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Dickinson: Well…that may be your opinion, Dr. Franklin, but… as I said, the people feel quite differently.

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ABCs of your OCs

a list of oc questions in alphabetical categories - i made each category based on the first word I could think of in alphabetical order, so enjoy!

A: Aptitude 1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young? 2. what activities have they participated in? 3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for? 4. what things are they bad at? 5. what is their most impressive talent?

B: Basics 1. what is their hair color? 2. what is their eye color? 3. how tall are they? 4. how old are they? 5. how much do they weigh?

C: Comfort 1. how do they sit in a chair? 2. in what position do they sleep? 3. what is their ideal comfort day? 4. what is their major comfort food? why? 5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

D: Decoration 1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name? 2. how would they decorate their child’s room? 3. how do they decorate their own room? 4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear? 5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

E: External Personality 1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality? 2. do they do things that conform to the norm? 3. do they follow trends or do their own thing? 4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads? 5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it out on their own?

F: Fun 1. what do they do for fun? 2. what is their ideal party? 3. who would they have the most fun with? 4. can they have fun while conforming to rules? 5. do they go out a lot?

G: Gorgeous 1. what is their most attractive external feature? 2. what is the most attractive part of their personality? 3. what benefits come with being their friend? 4. what parts of them do they like and dislike? 5. what parts of others do they envy?

H: Heat 1. do they rather a hot or cold room? 2. do they prefer summer or winter? 3. do they like the snow? 4. do they have a favorite summer activity? 5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

I: In-the-closet 1. what is their sexuality? 2. have they ever questioned their sexuality? 3. have they ever questioned their gender? 4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT? 5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

J: Joy 1. what makes them happy? 2. who makes them happy? 3. are there any songs that bring them joy? 4. are they happy often? 5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

K: Kill 1. have they ever thought about suicide? 2. have they ever thought about homicide? 3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who? 4. who would miss them if they died? 5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

L: Lemons 1. what is their favorite fruit? 2. what is their least favorite fruit? 3. are there any foods they hate? 4. do they have any food intolerances? 5. what is their favorite food?

M: Maternal 1. would they want a daughter or a son? 2. how many children do they want? 3. would they be a good parent? 4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter? 5. would they adopt?

N: Never Have I Ever 1. what would they never do? 2. what have they never done that they want to do? 3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do? 4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done? 5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

O: Optimism 1. are they optimistic or pessimistic? 2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others? 3. are they good at giving advice? 4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them? 5. were they always optimistic?

P: Personality 1. what is their best personality trait? 2. what is their worst personality trait? 3. what of their personality do others love? 4. what of their personality do others envy? 5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

Q: Questions 1. do they ask for help? 2. do they ask questions in class? 3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable? 4. do they ask weird questions? 5. are they curious?

R: Rules 1. do they follow rules? 2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent? 3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule? 4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking? 5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

S: Streets 1. are they street-smart? 2. would they give money to someone on the streets? 3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets? 4. has anything happened to them on the streets? 5. are they cautious when out?

T: Truth 1. are they honest? 2. can they tell if someone is lying? 3. is it obvious when they’re lying? 4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about? 5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

U: Underdog 1. have they been bullied? 2. have they bullied anyone? 3. have they been physically attacked by a bully? 4. have they ever been doubted? 5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

V: Vomit 1. do they vomit often? 2. do they get lots of stomach aches? 3. are they good at comforting someone ill? 4. what do they like as far as comfort goes? 5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

W: Water 1. do they drink enough water? 2. have they learned to swim? 3. do they like to swim? 4. can they dive? 5. can they swim without holding their nose?

X: Xylophone 1. what is their favorite genre of music? 2. do they have a favorite song? 3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer? 4. can they sing well? 5. can they rap?

Y: You 1. how old were you when you created them? 2. what inspired you to create them? 3. were they different when they were first created? 4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters? 5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

Z: Zebra 1. what’s their favorite animal? 2. do they like animals? 3. cats or dogs? 4. what’s their dream pet? 5. do they have any pets at the moment?

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This is Christmas spirit, as in spirits, booze.

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Day 2: 100 Characters--Battlemage

(Based on this post. Every day, going to roll a die, and write up a short character drabble based off of that class.) 

He was short, portly, and had struggled with breathing for any long period of time outside of the purified air of the laboratory.  He had spent his entire life dedicated to engineering, to finding out a way to harness the natural magic of the world for something beautiful and magnificent.

Which is why, Admiral Lockstep had decided, it was completely unfair that he didn’t get to use his own invention.  Well, not his own invention, exactly.  The power source had been a gift from the Corps of Engineers.  The armor design had been reverse-engineered from falling artifacts of the invaders.  The material was actually used in the construction of mining drills and heavy lifting equipment, and the volunteer for the experiment was from the Fifth Magi Octant. 

But still!  Admiral Lockstep had suggested that they build an anti-air platform at the strategy meeting five months ago, and then the project had started.  It was practically his brainchild. It even had a blue shine, like naval uniforms!  And--and now, as he watched the pilot stepping into the suit, the Admiral noticed a very peculiar thing--the young man was pausing, as the sun set. 

A moment of silence, and then, when the shadows finished crossing the young man’s face, he was back to work.  Inside, the Admiral was green with rage.  “You let our most powerful weapon go to one of these dock-eared numbskulls?” 

Short lobes were one thing, but the dock-eared were fanatics.  “What happens if the enemy invades when the moons eclipse each other?  Are we going to send them pastries and a note saying ‘I’m sorry, our planetary defender can’t play today, he’s busy staring at his navel.  Could you come back at sunrise?”

Tolerance was all well and good, but this was a practical reason.  The planetary defense system couldn’t just go down because someone had a bad feeling about fighting without a light in the sky.  There had to be utmost attention paid to the security and safety of the people. That should matter more than some old Western superstition.

The pilot was in, though, and despite the Admiral’s earnest complaints, the power was activated.    Bright yellow energy streamed into the platform holding the armor, and the pattern of the River’s Delta lit up as the energy flowed into it.

Calling the soldier inside the armor a pilot also seemed rather stupid, in retrospect.  The suit had so many cables attaching it to the  platform, it would never be able to jump, let alone fly.  Still, the yellow reactor on the chest ought to allow for significant anti-orbital capabilities.

It was one of the more rude welcoming committees in the history of the Second Planet.  But after observing their neighbors on first and third going out into the stars, only to return with darkened eyes and blackened hearts--they couldn’t risk it.  Though the people of the Second had all but renounced space travel, they couldn’t expect peace from their neighbors any longer.  They could prepare for war, or prepare for peace.  This weapon was their ultimate measure for peace.  Unable to move, it was tied to the planet itself, and could serve only as shield or protector.

Assuming this test went well, of course.  The dock-eared fanatic seemed to be failing to hit every target, even the stationary ones.   Typical.  Probably couldn’t turn his head to keep a moon in sight, and started firing blindly.  Such backwards superstition had no place in the military.  Whatever the reason, it was making this highly-sophisticated hardware look like a blue and gold gimmick.

And, to their great misfortune, provided a wonderful glowing target for the gigantic ship which just warped into orbit.  Gigantic cannons fired hot death into the delta pattern, and right across the face of the magus, who was now curled in a fetal position, simply trying to endure the blows.  Perhaps the only thing on the planet which could stand a chance against these monsters from beyond the stars,and he was hiding. 

Hiding!  A catastrophic failure, and none of the tech was to blame--no, it was that dock-eared fool from the fifth Octant.  The one who had failed to fire a single shot at the enemies which threatened his own home, his whole world. 

How could this man be the test subject?  Even now, the enemy fleet was making its way across the beloved moons, he was sitting there, doing absolutely nothing.  Eventually, the cannons moved elsewhere, raining devastation upon the capital, the Twilight Lands... everything. 

And now, the little fanatic was standing up. The admiral was boiling, at this point--how dare this little scrub survive, when so many far braver, far smarter, and far more worthwhile were dying?  But his arguments were cut short, once the armored tester saw the fate of the moons.   No words were pronounced, no scream of despair or rage was audible, but there were two very swift punches thrown, up at the atmosphere. 

The admiral was incredulous.  “Wonderful.  Our planet is collapsing, and the one lone hope, our best shot at survival, has become a complete dullar--”

And then the sounds of horrific screaming metal resounded across the Delta.  Up in the sky, the two interstellar cruises were brushed aside, drifting through their orbit in dead silence.  They each bore the unmistakable dent of a giant fist, right in their core.  And they were both far, far away from the moons.   Slowly falling apart in a mess of explosions and amid screams of awe and joy, Admiral Lockstep beamed.  “See?  I told you it was so!  This weapon is the only defense we will  ever--“ and then he noticed that all of the fuel lines had been cut, long ago in the blast of orbital fire.  Those giant fists had come from pure, unassisted magic.  And it was a Dock-ear who did it.

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Day 1: One Hundred Characters--Duelist

(Based on this post. Every day, going to roll a die, and write up a short bit of fluff based off of that class.)

The edict of Alaric the Fourth’s 23rd had outlawed dueling. Between the advance of technology, and the advance of society, the practice seemed barbaric and backwards. This was an age of reason, not some feudal society where might made right.

Except that the edict had come into play to protect the mighty, as far as Tsiuri was concerned.  Once the pistol had become accessible to the masses, a means of dueling which didn’t require years of training, it suddenly fell out of favor.  The industrialists and magisters feared the commoner, now, and had pushed for this edict out of nothing more than self-preservation.

The rattle of carriage wheels began to come across the mists.  Lord Artsivian was going to make a big announcement today. He’d recently embraced new advances in textiles, and would be promising more benefits to the families of those who worked the factories.  These promises came on the heels of a catastrophic fire, as though a company store could make up for the mothers and fathers who had lost their lives in the calamity.

Not today.  Today, the old laws would prevail.  Those seeking justice could stand up to the mighty, and let the purity of combat decide for them.  Well--they would, at least, if she wasn’t already breaking the law anyway by issuing a challenge.  She had once been a duelist, but her pride had been stripped from her by this protection given to the wealthy. 

Tsiuri spat, and jammed her ceremonial shield into the mud.  The swirling hooks off of each side caught bits of the mist as it floated by; it was an old design, reminiscent of the fae, almost.  The pistol she held in her right hand, though, that was all modern.  Double-barreled, silver filigree, it was still untested in the field. Pulled a bit to the left on targets, but she only needed it as a threat, hopefully.  She pulled the wax off of the frizzen; the time to act had come. 

She was light on her feet, but right now she needed to buckle down.  As the rattle grew louder, she lifted her decorated shield and cried out to the driver.  “Stand and deliver!”  Bearing the ancient symbol of her family’s honor, Tsiuri Artisiviana dishonored herself and the family by not issuing a challenge to battle.  Instead, she robbed her own father. 

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The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme

Send me some numbers and a character name and I will tell you:

What does their bedroom look like?

Do they have any daily rituals?

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Eating habits and sample daily menu

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Makeup?

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Intellectual pursuits?

Favorite book genre?

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Favorite beverage?

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

What is their biggest regret?

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Most prized possession?

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

Concept of home and family?

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

What makes them feel guilty?

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

How misanthropic are they?

Hobbies?

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Religion?

Superstitions or views on the occult?

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

How do they express love?

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

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Some commies for @colorsofagency ! ( ´ ∀ ` )/              

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“Soldiers always live under a shroud. When you die in a nameless land for the sake of your country The place of your death becomes your grave And your uniform becomes your shroud.

This should be every soldiers’s mindset every time they put down their uniform. Therefore, be honorable at every moment – there’s no reason to fall short.”

 Captain Yoo, Descendants of the Sun, episode 4

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Construction crew commuting to work

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This is beautiful.

Draw the Squad feat. the Sith inquisitor trash baby squad! (plus one Togruta Sith Warrior who for some reason puts up with their bullshit)

I have no idea HOW they all managed to pile on what appears to be the ugliest couch on the entire Galactic Empire, but at least one person is probably about to be force-shoved across the room in .5 seconds.

From left to right:

Tel’Andel belongs to me

Maentic belongs to @mydetheturk

Prard'rav'inrokini (Dravin) belongs to @corellianflyboy

Mirij’eth’arib (Jeth) belongs to @clockwork-monarch

Nagenne and Shannen belong to @johawmetal

and poor poor Helieth belongs to @colorsofagency

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Draw the Squad feat. Team MCOK (Machoke) aka “how the hell did you guys make it to junior year without being expelled”

from left to right: Olivine belongs to me, Claire ( @mydetheturk ) Kiasna ( @colorsofagency ) and Maya ( @narrev )

original base from @mangopoptart !

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Sand in my Caf

(Tremik’oen’nuruodo is a character belonging to @corellianflyboy, Aikoja belongs to me, Kaliyo and all the Star Wars stuff is Disney’s.)

It was everywhere.  Aikoja was certain the sand had managed to get inside even her brain.  The locals had a name for a disease one got from being in the Dune Sea too long…. Sand Rot, or something.  It sounded disgusting, which was about how she felt, right now.  Cipher Nine was struggling too, evidently.  She could already hear the pot going in the kitchen. “At least we know the Old Man is really gone, Cipher Nine.”  The ship was sealed, they’d swept for bugs, and the Ghost Cell was all but gone.  She could afford to yell across the ship.  Who was it going to bother, Kaliyo?  Aikoja didn’t care much for her anyway.

    “You shot him?  And didn’t invite me to come along?  C’mon Agent, you never let me do anything fun!”  The short little bald woman was making a fuss.  Again.  Aikoja bit back a response to the brattataki, but only for a moment.

The Cathar rolled herself into an upright position on the couch, and laid her head on the table, just blowing the hair out of her face before calling out, “Kaliyo, you were too busy getting in fights at the Cantina, you missed our holo, clearly.”  That might not have strictly been true, but it would at least distract the force-damned anarchist for a while.

    Cipher Nine came back into the room, carrying a big steaming carafe; knowing the Chiss, it was probably just half of his breakfast, and not meant for sharing.  Aikoja didn’t even lift her head from the table as he filled a mug, and she stared up at him, sardonically offering, “Couldn’t even wait until we were offworld to start boiling Hutts again?”  

The caf which Cipher Nine favored was strong and black, and made a smell through the whole kitchen unit.  He’d been off of it for the past week, while they’d been traveling deeper and deeper into the desert, trying to track a particularly nasty set of terrorists.  His hands had been steady, but there was no doubt that he was happy to get back to his beloved beverage.  Probably would have another two pots brewing simultaneously, just to feed his thirst.  “You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this, Cipher Ten.”  

That was right, Aikoja reminded herself.  Neither knew each other’s names, and so she had to be thinking of herself as Cipher Ten, and her companion as Cipher Nine.  Kaliyo wasn’t a Cipher, at least--just a tool in Keeper’s eyes; anarchists were plentiful and easy to manipulate, but Aikoja still fancied personally applying a dagger to that brat’s back.

But today, she was just feeling tired, and perhaps more than a little playful.  Before Cipher Nine could bring his mug to his lips, she pointed out something on the datapad.  “Dejarik problem.  Can you help me out?”  It was nothing she hadn’t solved before, and probably absolute child’s play for the quiet Chiss, but it was worth a shot.  

He took the datapad in both hands, evidently still a bit sleepy, before responding slowly. “Rancor to the fifth promotion, Dewback rampant.”  But even as Aikoja’s hand was closed around the handle, he had already dropped the datapad on his lap, and held the cup of the mug in a vicegrip.  

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”  Cipher Nine’s Imperial accent was slipping, and Aikoja could hear the clipped tones of the Ascendancy squeezing through.  The man was holding the caf mug like it had been blessed by the Red Flame itself, and was not going to let go of it for any reason, except under extreme physical duress; or so suggested his psychological profile.  She laughs weakly, still holding the handle.

It probably looked incredibly silly, from an outside view, but neither of them were feeling particularly strong, after their struggles in the desert, and their little struggle over the caf mug was done with more pained grunts than valiant struggles.  “Nooooo, you need real food.”  She added just a hint of a whine at the end of it, while Cipher Nine still maintained his death grip.  More than anything, they both needed rest; strong caf wouldn’t enable that, whatever else was said.  

Cipher Nine was not letting go, so Aikoja slipped her finger into the drink itself; getting a new mug would require getting up, which she new he wouldn’t do, and then he’d have to admit his own tiredness.  “You ruined it.  There’s sand in my caf.”  He sounded a mix of pained and petulant, reminding the Cathar that her superior was still probably in his late teens, still so young.  Why he had come so far from home to join Imperial Intelligence was beyond her.  

She offered a low, raspy laugh.  “It was ruined when you put the second filter in.  You and I both know that.”  She was still half-laying on the table, only rolling her big blue eyes up towards him to get a decent glance at his expression; it was much like a young akk dog, who had just been accidentally kicked, and was wondering what had gone wrong.  “And stop staring at me like that.”

His gaze didn’t waver--Chiss eyes were unsettling, to say the least; he’d make a fantastic interrogator if he put his mind to it. “Close your eyes. Kaliyo can fly the ship when she’s not hung-over.”  Aikoja was stubborn, on that front.  Technically, he was her superior officer, but she had a bit more experience, even if her species precluded advancement in the ranks.  He complied, with a bit of a bemused smirk, leaving his blue face with a rather even temperament.  “You going to close your eyes too?  I can feel you staring at me.”

Aikoja offered another raspy laugh.  “I’m watching your back, there’s a difference.”  But even as she kept on looking at him, there was an inescapable feeling of fatigue; she didn’t think she’d be standing back up again.  Without his caf mug, the young Chiss officer was almost serene; it was something which greatly impressed Aikoja.  He could sit there, and think, and hunt, and protect the Empire from the deadliest terrorists… and still maintain such peace.

On second thought, that breathing was far too regular, and there was just a hint of a lean--was it really that bad?  He must have been running on fumes for the trip back.   And then he slowly, slowly, ended up leaning, until his arm collided with her back.  He was out like a light.

She stiffened, instinctively uncertain of what to do--but regulations aside, it was really, really good to see him resting. And she was dead tired herself… might as well just tick a hand under her head, and rest her eyes… just for a minute.

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SUPER late for the ask meme: tell me about how Kethis and Aikoja would interact when forced to work together. Also, Wycliff and Dani.

Kethis and Aikoja:

BARELY CONTAINED HOMICIDAL INTENT FROM AIKOJA

insults tacked on to everything, even simple statements like “watch your step” or “I’ll take the one on the right��.

Aikoja speaking in Cathar most of the time because go kriff yourself, Mandalorian, if you people hadn’t been busy massacring my species you might taken the time to learn the language instead

Kethis speaking exclusively Mando’a in return

they end up brawling and neither of them admits how cathartic (haha, CATHARtic) it is to just beat the crap out of each other

neither of them actually likes the other but they’re not quite as openly hostile afterwards

(Koenn’s internal monologue the whole time is just [DISTRESSED SCREAMING] because he really likes Aikoja but she is why he can’t have nice things like a Mando sister)

Wycliff and Dani:

“your master sucks”

“no YOUR master sucks”

“AT LEAST MINE DOES SOMETHING BESIDES ORGANIZE ROCKS ALL DAY”

“AT LEAST MINE FOLLOWS THE JEDI CODE”

“I FOLLOW THE CODE TOO. LOOK AT ME. LOOK HOW CALM AND JEDI-LIKE I AM.”

Dani uses the Force to give Wycliff wedgies from across the room and it makes him furious because HE CAN’T PROVE IT’S HER

Wycliff is baffled when Dani’s knighted because how could anyone think she’s ready, but kind of relieved that she isn’t around to harass him any more.

Wycliff doesn’t know how young she actually is. He might treat her differently if someone told him Dani was barely a teenageer.

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AR15 muzzleloading assault musket

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Can I eat it?

-Me, the elf , after growing a third arm (via outofcontextdnd)

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OC Prompt: Dravyn thought good little Jedi force ghosts would just shut up and be emotionless in his mind. Then he absorbed Wycliff's ghost.

Binding another Force ghost when he already had three dead Sith using his mind as their personal chew toy was probably a terrible idea, but Dravin never let a little thing like common sense get in the way of his goals. Besides, how much trouble could one dead Jedi archivist cause?

I thought the Dark Side was supposed to make you powerful. All it’s done for you is ruin your health. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re disgusting. I’m amazed that body parts haven’t started dropping off yet.

“Shut up. I’m trying to work.” Dravin extended a hand over the puzzle box before him. If he could maintain proper focus for just five minutes–

Five minutes? I was opening these things before I earned my first training saber! You mean to say that such a mighty Dark Lord of the Sith can’t even manage a simple Force lock? Let me take the pilot’s seat up here and show you how a Jedi does things.

“No,” Dravin said through clenched teeth. The box’s mechanisms clicked and hummed, almost ready to give up the relic locked inside. Maintaining the level of mental control needed for such delicate work was rather outside of Dravin’s usual skillset, but his pride insisted that giving this job to an apprentice would be the same as admitting defeat.

What makes you think there’s anything useful inside there? We had plenty of time to hide or destroy our most powerful artifacts before your people attacked our enclave. The voice was definitely gloating.

“I said shut up!” Dravin slammed both hands down on the table. Now that the box was no longer the focus of his telekinetic attention, it cheerfully deactivated, the lock resetting once again.

That wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me take charge long enough to open it. Wycliff radiated smug self-righteousness as only a Jedi could.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you had obeyed my command to stay quiet! I thought Jedi were supposed to be good at following orders. You’re rather a disappointment.”

You’re the one who decided to trap me in your mind, remember? Really, I don’t know why you’re complaining when this whole thing was your idea.

“Send Darth Andru back out. I’d rather listen to him ranting at me than put up with you any longer.”

A few moments of blessed, pure silence passed. Dravin closed his eyes, savoring them.

He says it’s more fun watching you get your hackles up than it is to be ignored when he tries to impart valuable advice. Those are his words, not mine. I don’t see what a Sith could have to teach, other than being an object lesson on the dangers of the Dark Side.

Dravin flung everything off the table with a mental shove, potentially valuable lockbox be damned. He still had a few souvenirs from his last visit to Nar Shaddaa - if Wycliff wouldn’t let him work, then maybe a hefty dose of spice would quiet the voices and let him take a nap instead.

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