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therisingdarkness · 1 year

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5 Times Ghoul Left the Bar Alone, and One Time He Didn’t

written again for @cloned-eyes and for Ghoul, and for my girl Odessa <3 (this is like 18 pages, I’m sorry)

PART 2

Forty-six rotations since the last time they made planetfall, and sixteen more before they were finally debriefed and allowed to go on leave. It wasn't enough time to truly relax and unwind, but five days was all they could afford. Ghoul didn't question it, but neither did he keep his opinion to himself when asked.

Forty-six days of nearly killing themselves dodging the Separatist fleet, only to be rewarded with a pat on the back and five days of shore leave? The entire Republic could go kark itself, if that was supposed to be considered a fair trade. He wasn't grateful and he wasn't gonna pretend to be. The only thing he was looking forward to was finally replenishing his supply of cygarettes. He had run out so long ago it was a small miracle he hadn't managed to kill anyone in the interim, but most of the clones he served with knew to stay out of his way regardless.

Ghoul tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the transport's docking procedures to terminate, mentally running through the exact path he needed to take to get to the shop that sold his preferred brand of smokes. His craving was bad this time around; everything annoyed him, every little noise and movement drew his attention in a way it normally wouldn't and he knew he shouldn't have smoked them all in the first twenty rotations, but it was difficult when everyone around him was just so…so damn…indoctrinated.

That was the other reason he was looking forward to leave. He didn't have to be around the other clones as much, wouldn't be subjected to their boot-licking fantasies of being the heroes the Republic needed. Ugh.

Better still, he was meeting Fox at 79s. It had taken ages to patch a message through the tight security protocols, but when his brother finally messaged back he sounded cheerful and willing to make plans. Of course it had to be at 79s, because all anyone did was drink; Ghoul wanted to forget too, but nothing tasted the same and he wasn't about to spend credits getting wasted when he could just go to the rec center and beat the slack out of a training dummy for free. Despite its immeasurable and endless wealth, the same Republic that had no issue forking over the credits necessary for the Kaminoans to grow its army balked at the idea of paying said army a decent wage.

But Ghoul wasn't about to suggest they go anywhere else. Fox was so difficult to make plans with that he would take whatever he could get, so long as it meant seeing his older batchmate again. Wolffe was good company and all, but Fox would know exactly what to say without sounding like he was reading off a script. He had always known how to make Ghoul feel better after a shitty day.

Slightly less shitty, once he had four fresh packs of cygarettes neatly packed into his empty rations pouch on his hip. With a promise to himself to make them last this time, Ghoul hurried to 79s, hoping to beat his brother there and grab a booth in the back where they could talk without being disturbed.

The outside of the bar had received a fresh coat of paint since the last time he had been there; unfortunately, the sign on the door prohibiting helmets remained. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the lettering looked bigger. He almost considered ignoring it…but instinct told him to just obey, for once. Wolffe would probably find out about it anyway and give him an earful. With a beleaguered sigh, Ghoul pulled off his bucket and tucked it under his arm before pushing the doors open.

A blast of recycled air hit him in the face, immediately cooling the sweat buildup on his forehead. The inside of his nose stung with the first inhale, but it was good to be out of the heat. The sun hadn’t even set yet and the bar was mostly empty. The only other patrons were a few alien species—Rodian, Dug, and Pantoran—and an odd couple of clones stripped of their armor down to the hips. At the bar itself sat a few humans, all three of them red-faced and snickering amongst themselves.

Behind the bar stood the same Twi’lek that had served him and Wolffe during their last visit. Ghoul stiffened, but she wasn’t paying him any attention or even looking his way.

Good, he thought. Maybe this time she’d mind her business and stay far away from him, except to do her job. Hopefully he’d be able to have more than one drink this time around. Even if he couldn’t taste it, he was looking forward to the social aspect of drinking with his brother.

Ping.

Ghoul ripped his commlink off his belt so fast he almost broke the clip, pressing the receiver and holding it close to his mouth.

“Fox?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

“Hey, glad I caught you!”

“Kriff, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ghoul said. “I just got to 79s; gonna grab a booth. You want me to order for you?”

“...well now I just feel bad.”

Ghoul froze. Dread prickled the skin at the back of his neck and he tightened his hold on the commlink.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

He could almost hear the way Fox winced over the channel.

“I’m not gonna be able to make it today,” his brother said. “Emergency Senate proceedings, and the Chancellor refused my request for leave.”

“You asked for that time off ages ago!” Ghoul hissed. “Tell him to eat shit!”

“You know I can’t do that. I’m really, really sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

It was a lie. If not a lie, then a promise that was broken on delivery. Ghoul wanted to throw his commlink across the bar and bash his helmet into the ground; the knowledge that he’d receive demerits for damaging military issued equipment kept him from doing just that. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, pushing down the sudden rage that threatened to consume him. It wasn’t Fox’s fault…he couldn’t have known, he only just found out himself. Yeah…if it was up to him, he would have been there.

“You owe me,” Ghoul growled. “Big time.”

“I’ll take you somewhere nice and treat you like royalty. On my honor.”

“You don’t got any.”

Fox laughed, a smooth chuckle that had always made him seem cooler than anyone else Ghoul had ever known.

“Stay and have a drink for me? I hate to think you walked all that way for nothing.”

He didn’t want to. Five steps through the door and the rest of his day was ruined. There was no reason for him to stay, no reason he should sit up at the bar and drink alone. It was so pathetic. But…Fox was asking and lying to him didn’t feel right, even if there was no way he’d know, one way or the other.

“Fine. What’re you drinking?”

“Darkoma.”

“You sure have expensive taste for a guy who’s not paying,” Ghoul grumbled.

“You’ll love it. I’m really sorry about this, but I have to go. Don’t be mad!”

“Too late,” Ghoul snapped, but the line went dead as Fox disconnected. He was alone again, standing in a bar he hated, with only a few credits left to his name.

Kark, he thought.

He could leave. He could leave and no one would have to know. He had four packs of cygs and he knew how fast he could burn through half a pack in his current mood. If he jogged he could make it back to the rec center before they closed for their mandatory custodial hours. Hells, he could go straight to the barracks and take advantage of everyone being gone and get some alone time in, it’d been kriffing forever since he last touched himself anyways.

Shit.

The bartender had finally taken notice of him. He glared, but she just gave him a little smile and a wave, then pointed toward the seat at the very end of the bar, closest to the wall—the same seat he had taken the last time.

Just a couple drinks, he told himself. No more than two, and you can leave. You’ll have kept your word and you can rub it in Fox’s face the next time you see him.

Ghoul slunk over to the bar, trying not to feel like he had been ordered to the corner seat…even if it was the very one he would have taken of his own free will. He set his helmet down on the countertop a little more harshly than he should have and side-eyed the humans further down the bar. They hadn’t taken notice of him yet, invested as they were in their drinks. A dozen empty shot glasses littered the space in front of them, tiny monuments to their inebriation.

There were several times in his short life where he had felt lower than dirt…this wasn’t one of them, but it came close.

"Ghoul?"

He looked up.

She was standing in front of him, tilting her head to the side and fingering a menu. She was bright green and he hadn't even noticed her move. Kark. He needed a drink more than he thought.

"Yeah," he groused, forced to speak.

"I remember," she said, her voice gentle. It made his skin itch. If she thought she was doing him a favor by pretending to be so nice, she had another thing coming. He didn't need special treatment, or to be handled with white gloves. He wasn't fragile.

"You were with the Commander last time," the bartender said, refusing to shut up or take his glowering for the hint it was. "He is not with you today?"

"Obviously," he said, seething a bit. "Get me a Darkoma. And a Catsblood."

Unphased, she nodded, her lekku swaying with the movement. Against his will, he noticed the striped patterning painted down the length of them, a darker green that complimented her skin tone.

"Oryxxian, yes? You like the spicy kind. And warm for both?"

She…she remembered. Ghoul didn't know why it mattered. He tried to tell himself that it didn't, that she was just doing her job, the same as any half-decent bartender would manage. It wasn't anything special.

But it had been forty-six rotations since last planetfall and sixteen more for debriefing; in all that time she must have seen hundreds, if not thousands of clones pass through 79s. It wasn't possible to remember the details of every single one of them. Maybe names, if Twi'leks brains were as big as rumor had it, but even then there was only so much a person could be expected to hold onto before they started forgetting.

And clones were, as a lot of people liked to say, fairly forgettable.

"Yes," Ghoul heard himself say.

"Good choice for both," she said. "When the liquors are warm the taste sits more firmly in your mouth, and the aroma is stronger. Have you never had Darkoma before?"

He shook his head, biting back the urge to tell her that he couldn't taste.

"Darkoma is very rich," she said, smiling properly for the first time since he took notice of her. "A bold flavor, not quite as spiced as the Catsblood, but warm and pleasant. The aroma is almost earthy. You will enjoy it."

"Heeeeey," came a call from down the bar. "Sweetheart, why don't you come back over here an' give us a twirl?"

Ghoul watched the Twi'lek stiffen. She wasn't at all low-key; her lekku twitched nervously and gave her away, even through the tight smile she forced to her face. He knew enough about her species to know that the subtle movements of lekku was a language all its own; he wondered what hers were saying now, as the ends curled upwards and flicked down.

"Forgive me," she said, glancing back at the drunk humans. "I will see to them first, and then get you your drinks."

Ghoul glanced down the counter as she turned on her heel, the bounce missing from her step as she approached the lightweights. They all had the same soft look about them—almost immediately, Ghoul could tell they came from money. His eyes could see what others might miss, from the superfine weave making up the fabric of their clothing to the fractal light caught by their very real and very expensive jeweled rings.

Matching rings, he realized.

Academy brats.

If it was possible to hate individuals more than he hated the Republic as a whole, graduates from the Academy cornered the market. Blue-blood sons from wealthy families, coasting through life on the wings of nepotism, whispered favors and credits passed into the hands of politicians, accruing badges of honor without having ever set foot on a battlefield. Worthless little scudbuckets who thought themselves so much better than anyone else, who would shit their perfectly pressed breeches if they ever had the misfortune of being caught in a real firefight.

Ghoul watched with muted interest as the bartender began clearing the shot glasses, dropping each one into soapy water with a little plop.

“I am thinking it is time for you three to throw in your towels,” she said, her tone pleasant, but firm. “You have had much to drink this day.”

“There’s always room for more!” the middle one crowed as he swayed in place atop his seat.

“Yeah, we’re fine! C’mon, give us another round!”

“No,” she said, exuding patience for which Ghoul had to give her credit for. “I am cutting you off for now. Tomorrow is a new day, yes? Come again, and I will feed you drinks until you fall over. But not today.”

“Stop being stingy,” the first idiot spoke up again. He seemed to be the ringleader of the group, his voice obnoxious and nasally but filled with the kind of pomp his family’s money afforded him, like he was expecting to be obeyed. Ghoul felt a sneer curl his upper lip; he didn’t feel obligated to step in or anything, it wasn’t any of his business and it definitely wasn’t his kriffing job…but they were annoying and disturbing what little peace he had.

“It is not stingy,” the bartender said, her voice more firm. “I must ask you all to leave now, please. You have had enough. I will not be serving you more today.”

“Oh yeah? What would your master think?”

She froze, except for her lekku; the ends curled violently, almost thrashing before she reached up and grabbed one to forcibly hold it still. Ghoul stared, the expression on her face by far the most interesting one he had seen her make. She was focused on the three idiots in front of her, all of whom sported the same smug smirk on their faces, like something of extreme wit had just been said.

The Twi’lek didn’t look so impressed. In fact, he’d swear it was anger that she was holding in check.

“I asked you to leave,” she said; there was a tremor in her voice. “You are not welcome here anymore.”

“And what if we said no?” the ringleader said. “You gonna make us? Tailhead?”

That was definitely a slur. Every seasoned clone knew it, or had heard of it from those who had deployed to Ryloth for even one rotation. He remembered watching an officer break up a fistfight between a clone and a male Twi’lek over the use of the word; the clone had come away from it with the bone of his forearm jutting out through his skin and bite marks across his face. Male Twi’leks had sharp teeth and weren’t shy about using them, it seemed. He had simply made note not to use that word, ever.

Ghoul doubted these men had ever set foot on Ryloth, though. Maybe they could have been given the benefit of the doubt, that they heard the word in passing and just didn’t know how derogatory it actually was…but the looks on their faces gave away that they knew exactly what it meant.

“I am giving you one more chance,” the bartender said. “Leave on your own, or be thrown out. I will call the security droid.”

For a moment he wondered if they’d keep at it. The bar was empty and they were drunk enough that no one else was going to stop them. Ghoul didn’t recall there ever being a security bot at 79s, either, so she was likely bluffing. He knew he was too invested; he shouldn’t have cared, should have just minded his own business and waited for his drinks. Hell, he should have just left the second Fox said he wasn’t gonna make it. He still could; she hadn’t poured anything so there’d be nothing to waste.

But if he left and something happened….

It wasn’t his job. He didn’t care.

She remembered I like it warm.

So small a thing, it shouldn’t have meant so much to him—It doesn’t, he told himself harshly—but for some reason he couldn't move from his seat. Wolffe wouldn’t even have entertained the idea; in fact, he might’ve already rectified the situation himself had he been there. Ghoul wasn’t Wolffe though—he wasn’t so chivalrous as to stick his neck out for someone he didn’t know. Besides…this kind of behavior came with the territory. She wouldn’t be the first bartender to deal with rowdy customers. She needed to have the spine for this sort of thing.

But he sat, and he watched, and he felt his entire body tensing up in that familiar way it did right before a battle, right before he was forced to spring to action.

She remembered my name.

~~~

“Leave,” Odessa repeated herself, pointing toward the door.

The human stared at her, his pale blue eyes glossy with too much drink and his mouth crooked with what he thought was a smile. Her skin crawled and her heartbeat quickened. She hated confrontation, it was really the worst part of her job. She had been so fortunate that, up until now, patrons of 79s knew better than to argue about being cut off. Clones especially were quick to give up trying to wheedle one last little drink out of her, obedient down to the marrow in their bones. Sometimes they had to be dragged away by their brothers, but none had ever dared to speak to her with the disrespect that this human had.

She was close to shaking and hated it. This was the one thing she was no good at, and there were three of them staring her down like she was scum stuck to the bottom of their boots. Odessa held her head high though, tilting her chin up even though it did nothing to make her appear taller.

“Well?” she prompted.

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

“Fine,” the tallest human said, snatching his cap off the counter and shoving it down over his white-blonde hair. “Come on boys. There’s better bars than this dump.”

One by one the men clambered to their feet, stumbling as they gathered their wits about them and headed toward the door. Odessa watched them go until the last one made it out through the door, but not without shooting one last parting glare her way. Though drunk, there was enough real malice in his eyes that it sent a shiver up her spine. She tried not to judge any of the patrons who came by 79s…but in her opinion, there were some people who should stay away from alcohol. At the very least, they shouldn’t let themselves get so drunk.

He left, the door chiming as it shut behind him and allowing Odessa to finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Finally.

She looked back down toward the end of the bar with an apologetic smile.

“I am so sorry you had to see that,” she said, spinning to grab both drinks from the top shelf. “Normally they leave when I cut them off, but I have not seen those men before. Perhaps they are used to softer hearts.”

“...no,” Ghoul said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “They were just idiots.”

“Regardless, I would have preferred it did not happen that way.”

“...you had it handled.”

Odessa smiled as she poured the drinks, careful not to spill a single drop. She overpoured just a little, just because she could. It wouldn’t be missed.

“You know,” she said as she carefully walked the drinks over to Ghoul, “I was not worried. Most men are not so foolish as to act out in public like that. I think it would have been fine.”

He looked up at her and she was so close she could see the details of his eyes, the cybernetic components almost seamlessly fused together, except for thin, silver lines. Curiosity would have had her ask him about what happened, but she choked the desire dead in her chest. She would never be so rude.

“Those weren’t ‘most men’,” Ghoul said, fingering the glass of Darkoma. “They were Republic Academy students. Or graduates. Doesn’t matter, they’re all the same breed of asshole.”

“You sound as if you have experience,” Odessa said, wanting to hear more already. But first…she leaned against the counter and tapped her finger against the surface.

“Smell first,” she encouraged. “It will help prepare your senses. Darkoma is top shelf for a reason.”

She could see defiance in his expression, the way his brows furrowed right in the middle; he was a man not used to taking orders…or at the least, a man who did not like taking orders. But hers was only a suggestion, and a gentle one at that. He did as she said, inhaling deeply of the drink until his eyebrows arched in surprise.

“It’s…different,” he said.

“Different is good!” Odessa laughed. “I love to try new things, especially food and drink. You can learn much from other cultures that way.”

Ghoul lifted a shoulder in a shrug and began to drink steadily from the cup—too steadily. Before she could blink the short glass was empty and he turned it over, placing it upside down with a decisive clink.

“Not bad,” he said. “Not my speed, but not bad.”

“How could you tell? You drank so fast there was no time to enjoy the flavor!”

Almost immediately she knew she had done it again, uttered something insensitive or thoughtless that caused him to retreat in on himself and slam those walls back up around him. It was like a storm cloud passed over him, thunder on his brow and the air between them suddenly electrified with a tension so thick she could have cut it with a vibroblade.

“So what?” he growled. “I’m paying for it, I’ll drink it how I want.”

“Forgive me,” Odessa said, confused. “I did not mean to offend—”

“Listen,” Ghoul said, snatching the other drink up so fast a little bit sloshed over the rim, “I don’t know what makes you think I want to talk to you. I just came here to get a drink, then I’m leaving. You don’t have to hover, or talk to me, or pay any attention to me at all. Just…go do your job. Pretend I’m not here.”

Ouch.

“I was just…trying to be friendly…,” she said, heart pounding. This was, somehow, worse than the drunk men. At least then she knew she was in the right by making them leave. She had never met someone so…so unwilling to lay down their burden. Almost everyone who entered the bar was happy to talk to her, even if it was just for a little bit. Asking patrons about their day and their lives was part of what made the job fun, and even those who weren’t in the mood for idle chit chat were polite enough to exchange pleasantries.

Ghoul, it seemed, wanted none of it. He glared at her now, and got up from his seat to set both hands on the edge of the bar. He leaned over slowly, until less than half a meter remained between them.

“I’m not your friend,” he hissed.

Odessa swallowed, eyes wide and heart still beating wildly in her chest. She didn’t realize she was pressed against the sink until she felt the dampness collected on the rim soak into her pants.

“You…do not have to be,” she found herself saying, despite every alarm bell in her head sounding off, hinting that it was a better idea to shut up. “I was only curious.”

“Join the club,” Ghoul snarled. “You wanna know so bad? Ask, so I can tell you where to shove your kriffing ‘curiosity’.”

“Not that,” she said, gesturing to his face. “I am not so rude to ask the invasive questions.”

Was that a flicker of doubt she saw, in his eyes? Were implants even capable of expressing that level of emotion? She did want to ask, but the ghost of her mother would crawl out of the grave and strangle her with her own lekku if she dared to pry into whatever terrible event scarred Ghoul so deeply. His defensiveness made sense now, if all he was expecting from her were the kinds of questions that shouldn’t be asked aloud. She felt bad for him…felt bad for the way he must have been treated, if he thought so lowly of her, a complete stranger.

“What else is there?” Ghoul asked, his voice raspier than before. But he sounded genuinely confused, as though he couldn’t think of any reason why she might want to get to know him as his own person.

And honestly…Odessa didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know how to explain to him things that he should have already known, things that almost every other clone had embraced wholeheartedly, in rejection of the cold ideals that had been placed into their heads from birth. She didn’t know how to tell him that he was his own person, an amalgamation of experiences and desires and thoughts and memories that made him unique among his brothers. She didn’t know how to explain what she felt, whenever meeting someone for the first time, and watching them open up to her. It was like watching little morning flowers blossom with the rising sun.

Her father called her a romantic daydreamer; her brother just called her a silly little girl…but she couldn’t help who she was. She couldn’t help that she cared. It was the war that had made people forget that they were all a part of the same universe; they shared the stars and the pathways between them and it should have been easy to understand the importance of being kind, especially now…Odessa would never apologize for her beliefs.

But Ghoul asked her what else there could possibly be like he didn’t think there was any part of him worth knowing, and the confusion in his voice was almost enough to break her heart. She did want to know him, more now than anything, if only to prove him wrong, to show him that there was plenty about him that anyone would be proud to know. He wasn’t a walking prosthetic, he wasn’t just his war wounds. He wasn’t just some meat sack filling out scuffed armor.

But…she didn’t know how to get him to see it. Not without upsetting him further. Not without…without knowing how to reach him.

“You do not think much of yourself…do you.”

Before he could answer, the door swung open. Odessa only had to glance over before her heart dropped down to her knees upon recognition of the three men who had left not that long ago. They laughed and shoved one another inside, practically tripping over their own feet; somehow, in the span of less than a standard hour, they had managed to become even more drunk. Their faces were swollen with it, their cheeks and foreheads so red that at first glance it looked as though they were bleeding.

They had no right to come back, especially now when there was still much to be said. Odessa felt a small fury building inside of her at being interrupted the way that they were, and she shot Ghoul a soft look.

“Stay here,” she said. “I will deal with them…again.”

She stormed out out from behind the bar through the employee gate and right up to the men, incensed when she noticed the way they snickered and straightened up at her approach. They did not look at all sorry to be there, nor did they show any humility; she half-doubted that they even knew where they were.

“The bar is closed,” she said loudly, clapping her hands together a few times to capture their wandering attention. “I have already told you to leave and now you have come back. You want me to call for the authorities?”

“My father is an Admiral,” the tallest man among them sneered. He jabbed his finger into the middle of her forehead and pushed her back, hard. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

“You cannot,” she snapped back, swiping at his hand. Even drunk, he was faster than her, taller than her, and he laughed in her face until she could taste the alcohol on his hot breath. Odessa wrinkled her nose and blocked them from moving with her body.

“You are disturbing my other customers,” she insisted, determined to diffuse the situation like her boss had taught her; though she didn’t necessarily agree with the policies, calling the authorities was supposed to be the last resort. It would have been her first, had she had been sure she wouldn't have gotten in trouble for it.

“Customers?” the man repeated, looking over the top of her head and squinting. “I don’t see anyone worth more than the three of us. What, a few drunk blueskins and some washed-up clones?”

“Do not insult them!” Odessa snapped, raising her voice. She whipped her head over her shoulder and sure enough, the two clones in the corner had taken notice. They had been nothing but quiet and unassuming, gave her their batch numbers in a dutiful way that told her they had yet to see battle, had yet to earn themselves a nickname or lose their shiny status. They were quiet and polite, just a couple of lightweights who wanted to wind down after a long shift. They didn’t deserve to be spoken about like that.

She dared not look at Ghoul—she did not want to draw their attention to him. She saw now the type of men they really were, when alcohol had plied loose the beliefs they held deep within. They were cruel and judgmental, the kind who thought they were better than everyone else because of their status, their careers, the credits at their disposal. Odessa had no time for men like that, sober or otherwise. What was the saying she heard her boss use? ‘Drunken words are sober thoughts’.

She did not want them to notice Ghoul and turn that cruelty to him—and they would, and they would be merciless. She knew their type now, and was ashamed that she hadn’t seen it sooner.

“You’re awfully protective,” one of the other men said, his speech slurred. “You like them? You a clone-fucker?”

Odessa swore in her native Ryl, the kinds of words she learned from her father and brother when they thought she wasn’t listening.

“Get. Out,” she hissed.

“She is a clone-fucker. Bet she’s had them all since we left.”

“Well what can you expect from a Twi’lek?”

“Schutta!”

Odessa’s jaw dropped at the slur casually thrown in her face, spoken in the worst imitation of a Twi’leki accent she had ever heard. It was almost enough to make her see red and forget all about the training she had to go through to even be allowed to stand behind the bar, but if she lost her composure now the surveillance feed would only show her throwing the first punch; no audio meant no proof to back up any claims of verbal harassment.

They’re just words, she said after forcing herself to take a deep breath. Her lekku were stiff with anger, quivering against her shoulder blades but she refused to let them see that they almost got to her. Just words, just children. Little idiots who do not know what they are saying. They are drunk.

“Ugh, look at that one.”

“I thought they decommissioned the ones that were damaged that bad.”

“What a waste of credits. Should have just thrown it in the incinerator.”

SLAP!

Odessa saw her hand make contact with the tall man’s face before she had even noticed her body moving on its own. Her palm stung with the strength of the blow, having caught the entire breadth of her victim’s cheek. At first thought, she knew she hadn’t meant to do it…but on second thought she realized that she didn’t care.

The man reeled back with a high-pitched yelp, practically falling back onto his friends; she watched, frozen in place as he clutched at his jaw and then tested his lower lip with a few fingers—they came away stained with a bit of blood, and the sight of it seemed to sober them all instantly.

“How dare you!” the man shrieked, shoving one of his friends out of the way. He reached out with a long arm and though she tried to dodge out of reach, his hand curled around the end of her left lek and squeezed. Odessa screamed and almost collapsed from the pain shooting through the supersensitive organ—they weren’t meant to be handled so roughly! Everyone knew better—even if they had never met a Twi’lek face-to-face, people knew and they knew better than to touch, even in anger….

“I’ll have you deported off-planet for that,” the man hissed in her face as he forced her to the bar and pinned her against it. The edge bit painfully into her lower back as she struggled against his other hand gripping her by the arm. He was stronger than he looked and used his height to his advantage. Odessa wished she had paid more attention to the self-defense lessons her brother tried to teach her before she left Ryloth; foolishly she hadn’t believed she’d need them on Coruscant.

“Let me go!” she gasped.

The man sneered, and then, from her peripheral, Odessa watched as a hand reached out and snatched him by the collar of his fancy jacket. One moment he was there, in front of her, and the next his hands had released her and he was bent over, wheezing as Ghoul drove a knee up into the man’s gut. He wretched, immediately spilling the liquid contents of his stomach all over his shiny boots and the floor; half a second later, he slipped in his own mess and fell face first into it.

Odessa barked out a surprised laugh and then covered her mouth, dodging out of the way as one of the other men charged Ghoul, slamming into him from the side. The momentum took them both to the countertop and almost sent Ghoul over it, but he was sober, quick, and a trained veteran. The three punches he threw were so quick Odessa almost thought she miscounted; each one carried a sorry, wet sound, like a mallet smashing against a sack of soggy meat. Ghoul grunted, blocked a pathetic return volley, and then grabbed the man by the back of his neck and, with an impressive display of strength, slammed his head directly against the bartop. Blood spurted from the immediate gash that opened up on the man’s face, some of it getting on Ghoul’s chestplate, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The third man all but tripped over the first, careening right into Ghoul’s waiting arms; again, with a speed that belied his armored frame, he threw the offender to the side, sending him with a sharp kick to the ass. His head went through the glass display case lining the bottom of the counter, knocking over several very expensive bottles of imported liquor. He did not bother trying to get up again.

By the time Ghoul turned back around, the first man had clambered back to his feet, his face and hair filthy with his own vomit, the front of his once clean shirt stained with sludge-colored bile. His face was ruddy and blood dripped from his lower lip—Odessa felt a surge of pride in her veins, knowing that was her handiwork.

Ghoul cracked his neck menacingly and beckoned at the man with a hand.

“Go on,” he snarled, “let’s see who’s ready for the incinerator.”

Odessa ran around the bar, hopping over the gate and watching from a safe distance. She considered hitting the panic button beneath the counter, but something told her to stay her hand, don’t be too hasty. She knew she shouldn’t have, but…but she wanted to see what Ghoul was going to do.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Even after watching his friends get dispatched in a matter of seconds, the tall man didn’t seem to understand how miserably outclassed he was. He threw a heavy haymaker at Ghoul, but the clone dodged easily, ducking right beneath his wide swing and returning three more quick punches to the man’s ribs. Odessa winced, having seen enough sparring sessions between her brother and his friends to know that he had just broken a few ribs.

But Ghoul didn’t stop there; he dropped to one knee and clasped his hands together, using the dual force of both his arms to drive his elbow into the side of his opponent’s knee. The bone cracked with a sound like cannonfire and he went down with a garbled yell, clutching at the joint while rolling back and forth.

The dramatic display didn’t last long though as Ghoul quickly climbed on top of him, grappling his wrists for a moment before landing another punch.

Then another.

And another.

Odessa watched in awe. She couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the sight of Ghoul beating the man who had insulted her—insulted them—half to death. Her finger hovered over the silent alarm, but she couldn’t bring herself to press it.

Not yet, she chanted to herself. Not yet, let him take what he wants. Give him what he deserves.

It was more than Ghoul could have given her with words. It was written in the lines and scars of his face, the cold rage he affected as he continued to punch his victim in the face, his right arm little more than a piston as he pulled his elbow back and let loose. Odessa could hear the crunch of cartilage, saw blood begin to fleck against Ghoul’s dark armor. She thought…she thought she had to stop him, before he killed the man…but she also didn’t want to interrupt him.

He was…he was amazing.

He was amazing…and he was going to kill him.

“Ghoul…GHOUL!” Odessa forced herself to shout.

To her relief, he did stop, but only barely, only after faltering on his last punch and leaning over the man panting, both hands on the floor on either side of his bloodied head. Odessa grabbed a towel and hurried back over just as Ghoul stumbled to his feet. Blood speckled his face and the front of his chestplate; ribbons of it crawled up his vambrace and the armor worn on his knuckles was cracked and soaked through. He breathed heavily through his nose, his chest heaving on every labored inhale.

Odessa approached cautiously, until she was close enough to hold out the clean towel. When he looked at her she shrugged, unsure what to say. ‘Thanks’ seemed so self-serving, and she didn’t think for one second that he had come to her rescue for her sake.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Ghoul snatched the towel from her hands and quickly rubbed it against his face and over the top of his shaved head. Sweat fell down the back of his neck, eaten up by the black sleeve he wore beneath his armor.

“Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.”

The same could not be said for the man who lay before them. His face was little more than a bloody pulp, like raw meat sold at the open air markets back home on Ryloth. His flesh was already beginning to swell, making it difficult to tell where his eyes were. A gurgling noise emanated from the gash of his mouth, shards of white glistening in the blood, which Odessa realized were the remains of his teeth.

“You need to leave,” she said. “You need to leave now. I will…call the authorities. They will want to make a report. If you leave, I can lie and say it was someone else.”

Ghoul paused in running the towel over his hands.

“You’d lie?” he asked, an incredulous look on his face. “Why?”

“Because they deserved it,” Odessa said. “Men like this…need a good beating. But I will not see you in trouble for it. You did me a favor.”

He looked like he didn’t want to believe her, like he’d be betraying some part of himself if he did. She watched as he glanced back and forth, surveying the damage he had caused. It wasn’t bad but the cleaning bill was going to be high, and she knew her boss would lament every credit spent.

“What about them?” Ghoul said, gesturing rudely at the idiots strewn across the floor. “You think they’ll let this go?”

“They would not dare,” Odessa said. “What would they say anyway? Admit to being beaten so badly by a single clone? Their pride will not allow it.”

She was confident. She was so confident that she took a chance and stepped over the tall man’s prone form, and gave Ghoul a little push at his back toward the door.

“Go now,” she urged. “I have to call the authorities and medical aid. They do not deserve it, but it will look worse for them when they wake up. Please.”

“But—”

“Hush. You have done more than enough already. Ryma’allesh.”

Another gentle push and Ghoul took a few steps of his own.

“I don’t—”

“Ghoul,” Odessa said firmly. “You will be under a court martial if you are found out. I do not want you to be decommissioned. Please go.”

That seemed to snap him back into the correct headspace. The next moment he was serious again, wiping down his vambraces to get them as free of blood as possible while Odessa hurried over to the end of the bar to grab his helmet. She had never held one before; it weighed heavily in her hands, warm from the electrical and navigational components, as well as the emergency oxygen supply. He accepted it from her with a grunt of what she assumed to be thanks, and jammed it over his head.

When he looked at her, when she could no longer read his expression and was no longer in fear of it, she offered him a smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know you did not do it for me…but I thank you all the same.”

He tilted his head to the side, then gave a short nod.

Without another word, he left.

Odessa exhaled shakily and slowly turned around to survey the damage. Thankfully the other patrons, including the shinies, had fled out the rear emergency exit. She didn’t blame the clones at all for leaving—they were soldiers, but brawling was most likely an activity frowned upon by the Republic command. It was better for them that they ran, and she would not hold it against them. Their absence served a second purpose as well; less witnesses for the authorities to talk to.

“Okay…,” Odessa said to herself, “Let me…try and clean this up.”

By ‘clean up’ she meant ‘doctor the scene’ so she could spin a lie the authorities would believe. She knew which computer in the back the feed from the video surveillance saved to and she knew enough about computers that it would be no trouble to corrupt the data and make it look as though a power surge wiped out the motherboard. She had her mother to thank for that.

But first she had to erase every sign that Ghoul had ever been there. It took some doing, but she managed to half-drag, half-kick the tall man’s body across Ghoul’s bloody handprints on the floor. She scuffed her boot against anything that looked like a footprint to wipe away the treadmarks that could be traced back to the standardized military gear provided by the GAR, and then finally ran down to the end of the bar to clear his empty drinks.

But there was only one, the first one he had downed—Darkoma, Odessa remembered, top shelf, Corellian—and the tumbler turned on its rim so that the last few drops slid from the bottom and made the table sticky. The Catsblood remained full, untouched…and between them, a small pile of credits. Odessa counted them quickly—it was just barely enough to cover the Darkoma by itself. No tip this time.

But…she smiled.

This was the second time he had paid for a drink she meant to give him on the house.

He will have to come back so I can make it up to him. Eventually.

#clone oc #star wars clone wars #clone oc fanfic #star wars oc #the bad batch oc #ODESSA X GHOUL #please i had so much fun writing this #i put my back into it this time #the mun writes

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nuclearforest · 1 year

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"Don't hold back. I want you to scream my name" - briarrett 👀

Thanks for the ask! Wrote out a quick 1.5k and feel bad it took so long. Hope it's up to your standards!

When summer starts to rear its head and the spring rains give way to the dreary summer sky that perpetually hangs over all of England, Briar unfailingly brings out Barrett’s favorite sundress. It’s a cute little thing: white and lacy with a repeating floral pattern that shifts when the fairy moves in just such a way that every little tear and puncture from moments of overexcitement can be hidden with a quick stitch repair before being returned to the rotation—years old but still bright in color in a way reminiscent of a wedding dress and bouquet, tinted by nostalgia and preserved by delicate hands. Every time she wears it, the werewolf takes it as his personal invitation to step up behind her and slip his hands under the skirt, starting where the dress ends at her thighs and stroking up in offer while he presses his lips to her ear and rumbles possessively from deep in his chest where his heart races. For me?

“Who else?” Briar replies, chuckling to herself at the way her mate’s breath tickles the untamable flyaway strands at the side of her head. She sets the paring knife she was holding down on the cutting board with the strawberries she’d been preparing. He always seemed to gravitate to her in the kitchen—hip-height countertops helped.

“Well I thought you were going out with your girls today,” Barrett offers in return, stopping his ascent at the tops of her thighs while the drool pools in his mouth. Her skin under his is warm; her heartbeat picks up slightly in her chest. Just a bit more of that honey sweet scent that defined her wraps a bit further around his head and he ducks his nose into the crook of her neck to inhale it, nuzzling aside one of her two golden braids. Köstlich. [Delectable.]

“When have the boys gone to have a sleepover at Oma and Opa’s so I can go out with my friends?” The fairy quirks an eyebrow and leans back into her lover’s embrace. “You’re more than capable.”

“I am.” The werewolf’s voice drops deeper, temptation wrapped in rough velvet.

“I just thought you’d like to celebrate the season like you always have.”

“You spoil me, lapine.” [Bunny.] He presses a kiss into her skin, then, trailing gentle kisses out to the mate mark on her shoulder exposed by the wide sweetheart neckline while he rubs his thumbs in circles on her thighs. The little fairy in his arms, perfectly fit to his hands, presses further back into him—she’s too short to press her rear to his groin, but he’s already hardening against her lower back, above her pillowy ass, and he groans low appreciation into her skin. Je t'aime. [I love you.]

“I love you, too,” she returns, popping half a strawberry into her mouth for a quick bite. The werewolf at her back huffs, hands sliding further up and leaving sparks in their wake to rest on her hips. In the blink of an eye he’s got her flipped around and seated up on the counter, crowding into her space with a devilish smile on his lips and lust in his bright red eyes.

“A snack?” he asks, “At a time like this?” His eyes, pupils wide, flick down to the speck of juice at the corner of her lips.

The bold fairy just shrugs (he had interrupted her light breakfast, after all) and swipes her tongue out to clean the juice away. Content to do as he will, the overgrown giant leans over to press a kiss into her. He pulls her up to the edge of the counter where her legs spread and the skirt bunches up. The faintest notes of her arousal join the sweet aroma of strawberries and Briar in the air and the werewolf pulls back to survey her once more. She brings her arms up to wrap around his broad shoulders and one hand gravitates so she can tangle her fingers into the silver curls at the back of his neck.

“I’d hate to interrupt your meal,” he quips, sparing a hand to snatch another piece of strawberry, “maybe you’d like some cream to go with these.”

Before his lover can reply, he pushes the strawberry between her lips and leaves his fingers there for just long enough that she can caress the tips with her tongue. Both an invitation and gratitude in one quick gesture; he just leans in to kiss her again and get the taste on her lips. Barrett was not a man for strawberries, but he was a man for fruity kisses and bruised lips, observing the slight change in his lover’s demeanor with every piece of fruit until he’s straining against his pants and she’s soaking into him, panties forgone.

“You little minx,” he rumbles, “are you sure you’re not part succubus?”

“Would you like me to be?” Briar licks her lips and looks at him through half-lidded eyes, tightening her grip in his hair and pulling the werewolf in for another kiss, where he growls into her at the test against his patience.

Ja. [Yes.]

Soon enough they forget the remaining strawberries, hands roaming curves and bodies like every memorized surface is new again. Every shape and curve explored for the first time. Briar pants quietly and Barrett buries his head in her neck, mouthing at her skin and leaving love bites, teeth scraping against skin and bruises rising from the depths of her flesh to paint his path.

She sighs quietly, keeping a hold on his head as he kisses down her chest to the exposed tops of her full breasts before pulling back and leaning down to stick his head under her skirt, hand sliding down her side and along her thigh to pull it up over his shoulder. Faced with her cunt, he digs in, lapping voraciously as his tongue starts to lengthen and flatten and he takes up more of her, by far better than any fruit or meat or other food he could ever get his paws on. The fairy professes her thanks with the pillowy thighs quivering around his ears and the grip tightening in his hair.

“Don’t be shy,” he growls into her, “Don’t hold back. I want you to scream my name, love.”

“Barrett,” she breathes, and he takes that as a personal challenge, pulling back to look at her with his eyes dark and face deadly serious, pronounced jaw pushing at his lips with the tip of his nose blackened and glistening with her arousal. She stares back at him, green eyes wide and cheeks flushed red. He releases her for just long enough that he can fumble with his belt, opening it with a click that has her jolting.

Respire— [Take a breath—]

Barrett shoves his pants and boxers down with a hand and steps back into her space, rubbing the head of his cock against her for a moment before lining up with her hole. Then, a low growl of warning.

—und schreien. [—and scream.]

The werewolf sheathes himself to his knot, baring his teeth and breathing harshly as he reaches back to grip his mate’s ass, holding her close as she gasps—a far cry from the scream he’d wanted—and arches her back into him. She flutters around him, adapted muscles trying to grip for his knot, and he groans lowly with his head tipped back.

His claws poke through the thin fabric and prick against her skin as he starts to move, grinding against her to get used to the wet warmth wrapped around him before pulling back and bucking in. Briar whimpers for him, mewling when he sets a brutal pace right at the start. The werewolf grits his teeth, nose crumpling as he bites back the urge to shift and ruin the angle he has into her on the counter; he turns his head down and begins to nip at the skin of Briar’s neck as she gasps his name.

Like a machine, he repeats the motion over and over again, building it up until she’s panting and crying out for him, legs wrapped around his waist with her ankles locked at his back as she begs for more. “Barrett please—”

Always polite. He turns his attention over to her mate mark, pulling her out and snapping fully in as he sinks his canines into her. That gets him a proper scream that peters out into a low whine. “Barrett! Please—I’m going to—I’m—I—I’m—”

His knot pops into her and starts to swell as she clamps down on him in a way that makes him see stars. Mine.

Tied, he starts to rock into her until he finds his own end, pumping jet after jet of seed into her as his breath fans out over her shoulder and she catches her breath against him, thighs twitching.

“Yours,” she answers, curling around him as best she can. He grunts and squeezes her rear, probably bruised in the shape of his hold, and smiles into her skin as best he can. They’d be repeating this same song and dance until Opa pulled into the driveway to drop the kids off again.

#whole time im writing this im telling myself i need to work in deets on how they look or whatever #and sneak in so many details and write it out but i just ran out of energy in the last half #i hope thats not too readily apparently lol i am just going thru it and tried emotional support smut #it was going great with my balcony door open and birdsong but then my neighbor came outside and started playing shit country pop #so here i am boiling in rage and just firmly over it because i want to live in the woods #anyway im running my blender tomorrow and i hope his toddler wakes up and goes and jumps on his stomach to wake him up #mun's snippets #bunny briar #werewolf barrett #oc smut #oc x oc ship #briarrett #werewolf smut #hellsing ultimate #hellsing oc #fae oc #werewolf x fae

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