.

Echo tried to match the man’s humor, but he was pretty sure his smile was more a pained grimace than anything else. He forced a weak chuckle. “I guess I shouldn’t expect too much in the way of respectable company if even the captain has a skull tattoo over half his karking face.” Maker, please let him have judged Wrecker right…

He had. Wrecker burst out laughing, startling Gonky out of the hammock and sending the tooka bolting from the room.

“HA!” Wrecker boomed. “I told him it was a dumb tattoo!” he calmed somewhat and grinned widely at Echo, “Yer not wrong, mate. But word to the wise,” he leaned down to whisper conspiratorially- though Echo noticed that his whisper was still not much quieter than his regular voice.

“I learned its best just to encourage him. He’ll get real defensive about it if you mention it. Goes on and on about his ‘image’. Fun to watch Cross bug him ‘bout it, not that he has much of a leg to stand on,” Wrecker held his hand up on top of his head like tooka ears and gave a small hiss, “not exactly approachable either, is he?”

Echo laughed truly this time, and it felt… good. He breathed a bit easier for it, as if something heavy had been lifted from his chest. “Then it’s a good thing they’ve got you, isn’t it?” he tried.

Wrecker nodded happily. “That’s right! I’m here for-” he screwed up his brow in deep concentration- “Die-plo-ma-cy, I am! At least, when I’m not busy cracking skulls.”

Wrecker led Echo out of the office as they chatted, his presence alleviating some of Echo’s anxiety about wandering around on the ship. Echo decided he liked Wrecker, even if he was loud. He reminded him vaguely of someone he may have known once, before…

Before.

That reminded him. “Tech said he’d talk to me about Coruscant.”

Wrecker stopped walking, and Echo halted as well. The giant had led them among more hammocks to a corner of the compartment that must have been his bunk. Echo’s cursory inspection deduced that the place was a health hazard, an armory, and a child’s bedroom all rolled up into one. He thought he spotted something made of red and black fabric nestled among blankets and cannonballs. Something with a face?

Wrecker sat down on the floor and Echo copied him, electing to ignore their strange surroundings for the moment.

“Tech said I could fill ya in,” Wrecker started, “he’s either arguing with Hunter or snogging Phee, and either way I’d rather not bug him.”

“Tech and Phee?” Echo interrupted before he could stop himself.

Wrecker only laughed. “That’s what we said too!” he half-shouted. “And to be honest its more likely he’s off telling her about some fascinating new frog species or something. I dunno. Whatever works for them. We don’t pry. But he did send me to tell ya the game plan.”

“Coruscant’s not so friendly to folks like us these days. The Empire likes it there, and it likes us dead. We find it best to stick to the outer islands when we can. But we think your buddy Rex is there with his little Underground,” Echo’s ears perked up, and Wrecker continued, “apparently the best way to fight the Empire is from under its nose. I generally prefer a good explosion, but we help out where we can.”

“Phee said she’d take care of the Marauder for us while we slip in to check on things. If all goes to plan, we’ll either find Rex or we’ll find someone to get message to him. On that note,” Wrecker gave him a curious look, “what is it you want us to tell him ‘bout you?”

Echo hadn’t thought this far ahead. He had no idea what he wanted to say to Rex, especially if Rex thought he was dead for who knows how long. Wrecker seemed to sense his uncertainty.

“Don’t worry about it yet,” Wrecker said kindly, “we can’t be giving him too many details till we’re face to face anyway. How about a code or something’? Something he’ll recognize as from you?”

A tough question. Did he even remember enough to make a good code? As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. The words came spilling from him before his conscious mind could interfere.

“Tell him… not all Dominoes fall.”

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Pirate Batch! Echo- Part 2

I'm back with 2500 words of Echo Angst! I'm having too much fun with these guys.

by the by, I don't know how to link things yet, but if you want to find all the rest of this AU (the echo parts kinda benefit from reading in order), just know that they're all tagged #the havoc marauder sounds like a pirate ship. Okay ENJOY

When Echo awoke in the dark the next day, still in the hammock, limbs still attached and decidedly not staring into the face of any Skakoan scientists, he found the evidence suggested the previous night had not been a dream. He tried not to groan too loudly as he freed himself of the hammock. He hurt- when didn’t he- but he felt more alive and rested than he had since…

Since.

Oh. Right. Echo may be awake and alive, be he had no kriffing idea how long he’d been out of the world. As far as he knew, everyone he’d ever known could be dead. Come to think of it, Echo wasn’t even sure how long a list it was to begin with.

His memories of before are hazy, hidden from sight by a veil of pain, fear, and crushing hopelessness. Maybe Echo would be able to claw his way through to the other side, but was there even anything to find?

Echo shook his head to physically dislodge the thoughts for the time being. Glancing around the room he guessed to be Tech’s ‘office,’ Echo figured he’d better locate his host. Or, failing that, an unguarded cup of caff.

He hobbled unsteadily toward the doorway, metal legs resisting use after so long without. Peeking his head out the doorway, he scanned the gloomy belowdecks of the ship; strung up hammocks, a few unlit lanterns hanging from walls, a compact table and a few chairs tucked neatly into a corner. His scanning eyes caught on something near a strung-up hammock. Echo did a double take. Two points of light gleamed at him from the darkness. They put him in mind of eyes.... Echo rubbed his own eyes and looked again. The lights were gone. Huh. Weird.

Echo continued his expedition, making his way towards a set of steps leading to- he presumed- the way out. He cautiously opened the door and stepped up onto the main deck of the Havoc Marauder. It was glorious. The sun shone brightly overhead- It seemed Echo had slept away the better part of the day- and the salty wind threatened to make him overbalance. The sounds and smells of a deck were carried to him across the water, and he supposed they were about to make port. For the first time since-

-Since.

Echo felt alive.

He spent a few minutes just standing there on the deck, breathing, feeling, absorbing the world he had been removed from for so long. Eventually, he became aware of another presence on the deck.

“Tech?” he asked nervously, turning around to try and locate the presence. He hoped it was Tech. Strange as he was, Echo was at least sure that Tech didn’t wish him immediate harm. He could not know for sure about the rest of the ‘crew.’ He was not looking forward to introducing himself to whoever thought raiding Skako Minor was a good idea.

As soon as he’d thought it, a hand came down upon his shoulder from- above him? Echo spun around, fist flying to strike whatever was behind him.

He struck the wooden side of the ship’s forecastle, which cracked under his fist along with probably several of his fingers. He growled and clutched his hand to his stomach, cursing his own stupidity and whoever it was that owned the hand on his shoulder. A voice broke through his tirade of bitterness, calm and infuriatingly amused.

“Hey, hey, its okay, man. Look up.” Echo swivelled his eyes up towards the forecastle and to a man sitting at the railing, booted feet dangling over the edges. He had a kind smile on his face and his hands were raised placatingly. “You good?” the man’s gaze swept over Echo’s implants, his pained expression, finally coming to rest- surprisingly- on his one remaining hand.

“Tech told me you were pretty banged up. Don’t tell me you went and broke your good hand trying to add a new porthole to my ship?”

Echo decided to interpret the man’s amusement as concern and smoothed the lines of pain out of his face. The man snorted.

“Yeah, right. Broken hand won’t even make you blink, will it?” he bypassed the railing and neatly hopped down from the upper deck to land beside Echo, who spotted with a numb sense of bemusement the extremely accessible ladder that went completely unnoticed in favor of leaping around like a Kowakian monkey lizard. Either Echo was very out of practice with understanding people, or nobody on this boat knew the first thing about human interactions. Possibly both. His money was on both.

Now that he was closer to eye level, Echo got a better look at him. He stood a bit shorter than Echo, with long hair falling from under a black tricorn hat- was that a captain’s hat? His brown eyes met Echo’s and Echo noticed that what he thought was merely dramatic lighting cast by the man’s hat was in fact a huge, dark, skull tattoo that stretched across the entire left side of his face.

It did not put Echo at ease, no matter how smiley he was.

The man, apparently oblivious to Echo’s scrutiny, made a great show of straightening his red and black coat after his jump. Echo couldn’t help but notice as he did that the man’s jacket seemed just a little bit too big for him. The man kept talking. “The name’s Hunter, by the way. Captain Hunter if you must. This is my ship, the good ol’ Havoc Marauder. I’d offer to shake your hand, but…” he cut his eyes down to Echo’s hook, then to his throbbing left hand.

Echo was tired of this guy’s smirking and comments, so he stuck out his one hand, “nonsense,” he bit out, daring Hunter to shake his hand, “Call me Echo.”

To his credit, Hunter accepted the handshake, though Echo noticed he did not squeeze even the slightest bit. The sudden tension was broken by Hunter’s abrupt snort of laughter. “I like you already!” he declared, smacking Echo companionably on the shoulder. “But we are going to go find Tech’s first aid kit now.” Echo wanted to resist further, but he begrudgingly acquiesced- he didn’t fancy any permanent damage to his one remaining hand- and he felt the mood shift to one of acceptance. He felt distinctly as though he passed some sort of test, though he hadn’t the foggiest what it had been.

He led Echo across the deck to another door; he presumed it led to the captain’s quarters. Hunter chatted continually as his rifled about. “Got shot a few jobs back. I think Tech left some stuff here. I really don’t want to got fetch it from his nightmare box- his office” Hunter explained before Echo could even register his words- “aha! Found it!” Hunter lifted a small wooden box triumphantly over his head.

“C’mon, let’s go sit in the sun. I’ll fix up your hand while we wait for the rest of the crew to run their little errands.”

“Rest of the crew?” Echo asked, following Hunter back out onto the deck.

“Yep. Don’t think I run this boat myself, do you? I sent Tech and Wrecker into town on a rowboat. Wreck hates it, but it’s less conspicuous that way.” Hunter clumsily bandaged Echo’s fingers as he spoke. “Should get Tech to be doing this. He’s better at it, but long as there’s not much blood I can manage.”

Echo nodded absently. Wrecker and Tech were… interesting names. His mind helpfully produced Tech’s vaguely ominous descriptions of the crew from the night before. Anxiously, he looked about the ship’s deck, and found his eyes drawn to a patch of shadows, visibility obscured by heaps of rope and crates piled carelessly about. Two points of light looked back at him. Echo blinked. The lights remained.

He interrupted whatever Hunter was saying with a blurted “Do you have a tooka on this ship?”

Hunter paused. Hands stilling where the were packing away rolls of bandage. “Uh, yeah,” he said, “call ‘im Gonky. But Wrecker brought him into town with them. Said he’d been cooped up.”

“Oh...”

“Why do you ask?” Hunter followed Echo’s gaze. “OH! That’s just Crosshair. Don’t mind him. I told him to keep an eye on you once you woke up and, well…” Hunter huffed a laugh and shook his head a bit. The lights flared a bit brighter, then vanished.

“But don’t worry. He won’t bite.”

Echo was thoroughly confused. Was anybody on this ship normal? He supposed that the answer was no, and not least because of Echo himself. On that subject…

“Look, Hunter. I don’t know what happened to me, I don’t know why you decided to pick me up, and I don’t know why you’re doing all this for me, but I have some people I need to find. I had friends who are probably dead right now, and with them, potentially any chance of piecing together the karking mess that is all… this-” Echo gestured wildly to encompass his entire self.

“And you have no reason to help me, but, well, I’m on your boat.” He met Hunter’s gaze, praying the man didn’t make him spell it out. Thankfully, Hunter seemed to understand. He nodded solemnly, all levity gone and replaced with complete seriousness.

“Of course,” he said. “Who do you need to find?”

Echo took a deep breath and made a shot in the dark. “I need to talk to captain Rex.”

______________

The sun was getting low when the rest of the Marauder’s crew made an appearance. Echo was sitting in comfortable silence with Hunter, watching the sunset paint the water red and gold when a series of scuffling thumps was heard over the railing. In short order, three figures hauled themselves up over the side of the ship. The first was Tech, looking preoccupied, but he spared a friendly nod towards Echo. Next came a gigantic man, complaining loudly about the climb up to the deck and stretching out his massive arms. Echo spotted extensive scarring over one half of his face. He appeared to be wearing some sort of horrible orange fur scarf. To Echo’s alarm, the scarf got up and hopped off the man’s shoulders. It meowed. That must be Gonky, Echo decided, which meant that the giant who was now waving enthusiastically at him and Hunter was probably Wrecker.

The third was a woman with dark ropes of hair spilling out of a teal bandana. She gave Hunter a jaunty salute.

“Howdy, captain!” she said, striding up to stand next to Tech. “Browneyes here said I could stay for dinner.”

“Did he now,” Hunter gave her and Tech a stare of mock disapproval, before his face softened. “Of course you’re welcome, Genoa. Especially if you got the intel you promised.”

Genoa scoffed. “’do I have the intel,’ Hunter! Do you think so little of me. But you boys better tell me what you needed to know about Battle Droids for. I thought those old ghost stories were just Tech’s pastime obsession.” She rested he elbow against Tech’s shoulder.

Tech, looking offended, batted her arm aside. “It is not a pastime,” he insisted, “and anyways, we have a new development that makes such information vital.”

Tech glanced meaningfully at Echo. Genoa looked up as well.

“oh….”

Echo did not appreciate the attention. “Yeah. Oh.” He huffed. “Hunter. What was that you said about dinner?”

________

The company gathered around a table belowdecks, knocking elbows and jostling one another to pass around what appeared to be some kind of stew. Wrecker enthusiastically thrust a bowlful at him, and Echo accepted, though he took a good few moments scrutinizing it before daring to try a spoonful.

He took the opportunity to observe his new companions. Hunter was kind enough to officially introduce him to everyone. Phee Genoa and Wrecker both seemed decent sorts. He had yet to meet Crosshair-

Echo startled. Sitting directly across from him and the corner of the table – a place he was positive had been vacant before, was another man.

He was lanky as Tech, but considerably pointer. Everything about him had edges. His glare was dagger-sharp, his cheekbones and elbows jutted sharply, even the line of his shoulders had Echo reconsidering the meaning of the words ‘shoulder blades.’ He swore if the man opened his mouth, he’d have sharp teeth.

The man’s eyes gave him a piercing look over from beneath a few stray locks of short grey hair, before meeting Echo’s gaze and holding it.

Who knows how long later, Wrecker tapped Echo on the shoulder and broke him out of his impromptu starting contest. The big man laughed at Echo’s startled jump and gave him a reassuring pat. “That’s Crosshair,” he said, confirming Echo’s suspicions. He leaned down to whisper in Echo’s ear. “Careful, he bites.” -Echo wondered if he should believe Hunter or Wrecker on that front. He decided it was safer to believe Wrecker and keep his distance.

Wrecker reached an arm across the table and shoved Crosshair companionably, nearly sending the smaller man toppling out of his chair. As Crosshair hissed and Wrecker laughed, Echo found himself drifting back in time, peering back through the hazy veil, towards his own brotherly banter with people now long dead.  He thought very hard and could almost make out who it was. Who might it have been? Shark-bait, Cutup, Hevy…

Fives.

His dismal thoughts were interrupted by Hunter’s voice bringing him back to more immediate problems. “You’ve all met Echo,” he said, “you all saw what was on Skako Minor. Echo, you were on Skako Minor and you’ve been… modified using Wat Tambor’s technology.

“Tech can vouch for just how illegal that machinery is. Which puts us in a bit of a predicament. Phee did some listening about in bounty hunter circles and,”

He paused, before looking Echo in the eye. “Echo, you are officially property and illegal technology.”

Echo was stunned. He struggled to speak past confusion and mounting rage. “What?” he hissed, “I’m not property! And I didn’t choose this! I DIED!”

The table was silent. “I know, Echo,” Hunter said, with genuine concern in his voice, “But that’s the thing really. Corporal Echo’s dead. Killed in Action. Now you’re…” he couldn’t finish.

Tech’s voice picked up where Hunter had fallen. “In the eyes of the world, you are not him. It does not matter who they believe you to be. The relevant information is that every bounty hunter, the Empire, and all Skakoan allies will be looking for you. I’m- sorry.”

Echo thunked his head against the table. “Of course. Why would anyone let me have the audacity to fall to pieces as a free man. Better to go back into a lab somewhere instead.”

Wrecker put a hand against his back. It was nice. Echo didn’t want to raise his head, but he felt better knowing the giant was there. “Uh, Hunter,” Wrecker spoke up, not moving his hand, “you don’t happen to know what we’re gonna do ‘bout all this, do you?”

Hunter’s sigh was audible. “I do,” he said. “Or at least, I have a start. Echo told me the name of someone we need to track down. Just so happens I know where to look.”

“Where?” a new voice. Raspy and grating like sandpaper. Probably Crosshair, Echo deduced by process of elimination.

“Boys, we’re headed to Coruscant.”

____

BONUS-PIRATE PHEE (she was already a pirate. I didn't need to change much)

I'm not thrilled with this one. She looks too cowboy and her face is a bit wonky. I'm sorry, Phee!

The others were for reference, this one isn't really because for reference just use canon Phee. She's already a space pirate.

Oh well. I tried.

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Kamino Lost

Song: Crying in the Rain by the Everly Brothers.

Angsty lil doodle. I don’t have the art skill to do it justice, but I’ve tied Crosshair to this song.

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

watercolours

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Pirate Batch- There's an Echo in Here!

ahaha! I wrote more! in like an hour. and did not edit it. or make any good. I have much more planned for echo. I think I'm gonna make his section have a few parts to it, so he can have his first interactions with all the crew individually. Enjoy!

(also, because yay pirate batch @badbatchposts put up a pirate Hunter thing! thank you for the reblogs!)

______________

Echo swam painfully to consciousness, leaving the blissful state of perfect nothing behind with no small regret. He hurt. But that was normal now, wasn’t it? The surgeries that left him feeling as though his bones were made of molten metal, the constant, endless, aching that encompassed his entire being, the bone-deep coldness that extended well past his abused skin. That was simply his life now, ever since…

Ever since.

Fully awake though he was, Echo did not open his eyes. What was the point? He’d either wake up and find himself under the cold and merciless scalpel of Wat Tambour, or he’d be in his equally cold cell, filthy and dark and completely cut off from any semblance of the world. Neither of these appealed.

And yet… why was he awake? Had something caught his senses. Echo strained his ears, cursing the metal contraption that gave him his hearing these days, and heard creaking. That sounded like wooden boards shifty gently, and behind that- could he hear waves???

Echo’s eyes snapped open, adrenaline granting strength enough to his leaden limbs to scramble upright.  Heaving painful, rapid breaths he clawed himself backwards across whatever surface he’d been lying on, putting his back to a wall and trying to gauge his surroundings. He was in a room. A wooden, swaying, salt-smelling room. A ship?

His vision blurred, and he buried his head behind his flesh arm. His breathing somehow accelerated as his thoughts spiralled. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, he didn’t know what was happening.

“-?”

An unknown amount of time later, a new sound broke through the gale of panic. A voice?

“Do not be alarmed. You are safe here.”

Not speaking Skakoan. As for safe… he’d believe it when he saw it. Even so, he raised his head.

“There we are. Your breathing has begun to slow to acceptable levels. How are you feeling?”

Echo tried very hard to focus on the speaker. A young man, quite tall, but with posture that made Echo’s back twinge just looking at him. He was watching Echo intently through orange tinted spectacles.

“Uh,” Echo didn’t know what to say, so he went with a classic. “Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?”

“That is not the answer to my question, but you are alert enough to be suspicious and your eyes have focussed on me. This bodes well enough for now.”

The auburn-haired man ceased his inspection of Echo’s face and moved to sit next to him, taking out a notebook and pencil as he went. He scribbled incomprehensibly as he spoke, never pausing his speech or bothering to look at the pencil as he wrote.

“To answer your queries, you are abord the Havoc Marauder. Near the sleeping compartment. Sitting on my desk.”

Echo glanced down and saw that in the wake of his scramble to consciousness, numerous papers had been flung onto the floor below them. The man did not seem especially angry at him though, so Echo just kept listening.

“I am called Tech. Myself and my crew found you quite accidentally while raiding Purkoll. I have been waiting for you to regain consciousness and identify yourself.”

Here, Tech looked from Echo’s mechanical limbs to his head, to the implants in his emaciated torso, and his eyes betrayed concern but also curiosity. Echo shuddered a bit at the evident interest in his reconstruction, but at least Tech’s expression did not hold disgust.

The quick assessment unsettled him, but it kick-started his brain enough to start making sense of what he’d just heard. Had Tech asked his name? Not exactly, but it’d been a while since Echo had talked to anyone.

CT-1409. Corporal. In case of capture, say nothing else.

He wanted to be Echo again.

 He cleared his throat, wondering why the words stuck so strongly to his windpipe. “I’m Echo. Corporal. 501st. Grand Army of the Republic.”

Echo saw a flash of emotion flicker across Tech’s face at the word Republic, and it made his heart freeze.

“Wait, you’re not Separatists too, are you? Why were you on Skako Minor??”

Tech glanced down at the notebook in his lap. Throughout the whole interaction, the pencil had been moving furiously, but it stilled for a moment.

“Ah. No,” Tech began, somewhat awkwardly, “We are not Separatists. We’re not Republic either for that matter, which is the issue really.” He looked echo squarely in the eye.

“The Republic fell years ago. There is only the Empire now.”

Echo saw red.

“WHAT?!”

He forced himself to stand, ignoring the way his metal joints protested the movement, and caught Tech by the collar, hauling the man up until they were nose to nose.

“What do you mean ‘fell?’ What do you mean YEARS?! How long was I THERE” he shook the bemused Tech and screeched, “WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!”

Throughout his tirade, Tech remained as still as a statue. Echo followed his gaze and realized that his attention was drawn to the metal hook fused onto Echo’s mutilated arm. Said hook was currently perilously close to gouging out Tech’s eye. Echo froze and released him, backing up a few steps and taking a breath. He still shook with rage and terror, but he didn’t think injuring the only friendly being he’d seen since….

-Since. -

-would help matters. Eventually, he became aware that Tech was talking again.

“Fascinating. You have subconsciously adapted to use your new appendages to the fullest advantage in combat. You have very useful instincts, no doubt honed by military or navy service.” He adjusted his crooked spectacles. Echo tried not to feel bad about the badly scratched state of his left lens.

“I’m sorry that I cannot answer your questions, Echo. I do not know how you came to be on Skako Minor. My crew and I were simply there for a job. Tambour’s contraptions are extremely illegal and very valuable if one knows who to sell to. And I have long held a fascination with his work-”

Echo took a threatening step towards him, but Tech kept talking, “do not look at me like that. I am simply interested. His fabled automatons, the ‘’battle droids,” the man had the audacity to look a little wistful.

“But I do not condone torturing and experimenting on prisoners of war.”

“Oh good,” Echo deadpanned.

He could sense Tech had more to say, but Echo was done. With Tech, with the world, with everything. He shuffled uncomfortably, before giving up on tact and asking, “Look. I get that we’ve still got a lot of ground to cover here, but can I please sleep before we go back to this kriffed-up game of twenty questions?”

Tech snapped himself out of whatever whirlpool of thoughts he’d gotten caught in and nodded brightly. “Oh, of course. This must be a very draining experience for you. Would you like to stay in here?” he gestured to where a hammock was strung up beside his desk. Echo wondered how often this guy slept in here to have a hammock already set up. “I would not recommend moving to the main sleeping area just now. Certain…individuals tend to react a tad violently when awakened.

Echo filed that information under ‘problems for another time’ and simply nodded.

______

As he lay gratefully in Tech’s offered hammock, he wondered just how much he’d missed. How did the war end? What was this Empire? Were any of his old allies still out there?

Am I alone now?

What am I going to do?

He had no answers. Right now, he had nothing but illegal appendages, missing memories, and a kriffing weird little man with a notebook.

Aboard the Havoc Marauder.

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Pirate Batch Part 4- Crosshair

A wild Crosshair appears! The last thing I had pre-written. Now the hard part will begin. This is longer than the rest of them combined. I might have had too much fun with it. Be warned, I learned star wars swears just for this.

______

Crosshair you bloody idiot you should’ve known better. This was the only coherent thought Crosshair had been able to form for the past, say, ten minutes of frantic dashing through winding alleys and jumping fences. The rest of his thoughts were generally along the lines of “oh kriff,” “oh, God,” and - “DUCK!!”

He didn’t. A heartbeat later, he found laid out flat on his back, gasping and choking on nothing. Blinking bleary eyes, he strained to see what he’d run into. An enormous figure was looming over him, eyes and huge grin dimly visible. The giant reached down one huge hand caught Crosshair by the collar, hauling him up until his toes just barely brushed the ground. He paid no mind at all to Crosshair’s struggles.

“Got ‘im!” the man growled, looking past Crosshair’s shoulder as someone came up behind them.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me” a vaguely familiar voice stated. Crosshair willed his usually sharp eyes to focus on the smaller man who came around to stand beside the giant. “And I’d quite like it back.”

The newcomer was shorter than Cross but was strongly built. Maybe a year or two older than him. His long hair hung around a face bearing an expression of mild disinterest, as if all this were a minor inconvenience to an otherwise pleasant evening. Cross recognized him from the dockside bar, where he could always count on finding an easy mark or two. He’d thought this man was one such easy mark, with his guileless smile and a coat that was clearly made for someone much bigger than him. He’d been drinking and laughing and thoroughly distracted, and Cross had no trouble at all nicking his pocket watch, his coin purse, and some rolled up paper that had caught his fancy. It truly had been amateur of him to think it was that easy.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Crosshair rasped when he’d regained enough breath to speak. He was met with no answer, so he rolled his eyes and tried “oh, whatever could you be talking about? I’m innocent and honest and-” he was cut off when the giant gave him a rough shake.

“Fine! Kark off! Lemme go or tell me what you want.” He pried ineffectually at the hand grasping his collar. He wished he’d thought to bring his knives.

The shorter man smiled and fixed him with an incredibly calculating look. Crosshair deduced that he was not nearly as inebriated as he’d made himself appear in the bar. No drunkard would stare that intently. The man explained, his manner entirely casual and unconcerned, “well, since you ask, I would quite like my watch back. Wrecker?”

The huge man’s other hand came up and started rummaging through the many pockets of Crosshair’s coat. He kicked and fought, snapping his teeth and hissing, but it made no difference.

“Here, boss,” Wrecker retrieved the pocket watch and handed it over, “this has got your name on it too,” the stolen coin purse was removed from another pocket. Cross noted the embroidery on the bag indicating it as the property of one Hunter Fett. Kark. He’d stolen from a Fett??

“Excellent.”

“You got anythin’ else?” Wrecker growled.

Crosshair rolled his eyes and snarked, “I’ve got all sorts of things. I collect the belongings of legendary idiots and sell them the mermaids. I’m quite popular among-” he was cut off by Wrecker’s hand over his mouth and another shake. Oh, of all the horrible timing, this final shake was enough to dislodge the small scroll where he’d hidden it beneath the bracer around his wrist. It tumbled to the ground with a very quiet fwap. He didn’t let his expression change, didn’t look at it at all. Hunter’s eyes fell to it anyway. Well, Kriff.

Cross had been looking forward to reading that… whatever it would’ve turned out to be. He bit Wrecker’s hand in retaliation. The big man yelped and jerked his hand back but didn’t let go of his collar.

Hunter knelt to retrieve the paper, tucking it in his pocket before meeting Crosshair’s glare with thoughtful amusement. “I think we’re done here,” he said. “Let the man go, Wrecker.”

Wrecker shook him once again, seemingly just because he could, before dropping him to the ground. Stumbling slightly to keep his feet under him, Cross glared daggers at the two of them before turning and dashing into the night.

____WRECKER POV______

Wrecker watched the weird little thief disappear into the gloom, footsteps making hardly a sound as he retreated. Beside him, Hunter sighed.

“Nice guy,” he said. Wrecker assumed he wasn’t serious. “Damn good pickpocket. Didn’t even notice he got the map. Probably could get into some places we couldn’t.”

Wrecker snorted and shook his smarting hand. “Charming personality.”

“Well, we keep Tech around-”

“Boss, no,” Wrecker started. He saw the look in Hunter’s eye. He did not want to deal with the consequences of Hunter’s so called ‘intuition.’

“But Wrecker-”

“The kid’s a crook, Hunter!”

“And we’re pirates. Your point?” Hunter smiled at Wreckers indignation.

Wrecker stammered a bit. He, personally, saw what the Bad Batch did as perfectly acceptable. It wasn’t their fault they kept angering powerful people with too much money and too little humanity. Tech often remarked that Wrecker had been cursed with an indomitable moral compass. Wrecker wasn’t sure he knew what that was, but he knew the wiry little snake who’d made off with Hunters stuff probably didn’t have one.

“He karking bit me!” Wrecker tried again. Hunter’s expression didn’t change.

Wrecker was at a loss. And yet, he knew it was better to trust Hunter’s judgement. If it didn’t work out, well, Wrecker would be there to knock some heads for him.

“Fine,” Wrecker relented, “if you really think we need ‘im, we’d better go find his hidey-hole.”

_______

Cross dropped through the trapdoor just as the sun was beginning to appear over the horizon and heaved a sigh of relief. A bloody irritating night’s work to be sure, he mused as he crashed onto the beaten and tattered armchair that was the only furniture in the room, apart from a makeshift table he’d made himself. Not a productive day at all. Barely any haul to speak of, and he’d spent half the night running in circles to dissuade anyone -the bloody bastards who’d ruined his night’s work- tracking him back to his hideout.

Tired and fuming, he figured he might as well get some anger out. He stood and retrieved his throwing knives from the wooden chest that held most of his belongings. He slotted the knives into his pockets and flung one towards the far wall. It was snatched out of the air by an unfortunately familiar hand.

Wrecker stepped out of the shadows and tossed Crosshair’s knife back towards him. Crosshair caught it and spun it in his grip, retrieving another as well. He cast a glance towards his box, wishing he’d thought to grab his gun.

Wrecker kept advancing. Crosshair tried to hold his ground, but he didn’t fancy his chances against the giant, even with his arsenal of blades. If he could just get his rifle…

But he couldn’t. Instead, he found himself pushed backwards until he fell back into the old armchair. Wrecker pinned him there with a massive arm against his chest. “No biting.” Wrecker rumbled, pointing a stern finger in his face.

He noticed with a small degree of pride the red mark still visible on Wrecker’s hand. Experimentally, Crosshair stabbed the giant’s arm. He didn’t even flinch. Well, so much for that idea.

Cross already knew who’d be coming next, and sure enough Hunter stepped out of the shadows and smiled at him. “Let’s try this again,” Hunter said, “I’m Hunter Fett, this is Wrecker-” as if Crosshair hadn’t been able to piece that together yet- “And we are part of the Bad Batch.” Oof, what a name. Crosshair restrained an eyeroll.

“You are called Crosshair,” Hunter continued, “and are one of the most notorious thieves in Ord Mantell.” Here, he held up a wanted poster with a truly terrible rendition of Crosshair drawn on it. Cross noted the reward money with a hint of satisfaction.

“And yet,” Hunter put the poster away and glanced pointedly around the room, “you have precious little to show for it.”

“Wow. Rude.” Crosshair huffed, “I live here, you bastard.”

“You could be very useful to us,” Hunter said, a hint of ambition creeping into his voice, “we’ve got a job to do. It’ll pay well if we pull it off. Only problem is that it could use some… finesse,” -the word was carefully chosen- “And while I love my crew dearly, subtly is not exactly our strong suit.”

Hunter and Crosshair both looked at Wrecker, who merely shrugged and nodded.

Crosshair wasn’t feeling particularly charitably towards the pair of them, but they had a point. Wrecker would make an awful thief. But Crosshair was nothing if not defiant, so he snarled, “what if I don’t want to join your crew?”

“Then we will leave you be. And we won’t even compromise your… hidey hole.”

With that he backed away and climbed deftly towards the trapdoor in the ceiling, Wrecker finally lifting his grip on Crosshair to follow him. Hunter stuck his head in once more before vanishing, looking Crosshair dead in the eyes with a sincerity that stung his soul. “Ship’s docked in town. The Havoc Marauder. We’re leaving around noon. If you want it, we’ll have a place for you.” With that, they were gone, leaving Cross alone in his definitely compromised hideout with a lot on his mind.

He'd gotten a job offer from a kriffing Fett. A baby Fett, by the look of him, but still. He paced a bit, before striding to his locked chest and lifting the lid. He transferred the contents into his bag- a few items of clothing, some coins, toothpicks, and- of course- his many blades, pistols, and his prized rifle. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t look like he’d be back here for a while, so this was it. Kark, Fett had been right. His life’s work didn’t amount to kriff-all, did it? Building up a wall of pride had blinded him to the fact that, no matter what he stole- and he stole a lot- he’d never accumulate any value from it.

Finally, maybe just to assure himself he’d gained something from this way of life, he pried up a floorboard and pulled out a much more secret box. This one contained everything he stole that he couldn’t or wouldn’t sell. There really wasn’t a lot. Some shiny baubles he’d like the look of, jewelry belonging to the rich and powerful of Ord Mantell, and a stack of parchment. Cross made a habit of collecting paper he found on his outings, had taught himself to read with stolen letters, journals, and maps. It made him feel less isolated. He wasn’t one for talk- unless he aimed to infuriate an attacker- but the papers served as some company in his deep dark hiding places where only he would ever step.

He emptied as much of this as he could into his bag and stood with a sharp exhale. He glanced for one final time around his room, taking in the battered chair, his table, the walls pushed to collapse by repeated gunshots and knife throws, before scaling the wall and hopping out through the trapdoor. With any luck, something would still be here when -if-when- he came back. Unless those two idiots tailing him had let themselves be followed by every criminal in all of Ord Mantell. He suspected they had.

Running across rooftops, he made his way towards the docks- and an uncertain future.

________

BONUS: Where’s Tech? is he safe? Is he alright?

Tech was waiting on the ship for Hunter and Wrecker to return from their night of ‘gathering intel.’ He knew this to mean that they were most likely in the nearest establishment that served alcohol, picking up jobs and drinking heavily. Tech was content to let them have their fun, provided that had remembered to retrieve the lead they were expecting from a contact in Ord Mantell, and Tech would be there to haul them out of trouble when it inevitably came to that. Such was his lot in life.

He was surprised, therefore, to see them return somewhat early. Hunter handed him a tiny roll of parchment- a pitifully small lead considering the complexity of the job it entailed- and put forth a curious request.

“Tech, we need to know about the criminal population of Ord Mantell,” He said, “We’re looking for someone. You still got records on this place, right?” Of course, Tech thought, they only listen to me when they need something. Still, he nodded and strode belowdecks to retrieve the required intel, Hunter following and rattling off descriptors. Find one individual lowlife in Ord Mantell? Sure, finding a needle in a haystack was Tech’s job, after all.

“Give me five minutes.”

__LATER

Tech descended the steep steps that led below deck with a preoccupied air. He’d needed to leave the ship to drag Hunter and Wrecker back aboard in time to leave and was in a suboptimal mood. The fools had gone out again and found trouble, as usual. But no one was bleeding out or turning blue, so Tech figured he had time to sort through his data for the upcoming journey. He hesitated in the doorway at the sound of soft breathing.

Sprawled across a previously unclaimed hammock lay a figure; he lay on his stomach, arms dangling, with a knife clutched in one hand and a pistol in the other. As soon as Tech touched the floor of the deck the man shot up- flailing a bit to be free of the hammock- and turned both weapons to face the door.            `

The man was notably wiry, all sharp edges and no extra mass to speak of. He had steely grey hair despite his apparently quite young age. His gaze was uncannily sharp and undoubtably hostile and as he glared, Tech noted a slight shine to his eyes that put him in mind of a tooka cat at night. A vertical scar slashed through one gleaming eye.

The details together led Tech to the obvious conclusion. “You are Crosshair,” Tech said levelly. “True name unknown. Skilled thief and occasional killer, wanted for various petty crimes and a few larger ones pulled off reportedly ‘just for fun.’ The captain was very interested to know about you. Why?”

Before Crosshair could make any attempt at responding, Hunter’s voice broke in from above deck. “Gave him a job offer, Tech. Didn’t know if he’d show, but you know as well as I do we could use a thief for this gig.”

Tech considered the logic of that and, finding it sound, simply nodded. “Of course,” he said, “Welcome aboard the Havoc Marauder, Crosshair. I do hope you survive the experience.” With that, he walked past the bemused thief and into the room. He had books waiting for him, after all.

THE END - FOR NOW

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Dragon. A Snake-Lookin' One

Scallllllles. They take sooo looonggggg

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Pirate Batch Continues- Tech's Troubles

A new challenger approaches! Tech's fun.

Tech’s life wasn’t going at all the way he predicted it would, although perhaps he should have foreseen that. The young scholar pondered his life choices as he sprinted through the darkened streets of Tipoca City.

He rounded a corner, splashing through unidentifiable puddles and dodging debris as he made for a side of town he’d never ventured before. Behind him were the angry shouts and pounding footsteps of his… concerned colleagues. Honestly, he thought, I didn’t say anything THAT bad. It’s not my fault the whole school faculty is so bloody closed-minded. Well, maybe Tech could have stood to withhold his interest in forbidden science just a little while in the presence of others, and okay, maybe he hadn’t been terribly diplomatic when the head librarian had confronted him about his studies, but did that really warrant having to flee from a mob of old stuckups? Tech came upon an open tavern and burst inside, closing the door quickly behind him and finding a wall to put his back against. The chatter of the occupants halted as everyone stared at him. Never had his attention been towards his appearance, but he was suddenly very aware of how much his crisp attire and tinted spectacles stood out amongst such company. Then the moment ended, and everyone returned to their business. Except, Tech noted, for one person. A young fellow- well, probably older than tech himself but that wasn’t hard- who was still staring at him with interest from across the room. He wore a tricorn hat atop long dark hair that fell messily about his face, a long red overcoat that looked at least a size too big, and rather ridiculously high leather boots. The odd outfit marked him as a sailor of some kind, probably of dubious legality. He sat next to a great hulking shape of a man, who hadn’t noticed Tech the way his companion had. Both fellows were armed. Tech heard the door burst open again and saw the headmaster of his school flounce into the room with fury raging in his dusty eyes. Tech weighed his options and strode towards the man in the hat, who was watching Tech and the newcomers with open amusement. “You, with the questionable attire”, Tech addressed him, “can I perhaps commission your services as a charter to anywhere but here?” he managed in one breath. The man’s big companion finally took an interest. “You get chased by old guys a lot?”

“A recent development,” Tech said and, hoping to speed things up a little, he fished out a handful of coins and held one up to them. “Do you accept my commission? I’m afraid I’m in rather a hurry.” The man in the hat smirked, his eyes flicking from the money in Tech’s hand, to his face, to the horde of angry scholars behind him. “Yeah, alright, fancy pants,” he said, “you seem like good company. Wrecker,” he addressed his hulking companion, “let’s take our new friend out the back way.” Wrecker laughed and jumped to his feet, punching tech companionably in the shoulder with enough force to send him staggering, before starting off to the back wall of the tavern. “Might I point out,” Tech panted, “that there is in fact no door on this side of the buildi-.” he trailed off as Wrecker kicked a sizable chunk out of the wooden wall. Tech shrugged and followed the mysterious pair out into the night. They ran towards the docks and towards a very curious ship. He was hurried aboard and below deck as the man in the hat started guiding the ship away from the shore. Tech took a seat against the wall and took in his surroundings, quickly forming a viable hypothesis regarding his current companions. The abundant weapons strewn about, the visible damage to the ship’s structure, and the notable absence of any navy emblems, certifications, or even flags painted quite the picture for the young scholar. He was pulled from his musings by the ship's two occupants returning from above deck. The man in the hat smiled at him and held out a hand in greeting. “Well, that was entertaining,” he said, “the name’s Hunter, and that’s Wrecker. What might your name be?” Tech hesitated only a moment before answering, “I am known as Tech,” he supplied, ignoring the man called Hunter’s still outstretched hand. “I thank you for your assistance and am prepared to pay for my safe delivery to a nearby port” Hunter’s grin widened, hearing the slight emphasis on the word ‘safe’. “Yeah, we could do that,” he said. “Or I could offer you a job. You don’t seem like the normal sort, and, well, neither are we. As you’ve probably guessed. I could use a guy with brains, and one with enough guts to use ‘em. You seem like the right sort, and yeah, I’m a little desperate. You interested?” Tech considered his alternatives- limited- and grasped Hunter’s hand, pulling himself to his feet. “Perhaps,” he admitted. That seemed good enough for Hunter, who put a friendly hand on his shoulder and said, “Well then, Tech. Welcome aboard the Havoc Marauder”.

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Scales are fun. Time consuming. But fun.

This character needs a name. She is currently nameless.

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More Pirate Batch! Wrecker

One more right away, just to prove I've got the rest on the way.

Wrecker was content with his life as a dock worker. Or so he told himself, daily, while he spent long hours hauling heavy crates to and fro in the relentless wind and heat. Wrecker knew he was a strong guy, but even he was going to bed exhausted and dreading the morning that would begin the cycle of endless work once again. Until one day, he spied a strange looking visitor to the docks. A young man, maybe Wreckers age, stepped off a peculiar-looking ship, docked clumsily and with evident difficulty in a secluded corner in the pier. Wrecker would never claim himself to be the brightest sort, but to his eyes, this guy looked green. Both literally, and meta… figur… and that he looked inexperienced. The hat and coat he wore were impressive but didn’t quite fit him right. The ship was sleek and looked well armed, but it appeared damaged and shoddily repaired. And this kid stepped off the ship alone, with no visible escort or companions, and walked right past where Wrecker was gawking without even seeming to see him.

The whole of his workday, Wrecker’s thoughts kept straying to the half-hidden ship and the strange fellow who captained it. That evening, Wrecker went to it and undid the rope which held it. It was a sorry job that Wrecker couldn’t stand not correcting. With a mighty tug, the ship straightened out and drifted closer to the pier, where he fastened it more securely. Wrecker sat on the edge of the pier, legs dangling over the side and daydreaming about weaponry when raised voices caught his attention.

“Hey, you! With the silly hat!” Wrecker turned his head slightly towards the shout, not moving just yet. It didn’t pay to get involved and escalate things when it wasn’t necessary.

“Well lookie here,” a different voice added, “we’ve caught ourselves a Fett!”

That make Wrecker whip his head around, subtly be damned. Wrecker would never presume to be knowledgeable about, well, anything, but even he recognized that name. He scanned the docks until his eyes alighted on the same young man he’d noticed that morning. His carefully constructed air of confidence was cracking slightly as he took small steps back from two hulking figures lurching towards him.

“Hey, fellas, I was just leaving-” he tired, hands up placatingly.

“Yeah, right,” snorted one of the thugs- he was big and ugly, sure, but wrecker decided he could be dealt with, “you’re leaving, Fett? No way yer Jango. Not parading about with no backup and a coat that don’t even fit. You one of his brats?” he punctuated the sentence with a sharp jap of his huge finger. Wrecker’s feet were carrying him closer without any input from his brain.

The young man rolled his eyes, “I dunno about any Fett, but-” his gaze caught Wrecker’s and flashed from searching, to scheming, and finally, smug confidence, “-what was that you said about backup?” he ducked, turned and ran as the two thugs turned to find Wrecker behind them.

Wrecker gave them a chance. “You guys wanna back off and let this one go?” he asked. He meant it, too, but it seemed to Wrecker that people only ever wanted to solve problems by punching them. This suited him just fine. Predictably, the thugs bared teeth and fists, and wrecker mourned the state of peace he’d enjoyed minutes before. Oh well. It would be a short fight.

_______

 A short time later, Wrecker was sitting idly by the water, watching the sunlight play across the rippling surface of the bay. A smoky voice sounded from behind him. “Hey pal, you looking for a career change?”

“What?” Wrecker yelped and turned around to find the young captain standing over him with a calculating sort of smile. “What’re you- but who- i’m just a dock hand!” 

The guy rolled his eyes. “Right. A dock hand who just saved my stupid skin, and – I notice- pulled my ship into port with your bare hands. You, my friend, are something special.” he sat down next to him, kicking his booted feet a little. “The names Hunter Fett, and I’m looking for a crew. I could use a big guy like you. You can probably guess why-" Wrecker tried not to glance at the man's short stature- "I can promise one hell of an adventure if you join up. And a significant amount of firepower.” Wrecker’s eyes lit up, for his nickname was well chosen. Firearms and cannons were his great obsession and his best talent. Hunter smirked. “I may be short on men, but I’ve got guns galore.”

And so Wrecker's new life began.

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I made three versions of this drawing. Pick your fave?

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The Havoc Marauder Sounds like a Pirate Ship

Pirate Batch!

I've got some scribbles living in my computer. I will let them see the light of day.

First, HUNTER

The hot sun shone down upon Hunter’s back as he finished hauling the corpses over the railing. Just then, he couldn’t remember who it was they had been fighting. He hadn’t exactly had time to wonder about that when he spun about in the mad, heaving melee. His captain had taught him that there’s a time for thinking and there’s a time for killing, and it was a good idea to know which is which. Fat lot of good that had done him, it seemed. Hunter wondered what he’d thought of in his last moments. He probably hadn’t known they’d be his last.

This outing had been one for the books. Probably the last one in the book, if Hunter was any judge, Reason being the guy who’s job it was to write the books was laying in a pool of his own blood at Hunter’s feet. This was currently not an uncommon state to be in. In fact, right at this moment, nearly everyone Hunter knew was laying in a pool of blood at his feet. Something in his brain wondered why he himself should be any different.

He wondered nothing else for some time.

____

To his great surprise, Hunter woke up. Mostly. His arm was numb, his brain was numb, but his lungs were heaving, and his body hauled itself back to its feet. He looked down at himself; torn clothes, slashed limbs, and a single blade still clutched in a hand he could not feel. He put aside any thoughts of pain and shifted his gaze. The ship. His ship? He had a duty. That was the only thought his numb mind could present him with, and the effect it had was that of a cold bucket of water to the face. Take care of the ship. The rest could wait. With great effort, he dropped the knife.

______

Hunter looked around the damp deck of the Havoc Marauder. It was a little worse for wear, but it was HIS. That was a fact he just had to keep repeating to himself, making himself hear the words and believe them to be true. It was true, and it was a truth that had been bought with blood. It would do no good to waste the truth in denial. He whispered them again now into the salty sea air. “Mine. This ship is mine. This deck is mine, the hull is mine, the rather torn sails are mine, the extensive cannon damage is mine too. I am the captain of my own ship; all I lack is a crew.” Done with the speechifying- for now, at least- Hunter turned on his heel and strode briskly across the deck… to a convenient broom closet. The young captain smiled grimly to himself as he dragged out a mop. The first act of his illustrious career as captain… was to clean up all this blood.

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Spooky Writing

Drip, 

Drip, 

Drip, 

Where was that coming from? 

I cannot see. 

I cannot feel. 

I cannot- 

I cannot move. 

But I can hear, 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

It could be water 

No, it's not steady 

Not the tap-tapping of water drops onto stone 

Stone? 

Must be stone? 

It’s dark. 

It's cold. 

I feel the press of ground high above me. 

But not around me. 

What is around me? 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Its getting faster now 

I wish it would stop. 

The silence would be better. 

Wouldn't it? 

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Plan 66

There were plenty of disadvantages to being experimental commandos, Hunter remarked to himself as the squad staggered towards their barracks, but there were upsides here and there. For instance, after a typically torturous day of training, testing, and reg torment, they were making their way towards their own private room- far from the prying eyes and muttered comments of regs and kaminoans alike. Granted, they were returning to said barracks in various states of exhaustion, many hours after late-meal, because maybe those disadvantages were just a bit more substantial. 

The door to the barracks slid open and the 99s swiftly scattered to various corners of the room. Hunter paused for a moment in the doorway, savouring the feeling of safety. His squad was here, together, and for now he could keep them all in his sight and away from danger. 

Hunter sat on his bunk and began readjusting his senses to the Kamino rain outside and the permanently unfortunate smell of the 99s’ barracks. His brothers were doing similar activities to declare to the world that they were done for the day- Wrecker began rummaging through the plentiful supply of snacks they absolutely weren’t supposed to keep in their room, Tech left his datapad on his rack and beelined it for the refresher before anyone else could claim the first sonic, and Crosshair collapsed face-first on his bunk and buried his head under a pillow without even pausing to remove his training armour. 

A few minutes passed in blessed peace. Wrecker began hoisting heavy objects over his head, Hunter began sorting through command training assignments he was expected to have done several months ago, and Tech emerged from the sonic and reclaimed his data pad. Hunter absentmindedly watched his brother coast through unknown reaches of the holonet that gave Tech his infinite wisdom. As he watched, Tech’s darting eyes stopped flitting behind their goggles and he sat down suddenly. “This is… not ideal.” He said, voice shaking very slightly. “Hunter? I-“

Crosshair’s voice emanated from his bunk, “I swear, if those bastards spring another of their ‘surprise assessments’ on us, Kamino will burn.”

“No, it is not-“ Tech cut himself off with a harsh exhale and simply turned his datapad around, the illuminated screen casting eerie light across the floor. Hunter edged forewarned and read off the screen: OFFICIAL G.A.R. REPORT FROM UMBARAN FRONT- FRIENDLY FIRE CASUALTY NUMBERS RISING

Hunter would have read more, but Tech turned the screen back around and pressed the datapad to his chest. “I read it,” Tech said, “it is a disturbing incident that merits immediate discussion.”

Hunter called over their other two brothers and they waited in tense silence for Tech to explain. “I have compiled an explanation from various official and unofficial sources,” Tech began. “From my understanding, the 501st and 212th legions suffered significant losses in a friendly fire incident arranged by their Jedi general.

“A Jedi did this?!” Wrecker gasped, “I thought they were in our side!”

“Indeed,” Tech said, “a Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell, who seemingly planned to leave the Jedi order and offer his services to the Separatists. 

The regs apprehended him, losing more men in the effort. He was executed on Umbara.”

“Who did it?” Hunter asked in morbid fascination. “Wouldn’t killing a Jedi be a death sentence for a clone? Did the 501st lose their commander? Was it… Cody?”

 “It would seem he was killed by CT-6922, otherwise known as Dogma. I have been unable to locate Dogma in any subsequent reports or communications. Furthermore, his number has been deleted from the Kaminoan database.”

“He killed a traitor,” Cosshair muttered, glaring at nothing, “and they made him disappear.”

 “So it would appear.” Tech put aside his datapad and levelled a serious stare at his brothers. Hunter felt Tech’s eyes catch his and hold his gaze. “I am reluctant to accept that all the Jedi will turn on their soldiers so easily. However, it is now a proven possibility. As such, it seems prudent to be prepared in case we are ever in the presence of a Jedi who wishes us harm.”

The squad exchanged glances. Wrecker was the first to break the silence. “But… will we even be working with Jedi? The regs have generals, but we’ll be on our own once we graduate, won’t we? We only really report to Cody.”

Hunter sighed. Time to be the sergent, he supposed. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, I guess. Cody’s got a Jedi. We can’t avoid them completely.”

Tech nodded once and set his datapad on his lap, hands poised to type. “Precisely. As such, we need a plan. Just in case.”

They nodded along grimly and echoed him, “just in case.”

___________________

The discussion took hours. Jedi, it turns out, were not very easy to kill. But the Bad Batch weren’t the Bad Batch for nothing. As such, many scrapped ideas, shouting matches, and some very unhappy consciences later, they had a plan. It wasn’t perfect and it certainly wasn’t pretty, but it was enough. Eventually, Tech finished typing. “Well,” he sighed, “I suppose that is that. Now it needs a name. The next available numerical designation is fifty-t-“ 

“Sixty-Six,” Crosshair interrupted unexpectedly. Throughout the entire discussion, he had been very quiet, providing ideas when required, but largely just observing as the plan came together. Yet every time they flagged, every time Hunter threw his hands up in despair and declared it was futile, he was there. He’d set a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and meet his gaze with a look that said far better than Crosshair himself ever could that he needed to stay strong for the sake of the squad.

That look was no where to be seen, now. In its place was an oddly dark, thousand-yard stare that put his brother uncomfortably in mind of a corpse. “It’s got to be Plan Sixty-Six.”

Tech, puzzled, tried to argue that “It does not makes sense to skip the preceding numbers for this one in particular,” but then Wrecker spoke up:

“No, he’s right. It’s gotta be that. It just feels… right”

Hunter found himself nodding along. For some reason, as soon as Crosshair said it, there was no alternative. Even Tech conceded the point, muttering some rationalization involving multiples of eleven.

In the dark, mind still spinning with the news of Umbara and the newly minted “plan 66”, Hunter was struck by the creeping feeling that they had just taken once step closer to something terrible. Something inescapable. 

Something horribly, world-shakingly, inevitable.

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Spooky Poetry

The Dancing Storm

A lonely hill, crested in stone, 

And long-dead trees as white as bone. 

No crickets to chirp, no birds to soar, 

Dark clouds above, the thunder roars. 

Upon this bluff lives not a thing, 

But deserted not is this hill forlorn. 

For within this desolation dwells, 

The Ghost of the Storm. 

 Slender, she is, and clad in white, 

With hair that shines like liquid night. 

She twirls and dances through the storm, 

Her sharp teeth smiling bright. 

Her eyes do seem glass orbs black, yet such is not quite so, 

As she revels in her raging storm her eyes begin to glow. 

Blue, they flash when the lightning strikes, 

And crimson they smolder with the thunder roll. 

With whirling arms and flashing eyes, 

She commands the wind, the storm, the skies. 

And thus, she conducts her gale with glee, 

Not just the eye of the storm, but the soul. 

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Hello Internet

I'm putting my stuff online so it doesn't die with my laptop