#clone trooper tice

[coruscantguard]

Well-Intentioned Sentences

Summary:

Clone Trooper Challi is killed in action in early 20BBY.

His novel is published eight months later.

(Ao3 Link)

Excerpt from the novel Avenge the Nation Above, written by Juasiz Maffess in the year 20BBY

"I am unarmed," Hainnip pleads, "I am beaten. I do not ask for mercy, but I beg of you, return my body to my family, and let them be." Hainnip pauses, breathes heavy. His eyes don't leave your feet. "Enough blood has been spilled, don't you agree?"

And-- you find yourself wavering at a precipice, your duty to the dead warring with the honor the living demand. Because the truth is that yes, you are tired, yes, you want this done. You're holding your vibrosword up, ready to kill, but you can feel the way you're trembling with exhaustion, with the relief of it being over, finally being over. You stare down at Hainnip-- your friend, your enemy, the man who's haunted both your best and worst dreams for years-- and you can feel your sword arm lowering--

And then you see the decorative jade pendant that used to dangle off of Kelou's hallikset gleaming on Hainnip's belt.

For a moment, the world turns red.

You remember how Kelou's cursing had taken on a whole new level of viciousness when Hainnip ripped his talisman off of his hallikset. Kelou was furious that Hainnip would dare take it as a trophy, vowed retribution, and Hainnip had responded to that by killing him.

Right here, right now, you realize that you are furious that it was taken as a trophy, that this demagolka stole both your chosen brother's talisman and life, and dares still to wear the former.

There is a swirling whirlpool of rage that's pulling you down, and as it beats in your chest, your heart burns. Your heart burns just as Kelou's body did on the pyre, burns just like your hands did when you ignored the way the flames licked at your hands and took his hallikset out so you could then put your own queterra in it's place. You'd watched the spiritual instrument you'd had since you were an infant go up in flames with dry eyes, because you knew you wouldn't need it anymore, would never play again now that the one who knew the sound of your heart is dead. You'd stood there, and watched Kelou burn, his hallikset clutched in your burnt hands, a song you'd never get to hear again.

You stand here now, sword at the ready, and your heart burns. You stand here now, and your eyes are dry, and you want this to be over, but Force hells, it seems like this will never be over. Because while the war might be won, there is no end to the fight, because your brother was betrayed, and your heart is still pumping with your rage.

You think this, you feel this, and moments later you are watching as Hainnip's body goes slack on the other end of your blade and his spirit joins the Force.

20 BBY, The Fortitude

Kall stares down at the holopad in his hands, tries to scroll to the next page. Fails, but-- no, that can't be the conclusion. It can't be. Challi wouldn't have ended it there. He's always been an di'kut who loves happy endings. Kall tries to find the next page again. And then he fails again.

“Well, kark,” he says, the words a little too rough, a little too real. He breathes in, breathes out. Swallows. He feels a little bit like he just got the wind knocked out of him, and it takes effort to tear his eyes away from the words, and look at Tice instead. “Kark. Karking hell. Is that seriously how it ends?”

Tice huffs, because Tice is a brat of a shiny who's just asking to scrub the mess hall with his toothbrush. “He didn’t exactly get to finish it, you know,” he replies, the words pointed. His tone of voice implies what he's not saying pretty clearly, and Kall bites back his anger at the easygoing tone, braces himself against the pang of grief that follows on it's heels. "This is where he ended it, and unless you want me to change it--"

"Absolutely not," Kall interrupts. His fingers tighten around the holopad against his will, which is ridiculous. He knows Tice isn't going to try and take it from him, knows he won't make changes unless Kall gives him express permission. There's no reason he should hold onto the 'pad like it's a lifeline. He needs to kriffing stop. Hell, even if Tice was a danger, he knows he could take him with one hand tied behind his back. "Kark."

Tice just watches him silently, the little weirdo. What is even up with these newer generations? There's no way Kall was this flippant as a shiny, no way he was as stupidly daring. If Tice had any sense, he would've delivered the holopad to Kall, and then taken the kark off.

It's not exactly a secret that Kall and Challi were chosen brothers. Anyone with sense would respect that, wouldn't try and stick their nose where it doesn't karking belong.

Karking shinies.

"You said there was a way to get this published under a pseudonym?" Kall asks

Tice nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! I've got an in with the Corries, and they--"

Kall holds up a hand, cutting him off. Karking idiot. "Do you want your contact to get reconditioned? Because that can happen. You keep running your mouth like that, and that will happen. I asked a yes or no question. Don't give me information I don't want."

Tice blinks at him, eyes wide, like being discrete is a new concept to him. Karking hell, Kall thinks, and presses the palm of his hand to his forehead, attempts to ward off the incoming headache. "Got it. Yes. I'm shutting up now."

Kall rolls his eyes, and drags his hand down his face.

"Yes, I'd like to do that," Kall forces out once he can trust himself to open his mouth and not say something stupid. Or rude. Or cruel.

The words that he says are technically lies. He knows that. The truth is-- Kall doesn't want to publish Challi's work. He certainly doesn't want to publish it under a karking pseudonym. He wants to kriffing keep it to himself! Challi's writing is the only thing he has that truly belonged to his chosen brother, the only thing the GAR can't karking requisition back. Kall doesn't want to karking share that with anyone, wants to keep the last remnants of his vod in a kriffing lockbox that electrocutes anyone who even looks at it, but--

But he can't. He can't, because Challi wouldn't want that, and for all that Kall hates even thinking about giving Challi's writing away, he hates thinking about not doing so more. Challi wanted his work shared, dreamed of having people besides his fellow clones read it. Getting it published under a pseudonym could accomplish both of those goals at once.

Kall sighs, and stares back down at the holopad in his hands. Reads over the last line one more time, commits it to his memory, because it might not be like Challi to end his story on such a bleak note, but he died, so he did, so Kall just has to accept that. Live with it. Move on.

You think this, you feel this, and moments later you are watching as Hainnip's body goes slack on the other end of your blade and his spirit joins the Force.

"Alright," Kall says, "Right. Let's get to it, then. How do we get in touch with your contact?"