#Level 1313

[1313-hunter]

TAL’S GUIDE TO 1313

Welcome to Level 1313. You might get stabbed. Here’s how not to!

Congratulations, you’ve made it to the most cursed place in the galaxy. We make Mos Eisley feels like a resort on Scarif! Whether you got lost, chased, or just got a bad result from a fucked up truth or dare game - doesn’t matter. You’re here now! And you better learn how to survive.

Lucky for you, I’ve compiled THE 1313 SURVIVAL KIT. Read this, commit it to memory, and try not to get yourself killed.

RULE #1: DON’T LOOK LOST.

1313 eats lost people for breakfast. You look around like a tourist? Someone will notice. Best way to blend in is to ALWAYS walk like you know where you’re going, even if you don’t.

Pro tip: If you do get lost, don’t ask anyone in a clean outfit. That’s either a con artist, an underworld cop, or a trafficker. Instead, ask someone who looks tired but not overly excited. That’s a local. They might charge you, but hey we all need money down here.

RULE #2: CREDITS FIRST, QUESTIONS NEVER.

On that note, want to buy something? Want directions? Pay first. We don’t do free information, and we sure as hell don’t do refunds!

Pro tip: If a deal seems too good to be true, it is. If someone’s too friendly, they want something. If someone says “Trust me,” you should absolutely not.

RULE #3: EAT SMART.

Not everything down here will kill you, but enough of it will. The safest bets:

☠ Bug’s Fry-Up Joint (Krezzi Quarter)

> Get the fried rice & nerf meatball soup.

> Don’t ask why it’s so cheap. It’s good, it’s hot, and it’s not laced.

> If Bug likes you, he might give you extra. If he doesn’t, he’ll serve you anyway because credits are credits.

☠ The Wharf (Market & Food Court, Dockside 1313)

> Street food heaven. You want skewers? Soup? Weird shit you can’t pronounce? It’s all here.

> Be careful around the water (there are baby dianogas in it. They’re cute now. They won’t be later).

> Vendors will try to hustle you. Haggle like your life depends on it especially if you look clean and rich.

☠ Desi’s Noodles (Near the Warehouse District 7)

> Best noodles on 1313. Hands down. I mean it’s a popular chain in the Underworld!

> No menus. You get what you get. Desi doesn’t do substitutions.

> If you’re in a hurry, don’t bother. The one in 1313 serves when they feel like it! Operational hour: whenever they like.

RULE #4: KNOW WHO RUNS WHAT.

1313 is not completely lawless. It just has different laws. These are the people who actually run things:

> The Pykes: Spice trade. If you’re buying, you’re funding them. If you’re selling, you better cut them in or disappear.

> Crimson Dawn: Other syndicates have issues with them, but if you work for them (or at least have a good rep) you could enjoy nice facilities in their district.

> Blood Nebula: The closest thing 1313 has to a local government. Horrible at it.

> The Raptors: Not what they used to be, but still looking for dumbasses to recruit. Mostly street kids, lots of pickpockets and petty thieves.

> Hutt Cartel: You’re still asking who they are? Are you even from this galaxy?

Pro tip: If you don’t know who controls a place, assume someone does. Look for signets and symbols. Act accordingly.

RULE #5: NEVER TRUST THE COPS.

The Coruscant Guard doesn’t come down here unless they have to. The local security forces are all bought. If a cop helps you, it’s because:

1. They’re setting you up.

2. They want lunch money.

3. They’re bored.

RULE #6: WHERE TO GO (AND WHERE TO AVOID).

✔ SAFE-ISH PLACES:

(“Safe” meaning you might not get stabbed today)

> Moshi Bar: Moshi Bar. Tiggs Leo, the Volpai bartender who run the place, is an info broker who operated on a strict need-to-know basis. He doesn’t tolerate violence in his space, and he made sure the regulars knew it.

> The Wharf: Safest for non-local, see point above.

> Sleeeeeemo Pit: Fight club. Enter at your own risk.

> Krezzi Quarter: Markets, cheap food, good for blending in.

✖ AVOID AT ALL COSTS:

> The Old Turbolifts: Half of them don’t work. The other half are death traps.

> Side entrance to Level 1312: This is where cleaners dispose bodies. If someone tells you to meet them there, they’re planning to kill you.

> Pipelines 31: Used to be a transport line. Now it’s home to corridor ghouls.

RULE #7: IF YOU FUCK UP, OWN IT.

No one respects cowards and liars. If you owe money, pay it. If you start a fight, finish it. The underworld runs on reputation, and yours is the only currency that matters (well, credits too, but you get the point).

If you can’t handle that, you don’t belong here.

FINAL NOTE: 1313 doesn’t care about you. The best you can do is learn the rules, play smart, and stay ahead.

Good luck. You’ll need it.

—TAL.

[1313-hunter]

Best fritters joint in town is in the first pic if you care.

Beautiful concept art for the tragically cancelled video game Star Wars: 1313.

Artwork by Bruno Werneck.

[aftergloom]

Give you one guess what setting I'm gearing up to write next. 🫣

[midnight-mourning]

Stave off the Cold

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 24❄️❄️

guhhh i went a LIL angsty for part of this, but you'll like it dw, it'll be worth it in the end ;) hope you enjoy!

Prompt: Perhaps post ruin, since its snowing so hard the power goes out. Yn and ruin snuggling to stave off the cold and are sappy together or something along those lines. ^-^

Word Count: 1313

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You're in the middle of the most delicate of work when it happens. The lights cut, and you curse, almost dropping the new CPU chip in the dark. Carefully, with another slew of curse—that probably wouldn't have been approved if they'd hear—you step back and search for your workbench, setting down the chip and pulling out your phone. 

Flashing it to the window, you can see the snowstorm blowing outside. That must've done it. Great. Just great. 

You glance over to the bot lying motionless on the table, heart twisting at the sight. You've been working for months to fix them, you knew there had to be way, knew that somewhere they still had to be in there. The fact that you'd been able to charge their body and get their limbs to move independently proved that. 

You rub your face and check the time, you could still work in this, as long as there was still some heat in here. The power had to come back on eventually, right?

You search for your lantern, finding it and lighting, hanging it from the ceiling above. Once everything's settled, towels stuff under the old door to help keep heat from leaking out, you get back to work. 

When you'd found them, having decided to take a look through the long abandoned Plex, you'd been horrified at their condition. Tattered clothes and broken parts, that's what remained of your beloved attendant. You remember cradle their cracked faceplate in your hand, tears welling up at the thought that'd they shut down alone, afraid, not knowing where they'd wake up again. 

That had been back in the fall, it was the dead of winter now and progress had been progressing best you could. You weren't well versed in this type of thing, you were relying on videos and online forums to guide your progress. And you were just hoping and praying you were doing all this correctly. 

You'd started with the surface level damaged and worked your way in, scrounging the Plex for spare parts and replacements. Anything you couldn't find you'd snatch up in eBay auctions or the likes. 

With tender love and care, you rebuilt your attendant back into the bot you loved. You just finished repairing Sun's rays the other day, but you kept Moon's hat on him, something about the look going along with their mismatched pants. 

Now all that was left was the hard stuff, the internal components. 

So much of their inner workings had been fried, smashed, or damaged in some other capacity. You'd feared for the worst, truthfully. Having to accept that they may actually be gone for good. It was something that haunted you for weeks before you finally bit the bullet and opened up their head. 

You had teared up a bit when you found their hard drive was in perfect condition, letting out a cheer loud enough to probably disturb your neighbors. 

Your hands are shaking now, you realize. Shivering, your shivering. You check the time again, it's already been two hours. But, you argue, it's not that cold yet. You can keep going, keeping working, keep fixing. Keep saving. 

You have to. You have to do it for them. 

You take short breaks every now and then, warming your hands on their casing. They may not be awake, but at least they're alive. 

Your breath is showing up in front of you now, your fingers feel stiff, but still, you keep going. You just have one final thing to do, give them a reset. 

Your legs hurt as you stand, walking up to where their head rests. You pull out the Faz wrench you'd found on your last trip to the Plex. A find that had you dancing around the abandoned building like an idiot. 

With a shaky grip, you insert it and turn, waiting with bated breath. 

Nothing happens. 

You step back, waiting a solid two minutes for the attendant to sit up, either AI greeting you like how you've been waiting six months for them to do. 

But they don't. 

You feel too tired and too cold to cry. Just a feeling of utter defeat overtaking you. Your head feels heavy, so do your eyelids. Maybe you just need to take a nap, and you can figure this out afterwards. 

You climb back up onto the table, laying down on the warm but empty shell of your attendant. Curling up, you pull your coat tighter around yourself and close your eyes. 

As you start to drift off, you swear you feel a shift underneath you, something laying on top of your body. 

You have a strange dream. 

In it, you're being carried through the snow by something. It has two bright eyes, one red, one white, with spikes coming off its head, and a blue hat. It speaks to you, murmuring sweet nothings that you can't recall. 

When you wake up on your couch, you realize it wasn't a dream. You go to get up, but a firm grip around your waist prevents you from doing so. Looking down, you realize your laying on top of Sun, or, Moon? You don't know, you don't care, because it clicks to you that his eyes are open and he's looking at you and he's awake—

"Hello, Starlight. We missed you."

Your voice is just a whisper. "You're awake... You're okay."

Before he can say anything, you wrap your arms around him, kissing his faceplate over and over. 

"I, I thought you guys were gone. That, that it wouldn't work, that I had to live without you." You're crying now. "I, I can't believe you're actually here."

"Silly Star. We never left." A shift in tone. "We were right there with you, Sunbeam!"

You realize what they mean. "Oh god. That means you heard all of that."

"You mean all your lovely conversations with us? Your laughter, your beautiful singing?" They take your hand, pressing it to their faceplate. "Because if so, the answer is yes."

You feel your face heat up and not knowing what else to do bury it against their neck as they laugh. 

"How awful." You mumble. 

They pet your hair for a few moments, fingers staying laced in it as you sit back up to look at them. 

You trace your hand down the side of their face, taking it all in. "I can't believe it, after all this time. Picked a terrible time to wake up. Can't even give you a proper tour of the place with the power out."

You start to get up, wanting to go grab a lamp, but they immediately pull you back down, arms firmly around you. 

"No leaving. Too cold. Stay here, we'll keep you warm."

You give in rather easily, especially when their hands start to explore just under your shirt, snickering at how you tense up. 

You scowl at them, taking their faceplate in both hands and leaning down so your foreheads are touching. "How did you two manage to get worse?"

Just another chuckle in response, their eyes nothing but thin, devious crescents. 

You kiss them then, soft, sweet. And then you do it again, and again. 

As you kiss, you feel the blanket you'd shoved off in your excitement be placed back over you both, adding to the warmth and coziness between you. 

You have to break away for a moment, panting ever so slightly. 

They tilt their head, watching you keenly. A thumb comes up to swipe against your lip. 

You smirk. "Thanks."

They nod. 

"I really missed you, you know?" You lay your head against their chest, listening to how with every tick and click and whirl, it's a sign that they're really there with you. They're actually home. 

Their hand comes up to stroke your hair, other arm snug against your hip. 

"We missed you too."

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Thank you @rosescarletful for the request! I had a bit of fun with it as you can see, very much enjoyed the concept your prompt allowed me to think up :)

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

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@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a

[faceofpoe]

Poe, I was delighted, nay, obsessed with the post you reblogged about Collapsed Coruscant. What do you think would happen there after everyone with any credits fucked off to Hosnian Prime or wherever?

Ha, hello friend! Thank you for the much-needed break from doomscrolling. XD

My morbid obsession with Coruscant has always been around how we've seen it (it's so twisted! it just keeps burying itself, layer by layer! the iconic episode 10 Luthen&Lonni shot is of course an excellent example of the old mostly-forgotten infrastructure but my favorite glimpse of the depths is actually in the final Clone Wars season (there's a fucking lake! fucking what. and even THAT is like... so HIGH relative to the surface) (the SURFACE! there's some twisted remnant of a dead planet down there!) (I have gathered through the course of researching for a TBB fic that the TCW portrayal is largely born from a canceled video game called 1313? I think? Lost to the Dark Times the Disney I imagine. Anyway I digress)(MiniPoe just came down to tell me about his Sonic Encyclo-speedia and something about Metal Sonic getting too much backstory(?)(maybe?)so I lost my train of thought)).

BUT if we take a moment to imagine the infrastructure that must go into keeping the lower levels habitable (I'm not sure what the canon (if any) on how deep one can go) with food and water and air (I mean - AIR, at some depth surely it's just suffocating surely??) -

Side tangent there was an old EU novel in the New Jedi Order bonkers era where a mass evacuation of Coruscant/collapse of the government-ish happened and the novel Traitor has a character wandering the desolation of the planet and all the destruction and I don't remember a lot from it (there were def monsters though) but it's probably where my obsession was born.

Additional side tangent one of the EU X-wing novels has a fun little bit with a star destroyer buried (somehow??? these books were written pre-prequels, mind) under the city and it blasts its way free and just MAYHEM DESTRUCTION DEATH like millions of people just -

LAST side tangent in I thiiiiink the EU Jedi Academy trilogy (do not quote me on that) (also pre-prequels days) the Very Young Solo twins wandered off and ended up finding their way to the bottom of Coruscant where they met a dude who was like... a self-proclaimed king of the underworld (I think he'd once been some govt lackey under Palpatine maybe? I read these like 14 years ago lol) and he'd fled and was ruling happily in the depths and upon being informed 'oh hey yeah it's not like that anymore the Empire is gone you can come back up now' he was all "why would I I am a KING down here?" and just fucked off back to the basement.

Point being the EU was ridiculous as all fuck but it had fun playing with Coruscant before we had a Lucas-approved visual of Coruscant.

BUT if all the wealth up and fled Coruscant after the Empire. Hm. I mean, we still see a significant govt presence on the planet a handful of years later in Mando s3 I believe? So I like to imagine there was a sense of 'hey let's not murder trillions via negligence' but as time goes on and instability heightens and whatever the fuck First Order schisming or some shit (sorry I'm the worst sort of Star Wars fan (the type who thinks Star Wars would be good if only it were good))-

I feel like Coruscant would actually become a bastion (lol (no one gets that joke probably)) for remaining (wealthy) Imperial ideologues. Like - maybe some money would flee but I actually wonder if plenty wouldn't move in and continue enjoying living atop all the poor denizens of the depths. Content to live in the shadow of former Imperial glory and leave the New Republic to its rebuilding.

Ensuing power struggle with underworld warlord sorts who have been moving up since the Empire was yeeted? Waiting until the New Republic gets bored rehabilitating the galaxy to come all the way up and claim the prime real estate?

Eventual massive division and power struggle among a bunch of chaos factions, basically, is my proposal. Eventually, winning becomes more important than maintaining the infrastructure and supply lines. Eventually, maybe, the vicious competition for said supply lines ends up severing them altogether. Plenty of safer business to pursue, in the galactic rebuilding. Coruscant slowly fades from the greater galactic awareness. Left to its madness. Left to tear itself apart. Left to rot. Eventually left, undoubtedly, by many of the same sorts who set it on its slow death spiral in the first place.

Coruscant eventually goes dark.

Coruscant eventually goes quiet.

Every new level constructed through the millennia was, of course, built to be the best, the top, built to last.

How strange to finally have one emerge the victor, standing proud atop a dead city.

But the planet is just the same thing it always was, far back as history remembers - a tomb at the heart of the galaxy.

[hellfiresky]

This is where I send my posts (if you care) btw

Coruscant Underworld, Level 1313 for 5.19 To Catch a Jedi

by J.P. Balmet

We were able to work from some of the great stuff the 1313 project was producing at the time, so this was a riff on what they were doing, but reinterpreted for Clone Wars.

[iliumheightnights]

Obi-Wan going incognito to visit his lover, the owner of an exclusive club on Coruscant

It happens a lot during the clone wars. Obi-Wan's lover was a good information broker, which was also a good excuse for him to visit. It never made the council suspicious.

His lover's club was on level 1313. Of course, 1313 was one of the more 'gritty' levels of Coruscant. Of course, there were worse ones lower down, but 1313 was a famous one.

M/n's club, the Nexu's Claw, was one of the more famous places on the level...really the most famous clubs on many of the levels. Obi-Wan always made sure to wear his cloak and hood when going though. The last thing he needed was to be discovered by someone wanting to hold the information hostage...or worse.

M/n always knew when his lover was around. There was always just...a presence. "Let's go in the back. You're killing the mood out here."

"What? Am I not the party type?"

"You could be. But I fear you'd put many of my dancers out of a job."

They'd spend hours together, just enjoying each other's company. On the rare occasion, Obi-wan would get to spend the night. M/n looked forward to those nights.

When it was time to return, M/n made sure to give Obi-wan a disk of information. "Thank you. I'll be sure to return soon."

"Please do, I'd hate to have to sell this club because I see your face haunting me in every corner."

"I'm not sure if that's flattering or insulting."

"It can be both."

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Welcome to The Flour Tower. It's a 5 story, single family, converted 1910 former grain mill in Bridgeport, Washington. 4bds, 8ba, $945K.

First things, first. It has an elevator, b/c it's so high.

The "Grand Salon," as they call the first floor, houses the shop, garage, green house, half bath, family room & additional kitchen.

There's also a wine room.

The family room is nice. Looks like there's a walk-in freezer there on the left.

The downstairs kitchen and deck on the waterfront.

Very large sun room also on the water.

If you'd rather take the stairs.

This must be the primary suite. It's huge.

The en-suite.

Closet in with the water heater.

Large laundry room.

The main kitchen is big, too.

Down a few stairs is a dining area.

And, on the other side of the kitchen is the formal dining room.

Plus, a formal living room. This house is so large, you can decorate it a lot better.

Spacious pantry.

Perfect views of the Columbia River.

This secondary bedroom is large and it even has a little hair salon.

Ascending to the next level, they've got a TV area on the landing.

There's a separate apt. over the garage.

So, this could be rental income.

A long staircase goes down to a dock on the river.

The river bank property measures .67 acre.

[hellfiresky]

Hope a couple of goth punks from Level 1313 are allowed to join the party @gargothnightzine!

Captain Rex, ever the by the book trooper, swore he’d never get mixed up in Tal’s underworld shit. Said he had discipline, principles, and all those boring stuffs. Fast forward a few months after they started dating, and the captain’s got a battle jacket.

Somewhere along the way, he stopped bitching about the exiled-Mandalorian-bounty-hunter-anarchist’s influence and just leaned into it. He’s still a captain who plays by the rules when he has to, but these days, those rules come with a whole lot of asterisks.

[sammys-magical-au]

Theory/headcanon since I’m on a roll with the Coruscant Underworld stuff;

I’ve seen a lot of people talking about how confusing it is for level 1313 to be basically an entire city in and of itself, but I think the reasoning for this is a lot more simple - some areas of Coruscant, especially notable ones, are designated by the highest level within the area. So 1313 is just the highest level out of all of this:

Level 1313 is the topmost level in this image, everything below it (since, according to the math someone on reddit did, one level is about 4 meters tall, so approximately 1 storey) is technically not 1313, but everything from “ceiling” to “floor” is classified under 1313

(And since in my last post I mentioned that I’m updating Lionel’s lore to have them be from the 1303rd level, that means they live here, within this image!)

My reasoning for this theory is that I often see this area here referred to as “level 5127”

But as you can see, this is way more than just one level. There are skyscrapers of varying heights, so it wouldn’t make sense for all of this to be 5127, unless, of course, 5127 is the just highest level on the surface here, and everything from the actual 5127th level down to about where the visual ends is all grouped into level 5127, although in reality what we’re seeing is level 5127 to, say, level 5003 (just for an example), and level 1313 really encapsulates everything from level 1313 to, say, level 1010 (again, just an example)

(Also, in addition, since the building Padmé’s apartment is in definitely isn’t the tallest building on the surface level, I would estimate she lives somewhere around the 5115th-5110th level when she stays on Coruscant)

[vintagelasvegas]

Valley Motel, 1313 Fremont, Las Vegas. 1952-2013.

Valley was the third motel built by the Franklin bros, in 1952. The motel was sold to Albert and Elberta Paulson in the 50s. “Vegas Vic” was added to the sign in the mid-50s. The sign was raised, with a reader board attached to the bottom in the late-50s.

Willard and Amber Terry bought the motel in the late 60s, and a 2nd level was added to the building at the front of the motel. Robert and Joeva Small bought the motel in the early 70s.

In the early 2000s, the original neon sign with “Vegas Vic” addition was sold to a private collector, and removed. Downtown Project bought and closed the motel in 2013.

Postcard c. 1952, “Shini Color” by Colourpicture SK5836

Postcard, 1950s, with “DU” phone number on back.

Postcard, 1960s, “Published by Douglass Studio, 614 South 6th St, Las Vegas,” with 702 area code.

Postcard, 1960s.

Google Street View image, 2023.

[1313-hunter]

Tales from the Underworld

[Episode 5: The Crystal Jewel, Southern Underground]

NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH TALES OF THE UNDERWORLD. I WAS HERE FIRST!

HELLO HOLONET. WELCOME BACK TO TALES FROM THE UNDERWORLD.

Now broadcasting live from somewhere I absolutely do not want to be. Guess where I am?

I SAID GUESS.

Okay nobody got it right. Losers. All of ya. I’m currently holed up in the Southern Underground. Why? Because I need ammo. Specifically, one kriffing silver bullet for my slugthrower. Yep, that one, the one you possibly heard from horror tales to kill werewolves. Guess what? These babies are good enough to kill corridor ghouls (which had been roaming around my neighbourhood. Thus, my lot and I been hunting em down one by one.)

ALSO, the only place that sells it doesn’t do catalogs, doesn’t do shipping, doesn’t even have a kriffing name on the door. You gotta know someone, then know a guy that that guy owes a favour to, then show up with rhythmic knocks or whatever.

But first stop? The bar. No, no. Not just another bar. THE CRYSTAL JEWEL. The infamous bar with the edgy tagline definitely written by some teen edgelord long before the clones were decanted, “If the customers don’t kill you, the drinks will.”

Fokkin edgy mate. Before we continue, remember this: Always keep one hand on your credits and the other on your blaster. I learnt the hard way when I first came to this part of the underworld. Unless, of course, you were one of those lucky species with more than two hands - then you could punch and shoot at the same time.

Anyway, enough pleasantries. KEEP READING FOR MY VERY OWN SURVIVAL KIT!

WELCOME TO THE CRYSTAL JEWEL.

The bar sits in the heart of the Southern Underground. And no, this isn’t like Level 1313, which still has rules (and people Underworld Cops pretending to enforce them). This is the other side of the underworld. Quite literally. Cause the other hemisphere, you know?

No one gives a shit who you are. Or what you’re carrying. Smugglers. Bounty hunters. Mercs. Freelancers who’ve lost their crews. Burnouts. This place is where the galaxy’s trash comes to ferment.

Pro tip: Don’t look like easy prey.

Holster a blaster. Even if it’s fake. And if you’re not willing to fight? Pretend you are. One thing to keep in mind before entering the facility:

THE INVITE-ONLY LIE

Here’s the thing: The Crystal Jewel’s “invite only.”

What that really means is “we’ll act like you need a name, but if you show up with a gun and enough proven connection, we’ll let you in.” But if don’t have those? You’ll break in the fun way. Like me.

So, here’s how you break in to The Crystal Jewel:

STEP 1: FIND THE RIGHT ALLEY.

There’s a narrow alley tucked between a defunct data kiosk and a churro stand that definitely doesn’t use fabric colouring for the dips. Look for the brick wall with graffiti that says “DOWN WITH THE REPUBLIC” in four different languages.

STEP 2: CLIMB THE STAIRS.

There are two sets of stairs. One is kind of clean and leading towards the market, the other one is the sketchy one - go through this one. You’ll know it from the uneven stairs, barely lit, plastered with old posters of underground fights, Twi’lek burlesque shows, live sex shows (yep), missing persons. (Spoiler: not coming back.)

STEP 3: FIND THE GARAGE DOOR.

Top of the stairs, take the right corner past the crate stack and a broken speederbike that seems to take a residency in that spot. You’ll see a busted garage door. There’s a small gap beside it, just enough to squeeze through.

STEP 4: OVERRIDE THAT SHIT.

Duck through the gap and find a burnt umbre metal door. It’s locked. Of course. Again, do not come unprepared. I always carry my data/security spike. Not that expensive. It’s 1,500 credits worth of beautiful tech. Pop it into the door’s side knob. Work your magic.

STEP 5: GET IN!

Once you got it opened, get in! Make sure to close the door and remember your steps. Do not act suspicious.

What to do here? You’re probably wondering.

When you’re in a club like this, always look for the bar. That’s where you find intel. Unless you’re invited to sit on the couch. In spots like this, the bartenders are the unofficial gatekeepers. They see it all! Every dirty deal, every backroom bargain, and they knew better than to ask questions. Like the lady in the picture, she KNOWS EVERYTHING. They’re all knowing gods. Love and TIP YOUR BARTENDER. And if you play your cards right, you might just end up on the couch.

What does it mean to be invited on the couch? Listen. Black Sun owns most of the area here. So if you’re invited, there are two possibilities:

ONE: THEY WANT TO HIRE YOU.

They know your rep. They’ve seen what you’ve done. You made noise, and they’re curious. Maybe they want to cut a deal. Maybe they want you to run something. If this is you, sit down. Listen. Don’t talk unless spoken to.

And definitely don’t ask for a drink unless they offer.

TWO: YOU FUCKED UP.

Which is highly unlikely. Because if you really fucked up you’d never make it through this part of the Underworld. You’d get a body bag the moment your janky ship landed and docked.

BEFORE WE END THIS TRANSMISSION. One more thing!

TAL’S SURVIVAL TIP FOR THE SOUTHERN UNDERGROUND:

Don’t come here unless you know what you’re looking for.

Because if you don’t this place will hand you a drink, a blatant lie you wouldn’t even be able to decipher, and a blaster to the brain, and you won’t know which will end you first.

Anyway. I’m only here for the ammo. And maybe one of those fried fungus skewers if the vendor near the stairwell isn’t dead today.

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR MORE TALES FROM THE UNDERWORLD. REMEMBER, NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH TALES OF THE UNDERWORLD!

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Martyrs and Kings - Chapter 9

Only Ghosts

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Kix x archivist/historian OFC

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings: angst; iconoclasm; the inevitability of time; boundary testing; SMUT; semi-public sex; accidental voyeurism; hair-pulling; biting; sex under the influence of alcohol

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The galaxy had changed a lot in the last half century, but Coruscant still smelled the same. The stench hit Kix like a punch in the face when the shuttle doors opened. It wasn’t so bad on the upper levels, but it got noticeably worse as he descended. Captain Ithano had sent him a list of supplies to requisition when Kix notified the Meson Martinet that he was headed to the old capital, and most of them were only available from some of the shadier establishments in the Coruscant underworld. More than one of the items were a complete mystery to Kix, and he didn’t bother to ask exactly what it was that he was picking up for his totally legitimate, not-at-all-disreputable employer.

Republics and empires could rise and fall and rise again, but some things never changed, and black market dealers seemed to be a universal constant. Kix kept his head down and his blaster close. He wore his armor, craving both protection and anonymity. This deep in the city, it was always dark, and anyone who let down their guard was likely to get robbed or worse. He kept a watchful eye on the shadows, ignoring the fetid puddles and skittering vermin on the walkway. Ithano’s errands kept him busy most of the day, and his life was only threatened twice, which was a marked improvement over the last time he’d gone to level 1313. His last stop brought him near a familiar neighborhood, and as he headed back topside, Kix made an impulsive detour. 

The building still stood, of course. 79’s had been located in one of Coruscant’s massive skyscrapers, so it was no surprise that the platform and facade were still intact. But the bar itself had obviously gone out of business years or even decades earlier, and nothing had moved in to replace it. Even the iconic neon sign was still installed over the doors, though it was not illuminated any more, and he could see that the transparisteel was broken in several places. The doors were boarded up, but it was easy enough to work a few free so he could squeeze through the gap. He switched on his helmet light and looked around, wary of finding something—or someone—living in the derelict club. It looked like nobody had been inside since it closed.

The floor was littered with assorted detritus: broken glass, cocktail napkins, faded drink menus. A few crumbling pro-clone propaganda posters still hung on the walls: actual posters made of paper, not holosigns. He could see bits of graffiti scratched into some of the tables, and he laughed quietly as he remembered the night he had scrawled “Fives’s sister” next to a sketch of a wampa in the refresher.

Kark, he had so many memories of this place. He remembered his first trip to Coruscant as a wide-eyed shiny, dragged to the bar by his new brothers in the 501st, terrified the entire time that he was going to be reconditioned for breaking the regs. He’d overheard a cute civilian sigh, “Captain Keeli. The prettiest clone in the GAR.”  

Kix had spotted the legendary clone captain right away, sharing a drink with his Nikto Jedi General Di. That night, Kix went back to the barracks and drunkenly shaved his head in imitation of the older clone. Jesse had teased him relentlessly, telling him he’d gotten the pattern wrong. 

“I didn’t get it wrong,” Kix had retorted. “I made it my own.”

When the news came back that Captain Keeli, General Di, and their entire company of clone troopers had sacrificed themselves to protect the Twi’leks of Ryloth, Kix had kept the hairstyle to honor their memory and added a tattoo that read, A good droid is a dead one . 

He’d lost count of the nights he’d spent here, celebrating victories, mourning fallen brothers, searching for something more than the life of a man bred exclusively for war. Nights spent dancing and drinking with Jesse, Fives, Cerra, and Tup; nights spent seeking out nameless hookups with beings who only saw him as a piece of meat; nights spent brawling just to feel something, even if it hurt. Anything to drown out the screams of the brothers he couldn’t save, to drive away the memory of blood on his hands.

The last time he’d been here, he’d come with Jesse to celebrate his brother’s successful completion of ARC trooper training. It was his first time visiting the bar since the fateful night Fives had cornered him in the filthy bathroom, ranting about inhibitor chips and conspiracies and corruption at the highest levels of government. Kix had avoided the place after that, but Jesse had been so proud of his promotion, and he’d wanted to show off his new armor, and Kix had never been able to say no to Jesse. They’d started the night with tihaar shots, and then somebody had passed around tablets of sansanna spice. Kix had a vivid memory of a stunning Zeltron woman trailing her hand suggestively over Jesse's pauldrons.

“I like your armor," she'd said. "It’s so thoughtful of the Republic to provide leg rests.”

The night had degenerated into a wild blur of spice, booze, and anonymous sex after that. Jesse had loved every second of it. Kix, on the other hand, had been in full self-destruction mode after losing Fives and Tup, and that particular outing was when he hit the bottom. The next morning, bandaging his knuckles after a fight he didn’t remember, reeling from a nuclear hangover and a deep feeling of self-loathing, he’d commed Cerra and asked her to help him follow Fives’s investigation. He started by removing his inhibitor chip, growing his hair to cover the scar. It had been strange to let go of something that had been a part of his identity for so long. 

Without direct access to the Kaminoan data, it had taken months to uncover the full potential of the chips, and he’d been assigned to the mission on Skako Minor before he’d completed his investigation. Finding Echo alive had renewed Kix’s determination to save more of his brothers, and he’d redoubled his efforts. Within weeks, he found what he was looking for, and then the Separatists found him. 

He couldn’t save any of his brothers after all.

Kix took a long, last look around. The galaxy had moved on from the Clone Wars, and 79’s had failed to adapt and survive. All that remained of the clone bar was an empty shell, and only ghosts within.

It was late when Maree arrived on Coruscant. Teejay had booked a driver to pick her up from the spaceport and take her directly to her hotel at the top of one of the city’s gleaming towers. It had been a long day, and she desperately wanted to take a shower and go to bed. She stared at the garish holosigns that flashed by the speeder, replying mechanically to her driver’s inconsequential chatter.

It had taken longer than anticipated to receive approval for Kix to enter the Imperial Military Records Archive, and thus several days had passed since they had spent the night together. He hadn’t contacted her except to acknowledge that he’d received her message explaining the delay. The approval had arrived in the late afternoon, and Maree had Teejay book transport to Coruscant that night. As soon as she boarded the shuttle, she sent Kix a message with instructions to meet her at the archive the next morning.

Maree avoided Coruscant whenever she could. Something about the planet gave her the shudders. It was strange; she loved Hosnian Prime even though it was also an ecumenopolis. She had attended university on Coruscant and left the planet at the first opportunity. Accustomed as she was to the endless expanses on the planets of the Outer Rim territories, she felt claustrophobic and panicky among the towering spires and plastcrete canyons of Coruscant. At least on Hosnian Prime she could see the planet’s actual surface. The only way she could do that on Coruscant was to visit the peak of Mt. Umate in Monument Plaza, as if it were a curiosity or a tourist destination, and not the very foundation on which the ancient city was built.

But beyond all of that, Coruscant had always seemed to Maree to have an air of desperation. Strip away the glittering facade of the upper levels, and underneath one would find only pain and misery and exploitation. She was too young to remember Coruscant under Imperial rule, but she couldn’t imagine that much had changed with the formation of the New Republic. The corruption here was too systemic, too entrenched, to be undone with a mere regime change, no matter how determined or well-intentioned the government might be. It had been this way under the Old Republic; it had continued under the Empire; and there was no sign that anything had improved under the New Republic.

The soft chirp of her commlink startled Maree out of her pessimistic ruminations. It was a message from Kix.

Are you on 000?

She typed out a quick reply. Yes. Heading to my hotel now.

Have you eaten? He responded immediately.

Not yet, Maree typed. I was planning on getting room service.

Want some company? He replied.

Maree was a little surprised at the offer. She’d thought that his lack of communication had signaled that he wasn’t interested in continuing what they’d started his last night on Hosnian Prime. She’d told herself it was for the best, even if it stung a bit. She didn’t do long term, as Valsi had pointed out. The rational part of Maree’s brain said she could hardly fault Kix for sharing her attitude. But there had been something different about her time with Kix—something she could almost have believed was special, if not for the haunted look in his eyes as he’d left her flat.

Still, it couldn’t have been such a terrible night for him if he was interested in a repeat. The cynical voice in her head told her it was just more convenient for him to booty call her than to go to the effort of picking up another bedmate. Maree took a moment to consider. Kix had been good in bed—fantastic, actually. She definitely wouldn’t mind going another round or three with him. She was fully capable of keeping her feelings under control—it was her specialty, after all. And if she felt a twinge of disappointment that he only saw her as a warm body, it would fade.

Sure, she replied. Meet up at the hotel bar in an hour?

She sent him the name of her hotel, and he replied with a thumbs-up. She sighed a little, thinking wistfully that she’d have to settle for a sonic shower. She could see the hotel from the speeder now, and by the time she checked in, she had just enough time to unpack her bags and touch up her makeup after getting cleaned up.

Kix was already at the hotel bar when she arrived. She spotted him immediately, leaning against the bar, looking impossibly handsome and absolutely radiating unfriendliness. Something in his posture made him look dangerous in a way she hadn’t noticed during their earlier encounters. The other bar patrons gave him a wide berth. He stared down into his glass and didn’t notice her until she slipped into the space next to him. He looked up, and his stormy expression cleared at once.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, stretching up to kiss his cheek. “Am I late?”

He shook his head. “Got here early. Nothing better to do.”

Maree raised her eyebrows. He wasn’t slurring, but his breath smelled like whiskey, and she wondered how many he’d had. She signaled the bartender and ordered a cocktail, while Kix ordered another whiskey. The bartender shot her a meaningful look.

“Let’s get a table,” Maree said. “I’m starving.”

“Can I get anything started for you?” the bartender asked.

Maree glanced at the menu and ordered an assortment of appetizers, then led Kix to a cozy little booth in the back corner of the bar. Remembering his dislike of having his back to a door, she scooted into the side with the best view of the room, then patted the seat next to her. He dropped into the booth and immediately slid his hand high up her thigh.

Damn, he’s not wasting any time, she thought.

“How’ve you been?” she asked, hoping to pump the brakes a bit.

He shrugged. “Didn’t come here for small talk.”

He leaned in to kiss her, and she pulled back automatically.

“Agreed, I came here for dinner,” she said pointedly. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Don’t remember,” he said. “Not hungry. At least not for food.”

He pushed his hand higher up her leg and cupped her sex through her gown. She suppressed a twinge of irritation and—to her horror—arousal.

“Well, I am,” Maree said, firmly pushing his hand back down her leg to rest safely on her knee. “I guess you’ll just have to wait.”

The bartender approached with their drink order as well as two glasses and a large pitcher of water, then beat a hasty retreat as Kix glared at him. Kix reached for his whiskey, but Maree picked it up and moved it to her side of the table.

“Water first,” she said.

He glowered at her, but she didn’t back down, meeting his eyes squarely with an expression she normally reserved for arguments with NRGL administrators. He grumbled a protest but drained one of the water glasses, and Maree refilled it before she gave him back his whiskey and sipped her own cocktail.

“Bossy,” he muttered.

“Yep,” she said agreeably. “If you’re a good boy and do what you’re told, maybe I’ll let you have dessert later.”

His eyes darkened. Maree hadn’t missed the way he responded when she’d called him a good boy in the bedroom, and she was not above exploiting that tidbit of knowledge to get him to make at least slightly healthier choices.

“Why wait?” he rumbled.

“Because the food is here,” Maree said, stifling a relieved sigh. 

A service droid rolled up and deposited a tray of food at their booth. Maree picked up a bite and offered it to Kix. He ate it directly from her hand, his warm lips brushing against her hand. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Maree replied, handing him another bite. 

“Do you know how much whiskey it would take to get me drunk?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. How much have you had?” she asked.

“Not enough,” he replied. “I don’t need to sober up.”

“What do you need?” she asked.

“Something stronger than whiskey.”

“What happened, Kix?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”

He sighed, looking away from her. His eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance on something only he could see.

“It’s this kriffing planet,” he said at last. “Too many memories.”

“I didn’t realize you’d spent much time here,” she said.

He laughed humorlessly. “I used to live here. It’s been a long time.”

“I take it that things didn’t end well?” she asked, feeding him another bite, and then scooting his water glass closer. 

“You could say that,” he said. His glance flicked between her face and the water glass, and his lips nearly twitched into a smile, but he obediently took another drink of water.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Not particularly.”

Stars, the man held onto his secrets like they were made of solid beskar. It didn’t bother her, exactly. After all, he was technically just her client, and spending a night together had not changed that, nor had she expected it to. She shrugged and began to eat her own food.

“Well, with any luck, it won’t take long to find what we need in the Archive, and you can get back to your life and leave this place far behind,” she said.

Kix made an odd expression, but he didn’t reply. Once she’d gotten him to eat those first few bites, he seemed to realize that he was ravenous, because he polished off the three plates she’d set in front of him and then began to steal bites off of her plate, too. He drained a second glass of water as well, so she didn’t object when he finished his whiskey. Throughout the meal, he’d kept his hand firmly on her leg, though he didn’t attempt any further explorations after she shut him down. Instead, he contented himself with drawing lazy circles on her thigh with his thumb. 

They ate in silence, and Maree couldn’t help contrasting it with their banter at the hanging garden. Just when she had thought she was getting to know Kix, he reminded her that she really had no idea who he was. 

He flagged down the server droid and ordered it to bring the bottle of whiskey. Maree sighed but didn’t intervene. She wasn’t his mother, and if Kix was determined to get plastered, that was his call to make. Still, she had no interest in watching him make a public spectacle.

“We’ll take it to go,” she said. “Charge everything to my room.”

To his credit, Kix didn’t stumble or weave on the walk to the lifts. In fact, he didn’t show any visible signs of intoxication at all. He was a perfect gentleman until they entered the empty lift and the doors closed behind them. And then he pounced. His mouth crashed into hers as he pinned her against the wall. All the air rushed out of her lungs, and she nearly dropped the bottle of whiskey. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing, stroking. His kiss was rough and hard, and Maree let out a strangled moan as he used his tongue and teeth. He kissed and licked and sucked his way down her neck and chest, pulling her neckline down to give him access to her shoulder. He bit her hard enough to leave a mark, and she flinched. He pressed his lips soothingly to the mark, and then returned to her mouth, consuming her with a kiss that danced along the edge of pleasure and pain. She didn’t even realize he’d rucked up her dress until she felt his rough fingertips slip into her underwear. She broke the kiss with a gasp.

“Kix, w—wait,” she panted.

He froze.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked raggedly. “Isn’t this why you told me to meet you here?”

“Yes, but you’ve been drinking, and—”

“Do I look drunk to you?” he demanded. “I know what I am doing. If you don’t want this, tell me now, and I’ll leave.”

“No, I—I want this,” she said, and he lunged back into action, kissing her until she was breathless. He yanked the fabric of her panties to the side and stroked his fingers over her pussy, hissing when he felt the wetness there.

“Not so calm as you pretended, are you, dirty girl?” he asked. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes, damn you,” she cursed as he slipped one of his fingers inside. Her body convulsed around him. “F—f—fuck!”

He thrust into her over and over, stretching her out until he could fit a second finger inside, dragging his thumb over her clit. She arched into the sensation. Her legs quivered and gave out, but Kix was there to catch her, wrapping his arm around her waist as she clung to his shoulders. There was no trace of the gentle man who’d touched her so reverently the last time they were together. This time, Kix was dominant, almost aggressive, handling her with a sublime roughness that had her trembling on the edge of an orgasm within seconds.

The lift slowed and emitted a soft chime. 

“It’s not our floor,” Maree gasped.

Kix moved to shield her with his body just in time for the doors to slide open. He snarled at the hapless intruder, an Ishi Tib who stumbled back with wide eyes as he took in the scene before him.

“Sorry!” he squawked. “I’ll take the next one!”

The doors slid closed. Maree’s cheeks burned with humiliation, and she hid her face against Kix’s shoulder.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “I want to see your face when you come all over my hand.”

His filthy words, the deft movements of his fingers, and the adrenaline rush of getting caught were too much. He wrenched her pleasure forcibly from her. She whimpered in surprise as her body clenched around him, her orgasm bursting through her.

“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s my beautiful woman. Kriff, you look so gorgeous like this, coming apart around my fingers. I could watch you for hours.”

He didn’t slow his movements until she stopped twitching and slumped against him with a breathy moan. Still supporting her with his arm around her waist, he gently withdrew his fingers from her. He stroked his thumb across her clit in one last, soft caress, and then he allowed her skirt to fall back into place, smoothing the wrinkles. She leaned against his chest, gasping for air. He wrapped both arms around her and held her close, whispering into her hair, telling her how well she’d done, and how sexy she was, and how he was going to take such good care of her. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to your  room,” he murmured. “I’m going to fuck that pussy until you scream my name. Everyone in this karking hotel is going to know who is getting you off.”

Her knees buckled. He caught her with a dark laugh, taking the whiskey bottle from her loosened grasp. 

“Not much longer, love,” he said. “Just a few more floors. Can you hold it together for me?”

She nodded, dazed. She was already wildly turned on again by the way he mixed praise with the dirtiest of promises. The lift slowed and the door chimed.

“This is us,” she said, her voice sounding embarrassingly unsteady.

She led him down the hall and fumbled as she keyed in her door code with shaking hands. He followed closely, dropping the whiskey on the console table and crowding close to her, his hands roaming greedily over her body. Her skin felt like it was on fire wherever he touched her. He tugged her dress off over her head in a single fluid motion as he backed her up against the bed. She tumbled onto the mattress, and he stood back, eyeing her with a hungry look.

“Stars, look at you,” he breathed. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You are overdressed,” she observed. 

He began to strip off his clothes as Maree propped herself up on her elbows to watch. He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a thick chest that tapered down to a lean waist. His smooth, golden brown skin was criss crossed here and there by scars, and he had a smattering of dark hair. She had seen him naked before, but she hadn’t had time to admire him at her leisure. He was glorious.

As he lowered his trousers, she could see that he was fully erect, and a bead of precum had dampened his underwear. She sat up to reach for him, teasing his cock through the fabric before easing the garment down over his narrow hips. She made a happy little noise and leaned forward to swirl her tongue around his shaft. He tangled his hands in her hair with a curse. She loved the gentle tugging on her scalp and hummed with pleasure at the taste of him. His hips bucked forward at the sensation. Before she could proceed, though, he used her hair to pull her head away from him, then pressed her down onto the mattress, climbing on top to straddle her hips.

She could feel the weight of his erection resting on her belly. She traced her hands up his thighs, but he stopped her before she reached his cock. Gripping her wrists, he pinned her hands to the bed. He leaned down and began to explore her body with his mouth. Rubbing his cock against her torso, he kissed and licked down her chest, and then he drew one breast to his mouth and bit down, hard, as he sucked on her. She let out a ragged, broken sound.

“You’re going to remember me,” he growled as marks bloomed across her skin. “Don’t ever forget me.”

“Never,” she whispered as he sucked bruises onto her breasts again and again. 

“That’s fucking right,” he said, and he plunged into her in a single, hard thrust, sheathing himself fully in her slick heat.

She cried out his name as he drove himself into her again and again. She could feel her body pulling taut around him, drawn like a bow, all her sensation pulling itself into the base of her spine, building in intensity until all at once, it was too much. The bowstring snapped, and she shot into ecstasy. Kix ground out a curse as he buried himself deep inside her and spilled into her heat. His arms gave out, and he collapsed onto her chest, breathless and utterly spent.

---

I humbly apologize to the 79's girlies (gn). If you'd like to read about the club in happier times and tag along with Kix and his friends on a night out, please allow me to recommend my fic "Do It Again," which shares continuity with this story.

Chapter 10

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @goblininawig @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5

[murder-clone-tech]

Missing Persons

There had been reports of Imperial Officers going missing on Coruscant, most of them later being found dead. The murder was never caught, rarely seen, but he always heard.

Witnesses described it as a deep rumbling noise that could be felt deep in one's bones. Right before or after the killings of the Officers the noise could be heard. Some have claimed to hear the noise following the Officers as they made their way home from work or a bar.

Some witnesses claimed to have seen an orange glow or a dark silhouette with glowing orange lights.

Some witnesses came forward and said they'd seen a mysterious figure taking refuge in an abandoned building on level 1313 and that they'd seen it leave an hour or two before an Imperial Officer went missing...

@imperial-elite-squad-87

[kcrabb88]

Fic Poll Excerpts #1

Might share an excerpt from each of the fics on my poll, but this one (Fives Lives/Dooku captures Obi-Wan and ends up Redeemed/Palpatine Does Evil Stuff) tied for first place at 28%. It's on tap to be my next long fic when WFTD is finished!

As expected, Quinlan answers on the second ring.

“Hey, Obes,” he says, tilting his head in holo form. “You on your way home?”

“Yes, but there’s an emergency,” Obi-Wan begins without ceremony, drawing calm into himself. “I got a comm from Anakin, and it cut out before I could hear everything. Something about Fives being unstable. Something about Chancellor Palpatine. Rex and Anakin were chasing him. Fives, I mean to say. Anakin was quite panicked, and it isn’t like him. Not like that. Are you available?”

That familiar stickiness beneath his ribs, that gut-sinking sense he always gets around Palpatine, comes to life. He’s never liked the man. His influence on Anakin has never been a good thing, and his interest is … too much, sometimes, but impossible to lay a finger on. His treatment of the Jedi—and the clones—during this endless war has not won him any of Obi-Wan’s esteem. Besides, he’s always gotten the feeling that Palpatine doesn’t like him, and he does wonder why.

“Where are they?” Quinlan asks, furrowing his brow. “I’ll go right now.”

“Level 1313. Running past a bar of some sort though I know that hardly—”

“I’ll find them. Comm me when you land.”

“Be careful, Quin.”

A silly thing to say to a master spy when they’re in the middle of a war, perhaps, but the twist of anxiety in his gut demands it.

Something is wrong. First Tup. Now this.

Quinlan blows him a kiss, and under different circumstances Obi-Wan would affectionately roll his eyes. “Always am. See you soon.”

Quinlan clicks off. Obi-Wan tries Anakin again. Nothing. Rex too. Nothing.

He taps one finger against his knee. How long until they reach Coruscant? One standard hour, he sees, when he checks his chrono.

Cody. He ought to speak to Cody.

An alert pops up on his datapad as he stands, about to go in search of his commander, who will be worried about Rex and Fives both.

Count Dooku accuses the Jedi Order of War Crimes in front of the Separatist Senate!

Obi-Wan snorts. War crimes. This war has made them the soldiers they were never meant to be, but the war crimes are Dooku’s.

[maltrunners]

Alambique Serrano Vida Nativa Single Cask #3 Perro de Agua

Review by: The Auditor Review #1313; Rum #618 This sample was provided to me by a producer, distributor, or some other industry source free-of-charge. No compensation, outside of the sample, was received and there were no strings attached. This rum was made from cane of the Java varietal and grown in Santa Maria Tlalixtac, Oaxaca at 2,500-3,800 feet above sea level. The cane was pressed for…