#LOOK jorgan is one of the best at high influence

[queen-scribbles]

Soooo guess what happens when your highest influence companion somehow winds up being an opposing faction recruit? :D

[kunoichi-ume]

Clashing Abdominals

Wow I feel like it’s been ages since I had something finished to post. This is set in an AU where Noara is part of @cinlat‘s oc Fynta’s Alliance and I will be totally honest, it is a silly cracky fun fic about what would happen if Fynta, Noara, Cormac, Pierce and my trooper oc Jurr were left alone in a bar together.

Obviously Cinlat owns Fynta, and this version of Cormac is her brain child because she took the npc and gave him the life he deserved (and god I love him so much).

On ao3.

Aric Jorgan was used to walking in on strange situations. It was a common occurrence in his life ever since Fynta showed up, and only became more and more frequent as their unique family grew. Life on Odessen had only amplified it. It was almost as if the Alliance was some sort of magnet for the most excessively boisterous personalities in the universe.

Really it was a miracle they accomplished anything.

But even he had to admit walking into one of the back rooms of the cantina to find Cormac and Pierce shirtless while Fynta and Jurr took turns tossing credits at their abs was high on the list.

“Bloody fucking hell woman,” Pierce snapped when the credit Jurr threw fell directly at his feet. “Throw it properly.”

The eyebrow above her one golden eye arched up dangerously at him. “Don’t be pissy with me just because you’re losing,” she returned, flicking a credit at Cormac’s torso to emphasize her point. The credit hit his abs and ricocheted toward the far side of the room.

Pierce glared at the other man, “I don't know how but you are cheating.”

Cormac laughed loudly. “How could I be cheating? There is literally nothing up my sleeves,” he said holding up his arms and flexing impressively.

Aric crossed the room to stand next to his wife, watching as Pierce demanded Jurr throw another credit at him. “Do I want to ask what is going on?”

Fynta grinned at him, “Cormac bet Pierce that his abs are better for bouncing a credit off of. Jurr and I have been taking turns throwing ‘em.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the two shirtless men, and then back as his wife. “Alright, how is Cormac winning? They are almost the same physique wise.”

Moving so she was out of Pierce’s line of sight, Fynta subtly gestured to the side of the room. Following her direction, he saw Noara and Torian sitting on a bench against the wall. He hadn’t noticed them before and at first thought it was strange she wasn’t in the thick of things, until he noticed the sly smile she sent his way. She was leaning against Torians side and had her arm hanging down between his legs to keep it out of sight. From Aric’s angle he could see her gesturing slightly everytime Jurr threw a credit chip. Without glancing behind him he could tell who Jurr was aiming at, Noara would gesture toward the floor and Pierce would groan, and jerk her hand to the side when Cormac would guffaw smugly.

Somehow, even after years of working with Sith, it hadn’t occurred to Pierce that a nearby Force user could be influencing the credits. Granted from the angle the soldier had it looked an awful lot like Noara was very preoccupied with the Mandalorian sitting next to her.

“That’s it,” Pierce growled after Noara once again flicked her hand toward the floor making the credit land in the pile at his feet. “You girls are doing this all wrong.”

Aric had his back to the man and could still feel the moment he realized what he had said. Being able to see the glare Fynta was shooting at him, and knowing Jurr well enough to know she was giving just as good, helped.

“I mean,” the Imperial soldier said carefully, “you two are doing this wrong. I demand a new bowler.”

“Really?” Jurr scoffed, “just accept defeat.”

“Never. Jorgan, c’mon help me out here.”

Aric leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling and sighed. He’d wanted to see what trouble his wife was getting into, not join in their antics. Cormac and Jurr both called for him to join them but it wasn’t until Fynta pushed him toward the other men that he gave into the inevitability that he would have to do it.

Making his displeasure known, Aric crossed the room to where Jurr was waiting for him with a fist full of credits. She passed them over with a grin and her usual odd one eyed wink. The Cathar rubbed one of the credits between his fingers as he studied to the men standing in front of him.

“You both look ridiculous,” he said after a moment, “you know that right?”

Cormac laughed and Pierce glared at him. “Just get on with it,” he snapped.

Narrowing his eyes at the Imperial, Aric flicked the credit at him forcefully. Pierce grunted when it hit him harder than any of Jurr’s and cursed loudly when it fell at his feet.

“Asshole,” Pierce muttered, rubbing his abused abs.

Aric grinned at him, flashing sharp teeth, “you’re the one who wanted me to play.”

Pierce scoffed and gestured at Cormac, “you better hit him as hard as you did me.”

Shaking his head, Aric flicked a second credit. As expected, it bounced off his abs and flew toward the back of the cantina.

“Fine,” Pierce growled, throwing his arms up, “you win. This time.”

“And once again the best abs prevail,” Cormac whooped happily and bowed dramatically before starting to collect the credits off the floor.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pierce grumbled, taking the shirt Jurr offered him and pulling it on roughly. “I know you cheated.”

“No proof, no guilt,” Fynta said with a grin. “And now you get to buy the next round.”

Sighing heavily, Pierce nodded before gesturing at Jurr, “come help me carry shit.”

“Oh, you do know how to talk to a lady,” she said, punching him in the arm but starting toward the bar anyway.

As they were passing where Noara and Torian were sitting, Pierce stopped dead. Everyone in the room watched as he stared at the young Jedi who, to her credit, had a great pazaak face as she looked up at him.

“Need something Pierce?” Noara asked, smiling a bit too innocently.

“You know,” he bit out, once the pieces fell into place, “I expect that kind of dishonestly from a Sith, not a Jedi.”

“Ouch, you wound me.”

Pierce folded his arms over his chest, “what did he bribe you with.”

“Not much,” she grinned, raising her hand, waving at something behind him and catching the pouch of credits that flew into her hand. “Just my share of your money.”

Pierce laughed, shaking his head in disbelief as he started toward the bar with Jurr at his elbow, “so much for the poverty of Jedi.”

[shimmersing]

Something Better

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Chapter 3: Unexpected Peace

Travel through Taris was hazardous at the best of times, deadly at the worst, and annoying at all other times. The planet was overrun with not only rakghouls, but other dangerous species that had flourished in the polluted environment. Aitahea and Erithon’s progress was slower than either of them would have liked, finding it necessary to dispatch a number of aggressive creatures in their path.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Aitahea found herself smiling as they traversed the recklessly beautiful landscape. Erithon’s interest and concern about her history had been genuine, and his chagrin at unsettling her just as real. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have shared the details of her traumatic childhood, brushing any concerns aside and refocusing on their goal. But his sympathy felt like a warm embrace, unfamiliar yet irresistible. Her thoughts had lingered on that feeling for far too long, and she pulled her concentration back to their shared task.

As darkness drew close, they determined that making camp would be a necessity. The rest would be necessary to restore their strength, and nighttime travel was even more hazardous than daytime.

Though it was hazy and humid the temperature was comfortable enough, and the pair settled adjacent to each other to share some of the bland Republic rations as night fell. Aitahea felt an unexpected peace as they rested, only the echoes of wildlife interrupting the stillness. She could sense a quiet curiosity behind Erithon’s contented mood, his silence laced with an expectant hush that waited for her to fill it. She found herself suddenly grateful for the gathering darkness.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, pushing back her hood.

Erithon considered before answering, gaze still fixed on the landscape. “On Taris? Hunting traitors."

Aitahea’s brows rose. “High enough in rank to require the intervention of Republic special forces? That seems unusual.”

“Well,” he drew out, expression grim, “since the traitors were also Havoc, it kind of leaves the burden on me, I guess.”

The Jedi frowned. Erithon’s tangled emotions seemed as baffling to him as they did to her. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Not sure I do, either, Master Jedi.” Erithon shifted and leaned back, his pack pillowed behind his head. “I’d only just arrived on Ord Mantell when it all fell apart. Doesn’t leave a man feeling very confident when an assignment goes sideways like that.”

Aitahea was quiet for a generous moment before swiveling around to face him. “What happened?”

“Typical mission, nothing out of the ordinary, especially not for Havoc.” He glanced sideways and gave her a crooked smile. “I guess you know about the mess with the Separatists on Ord Mantell.” Aitahea nodded. “They’d shot down a ship with a ZR-57 orbital strike bomb, capable of vaporizing a city, you know how it is. Havoc was supposed to retrieve it. At least it looked that way to the new guy.” His smirk turned to an unhappy frown. “Turns out they were taking the bomb along with them, to the Empire.”

Aitahea’s intake of breath was harsh in the silence. “They didn’t include you in their plans?”

“Not exactly. When we first lost contact we thought they’d been killed, which was bad enough. SpecOps are always high risk, but Havoc is – was – the best. When I discovered their true intentions, Tavus – the commander – asked if I’d join them. I’m sure you can guess my answer given where we are now.” He coughed a harsh laugh. “I don’t know what offended me more: asking me to turn traitor or trying to kill me.”

The weight of his frustration felt as heavy as beskar. Aitahea brushed away the desire to reach over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. It must have shaken you to the core.”

He frowned for a long moment, then rolled to the side so he could face her, propped up on an elbow. “For a minute, maybe. But then I realized, what they chose didn’t change me.” Erithon met Aitahea’s gaze, his blue eyes earnest. “The people of the Republic have my loyalty. I chose to protect them. Like those settler kids you sorted out at the base.”

“You know about that?” Aitahea blinked, freshly thankful for the concealing darkness.

“It was practically all Private Sakal could talk about.” Erithon gave her a cheeky grin before continuing. “The way you convinced the property owners and the settlers to work together, that’s what we work for. Tavus walked away from that, and I don’t even know why.” He grimaced again and raked a hand through his hair, the motion revealing his confusion. “I guess… things aren’t as black and white as they look.”

Aitahea smiled ruefully. “They do seem less and less so, don’t they?”

Erithon arched a brow at her. “That’s funny coming from you. I thought light and dark were what Jedi specialized in.” Despite the unease his words sent through her, she sensed his intention was candid, not caustic.

Her gaze lingered on her hands, clasped on her lap, before she answered. “So did I.”

The stream was a reasonable distance from the Republic camp, but Master Satele had said it was still close enough to be safe. Aitahea liked to steal away as often as she could manage. She could almost feel Master Faron and her friends here. Almost. It reminded her of the gardens in the Jedi Temple, though everyone said her former home was little more than a pile of rubble now. She was glad she hadn’t seen it. She wanted to remember Coruscant the way it had been.

The camp was getting bigger. There was supposed to be a treaty in place now, but no one was any more relaxed. There was a hush of uneasiness among the soldiers. Their restlessness made Aitahea herself feel unsteady and irritable. More and more Jedi initiates, even some younger Padawans, had been slowly trickling in, and now there were almost a dozen of them. Safe on Brentaal, waiting while the masters found safe places for them. The girl tried hard to make sense of this. If the Jedi Temple on Coruscant hadn’t been safe, where in the galaxy would be?

The sound of bubbling water diverted her unhappy thoughts. Meditation was easy here, unlike in the camp – though Master Satele would tell her that focus under pressure was the sign of a good Jedi – and Aitahea had no trouble quieting her mind and settling into the embrace of the Force. The little brook had become a place of comfort, isolation, and peace.

Aitahea frowned and slowed to a stop, a stone’s throw from the running water. Someone was sitting in her spot. A boy, maybe a year or two older than her, right on the branch that arched over the water. He hunched over with his elbows on his knees, legs swinging listlessly.

It was like looking in a mirror.

Even with her defenses up, sheltering her from the influence of others’ emotions, his loss radiated like a flame. Her chest contracted with anguish, the unexpected mingling of emotion, setting her knees wobbling. She felt tears well up, the walls around her heart crumbling. Absently, she took another step forward, an unnoticed twig cracking under her foot.

She looked down in alarm and by the time she’d lifted her gaze again, the boy was already scrambling back across the branch, nearly slipping into the water at one point. He stopped at the opposite bank and looked over his shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks flushed. He’d been crying.

“Aitahea!” Master Satele’s voice came sailing over the rise, and the girl twisted around to look back towards camp. She took a deep breath to call back, thought better of it, and turned back to the brook. The boy was already disappearing swiftly in the opposite direction.

Reluctantly, Aitahea moved toward the summons, leaving behind her refuge and her questions.

Erithon had offered to take the first watch, and Aitahea had accepted readily. She was only a few steps away from him, curled up with her cheek on one hand, hood pulled back up over her hair. He watched her settle into dreaming, eyes flickering beneath her lids, and every so often her lips pursed. He indulged his wandering imagination, wondering what she dreamed, vaguely hoping he might be included in the unconscious cast.

It was the first time he’d spent any substantial time in close quarters with a Jedi. He guessed she was pretty typical, all her responses focused and composed. Being near her was comforting, soothing. But there was something else under all that formality, something earnest and endearing. He felt the usual anxiety of the mission fall away like a worn cloak.

And stars, she was beautiful.

He’d been genuinely surprised when she asked if they’d met, and despite his somewhat clumsy response, it was the truth. They’d apparently been on Coruscant at the same time; had they crossed paths and it didn’t register? It would have been hard to forget the curve of her cheek, bright eyes framed by dark lashes-

By the Core, he thought, exasperated. Are you a teenager? Stop that.

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his datapad, checking messages and progress. Jorgan had messaged with positive results on an ancillary task, and the ship’s droid had sent several nonsense communications about really nothing at all. No distractions there. As the hours passed, he alternated between walking the perimeter of their small camp and returning to sit near the Jedi, each time admonishing himself for staring at her, though his remorse was only ever halfhearted.

She’d drawn him out with practiced ease, asking about his mission, soft words that slipped beneath his armor as effortlessly as rain. He hadn’t discussed the defection with anyone other than Garza and Jorgan, and then only out of necessity. He still stung about it, beyond the more generalized fury that accompanied the whole scenario. There were too many unknowns, too many questions, and too few answers. He felt like he was playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with Garza handing out intelligence whenever it seemed to suit her. He felt less and less guilty each time he fudged orders, finding a smug gratification in noncompliance. There were regulations, and then there was integrity, and so far Garza had been leaning a little too hard to the former for his taste.

The alarm on his datapad beeped quietly; the night’s tedious hours had passed, and it was Aitahea’s turn to take watch. Erithon almost didn’t want to wake her. He couldn’t deny enjoying the freedom to observe her, but he’d need rest himself to be at all helpful as they continued.

Erithon smiled regretfully and knelt next to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. A deep breath preceded her eyes fluttering open to meet his. Erithon felt his heartbeat speed up and hurriedly offered a hand to help her rise. Once on her feet, her brows drew together, watching him with solemn wonder.

“Jedi? Something wrong?”

Her intense gaze lingered even as she shook her head. “I’m well, thank you,” she replied, looking like she might say something else. He held his breath, but the moment passed and Aitahea shook her head again with a polite smile. “I’m ready to take watch. You should rest.”

He glanced down to see their hands still joined and pulled away self-consciously. “Yeah,” Erithon said, retreating to where his pack lay, punching it a few times before determining that it was comfortable enough. He flopped down, turned away from the Jedi, and waited impatiently for sleep.

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