#heavy industrial droids

[swtechspecs]

Industrial Automaton FLR-Series Logger Droid

Source: The Essential Guide to Droids (Del Rey, 1999)

[stellanslashgeode]

Happy Barriss Day! Here is a sneak peek at the latest chapter of Way of the Mynock that could well serve as a stand-alone for this event. Enjoy.

  The city was dead. The city was a bombed-out ruin. 

  The Empire detonated a low-yield fission bomb here at the start of the regime. This was where Mirial’s ex-CIS militia had gathered and plotted against them. It used to be one of the most holy cities on the planet. Low latitude it was close to the Southern Ice Cap, close to the realm of The Silent One. The better to speak with him, being so close. A fine place to raise chantries to his name.

  None of which remained undamaged.

  A grey snow fell softly into the alleyway. There was slush in every corner. And bodies. Some of them fresh, some just bones.

  A trio of TIE-bombers cut eddied through the snowfall as they flew overhead releasing a fresh payload of bombs to pulverize the ruins into yet smaller pieces. A rocket-propelled grenade steaked upwards to strike one of them. It bellowed flames and smoke and spiraled to the ground but the other two did not break formation. They knew to be more disciplined then to go off expressing concern over the welfare of their fellow pilots. It thudded into the rubble with little fanfare.

  Detonating that fusion bomb here was an affront to their culture of the highest degree. The Empire wiped out whole families in an instant, and who would be left to pray their deeds to The Silent One then? They would not live forever beyond their deaths.

  Barriss felt lightheaded being in this battlefield. That and she still hadn’t become accustomed to the feel of her shorter new haircut. It had grown out a bit since her morning period began, however.

  The Rebel in front of her went down on one knee and held up a fist with their arm at a square angle. Barriss hugged the wall and went as low as she could.

  A squid-like Arakyd Industries Viper probe droid passed them hovering over the parallel street, using its passive scanners. The Imperials had tied a number of charred skulls to the droid’s arms in a macabre show of offense to the Mirialans. They knocked together like a wind chime as it passed them.

  A few blocks away they had to pause again. A lone Imperial Army grunt was stumbling around studying his holo map and trying to get oriented.

  “Sergeant, do you need this one for interrogation?”

  “No, ma’am.” was their response.

  Barriss stood and straightened. She was wearing a lot of cumbersome clothing, a heavy coat and personal protective equipment to protect herself against radiation. She strode towards the trooper, who dropped his map and took a few shots at her. She batted them away with Luminara’s saber and shot him in the chest dead with one of her pistols with her left hand.

  “Let’s go.”

  The Rebels had utilized the underground shelters built in haste during the war. The locals had been loath to lose so many of their religious artifacts to a lone bomb. So they’d constructed a labaranthine complex utilizing existing maintenance and utilities structures. They cleared Barriss so she could pass security unchallenged. They were old battle droids, though few retained their original parts. Components of other droid models infected them and spread like disease. A few muttered their ‘Rodger, Rodger’s in greetings as she passed them. That gave her a chill sensation of deja vu. The young man seated at the antipersonnel turret couldn’t be older than Barriss was when she went off to Geonosis for her first battle. He waved to her and called out her name.

  Then they were in the tunnels. Both walls were covered with religious idols and paintings, religious and secular. Some of them were newer, drawn on whatever sheet of flimsi could be scrounged. Their metals were tarnished but their pigments were protected. Some stretches were lit only by candlelight. There was art everywhere in the city. Every alleyway was covered in graffiti, both anti-Imperial and pro.

  “Does a priest attend to these frequently?”

  “Oh yes, we have a few that maintain what ceremonies they can and salvage as many relics.” the Sergeant replied. “In fact, one Brother wanted to speak with you, privately, as soon as possible.”

  Barriss raised her brows. Her curiosity was piqued, if only to moderate the grim reality of warfare all around her. “Really? Let us endeavor to arrive as soon as possible.”

  She passed into a hall of portraiture. Historical figures as well as the wealthy and their relatives. She saw paintings of Vernestra Rowe, of Cyslin Myr, Luminara Unduli, and even one of her. A propaganda poster against the Republic.

  And then she was in the main living spaces for the vertically exiled. There were Mirialans of all ages and shades of purple or green. One of them, chartreuse like her, wore the white robes of a priest of The Silent One. His long curly hair was covered at least at the scalp with a telltale headcovering. He raised his palms upwards and nodded to her. “Miss Offee, I am pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Brother. Can you wait until my business is done?” She was sad to postpone him. He seemed like a very pleasant young man whom she would like to speak with at leisure, if the circumstances were different. Better.

  “Yes, it can wait. But what you brought cannot. A very important man needs to debrief you.”

  “Yes?”

  An older man also approached her. “Is it here? Were you able to smuggle them in?”

  “Yes. You must be the camp chef.”

  “Indeed! I’ll get them split up and distributed to as many kitchens as we can reach.”

  They didn’t want help ousting the Empire. They had enough troops to at least keep them at bay. They hadn’t asked for weapons. Their old CIS hardware had long since worn out, or perhaps savored and polished but never used. They took whatever weapons they could lift from the Empire. They didn’t even want food. They had enough vat-grown protein and hydroponically fruits, vegetables, and grains to last the tiny population. What they needed was medical supplies. 

  And what they wanted was spices. They wanted their food to taste Mirialan again. The chef held the first two liberated tins aloft triumphantly and there was a cheer from all around them as if a battle had just been won.

  After receiving the personal thanks of a number of both citizens and soldiers she convinced her handlers to lead her to Agent Adan’s office. The Balosar was in his workshop, which is what he called the clinic he interrogated prisoners in. He was just taking off his surgical gloves.

  Barriss offered him a smile, a friendly greeting she could not extend to his IGO-series interrogation droid. Caern Adan smiled broadly and his antennae came up to attention, the tips of which poked through his long afro hairstyle.

  “Fulcrum, welcome to the Mirialan Resistance.”

  “Agent,” she embraced him. Then sat attentively at a stool. “How are things?”

  He slumped into an office chair and unbuttoned the sleeve on his left arm. “We are surviving. It’s getting too cost-prohibitive and logistically bothersome to wipe us out for good.” He’d shed his doctor’s coat and had his shirt up to his bicep. Then he grabbed a latex tube off a tray of interrogation implements. He tied off his arm and quickly found a hypodermic to shoot something into a vein.

  “Are you alright, Caern?”

  “Oh, it’s just a little cocktail I brewed up. A dilution of my truth serum. It helps me relax and seems to help with debriefings.”

  “You need Alliance help. That would bless your cause with a sense of permanence. Who’s in charge here?”

  Adan laughed at her. 

  “Excuse me?”

  “Whenever someone asked, ‘Who’s in charge around here?’ likely they are a high-ranking individual and they are the only one’s left in charge. It’s like cursing yourself. We’re a leaderless resistance. We haven’t had central command in years.”

  “Do you compartmentalize everything?”

  “No, share and share alike. We just rebel as we can where we can. I share all the intelligence I can pull from these Imps. But those not of use to Mirial operations I siphon off into a silo and give to you.”

  “And I am all the more grateful to you, Agent.”

  He handed the drive over, and they spoke for a long while summarizing which data points she needed to know as soon as possible. 

  She also had personal curiosities to sate, even if it was concerning personal information. “Caern, why do you fight with us? Why are you here on Mirial?”

  “Is there a stereotype about Boasolar that we are specialist? He rubbed his injection site. “In another life I was an economics reporter.”

  “A lot makes sense, now.” She often wondered if her reporter friend Ben Dhur who she met on Drognar would make a good spy. Or interrogator.

  “I wrote a few too many exposes on the financial malfeasance of the Banking Clan. They put me in Jail, here on Mirial. I’ve become attached to the place, even as a freed criminal.”

  “I see. Thank you, Agent Adan.”

  After a bit more smalltalk she left his office to find the young Acolyte again.

  “Hey.” He smiled broadly at her. His expression was overwhelming to Barriss’s ex-Jedi formality. “I am so glad to meet you.”

  “I’m Barriss, as you know.” She offered her hand.

  He shook it with genuine warmth and vigor. “I’m Brother Offee.” He seemed delighted by her emotional response. “Ayaz Offee.”

  “Brother Offee.” She was whispering now. “Are we? Of the same clan?”

  “We are cousins! Your mother is my aunt. I am a cousin to the great, famous Adept Barriss Offee. To you.”

  She sputtered. Her brain was on an error screen. She didn’t know what to do but embrace him. “What can you tell me about your aunt? Does my mother have other children? Do I have an actual brother Offee?”

  “You do. After she was deported back to her home village, she married a shepherd and had seven children. A few of them died.” He swallowed. “But you have sisters and a brother.”

 “Ohhh!” She sighted with many positive emotions. It was so alien to her experience so many at once she didn’t know how to tell them apart. “And my father?”

  “We don’t know who he was. Some guy who saw her walking home one afternoon. But she was happy with her husband.”

  “Was? Do I not have a father-in-law?”

  “He was drafted in the planetary militia during the war. Your mother was devastated to lose him, but she sought out what Jedi casualties she could find on CIS occupied Mirial. She was so proud of you when you refused to fight us any longer.”

  “She wasn’t ashamed of my bombing?”

  Ayaz shook his head. “Barriss, in many parts of your home you are a folk hero. We didn’t get to see much footage of the Jedi, except for when they died in battle. Your confession we all heard. In Confederate households you embody national bravery under pressure. Your mother is sad she has no relationship with you, but she is proud of you.”

  “Oh,” She smiled. She put a hand to her fluttering heart. “I am so glad to hear that. I’m finding it difficult to express how I feel.” Just earlier that hour she had no family beyond Ahsoka. And they couldn’t be together as she wished. Now she has an extended family. A whole clan. All of them for her to meet for the first time.

  “It’s alright, Barriss.” He put a hand out to squeeze her forearm for reassurance. “Gizem would like to meet you one day.”

  “Gizem,” she breathed. “That’s my mother’s name… What is she like?”

  “She is a shepherd’s wife. She has little education but has great amounts of personal conviction. She has a principled stance on everything and everyone. But will only disclose her opinions if asked or unless it is an emergency. Then she will expound loudly and at length. And she has a very peculiar notion of what constitutes an emergency.”

  Barriss laughed at that. “I would love to get to know her. And you, as well. Could you show me your chantry?”

  “I would treasure such an opportunity! Follow me.”

  Ayaz would be in an adobe ground chantry if he could, one of the historical temples rebuilt. Barriss had never seen a chantry that was a series of interconnected chambers underground, chambers of varying size and utilized for various purposes. One room was the space for Recitation Ritual. There was a droid there. Its body was made from a B2. Its head is that of a commando droid. It has four arms from B1 combat chassises. There was a steel-ribbed nylon bag next to it. Scholars stopped by at regular intervals to drop new data pads onto the load, the corner of the bag was torn and there were a few on the floor. The droid read prayers to The Silent One and stories of those deceased for the god to hear and preserve for all time.

  “You don’t have an Adept for this task?”

  “I speak the stories of those who just died in the community. The chantry’s scholar staff spends their days compiling obituaries for those who died in the bombings with no one else to speak for them. It took so much of my time I had the tech shop make me a mechanical Adept.”

  “That is good of you, Brother Offee. I am sure he is pleased by your service. And the droid’s.”

  Then he showed her the congregation hall, the pulpit and the rest of the expansive space. The walls were all covered in religious statues. They were all broken. There were small droids swarming all over them, replacing missing stone with duracrete recreations. But at many places the data was corrupted, their forms stuttered like holo interference. Others surely were not built to look like that. They were a droid intelligence’s idea of how their original forms. It was like being in a tomb. Chantries dedicated to The Silent One were supposed to have that flavor, but not quite like this.

  “Barriss… I was wondering. Would you like to lead services? The kids always ask me about you.”

  “You want me to be a youth pastor?” She smiled with one-half of her lips, giving him a look.

  “Barriss, you’re a legend. It would be memorable for them.”

  She couldn’t say no to that. As he got everything prepared she sat and thought about children. She’d never really considered family before. Now she had one, despite not having her own children. In another life, would she and Ahsoka have kids of their own? Would they be boys or girls? Would they be Togruta or Mirialan.

  The younglings filed in once families were contacted. Their parents washed their feet and took their place at the rear of the worship hall. Barriss sought to blink back her tears seeing all of them. Too many had radiation burns and other injuries of warfare and deprivation. The kids either sat still or whispered to each other. She heard her name often.

  Barriss eventually turned on her microphone. “Siblings. My family. I am so glad to be here with you. Before services I want to swear something to you.” She stood, and took Luminara’s lightsaber from its holster at the small of her back. She held it aloft. She activated the blade.

  “I swear by Jedi Master Luminara’s blade, my own master, that I shall fight for Mirial as long as I live. And my ghost will commit to the fight afterwards. Mirial shall one day be free of the Empire. I swear to you, and to your children yet to be, that I shall fight for him. I swear to Luminara, and I swear to the goddesses. And I swear to you.”

  “And so you shall. Blessed be!” the others chanted in unison. Including the younglings old enough to speak. She looked over them all, one by one. 

  This was the future of the planet. This was the future of her culture.

  “Now I shall start our worship with a parable.” She knelt, put her hands on her thighs, and recalled the one Leia treasured as a bedtime story. “In the time before time began the gods and goddesses wore Mirialan forms walking and talking just like you and I. It was decided that He of the Strong Foundations and She of the Flowing Waters should be wed for the good of future generations…”

@barrissday

[sonicburstau]

Sonic Burst AU- Doctor Ivo Robotnik and Secretary Stone

Heir to the Robotnik Heavy Industries (RHI) Corporation Doctor Ivo Robotnik is the Richest man in the galaxy. Robotnik is a cold hearted and ruthless businessman and inventor, Single handedly inventing hundreds of vehicles, robots, and weapons. RHI is the largest company in human space, Making everything from surgical implants and mining droids to huge starships and bases.

Secretary Stone is Robotniks right hand man, he does everything from answering calls or making coffee all the way to handling his different vehicles and mechs. though not as intelligent as Robotnik, Stone does act as Robotniks voice of reason and is extremely loyal to him, especially compared to some of Robotniks other employees.

[industrial-projects]

[CHARACTER]

Ranger.

Height: 6'4"

Weight: 250 lbs (113.4 kg)

Gender: [Due to non-organic nature this cannot be confirmed but assumes and is assumed Male]

Ranger is a machine turned sentient due to an unknown fragment of a soul entering and giving him life. With this life he gained control of a corrupt I.D.U.S. and with the additional help of Omega, led the I.D.U.S. and the known galaxies into victory together against the Industrial Empire.

Appearance:

Initially appearing as a frost white and grey combat drone with two red eyes mounted in an over-under fashion. The drone had twin rotors and a twin gimbal turret mounted triple barrel miniguns with belts feeding from a large ammo supply on the rear of the drone.

After body transfer - last spotting

Ranger Appeared as a Humanoid Assault Droid with Dark grey heavy kinetic armor. On top was a layer of energy resistant plates colored with white pixel camo. The head/helmet had a visor with two white digital eyes which enabled him to better interact with organics. The rear of the head had two small antennas mounted vertically. Being designed after combat armor the head lacks a distinct mouth, ears or nose.

Personality:

Logical first with emotions second, Ranger's best traits as a leader are seen when he positions troops. Leading them into a certain victory or withdrawal, all the while ensuring minimal lives are lost. Ignoring if he has either machines or organics to command Ranger values any life, even those not placed under his command.

Off the battlefield Ranger tends to learn about cultures around him, even occasionally poking fun with a joke to his peers or to the situation. However he mostly tries to be an example to others as a strong figure that one can trust who gives solid advice.

A lot of these traits are shared similarly to Jack Smith.

[Seen much later on in Hero Core]

[theartofmany]

Artist: nishio nanora Title: 西尾重工_02 Title translates to “Nishio Heavy Industries _02” Very cool...

[mosylufanfic]

5 Times They Almost Met (and after they did)

Merry Christmas, @koltarmi! You asked for “the red thread of fate” and here is what I came up with! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I was also delighted to remember that red was the color of the Force and Force worshippers, as per the costume designers on Rogue One.

5 Times They Almost Met (and after they did)

When she was very small, and still believed in magic and the Force and that her mama and papa would always be there, Jyn heard about the red thread for the first time.

Her mama, who often wore a red sash when they were at home, used it to tickle her nose. "The Force," she said, "binds the universe together. It's a thread through all of us. And sometimes it pulls - " She looped her sash around her daughter's waist and tugged so Jyn tumbled, giggling, into her lap. "People together."

"Like you and Papa," Jyn said confidently, weaving her fingers through the fringe on the ends of the sash. 

"Yes, like me and your papa." 

"Can you see it?" Jyn looked around herself as if she could spot thin red lines tracing themselves in the air around her. 

"No, only its effects. It'll pull you toward the people you're meant to know, over and over again. You might walk by each other in the street. Meet their eyes across a room. Something they do will affect you, but you won't know it was them, not yet. Then you'll go your separate ways, not knowing how important that person is going to be to you until the day you finally meet, the way you were meant to do."

Jyn snuggled into her mother's arms, eyes still searching the air for invisible threads connecting her to people she would one day know.

"Lyra," her papa said. "If you tell her things like that all the time, she's going to start to believe them."

"Good," Mama said. "That's the point."

17 BBY

Papa was hard-faced and silent, and Mama was tense, and both those things made Jyn's tummy hurt. She was whiny and pouty until Papa snapped at her and Mama snapped at him and then she curled up in a ball in the corner of the speeder's seat and shoved her hot face into the squeaky cushion. 

Papa sighed and put his heavy, warm hand on her head. "Stardust," he said. "I'm sorry. None of us want to be here. Hang in there and we'll be gone soon."

"Why did I have to come?" she muttered into the seat cushion. "Why couldn't I stay on the ship and play?"

Nobody answered her. When she looked up, her mama and papa were looking at each other with that grown-up expression of things they weren't telling her. She sighed and hugged Stormy, tucking him under her chin. 

After another eternity of dull silence, she sat up and pressed her face to the window to see out. They'd spent so long in hyperspace that even the dull, grey, rainy outside was interesting to her. 

"Who are they?" she asked, pointing at the line of men winding away toward the hills in the distance. They were all wearing the same kind of blue jumpsuits, their shoulders and hair darkened with rain. 

"Prisoners, darling." 

"What did they do?"

Her mama's eyes tightened at the corners. "I don't know. Shh."

When her parents said Shh like that, Jyn knew to shut up immediately because if she kept talking, someone other than her parents might not like it. Like probably the guard - no, she'd got the word wrong, the guide - who was driving their enclosed speeder and wore a big heavy gun on his hip. 

The guide said, "They're going mining for us, little girl."

Jyn scowled. She wasn't little. She was four, and she could put on her own clothes now and everything. 

"The hyperbarite?" her mama said.

"Nothing else worth mining in those hills."

"It's industry standard to use droids to mine hyperbarite," Mama said. "Due to the dangerous nature of the mining process."

"But these are much cheaper," their guide said, and laughed. He laughed a lot, at things that weren't funny. Jyn didn't like his laugh. There was something mean about it.

Mama didn't laugh. She looked angry, her brows pulled together.

Papa said, "Lyra," very quietly, and then neither of them said anything else. 

Jyn stood up on her knees and put both hands on the transparisteel. Nobody told her not to, so she watched out the window. Then she saw the boy. 

He wasn't her age. He was a big boy. But not grown-up. Almost grown-up, maybe.

The almost-but-not-quite-grown-up boy had a big pot in his hands. It looked heavy, and every so often as he walked, a little something would slop over the edge. 

His dark eyes met hers through the window. His hair, as dark as his eyes, hung dripping wet and curling around his face. He was wearing the same clothes as the grown-up prisoners, the cuffs of his pants rolled up but still dragging in the mud, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

"Mama," she said.

"Yes, darling."

"Why is that boy here? Where are his mama and papa?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." Her mama reached out and scooped her into her lap. "Don't look."

Jyn put her head on her mama's shoulder and looked out the window for the boy again. But he was gone.

On the ship back to Coruscant, her parents had a hissed argument while Jyn was in bed, with occasional words leaping out like fishes. "Prisoners . . . a boy! A child! Fourteen if he was a day!" "Can't . . . Krennic . . . " "We have to - "

And a month after they got back, they left again, fleeing Coruscant with only her very favorite toys and some clothes shoved in a bag. But she was all right with that, as long as she was with her mama and her papa. 

5 BBY

It was supposed to be a quick job. Stand around with a blaster, shoot anyone who got too close. Get a cut of the take. Not really a cut, if the size of it was anything like she'd heard. More like a shaving.

But that was fine. She hadn't done the hard work, after all. And even a shaving would feed her for a week or so, which was more than the contents of her pockets would do now.

Jyn Erso was sixteen years old and on her own, and behind the hard expression on her face, she was terrified, all the time. Every moment. She was hoping this job, and the handful of credits it promised, would soften the sharpest edge of that terror.

Her lip hurt where it had split. But that short, nasty fight over a picked pocket had caught the attention of her current employers, who'd peeled her off the street and said, "Want a job, kid?"

She knew full well that they'd almost tossed her back anyway. She looked too small and delicate and, well, young. Nobody here had ever heard of the Lion of Onderon, or his Cub. This was as good a way as any to start establishing her rep, before the world outside the Partisans ate her alive.

But the so-called quick job had stretched out to two hours, then three, as they waited around in a cantina for the call from Balyag's contact. She hadn't minded it at first, as they'd bought a round of drinks, and she'd eaten three bowls of bar snacks down to crumbs. But she was getting antsy. 

At a table against the wall, her employers muttered to each other. The other muscle hired for the job muttered to each other too, especially after one of them detoured close enough to the back table to overhear the conversation.

Jyn wouldn't unbend far enough to ask, but she tipped her head to hear the conversation. 

"Where are they coming from?"

"Aldhani, they said."

"They're late."

"Had some trouble. They stopped to get medical."

"How long?"

"Another half a day."

"Half a day?" Jyn tossed her drink back, scooped up the crumbs of the fourth bowl of bar snacks, and said, "Kriff this." She made for the door. 

The man who'd hired her stepped into her path. "Where are you going?"

"Got another job." She didn't, but she'd found this one. She could find another. "I can't afford to be sitting here with my thumb up my arse."

"We paid you good money to sit around with your thumb up your arse."

She glared up at him with all the ferocity that the Lion's Cub could muster. "You haven't paid me anything, karkface. Now let me through or I'll cut my way through."

5 BBY - a month later

When Jyn saw the prices in the bar, she winced. She'd avoided the city center where all the tourist traps were, but apparently the locals' cantina was as jacked up as the rest of this stupid planet.

Still, she bought herself the cheapest beer they had. If she was going to try and pick up work, she couldn't get kicked out by an annoyed bartender.

The being behind the bar gave her something that might have been a sympathetic glance and refilled a bowl of bar snacks, pushing it down toward her. Even knowing they were probably thirty percent salt to make her thirstier, Jyn pulled it closer to herself. Food was food to her echoing belly, and there’d been many a day when bar snacks were all that filled it.

He turned and started wiping down the bar. When the door swooshed open to a gorgeous woman with explosive curls, he called out, "Windi! Haven't seen you around lately. What did you, pick up some tourist?"

"Yeah, but he hoofed it yesterday morning. Went out 'for a walk'" - she made quotes with her fingers - "and that was the last I saw of him. Rental kicked me out today."

"Easy come, easy go," the barkeep said, not without sympathy. "Working the beach again, are you?"

"Yeah." She took out a deck of fortune cards. "Let me practice on you?"

"Oh, you've told my fortune plenty of times." He nodded down the bar. "That one there, she could use some good words about her future, I think."

Windi turned to her, smiling a bright, sparkling smile. “Well? Want some help with the mysteries of the universe?”

Jyn shot her a suspicious glance. "How much?"

She looked her up and down. "Free for you, little bird. I'm rusty. I need the practice."

Jyn considered, then shrugged a shoulder. What could it hurt? Saw always said - 

Never mind Saw. He certainly wasn't thinking about her. 

"What's your name?" Windi asked, shuffling the fortune cards with a dexterity that Jyn tried not to be impressed by.

"Kestrel," Jyn said, plucking the name out of the air. 

The other woman's sharp eyes flicked up to hers. She smiled a little. "Maybe I'm not so rusty. Here." She held out the deck. 

Jyn didn't take it. "Why?"

"Needs your touch, little bird. Shuffle them, cut them a couple of times, and think hard about what you need."

She shuffled, staring a hole in them. Just cards. Just stupid fortune cards. But - I need food. I need money. I need security. 

"Three card spread, I think," Windi said. She plucked them from the middle of the deck and laid them out in a line, face-down.

The first was a tower, lightning striking the top, figures falling from the windows. "This is your past," Windi said sonorously. "You've had a shock. Something broke, something was destroyed. Your world fell apart."

She gave Jyn a sympathetic look.

Jyn avoided her gaze, trying not to think of Mama falling into the wet grass. 

"But you're strong. You can begin again. As many times as you need." She traced her fingers over the back of the second card. "For the present . . . " She flipped it over. The picture was upside down, showing a wizened old man in a cave. It was hard not to think of Saw again. "The hermit. You're alone."

Jyn couldn't help herself. She snorted. She hadn't needed the cards to tell her that.

Windi smirked at her. "You're angry and resentful. Not without cause, I think. Still, you need time to come to terms with what happened. Maybe with your past." She tapped the tower. "You also don't let your feelings surface."

"Believe me, that wouldn't do anyone any good," Jyn said caustically.

"Maybe, maybe not." She fluttered her fingers over the last card. "And now for your future." She flipped it. "Ahhhh," she breathed. "The Galaxy."

It was a work of art, this card, all glinting paint and clusters of stars, and two fat babies reaching up for it. 

"Let me guess," Jyn said. "I'm gonna roam? Lots of glamorous travel?"

"Nope. You're going to achieve your goals."

Her goals of having food in her belly and a roof over her head? Well, fine. All right then.

"The Galaxy, upright, means success and happiness. You're going to celebrate, and be celebrated. Lots of joy." She smiled. "It's a good future."

Jyn suppressed another snort.

Windi considered the cards. "All major cards," she said. "Some say that means you're at a crossroads in your life, and you really need to pay attention to what they're telling you."

"Do they?"

"But I always think it means your life is going to have huge effects." For a moment, the glittering, twirling Galaxy card reflected in her eyes. "Things look dark now, but you, little bird - you're going to rise like the dawn."

Jyn swallowed hard. "Nice," she said. "Nice scam. You make a lot of money at that?"

"Oh, enough." She scooped her cards back together and shuffled the deck again. "What's your line of work?"

"Fighting, mostly."

"Fighting," Windi echoed. "I don't know how you got here - "

"Ship," Jyn said. And a captain who thought he was entitled to more than he was paying her for. 

"Mhm. This isn't a fighter's town.This is a scammer's town, and unless you've got some scammer's skills, the bucketheads'll have you in front of some judge and packed off to an Imperial prison for the rest of your life before you can say boo. You've got good hands. Ever done three card monte?"

"No?"

She held up the card with the queen on it. "Watch the lady."

She taught Jyn the card game, including the deft movement necessary for hiding the lady away before you started moving the cards around. 

"Why would you teach me?" Jyn asked once she'd got a handle on it. "Now I'm competition."

"No," Windi said. "You, with that sweet innocent little face - "

She felt herself flush hotly. "My face is not -"

"Oh, it is, and nobody will ever expect you to be running a distraction while I pick pockets."

Enlightened, Jyn gave a short grunt. "Then I get half of the total."

"Twenty percent."

Jyn got up. "Good luck with that."

Windi laughed. "Okay, little bird, forty percent. I'll be doing the hard work. Let's go."

Jyn considered it and decided forty percent wasn't bad. The hard bit would be the patter. But Windi said she could insult people. That would be fun. 

As they walked toward the beach and the tourists all waiting to be fleeced, Windi grumbled about the man who'd left her high and dry.

"Never known a Keef who wasn't a dumbass," Jyn contributed. She'd never known a Keef, period, but she did know that women who'd been dumped by men enjoyed hearing them bashed. 

Windi sighed. "Stupid name, but he had money. And he was good in bed." 

Jyn shrugged. Her experiences with that, thus far, had been unimpressive. 

Windi gave her a sly smile. "Just remember, little bird, nice guys finish last."

3 BBY

Shouts echoed behind her, and Jyn's eyes darted around for a hidey-hole that she could still escape from if cornered.

Stupid, she cursed herself as she ran. Stupid, stupid! Check around for their backup before trying to kick the shit out of a stormtrooper, even if he'd been trying to shake her down for bribe money first. 

There! If she wasn't mistaken, that alley fed out onto a busy street on the other end, and even if they saw her go in, she could lose herself in the crowds when she went out.

She swerved, her shitty boots skidding on the icy streets, and scrambled into the alley.

Fuck.

She'd been mistaken.

It was a fucking blind alley too, one end boarded up into a dead end.

She allowed herself two seconds to curse in rage before clamping her lips shut and tuning her ears to the sounds of her pursuers. Who were - yeah. Closer. 

Dead end indeed.

She looked around frantically and found a ladder, stretching up the side of the building next to her. But the lowest rung was just above her flailing fingers. Hissing to herself, she backed up as far as she could, took the few steps the alley permitted at a run, and leapt.

Her right hand slipped but her left hand closed around the lowest rung. Her body swung and slammed into the brick wall, forcing a grunt from her lips. She braced her feet on the wall, got her right hand on the next rung up, and hauled herself up as fast as she could go.

Not quite fast enough. 

A voice echoed. "I've got this one! You all, take the others!"

Just shy of two floors off the ground, and about eight floors from the roof. She swung herself around the ladder and wedged her body in between it and the wall. Her heart slammed itself against the cold rung pressed to her chest. She breathed as slowly as possible, mouth open to let the air drift in and out without making a sound.

Was she far enough in the shadows? Did her drab clothes blend with the dimness? Or did she stand out like a moth on a snowbank?

She slid her hand into her jacket and curled it around the butt of her blaster.

The officer stepped into the alley, eyes flicking around. He was young, with a sharp line of beard running down his jaw and chin, and a crisp olive-green uniform, slightly crumpled and rumpled with all the running. 

Don't look up, she chanted in her mind. Don't look up. 

Funny that he hadn't brought troopers with him. Didn't that type always want backup?

He looked down at the ground. Her throat knotted as she realized that her boots had left scuff marks on the plascrete. 

His dark eyes roamed upwards. Jyn's stomach folded in on itself, her throat tightening up. Her finger clenched on the trigger of her blaster. If she shot him, she'd give away her position - but if he shouted out, that would give away her position too. 

He turned away. "Nothing down here," he called out.

She kept her finger on the trigger until his footsteps had faded away. Then she shoved the blaster in her jacket and scrambled for the roof.

She'd been so damn lucky he hadn't seen her, she told herself once she was well away. So damn lucky. 

His eyesight must be shit, though. She could have sworn he'd looked right at her. 

3 months BBY

"Can you shift it or not?" Jyn said.

The woman behind the counter of the shitty little market stall looked over her magnifiers. "I can shift it," she said. "Problem's the timeline. I can take it on consignment. Could probably get two hundred, maybe three hundred with the right buyer."

"Consignment? You mean I'd have to come back here for my money?"

"Never said that. You got a holonet account I can drop your credits into?"

She snorted. "Not on your life." She'd sliced into enough of them not to trust any holonet based money account. She believed in cold hard credits, and occasional cred-cards, with little enough on them that losing them wouldn't be a disaster.

"Well, if you want credits on the table today, I can do you a hundred fifty."

"A hundred fifty?" She reached out for the heat sink. "I'll find that three-hundred-credit buyer on my own, thanks."

The woman shrugged and flipped one of her long braids over her shoulder. "Good luck with that."

Jyn wavered. The smirk on the other woman's face told her that she'd have a far more difficult time finding a buyer than this woman would, market stall or not. She scowled. "A hundred seventy-five, and a fifty percent discount on whatever I need from here."

"Twenty percent discount."

Jyn hissed through her teeth and slapped the heat sink back onto the counter. 

"Watch the merchandise," the woman said absently, crouched down to unlock what was probably a safe. "If I have to repair it, I'll knock it down to one-twenty-five."

Jyn poked around the stall, feeling as if she ought to make use of that twenty percent discount now that she'd argued for it, but mindful of not using up too many of her hard-won credits. 

A burly man ducked into the stall and she felt herself go tense. But he walked past her and up to the counter, leaning over it to kiss the woman hello. 

"What are you doing here?" the woman asked, kissing him back. "Something happen down at the docks?" She leaned back, studying him as if counting all his limbs.

"Don’t worry, love. I just knocked off early. Got a special cargo come in." He gave her a significant look. 

She frowned at him, then her eyes widened. "He said he couldn't make it for a visit until after - " She rested a hand on the swell of her belly.

Jyn didn't know why anyone would bring some poor kid into this craphole galaxy, but whatever. It wasn't her lookout. 

"Work brought him through,” he answered. “Thought he should stop by in case he couldn't later. He was going to come with me, but I told him things were too hot around here. He's at the house, but he can't stay. Probably just for dinner."

They both looked at Jyn. She pretended to be examining a case of vibroblades, just as deaf as could be.

"Let me get rid of this customer and I'll close up."

She poked around the shelves for a few minutes, just for the look of it, then brought a couple of pieces up. Whoever it was that had come into town for dinner, the owner of the stall was eager enough to see him that she actually gave an extra five percent on a vibroblade when Jyn pushed for it.

Unfortunately, it got taken off her when she was arrested and tossed in Wobani. But it had been a good deal, anyway. 

5 ABY

"Look at us," Jyn said, settling into her seat. "All respectable. Flying under our own identities, even."

Cassian shivered. "Don't remind me."

She tossed her leg over his knee, grinning into his face. "Not too late to fake our scandocs and double back to cover our trail."

He snorted, acknowledging that he was being ridiculous. 

It was strange to be taking regular transport, after years of bugging out on whatever transport the Rebellion could scramble up, having multiple extra identities on their persons at all times, and tensing up every time they saw stormtroopers. 

Almost like peace. 

She'd never known peace. Neither had he. Watching it dawn on the horizon was mildly unsettling. 

"These friends of yours," she said. "How long did you say you knew them?"

"Since I was young," he said. "Brasso was like a big brother to me when I first got to Ferrix."

"And Bix was your first love."

"Mmmm. They've been married - damn, it must be seven years now."

"Hmmmm." She rested her cheek against the window and watched the planet retreat below them.

He slid his arm around her. "Bix might've been my first love," he murmured, kissing her ear, "but you are my last."

She elbowed him. "Stop being mushy somewhere I can't jump you. And I know that."

He kissed her ear again. "Then what are you worried about?"

"I - " She slouched into his side and muttered, "What if they don't like me?"

Normally she would have said kriff anyone who didn't like her. But these were good friends of Cassian's. He'd taken time to see them more than once over the course of the war, when free time was something he had to scrape together like smeared clay. They were his last connection to the planet where he'd spent his teens. He'd lost so much over his lifetime - multiple homes, his entire family twice over. This couple was all he had left of his past. 

If they didn't like her, he'd be caught in the middle.

"They already do," he said.

"What'd you tell them?"

"Only all the best stories. But you've met them."

She sat up, frowning at him. "No, I haven't. When?"

"You remember Ganji Moon?"

"I went so many places, Cass." And she'd rarely wanted to remember any of them.

"Water moon," he said. "They mine and fish out in the ocean and bring it into about three or four different islands to get exported off-planet."

She shook her head at him, smiling incredulously. Cassian's head for details was so astonishing, and sometimes he thought everyone else remembered like he did.

"It would have been a little before you went to Wobani. You traded a heat sink at a market stall and bought a vibroblade."

A vague memory came swimming back. A woman with long braids and a huge belly, and her man, a massive cargo worker of some kind. "I - maybe. Yeah, could be. She haggled like a demon, that woman."

"She said the same about you. Bix is a hustler. She appreciates hustle."

She poked him. "Why didn't you say something before?"

"I wanted to see if you'd recognize them. Thought it would be a funny story. I didn't know you were so worried about meeting them."

"I wasn't worried. Exactly."

"Mmm."

She slid him a sidelong look. "How'd you know we met, anyway?"

"I was in the area the same day because I was tracking you."

"Me?" Right, yeah, right before Wobani, he would have been. 

He nodded, mouth curling up at the side. "I took a gamble and stopped by for a few hours. Their first son was due in about a month and I didn't know what the war was going to do. I showed them your holo because I thought Bix might run into you. She did a lot on the grey market then. They both recognized you as her last customer before Bix closed up the stall to come see me."

"You're joking."

"Nowhere near. I went running to the market and then the spaceport, but you were gone. I caught your trail, but didn't catch up to you again until you were in Wobani."

She shook her head. "You mean if you'd come with Brasso to the market the first time, we might have met that much earlier?"

"You would've bolted," he said. 

"Well, yeah. But who knows what would have happened from there."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Chirrut would say everything happens the way the Force wills it. Near misses and all."

"My mum used to say something like that," she said. "That the Force drew people together over and over until they finally met." She rested her head back against the window, smiling at him. "Wonder how many times we've almost met?"

"It can't have been more than that one time," he said. "It's a big galaxy, and that was when I was looking for you."

She shrugged. "Who knows, right?"

FINIS

[sinisterexaggerator]

Figured out Shriv’s Arsenal AND his classification within the Rebel Alliance.

E-5C

The E-5C, also known as the E-5C heavy blaster rifle,[source?] was a model of blaster rifle.[1] The bounty hunter C-21 Highsinger used an E-5C during the Clone Wars.[3]Hondo Ohnaka's pirates also made use of this weapon, particularly Gwarm.[2] The Heavy Battle Droids employed by the Confederacy of Independent Systems were notorious for using these blasters to rain fire upon the clone troopers of the Galactic Republic.[4]

 BlasTech A295 Blaster Rifle 

The BlasTech A295 blaster rifle was the standard-issue rifle used by the Rebel Alliance at Echo Base. It was favored by marksmen for its high accuracy and effectiveness at range.[1]

And I believe this one is a DL-44XT with the scope removed! ( Note the black handle beneath his glove - it’s hard to tell, but it’s not his finger, it’s the grip. )

The DL-44 XT was an enhanced version of BlasTech Industries's DL-44 heavy blaster pistol. It was distinguished from other DL-44 models by the metals used in its construction.

Now for his Class!

The Insignia is the same one Shriv wears on his jacket.

He is a “Rebel Pathfinder” AKA a “Rebel Commando” - Elite soldiers of the Rebel Alliances Special Forces, which they were sent to planets such as Endor, Sullust, and Scarif.

Noted to take the Rebellion more seriously than most ground troops, some were “cocky and arrogant.” They were required to pass special training that consisted of learning the use of antique slug throwers, disarming proximity mines, and repelling off of ray shields. 

There was a VARIANT in the Rebel Pathfinders Sharp Shooter division known as Rebel Marksman, which HIS IS THE INSIGNIA the Marksman wears in Battlefront 2, as the regular “commando “ pathfinder has a different insignia?!?!  (pictured below)

ALSO, the fact he USES a A295 blaster rifle PROVES he is a Marksman.

He is also noted to be an “Officer” within the Special Forces I am assuming, and a Commander of Danger Squadron, which is a part of the Alliance Fleet, or the “Navy.” - WHEW. I am assuming he is both in the Navy AND the Army, which there seemed to be a lot of crossover anyway within the Alliance itself.

And since these Special Forces / Elite Officers/Commandos/Marksmen  were sent to planets such as Endor, Sullust, and Scarif, that makes me think Shriv could have been a part of the Twilight Company, AKA the 61st Mobile Infantry  because in game he mentions he was at the “Liberation of Sullust.” 

Twilight Company continued Operation Ringbreaker by capturing the Inyusu Tor mineral processing facility on Sullust. However, before they could be extracted, the Thunderstrike was shot down by a TIE fighter squadron, which . Being stranded on Sullust, Twilight Company set up defense on Inyusu Tor. Namir led mission down to the planet's capital city Pinyumb to find the Sullustan Resistance. Namir was able to meet with them and planned to holdout at Inyusu Tor and help the Sullustans in the city.

And there you fucking have it: I AM A NERD.

PS: It makes sense Shriv would be a Marksman... with his fucking IMPECCABLE / ENHANCED DUROS VISION. 

[bli-morris]

About

(PLEASE NOTE THAT I AM NOT MORRIS AND HIS ACTIONS AND VIEWS ARE NOT A REPRESENTATION OF MY OWN! ONLY INTERACT IF YOU ARE 16+ AS MORRIS IS A TRUE VILLAIN CHARACTER - T)

Name: Model EXT3498-67078LP

Alias: Lukas Morrison “Morris” Phaneuf

Pronouns: he/him

Age: Programmed to be 34

Status: Functioning up to standard, up to date software

Location: Battery City

Language: English, French

Profession: Spyware droid, Exterminator droid.

Background: Born and raised in the city by a wealthy family, Morris found himself in a dual program between espionage and extermination from the start due to his charisma and quick-thinking. One of the city’s most ruthless spies, he will stop at nothing to fulfill his missions and objectives. Upon his mysterious death the department collaborated with engineering and IT departments to recreate him as an extermination droid. Now fully functional, EXT3498-67078LP (Morris) continues where he left off when alive.

Occupational Notes: Mr. Lukas Phaneuf requires mood stabilizers, antipsychotics, and a heavy Sterelax dosage after diagnosis #233, please see medical file for more details. it is noted that regular check-ins for protocol are required as individual tends to act out of line. Should he act in a way that does not represent the values of Better Living Industries, please report the incident to the re-education and extermination department. 

Mod:

Tess again despite having too many characters! She/they!

If and when this asshole is too much, please hit me up at @solarflare-kjrp, @orionkilljoy @lev4579 @bli-hannahelsabrouty and @t-mike-kjrp

My Rules:

[1] standard rules: no godmodding, dont be a dick

[2] im over 21, im not rping anything nsfw or romantic with anyone under 18.

[3] if i forget to respond or forget a thread that you want to continue, remind me by nudging me ooc. dont be pushy though

[4] please remember im an adult in law school and working. im not always going to be fully active. vagueposting wont be tolerated, if you have a problem with me, dm me to talk about it.

[hambor12]

J.A.N.E.T., Military-Grade Mom

J.A.N.E.T. (The Jech-Aufman Nubile Erotic Trainer) is the heavy munitions expert and large-scale robot engineer of Breach Industries. If you need a vehicle or big-ass robot suit maintained, this sardonic sentient weapons platform has you covered. The mother of AJ, biologically (somehow) and nominal wife of Albert Breach, she was a former "pleasure bot" with a programming and hardware error that gave her a strong desire for precisely engineered violence through heavy weaponry. She could not achieve those goals in her original body, and at the behest of Albert, who discovered her in a lineup of other misfit droids, was transferred into a military-grade combat android. She is much happier now that she is capable of mass destruction, but has strangely found more joy in using her knowledge and experience to help others do the same. She can do, but she can also teach, if the subject is heavy ordnance.

Posted using PostyBirb

[quinntamsin]

She held the helmet under her arm as the droid behind her rolled along without even paying attention to the destruction around it. A loud whistling sound informed the Mandalorian what she was waiting for. "Are you sure H21?" she asked, only to receive a longseries of droid language whistles. After listening and discerning theirmeaning the Mandalorian sighed. "Fine, I will speak to the Duchess once this job is over."

Greetings everyone, it's been a long hiatus, but I am hopefully going to be getting back soon. Depression got real bad lately and even cannabis only can do so much. I've been able write a bit more on my next OC riddled fanfic Poisoned Heart. Anyway let's do Andor! Andor S1E1 "Kassa", the opening to Andor is a black screen seemingly zooming into to reveal the title. A stylized version of the Rebellion's symbol, the Starbird, is above it. Dark rain files into view as we watch Cassian walk a dark industrial walkway back to the city where he's living. Morlana One, a massive corp zone on the planet is where he's hiding. This place s reams blade runner and I like how they embedded a bunch of random weird ads. I like seeing this alien city and hearing the various languages in the background. The music here is very synth and I love the dancing twi'lek holo. I wonder what species the fucking bartender is. Almost utapaun, something with an elongated head and more. The proprieteress of the club pops up and we hear Cassian call the place a company town. Pretty damn accurate, Morlana's Corp Zone represents the worst of the Empire. She getting suspicious before Cassian mentions he's looking for his sister. The darkness punctuated by the blue light really sells a seediness to the place with it being broken by random gold lights. It makes me think we're in a strange almost iPhone owned industrial complex. A guard confronts, well a pair of idiot guards, Both using heavy Corscanti accents. Diego's voice has a short of desperate measure to it that sells his spy infused violence. I wonder if he watched some John Wick with how he carries his head as he kills the two me. That sort of tired, bedraggled expression of "here we go again." One guard dies and the other can sense his time to end., and gets his face blasted out. This is not your clean Star Wars, this is the Rebellion and one where you cannot afford loose ends. Yeah, if you want clear cut good and evil, do not watch this series. It's a james bond or mission impossible series with a grittier take. The filters on the vfx remind me heavily of Altered Carbon. WE come to Ferrix, a dust covered dirty city in the early morning. A droid is our main focus, one that easily heads out into a massive junk and scrap pile outside. I like his four little traction points for transportation. We switch to Cassian on Kenari his home where his sister wakes him up. B2EMO his droid has a pretty interesting stutter, which makes me wonder why it occurs. Maybe a damage to his voice processor? "That's two lies." The droid has to put a lot of energy into lying and just seems to want to spend time with "Kassa". Seems Ferrix is another mining or industrial town of sorts. I'm seeing a lot of bright yellow colors in the pallet along with drab oranges and reds. The usage of stone for a lot of the exterior definitely makes me think of some sort of mineral-based processing. Not to mention a lot of the clothes have padded bits insert into them making me thinking defense. Also more people are wearing ear plugs, definitely a job requiring large machinery. This is a great scene, it tells so much just in its costuming and colors. THe way that Cassina's friend has a cleanish face. WE switch back to the Pre-Mor where an investigator is talking about the seats of the guards. I like how he updated his "uniform" because he wants to act the proper Imperial. The man in charge decides to cover it up since the men in question would all make them look back. The DI just wants to ignore it, the Preox-Moralana company wants shit to look good which means less Imperial Oversight. Heh, love it. We switch back to Ferrix where Cassian has come to visit a friend who does repairs. I wonder is this part of his quest to find his sister? Bix is his connection and he pushes more. She asks Cassian what he did and she stole a fucking Starpath unity. He apparently stole it from his friend's bids. Damn, not the best decision. This episode has already established that Cassian is out for Cassian. He has some connections but they aren't exactly "friends". Flashing back to Kenari, we see that the camp is alive with curiosity. The various colonists have strung together a village mixing technology and various stuff near their home. We see them placing on some sort of paint for something the lines have a meaning for the older kids. I notice a distinct lack of adults in their camp. Back to the DI we see him in the security HQ where he berates a man for ignoring a obvious shi launch. Cassian continues his walk around the story as Nurchi, a loan shark, who wrangles another acquaintance into a discussion. I like vetch, big kind of dinosauroid dude with a cockney accent. Bix leaves work and her love interest follows her. What a fool, the man is going to get himself in a lot of trouble. The music hear continues to give us a sort of casual, but thriller quiet. All of the actions of many here are in the underworld. So my guess is she has to maintain a lot of secrets to keep herself solvent in credits. The Imperial Security folks have a nice level of chatter to make themselves appear like normal employees dealing with their uptight boss. Pegla who is a yardbull watching the various ships warns Cassian, and yet again, Cassian has burned another bridge. In the past we see the Kenari older kids head off somewhere. Strange, are they after that ship that crashed? Moving onto Andor S1E2 "That Would Be Me" we continue our take on the opening triad of Andor series. With quick reminder of what happened at the Industrial Site and the death of the two guards. We get the subtle simple opening of Andor with its string theme, which slowly fades into the jungles of Kenar.  The Kenari are heading off to investigate the crash our band of children are decked out in various weapons as they pass what seems to be an abandoned colony site. Overgrown pieces of machinery come to view as we then see a massive open face mine. The kids seem to be descendants of maybe colonial miners that once dwelt on the planet. Changing scenes we see a man entering a tower to adjust his ear plugs. He drums away on the chime which appears to be a large industrial way of alerting the workers of the town. In the shipyard Pegla is turning down the lights and everyone is heading back to put away their equipment. Another day working in the town has come as everyone cools down for the night. Meanwhile, Kassa is seemingly skulking about as Ferrix falls asleep. We see Bix friend reading her console and the Arabesh is translated as he sees the message for a Kenari male wanted. As he enters who appears to be an adoptive mother of sorts. THey discuss the fact that the Pre-Mor Sec know about him being Kenari. Our friendly droid tells him that Bix wants to meet. She asks what he did and he relays a simplified version of him murdering two shitty Sec Guards. The Sec Commander is intent on hunting down and as Bix goes to have some fun we switch to Syril Karn. The Seargent he brings in is pretty hardcore in ow he sees the Order of the Empire. The talk about how they need have a stronger hand to deal with the "Formenting" as he says. This man is what appears to be a failed or wannabe stormtrooper. His eyes got all beetle-like as he talked about dealing with the "Formenting" Back to the Andor Household we see Maarva (yes I had to look up a list of names because I'm reviewing so many shows) is holding something tight. Cassian meanwhile is in his crash ship room. Going through whatever is on his mind. This makes me think the flashbacks to Kenari are about the trauma of losing his sister I mean that is an obvious point, but there is definitely more to the story. The kids zone in on the crashed ship and we see the oldest heading in to investigate alone. The sizzling of electricity fills the air as she uses a tongue click to summon the kids. As the music intensifies we switch to a ship flying over a planet, this appears to be Ferrix again. Whoever this guy is he's definitely a tad sketch. LIkely a Rebel with how the droid tells him about "Safe Places" to land. And as he heads into the city our drummer dude opens the day to waken everyone. Bix wakes up with Perrin watching her from a seat. Bix and Perrin have a somewhat awkward short conversation over a cup of Caf. In his ship Cassian and B2EMO who seems to be somewhat depressed droid. Maarva pops into what I think is Cassian's room to see an old Kenari fighting staff covered in bits and bobs. Was she the one who the kids ran into? We are again in Kenari, the leader of the group is drawing closer as Cassian notices the bodies of the pilots. They are definitely humanoid, but have yellowish skin as one of them gets up and shoots the Kenari leader. The children take him out with their blow guns (how the hell did I not notice they were blow guns). The kids realize their leader is dead, killed by the invaders. THey pick her up, leaving her blow gun as they watch for more invaders. Cassian watches the dropped ship with an intense hatred as we once again switch to Ferrix. He runs into someone and we learn that yes, the mining venture on the actual planet fell apart. SO yeah, my theory was right, the kids were the survivors of a mining disaster. He pays for what seems to be a ticket somewhere. And as Pre-Mor people are coming in their strange blue and orange Imperial inspired uniforms (including those silly little hats). Mosk who is acting like a rent-a-cop wanting to be an Imperial Stormtrooper speaks to his people. Reminding them that the folk of Ferrix can go complain about Pre-Mor at the Territorial Forum. Karn meanwhile seems a bit unsure what to say as he gives a haphazard speech. I wanna say, their ship is clunking as fuck and I love it. Really shows how these guys mostly work as Industrial SEcurity. Why have a flashy ship when a company carrier does the same? So Skarsgard, is Luthen, our old seeming rebel, is on a sort of floating anti-grav bus. He ends up dealing with a man who just can't stop talking and moves to insert himself into a conversation Luthen doesn't want. The carrier draws closer to the primary town in Ferrix as the dump below shows us Cassian on a Mission. It's interesting how unlike the rest of the cast he's always in dark browns and reds. Everyone else is either in blue, orange, green or yellow.

Episode 3 "Reckoning" opens with the children slowly making their way into the downed ship on Kenari. The kid is Cassian, and we see more of the strangely yellow-skinned figures inside wearing suits with the Imperial Emblem on it. The ship itself appears pretty industrial with a central command bridge filled with various oscillating monitors. A central bank of consoles surrounded by clean mirror-like black surface. We switch back to the dusty mining yards after young Kassa bashes the side of the console. He's waiting for someone. So, quickly I looked it up, the people with the yellowed skin are Republic soldiers which makes their death all the more strange. The man from early, Luthen exists from his transport and meets up with Bix. This is interesting, as we switch to the Pre-Mor fucks coming in out of hyperspace. We switch to Maarva and CLem Andor preparing to salvage the frigate. The kid they find is Kassa, and as we switch back to the weird LAAT like ships coming into the space above the town on Ferrix. This scene as the Pre-Mor Sec goons start looking switches places with Clem and Maarva. She's able to sedate the kid as the Republic Frigate is close to appearing. The Security goons appear at Maarva's place of residence and push after announcing they have a warrant. Bix pops back up at work where her friend Timm stalks off a bit sus. Mosk is going off the deep in with his bully-boys. They detect where Cassian is hiding just as Luthen arrives in the warehouse. The pretty orange and teal blue outfits of the Pre-Mor sec teams stands outa gainst the duller browns and yellows of the people of Ferrix. The darker browns and reds of the buildings also makes them stand out more than a sore thumb. A friend of Bix alerts her that the Corpos are there for Cassian as the rat reveals himself. Kerabast, Timm, you damn fool. Luthen asks cassian where he got his gadget, and Kassa being the foolish impatient bastard just pushes for more money. He wants to know how Cassian got the box, he's either a fucking spy or he's too good for his own good.  Cassian scoffs at how easy it is to fool the damn Imperials. Luthen points out that his life isn't going to stay the same and he mentions how Clem was hanged. Again, Kerabast. Luthen invites Cassian to join his little OPA, I MEAN REBEL cell, and suddenly we are in the town center. Several citizens begin to bang on things to warn rest of the town that the Corpos are there. Mosk calls it intimidation, but the fool likely knows its a warning. If they can get to the bell ringer to sound out a warning everyone on Ferrix including the rebels will know. Corpos have them surrounded as Bix runs ahead of them to find Cassian and is stopped by a Corpo officer. In the old factory Luthe is working out an exit plan as he explodes some slap charges. This start a minor chain reaction with corpo team going down as the team enters with what's left and starts firing. Parts keep falling as Cassian hyperfixates on the box. Dodging bits of metal as men are being harmed and killed. Another corpo goes down as the last one shoots from above. The scene itself is well acted and timed. The falling debris adds a great level of tension as the entire factory comes down around them. They escape out of the factory as the last of the team is likely dead. Luthe and Cassian make their getaway as the younger man asks why they don't go for the box. Timm heads in to free Bix and one of the corpos shoots him. As the shooter is set away by the CO Bix is left with Timm's corpse on the steps. You can really see how Mosk is just a damn weekend milita-goer with his actions. Meanwhile, Karn pops into a room and scares off its inhabitants as we switch back and forth between all of the team. Maarva warns the corpo about what the banging actually means. "When its stops." All of the clanging ends, as all of the town goes quiet. The Sec corpos rush around taking up positions as you cans ee they aren't use to actual combat. Syril finds Cassian with a blaster pointed at his behind him. Luthen calls for Karn's life and Cassian grabs him as soon as he's able to make a call. The corpo who shot Timm is killed when he tries to launch the od and finds it weighed down. The Clanging was a way for the locals to work together to end the corpos. One comes upon Karn whose been tied up, as one of the speeders has been rigged with explosives. An old Ford-looking piece acting as a decoy and drawing the fire of the Pre-Mor Sec. They surround it after it crashes, with Mosk laughing and three of the men getting caught in another blast. Cass and Luthe speed off on a swoopbike leaving the corpos realizing their actions were all foolish and gungho. Switching back to t memories of Maarva we see her crying as she thinks of how she found Kassa and rescued him from Kenari. He himself just trying to find his sister. Bix meanwhile saved from being handcuffed and reaches for Timm only to be dragged off. We see the people of Ferrix in pain and the swoop darts off into the sunset. Karn stares into nothing realizing his foolish actions at listening to Mosk got his loyal men killed. That his actions while maybe correct were just the actions of a mall cop at playing tin soldier. We enter Luthe's snhip as starts to lift off and see the old ANdor ship doing the same. Cassian awakes on it to see the last visage of his planet. We get a swell of the music as Maarva watches them and suddenly we are back in the present and Cassian watches as they leave Ferrix. Hottakes:

The Twi'lek dancer holo in the pleasure house is a good example of how the galaxy sexualizes them.

I like  the style of the blue light and strange usage of triangular walk ways.

The fact this story seems to hinge on him finding his sister is a good lead into his reasons for being a Rebellion Spy.

The two men who followed him were the same kind of fools to start this story.

Bix is a nice addition to SW's growing scrappy technician cast.

I do like that they are translating the Arabesh for us.

Cassian is definitely a desperate motherfucker.

Damn the security fucks are definitely a bit too MAGA for my tastes.

Luthen has a definitely interesting vibe to him.

The Pre-Mor guys are all definitely similar to fucking Imperials with their corporate outfits and armor being straight out of Imperial Naval uniform design.

Their ship and shuttles even mimic the old LAAT gunships from the CLone Wars.

Timm's death was so fucking bittersweet, he ratted out Cassian and was shot for doing the right thing.

Watching the guy who killed Timm crash was cathartic.

[swtechspecs]

Veril Line Systems EVS Construction Droid

Source: The Essential Guide to Droids (Del Rey, 1999)

[jalopyginger]

Getting back into my Astromech build and wanted to do up a little decal for it’s dome. I see this droid as having come from a heavy industrial plant of some sort and it’s aesthetics are specifically influenced by my time working around old railway equipment, so I felt it appropriate to add some work place safety slogans.

[zinzinina]

part iv (brother)

Pairing - Boba Fett x Reader  Rating - Explicit 18+  Word Count - 5.2k

A/N -  No smut this time, sorry! It’s quite a plot-heavy chapter, so there’s some angst, violence and a little bit of fluff. See you soon! x

main masterlist // series masterlist

It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to wander aimlessly with nowhere to be. Conscious of the growing attention focused on you in the Lower Levels due to your association with Fett, you’ve opted to kill some time up in the five thousands; levels of the planet considered surfacelike due to the decreased density of buildings. Brighter and more open, it’s colder up here than it is in the steamy maze of levels underneath and is popular with tourists, being the site of the Imperial headquarters and Monument Plaza.

At first you’re edgy; still in hunting mode. You’re hawkishly drawn to every movement, muscles tensed and ready to spring when a screaming child dressed in fine blue wool dashes past you tailed by a flustered-looking Mirialan woman in servant’s garb. The streets are much busier here; none of the skulking miasma of the Lower Levels. Well-dressed people are chatting, laughing, strolling comfortably.

Everyday life in the Core has had the fortune of remaining largely unchanged by the unrest in the broader galaxy. The Imperial Senate is still based here, and the industries associated with the influx of credits pouring in from oppressed outer worlds are flourishing. It would be easy to view the bustle of life here with a sense of awe if you weren’t painfully aware of the cost, having seen firsthand what’s left behind when the Empire devours all the resources a planet has to offer.

When you almost pull your blaster on a protocol droid as it exits a speeder, you decide to find somewhere quieter to kill time. The last thing you need to do is accidentally hurt someone, or to end up with the local law enforcement chasing you. Slipping onto a grimy public transport shuttle with a crowd of bleary-eyed passengers heading to and from work, you try to force yourself to relax. Your gaze snags on a young couple at the back of the shuttle, heads close together as they giggle and whisper. They’re just kids, you think, gangly teenagers with eyes only for each other.

You remember being that age, terrified and angry, running from stormtroopers as you pulled off small acts of agitation following the murder of your family. You’d spent several years hardening, like layer upon layer of lacquer compounding your focus. You’d begun by taking out individual troopers unlucky enough to come close to you, hitting them clumsily with incorrect dosages. You’d never expected to end up using the stims for harm, always working to heal and comfort others.

The first time you tried to create an altered neurotoxin, you’d nearly gassed yourself accidentally, and you remember several horrifying experiences when a trooper you thought was dead began to breathe raggedly again, scaring the shit out of you. Once you’d developed enough of a technique to feel confident, you actively went out baiting troopers, testing your doses until you figured out a formula. That’s when you started focusing on officers. But they just kept coming; one grey uniform replaced with another, and another. The retribution brought upon your neighbourhood still sears you with guilt, and once you'd found a way offplanet hiding with a group of smugglers, you knew you wouldn’t go back.

No other skills to speak off, you’d started taking on jobs, earning small amounts of money until you’d worked up enough of a reputation within the right circles to get your foot in the door of the Guild. You hadn’t looked back once, knowing that the softness of that life wasn’t possible anymore.

But now, watching the floppy-haired boy stretching his arms around the curved waist of his giggling girlfriend, you’re wistful. It’s an unfamiliar emotion, and you’re unprepared for how keenly affected you are. You find yourself thinking the most random, disconnected thoughts; wondering whether you’ll ever kiss someone on a transport shuttle, careless and free. Whether you’ll ever tie ribbons in your hair; the girl’s colourful dress a stark reminder that your appearance is intended only to disappear; shades of grey and black designed to be undetectable and unremarkable in a crowd.

Bizarrely, the thought of Boba’s startlingly youthful features pops into your head as you watch the young couple wrap one another in a kiss, ignored pointedly by the surrounding people on the transport. You let yourself wonder where he is right now - which of the thousands of occupied planets his Imperial contact is working from. You hate to admit how worried you are; by all accounts you should be fine. You’ve never had to watch anyone’s back but your own before and it’s bizarre how easily you’ve fallen into the habit of thinking of yourself in the plural form… no longer just concerned with what you’ll do next or where you’ll go, but thinking in terms of the both of you instead.

You would have expected it to feel restrictive; you’d never wanted to be stuck in one place, or with one person for long. So why does it feel like the opposite? There’s a low ding as the shuttle lowers onto a landing platform, and you blink as you remember where you are, slipping out with a handful of other passengers and trying to chase the incomplete tatters of the thought from your head.

This seems to be a more commercial area, and the streets are scattered with litter as the hum of people rushing past doesn’t completely drown out the low jingle of music from a Gungan street performer, playing a kloo-horn while he juggles joganfruit. There’s a vaguely greasy-looking diner on the corner; you decide nursing a cup of caf is probably a safe way to waste a few hours.

As you reach the doors, you notice the bundle of rags on the street sitting underneath the window of the diner and nearly have an aneurysm as a mechanised hand reaches out from within the folds of fabric. You realise it’s a person, and your heart thunks hollowly. The man’s threadbare hood hangs haggard around his head, a faded tattoo of a flower along one side of his forehead barely visible in the shadows. Digging under your coat, you pull out a handful of credits and drop them into the outstretched prosthetic with a little metallic clink.

“Thank you, thank you…” and the broad, gruff twang of his accent catches you off guard just as the diner owner slams the door open, a pan in one of his pairs of hands brandished weaponlike.

“You! I’ve already warned you about lurking outside my shop, bothering my customers. Miss, come inside. Don’t let this defective old clone bother you.”

And your frown deepens at the words… clone. This is a clone. You peer closer at the pitiful old man as he’s flinching now from your scrutiny. You’ve only seen a handful of them in your life, and never this close before.

Most of the clones died; their genetically modified bodies had been unable to resist most viruses and their enhanced ageing meant that their bodies broke down faster than normal, even without the injuries many sustained during the war. The Empire no longer needed them, so they were discarded and forgotten. But… that voice. The diner owner is talking again, trying to coax you inside, telling you about his specials… but you can’t hear him, something’s swimming up from the back of your brain, something important…

And just then, the clone lifts his head to look back at you and the breath leaves your body in a rush. No. It couldn’t be, how is that possible…? You stare stupidly at him for several long seconds, the face old and gaunt, one eye clouded, but the other unmistakably warm, dark, familiar.

“Miss-“ you whirl on the diner owner, already yanking the blaster from its place at your hip. He drops the pan with a dull clang and holds up both pairs of hands, alarm settling over his features.

“A table for two, please. The soup, and a cup of caf for my friend and I.” Your voice comes out harder than you intended, the threat undisguised.

The diner owner’s face crumples into an expression of disgusted disbelief, but you can see that the fear is greater than his reluctance and he wordlessly turns to go back inside, barking orders at a server droid to clear a table at the back. You stare down at your own hand, mortified at your overreaction. What the fuck is wrong with you? The guy was rude, not dangerous. Surely he wasn’t actually going to hit anybody with that pan. You tuck the blaster back into your belt and attempt to wrangle a calm expression onto your features.

“Will you join me?” you murmur, reaching a hand out. The clone stares at you in shock for several long moments before offering you his robotic hand, and he’s worryingly light as you help him to his feet. Inside the diner, the owner is wordlessly points you to a half-concealed table in the darkest corner of the room before disappearing into the kitchen. Settling across from the old man, you realise he looks distinctly uncomfortable and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Maybe you should’ve left him alone; though it’s warmer inside, and he looks like he hasn’t had a meal in a while.

“What’s your name?” you ask, and immediately regret your thoughtlessness. Shit, do they even have names?

The clone looks surprised by the question, but answers albeit hesitantly. “Kickback. That was my… that’s what everyone called me.”

You consider this, still staring in unguarded amazement at his face. Now that you’re looking, it’s impossible to imagine how you didn’t immediately realise. The same strong, broad nose and dark, deep-set eyes, the dimpled chin, the bronze skin - though this man’s face has a sallow, grey tinge. His age is impossible to tell, but he looks like he could easily be Boba’s grandfather.

So: Boba is a clone? Trying to mentally do the math, you realise it’s just not possible. He’s too young; only a few years older than you, but with the way the clones age, he’d have to have been created within the last several years - and the Empire decommissioned the clones as soon as it rose to power some twelve years ago. So, could he be the child of a clone? It seems unlikely; the match is too perfect, right down to the faint freckles underneath his eye…

He coughs awkwardly. “Look, lady… I appreciate this, but…”

You flinch, realising you’re being incredibly rude. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I’ve just… not met a clone before.” You wonder as you say it if that’s even true.

He raises an eyebrow at you, and the expression is so similar to Boba’s that you want to cry. “There aren’t many of us left.”

“What happened? I mean… I know the official story, but…”, you don’t need to finish the thought. It’s an unspoken understanding among most citizens of the galaxy these days that the official version of events is treated with about as much gravitas as children’s stories.

The old man glances around the room, white stubble glinting on his narrow cheeks. His eyes are unfocused, darting from one side to the other, looking dazed. He scratches his head slowly with the prosthetic hand, gaze finally resting on your face, considering you.

“My brothers and I were proud to serve the Republic. We were good soldiers. We were… we...,” you can tell you’re already losing him, his rheumy eye skipping past your face again as something catches his attention outside.

“Kickback, right? Do you remember where you were... born?”

His eyes twitch back to you. “Kamino. That was our home planet. The Kaminoans raised us. It was just us and them before the Jedi came. And our template, Jango... we never met him. But we all knew about him. The perfect genetic specimen. Our source. And his son.”

This last piece of information drops hollowly into your stomach and echoes back up, around and around in your head without quite landing. You decide to worry about it later. It’s a skill you’ve mastered over the past several years; deciding to compartmentalise a thought until you have time to take it out and look at it properly.

“What happened to you when the war ended?”

The deep scar-like lines around his mouth deepen into a frown. “Yeah. Yeah, the end of the war... we had the clankers beaten. They were retreating. The Seppies left their droids behind and took off. We were still on the ground, waiting for the shuttles to take us back up. My commander... he got an emergency transmission. From the Chancellor. It was the Jedi. They were trying to take over - they were trying to overthrow the Republic. General Loorne didn’t have his lightsaber drawn, but... We had our orders. We followed our orders.”

You feel sick, but you have to know. “What did you do?”

He looks at you, confused, answering as though it should be obvious. “We stopped them. The Jedi had to be stopped. We saved the galaxy. We were good soldiers.”

A server droid rolls past, barely slowing as it drops two bowls of soup and two cups of caf on the table, slopping both liquids slightly over the sides of the dishes.

You’re not totally sure what you wanted from this. Gazing across at the confused old man, you realise you really don’t want to know any further details. You watch silently as he slurps at the warm soup, his prosthetic hand curled around the cup of caf as he alternates sips. When he’s done, you wordlessly slide your bowl over to him and he gulps it down too. You’re incredibly tired all of a sudden, and you press your fingers into your eyelids for a moment before withdrawing the pouch containing your half of the Gran's bounty.

“Here. This should be enough to get you off-world. Go somewhere warm... somewhere you can see the sky. I’ve heard  that Alderaan takes in refugees. You could stay there, or they’ll help you settle on another world. They can find you somewhere quiet.” He squints at the pouch, looking lost again.

You don’t know if the old man will do as you’ve suggested. He probably won’t, you think. The thought of going somewhere unknown is probably too much for him, but at least you can give him the choice. You won’t force him to do anything. You slide out of your seat and turn to leave, pausing for just a second longer.

“Kickback. How old are you?”

He’s still staring at the pouch in confusion as he answers, his remaining hand papery and wrinkled where it lays curled on the table.

“Twenty four. I’m twenty four years old.”

-

If Boba notices how quiet you are, he doesn’t say anything. You drop his half of the bounty onto the floor by his seat as he’s crouched leaning into the deflector generator, only the back half of his body visible as the sound of his welder buzzes somewhere within.

You curl in the copilot’s seat, pulling the handful of new pucks from your pocket and rolling them thoughtfully through your fingers, considering. It could be several minutes or hours you’re there, staring out the viewport at nothing in particular. You haven’t left Coruscant yet; Boba set the ship to orbit after you came back onboard and the glittering circles of the city-planet have you mesmerised as you think of... nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your brain feels like it’s stuffed with bantha-wool.

Eventually, Boba’s head pops out from the panel and he slams it shut, wiping his bare hands on a rag. You feel a tingle of warmth as you look over at him. Helmetless, armourless, he’s wearing only his long-sleeved white undershirt and pants. It’s the most exposed you’ve seen him, even nude in the fresher. This isn’t functional nakedness; this is a comfortable relaxedness. You’re between jobs, there’s nobody on the ship but the two of you.

And the realisation that even with you here he still feels like he can walk around so exposed - barefoot, as he tinkers with the ship... you decide not to say anything about the old clone. The memory of the guarded way he’d looked at you when you first saw his face seals it for you. You don’t want him to know what you’ve learned. Not right now, anyway.

He reaches under the control panel and pulls out your rifle, handing it over to you. “I don’t know if this’ll work any better for you, but I tried loading your compounds into some of my old dart shells. They’re better suited for this kind of long-range weaponry.”

You run your fingers over the sides, seeing where he’s made small modifications, touched. “Thank you. I mean, I’m still pretty sure it’s just me. I work better close up.”

“Close up means there’s a bigger risk of someone getting their hands on you. Doesn’t always end well.”

You smile at him wryly. “I have learned that, yeah. Doesn’t feel great getting stabbed in the shoulder. Or shot in the hip. Um... or the thigh.”

His lip curls into a scowl at this. “Need to get you some beskar’gam.”

“Some what?”

“Armour. That’s what my father used to call it. It’s Mando’a.”

Your heart lurches at this casual mention of his father and you drag your eyes away from his face before your expression gives something away, staring back into the bounty pucks in your lap. Is he serious? Are you even allowed to wear Mandalorian armour? Wouldn't it be... disrespectful, somehow?

“You got something for us?”

You nod, handing him one of the pucks you’ve picked up. He raises an eyebrow at it, dropping himself into the seat.

“Shit. This is... it’s doable. But it won’t be easy. You sure about this?”

You offer him a little smile. “Losing your nerve, Fett? I have a plan.”

He snorts, punching the figures into the navicomp. Once you’ve made the jump to hyperspace, you can’t help the huge yawn that wracks your whole body in a shiver.

“This’ll be a long jump. Nearly fifteen hours; there’s no direct hyper lane. Go get some sleep.”

You frown. “When was the last time you slept?”

His response is immediate. “Same as you. Before I dropped you back to the Core.”

You shake your head. “No. You sat here. You can’t tell me you slept in the chair, with your helmet on.”

His silence is his only answer as he frowns out the viewport at the streaks of hyperspace and you huff in disbelief. “Surely that wasn’t very restful. Wait, have you been sleeping in your fucking chair the whole time I’ve been here? You don’t have a second bunk somewhere, do you?”

He shuts his eyes briefly like you’ve delivered some kind of offputting news and you snap your mouth shut. You’re both silent for a few minutes, the verbal standoff terse. Finally, you break it.

“Come on. I won’t be able to rest if I know you’re planning to keep walking around on zero sleep. I’ll be worried you’re gonna accidentally shoot me in the back of the head or something.”

Scowling, he opens his mouth and you point a finger at him. “Don’t. I’ll put you to sleep myself if I have to. You know I can.”

Shaking his head, he drags a hand back through his mussed hair and pushes himself out of the chair, leaning up to adjust something from a panel on the bulkhead. “I’ll set proximity alerts in case anything tries to attack us. Let’s just hope that patch to the backup hyperfuel line doesn’t spring another leak.”

Your tone is chirpy as you climb up into the tiny compartment behind the cockpit. “If that happened, we’d both die regardless of whether we were awake or not.”

Dragging your boots and pants off, you watch as Boba eases himself up into the alcove, suddenly hit with a wave of shyness. Why is it so much more nerve-wracking climbing into bed together like this when you’ve already felt so many parts of him inside you? When you’ve tasted his bare skin? You chew your lip, curling onto your side in the tiny bunk and watching as he shuts off the overhead glowpanels before easing down beside you.

You’re hyperconscious of your own body, holding as still as possible while he reaches down and drags the worn blanket up over both of you. It’s awkwardly close in the bunk; not really big enough for two people to lay flat, and he turns onto his side, reaching an arm underneath your body.

“Come here,” he gruffs, and you scoot closer, feeling the warmth and firmness of his body underneath your hands. Your head tucks under his chin, and you press your face into his chest, breathing in deeply the smell of the fabric. There’s a faint hint of engine oil, ozone from his plasma rifle… but underneath it the warm, clean smell of his skin, faintly spiced. He tilts his head downwards, and you can feel the press of his lips in your hair. Ridiculously, you feel close to tears.

You aren’t sure if it’s the combination of your tiredness, or the lingering sense of dread and grief from your encounter with the old clone. He seems to sense your unrest, and shifts you gently until you’re wrapped completely in his arms, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. A hand trails softly against your back, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your heart swell with warmth. You’re continually surprised by him. Bounty hunters are hard creatures by necessity - focused on survival only. Mercy makes for a poor hunter; if you had stopped to care for every broken thing you found, you’d never complete a single job. And you know he’s not a gentle man. You’ve seen how he doesn't hesitate when presented with an unpleasant job; made more menacing with his controlled patience, his remorselessness.

But somehow, in the dark, the hum of the ship’s engine vibrating gently against your back, you don’t feel like you need to hold up your defences quite so solidly. The feeling of Boba’s body beneath your hands feels like a grounding presence. You try to match your breathing to his much slower speed, eyes dropping closed as your mind conjures the strange image of you pressing further into him, changing yourself into a small, curled thing, sliding right through his ribcage and lodging yourself solidly into his chest. You don’t know what it means, but it feels like… something you haven’t known for a long, long time. Home.

-

Akiva is a pit. Though you’ve only stopped off to refuel and pick up supplies, you’re already itching to leave. The humidity is unbearable, like a thick wet coating over your skin as you follow Boba’s clinking footsteps into town. The planet is similar in climate to the one you’re headed to, and you know it’s probably a good idea to try to pick up some appropriate clothing. The people in the marketplace are skittering back out of Boba’s way, open hostility and fear in their faces. It’s not the best way to keep a low profile, and you’re painfully aware of the prickling sensation of being watched. Window hangings twitch as you pass, the inhabitants within invisible but clearly keeping an eye on the two of you. You don’t like it at all, and you pick up the pace to keep level with Boba.

“They don’t seem very friendly here,” you murmur, and he makes a noncommittal scoff underneath the helmet.

“They just don’t like me because last time I was here I disintegrated a guy in the square.”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “You- shit, Fett.”

He shrugs, not breaking pace as he heads for a cluttered-looking junk shop on the corner of a seedy alleyway, leaving you gawping in the centre of the street.

The people are still giving you sidelong glances, though it seems you’re definitely not considered as much of a threat as your companion and most return to their prior activities. You wander further on, the buildings rough-hewn but colourful, passing a stand of spicy-smelling yobshrimp dumplings and an assortment of intricate woven baskets. There’s a shop selling lengths of sheer, airy-looking fabric at the far end of the street and you make a beeline for it, thoughts entirely occupied with the sight of the silks. You’re running your fingers over the softness when you hear the hissing voice behind you.

“That colour suits you, sweetheart.”

You turn, ready to deliver a biting rebuff when you realise who’s spoken. A tweaked out-looking Koorivar woman leers at you, her yellow fangs bared.

“Uh, hey. Thanks. Love the... horn.” You turn to continue browsing when a ridged, scaly hand catches your arm in a vicelike grip. Frowning, you’re getting ready to give her an earful when you catch sight of the blaster in her other hand and your words die on your lips.

“What do you want?”, you manage instead.

“Just a little chat. Girl to girl.” She prods you with the blaster, and you let yourself be walked along the street, deciding it’s better to see where she’s taking you before trying to twist out of her hold.

The people in the market are completely ignoring you now, and you can’t help but curse their obvious disdain for bounty hunters but apparent indifference toward hostage-taking in broad daylight. She steers you in the direction of a dim cantina, the Aurebesh sign painted over the door reading ‘The Alcazar’. A hapless-looking Ithorian stands dozily behind the bar, blinking his far-set eyes blearily at you as the Koorivar jostles you into a booth seat and slips in opposite you, crossing her legs and twisting her features into something you're guessing is meant to be a smile.

“Don’t try anything clever, warmblood. One move and you’re dead.”

You attempt a placatory tone, taking in your surroundings. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Nice place. Cocktail menu? I would love a Rodian splice.”

You're about ninety percent sure her expression is one of amusement, the horned ridges along her cheeks stretched upwards. “Cute. But I’m more interested in talking about you. And your friend. Heard Fett’s been taking up a lot of interesting bounties. Working for some pretty high-level Imps. Rumour has it, even doing jobs for the Emperor’s inner sanctum.”

You struggle to keep your face impassive. You have no idea who Boba’s been working for within the ISB, but if the Emperor’s people are involved, it must be pretty fucking serious. She lets out a little hissing laugh at your stilled reaction.

“Oh, really? You didn’t know? Word is he’s got himself tied into a hell of a contract. We’re talking tens of millions of credits - as long as he delivers whatever is it they’re looking for. If he doesn’t…” she clicks her tongue sadly. “There aren’t many bounty hunters over a certain age, are there, pateesa? Your kind don’t tend to last very long, and… well. Let’s just say we can offer you an arrangement with a little more longevity.”

Washed out red is beating dully behind your vision as you clench your teeth, trying to resist the urge to shoot her right between her venomously yellow eyes. You had suspected that the deal he’d made was bad, but it’s not the best surprise to learn the terms. You’ll add it to your growing list of things to worry about later. Your hand twitches toward your hip, and the Koorivar lays her own clawed hand between you. “My boss is always looking for talent. And he pays well. Words been getting around about Fett’s little girlfriend. You’re getting your own reputation. They say your work is undetectable. And Surat has a lot of enemies.”

It takes an enormous amount of effort to control your voice as you answer. “It’s funny, actually. Since partnering with Fett I’m getting all kinds of tempting offers. But I have to be honest here. You know, girl to girl.” You throw her own words back at her, leaning in conspirationally. “Thing is, the climate really disagrees with me. Pretty soon I’ll be as scaly as you. So, it’s not gonna work out. Tell Sulat or whatever I’m honoured.”

You edge out of the booth, getting ready to dash, when you realise the dopey Ithorian has crept up beside you, and is blocking your path. The Koorivar woman has already lunged to grab you, and you make a split-second decision, tucking into a tight ball and throwing yourself under the table, yanking your blaster from your belt and releasing several bolts of plasma directly into her ridged shin in quick succession. She screeches, an awful grating sound, and you push yourself up with as much force as possible, lifting the table over your head and onto your shoulders and throwing it back, slamming it flat against the Ithorian and knocking him sideways.

You leap over the tangle of limbs as you scramble for the door, throwing your arms over your head and ducking as the roaring Koorivar shoots wildly after you. Back on the street, you sprint madly back the way you came, twisting your head back to see whether you’re being pursued. The sound of furious hissing and non-human vocalisations bounce down the street as you pass the fabric stall from earlier, slowing your pace long enough to yank an armful of silk off a hanger and bundle it up in your arms as you run.

Up ahead, you can see Boba leaving the junk shop, turning to watch you dash toward him. He reaches reflexively up for the rangefinder on his helmet, bringing it down to aim as you draw level with him, spinning to press your back to his side. Lungs burning, you raise your blaster again, ready to face off as the Koorivar woman lopes into the street, throwing an arm out to halt her Ithorian companion beside her.

“Makarial,” grits Boba, the twang of his accent pronounced by the dangerous edge in his tone. “Always a pleasure to see your face. I bet you haven’t forgotten my last visit to Myrra.”

She snarls, leaning heavily on one leg. “You’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here again, Fett. We haven’t forgotten what you did to Kopollo.”

“You sure about that? You’re acting like you want to see another demonstration.” He raises his disrupter rifle pointedly, and you hold your own blaster steady, waiting.

The Koorivar spits onto the street, her features twisted in fury. “Your days are numbered, bounty hunter. If the Empire doesn’t finish you off, Surat will.” She whirls, dragging her slow-moving companion beside her as she retreats down the street. Boba looks like he’s considering shooting her in the back anyway, finger tightening on the trigger, but you hold out your arm.

“Let’s get off this swampy shithole. Please.”

He cocks his helmet at you, and you shake your head, trying to look stern. His disappointed sigh is audible through the modulator, and you suppress a rueful grin as you lead him back towards the docking bay.

[rainofaugustsith]

Rain Plays SWTOR: A Traitor Among the Chiss

For now, Rain Plays SWTOR is going to highlight content you may wish to try or enjoy as a solo player before 7.0. Given the way combat is drastically changing, one's ability to complete this content (or interest in playing) may also change. 

Today: A Traitor Among the Chiss. 

A Traitor Among the Chiss, AKA Copero, is IMHO my favorite flashpoint in the entire game. The planet is so well designed and heavy on the detail, there are several different sections with puzzles and mazes so it's not just "kill mobs for an hour," there are great rewards, and I just think it's neat. 

When this flashpoint was first released it was notoriously mob-heavy and long, but they've scaled it back quite a bit. 

Why would I want to play it?

Here's one big reason: Copero has some of the nicest decos you can get in the game and they drop with every boss. There are some industrial decos like air vents, but you can also get palm trees, paper lanterns, elegant chandeliers, fountains, wall fountains, a full bar and more. 

You can also get pieces of Ascendancy armor, although these unfortunately are not guaranteed to always drop and they're bound to your individual toon. 

Many bonus missions and achievements exist in this flashpoint that will grant a Copero Propaganda decoration. You will get 999 of them, even. 

How do I get it? 

1. If you are doing the main story you will be granted the mission that includes this flashpoint after completing the Crisis on Umbara section. This will include some non-repeatable story cut scenes.

2. If you're just doing the flashpoint solo: press CTRL+G. Go to the solo tab. Scroll down to A Traitor Among the Chiss and highlight it on the list. Click the green button. Voila. 

General caveats: 

1. Kill. The. Medics. First. 

In this flashpoint, they're helpfully labeled for you and are all the same model NPC. They're very weak so you can probably kill them in one or two shots, but if you let them live they will make your fights complicated and long. They hang at the back of the mob and won't usually run to you, they'll just quietly heal their compatriots and fire a shot from their vantage point now and again. Kill. The. Medics. First. 

2. Always repair your gear. 

This flashpoint has a lot of medical droids, and it's great. Don't pass by a medical droid without repairing your gear, because it's going to take a beating.

3. It's long but not as bad as some of the other long flashpoints. 

There are several sections that are combat-light and mostly rely on solving easy puzzles and navigating mazes. Your wrists and hands will get a break from the fighting. 

4. Take some time to look around.

Sure, you can crash through this flashpoint at warp speed - but you'll miss a lot. It's worth it to take some time to explore all the nooks and crannies, especially while you're in town. This is, in my opinion, one of the most richly decorated and designed areas of the entire game. Wander around. Take in the view. Come back and look again. You won't regret it. 

When you pass by this holoscreen in a cafe area, you will get an update on the state of the galaxy after Iokath, as well. 

Ready? Let's go.

1. Town 

You'll land in the urban heart of Copero. If you stop to look around anywhere, let it be here. You'll find alleys and concert stages and outdoor cafes, lovely gardens with fountains and waterfalls, and truly beautiful views. The heaviest mobs in the game are in this section. Some of the snipers and operatives vanish and reappear, so you won't necessarily see them all at once. 

There are several opportunities for bonus missions: 

Good Listener: Plant listening devices on the towers. 

Supply Demands: Destroy the supply barrels

When you reach the concert stage, you will encounter Security Chief Li'Dali. She's one of the three named Chiss NPCs you need for the Defeat the Operations Chiefs achievement. If you don't want to tangle with her, you can also go around the other side of the concert venue and ignore her. 

Boss #1: The Guardian Droid

What's that you say, it looks just like an isotope-5 droid from Makeb? Luckily it doesn't have the same tricks as those, but it can still take you down. Ignore the adds - they will vanish when you defeat the droid. 

The Guardian Droid is stationary but you really don't want to be. Several of the droid's attacks, such as Incinerate and Mortar Volley, will kill you before you know what hit you if you stay under the droid. Heat beam follows you and is difficult to shake. Keep moving. Your companion may become distracted by the adds - don't let yourself be. Keep moving, focus solely on the Guardian Droid. The adds will disappear as soon as you've vanquished it. 

2: The Factory

Now you're going into a Chiss factory! It's kinda cool. There's another bonus mission possibility here - Terminal Intelligence - if you click on the blue consoles around the factory. Doing so will also require you to kill off the other two named Chiss NPCs which will count toward the Defeat the Operations Chiefs achievement. 

Be careful not to fall off the catwalks - it's dark in here and a lot of fighting occurs on those catwalks. Be aware that Force Push and other abilities to launch enemy NPCs over the edges usually don't work here. 

Use the green grapples to get to the upper platform to continue. BUG: Sometimes the grapples don't work and you die. If that happens you'll respawn at the Guardian Droid medical droid (the Guardian Droid and all the NPCs you've already defeated will still be defeated). 

Boss #2: Syndic Zenta 

Syndic's main attack is a damage over time (DOT) that "scans" you like a healing probe - but it's there to kill. Her main defense is that she will vanish from time to time and reappear in other spots in the room. 

Completely ignore the adds as much as you can, and just stick to Zenta like glue. In the first part of the fight she will be on the ground floor and relatively stationary. When her HP reduces to a certain point she'll grapple up to the second level. You can use the grapples to follow her or take the ramp upstairs. If you have a skill that helps you jump to the enemy, like Force Charge, that will also work as long as you are close enough. 

When Zenta's health is really depleted, she will return to the ground floor and unleash some damaging abilities that can drain your HP very quicly. Steer clear of the rays of doom and keep attacking. At this point in the fight she won't hop from place to place so you will have a stationary target again. 

Once you've dealt with Zenta, remember there's a medical droid on the second floor of her room. Pay it a visit. After that, you're going to head out on the ground floor through the large door that opened, and make a left. 

If you continue to the end of the hallway you will find the bonus boss. It's a walker with a strike team. You've fought them before. No tricks, and it will grant you the Defeat the Strike Team achievement. If you want to continue, the exit from the factory is on the right hand side about halfway down the hallway, and is a hard to see cave. 

3. The ruins 

From here, you're outside in the snow and it's getting dark (Copero has night and day too, which is really cool). You will mostly be dealing with droids, wampas and ice cats from here on out. The temple cats can vanish and reappear, and the wampas have a savrik-like stomp. Be careful on the stairs and pathways because that stomp can pitch you over the side if you're not careful. 

Take the sharp right and you'll see an archway with a giant temple cat just beyond. DO NOT kill the kitty! Don't get close enough to aggro it. You see that blue basket of fruit? Click it. That will give you a temporary ability. Click the kitty (WITHOUT AGGROING IT) to target it and then press the temporary ability button to toss a piece of fruit to it. Kitty will be happy and will go away. Isn't that better? 

After the temple cat has been bribed with fruit, head straight through and up the path on the right hand side. You will find yourself in an area with three doors. Click the one at the far left with this light blue light. Now click the little flame inside. If you linger here too long you will be attacked by droids. 

Go back down the path and go over to that giant clickable generator you ignored before. The flame you picked up will make it work, and another archway will melt so you can continue. 

Go up the stairs (mind the wampas!) and into the maze. There are ways to navigate the maze by moving the walls, but you have the full map above to find your way.

Once you're through the maze, you're at another puzzle. You will have to defeat the droids but if you're careful you can avoid aggroing the cats. The clickable you need is the one closest to the main archway as seen here. Click it and the archway will melt away. Go through, go up the path on the right, and then you've reached Valss.

Boss #3 Valss

Valss has two lightsabers AND a rifle. He'll use the rifle at the beginning, and will call Orbital Strike, but will quickly switch to his lightsabers. Valss will vanish at some points during the fight and conceal himself among the numerous whirlwinds he will call. The whirlwinds will obscure the area and confuse your companion, who will try to attack them. If you continue to throw any available AOE attacks, you can find Valss in the storm. There will be a buff that pops up on the whirlwind when Valss is close. 

And now...you're done! A shuttle will land right outside the Valss battle area. You can click the door or just press 'exit area' to be transported back to Odessen. 

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (3/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Tyalor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,444

Summary: Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

III.

—

The only transport with availability they could find on short notice was a nine day trip through hyperspace on the Hydian way with a stopover on Coruscant to jump on another transport for the Byss Run. ‘Short notice’ actually being: a seven hour wait in the public hangar bays, during which both Jamie and Dani hunkered down on an unlit bench and attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible. By the end Jamie — who was not by nature a person inclined to sitting still — was ready to claw out of her own skin if it meant getting up and actually doing something. And to really make things worse, the last tickets on the transport were for eighth class quarters with only one sleeping cot. 

“I didn’t even know they had an eighth class,” Dani muttered. She tugged at the hood of her cloak as they were jostled down the crowded corridor that led deep into the belly of the ship. 

“The joys of being a Service Corps brat,” Jamie said dryly, then she grunted when she caught an elbow to the back of her knee. She growled over her shoulder at the huddle of little robed Jawas pressing in close behind her. “Hit me again, I fuckin’ dare you.”

The only response to her threats was a series of skitterish language and rude gestures. One Jawa even jumped up and down, miming hitting her again. Jamie was sorely tempted to get her handheld mining laser out and have a go, but there were about seven of them and the very idea of being dogpiled by a bunch of children-sized robe-rats was too much to bear. 

Dani seemed to not see this interaction at all, and was focused entirely on pushing ahead. She squinted at the faded room numbers over each of the narrow doors, and said, “I think this is us.” 

“About bloody time,” Jamie grumbled.

She and Dani scooched closer to the wall and as far out of the way as possible to let the mass of other low level passengers by. Jamie glared at each of the Jawas as they passed, and each Jawa in turn fixed her with their glowing yellow eyes, while Dani swiped the laminated card they’d been issued by the ticket officer. A light on the door flashed red. Dani muttered something under her breath and swiped the card again, and with a blink of green light the door hissed open.

The room inside was small enough that Jamie could hold out both arms and touch the walls on either side. The sleeping cot was little more than a slit in the wall with storage lockers built into the wall beneath. The most uncomfortable metal bench Jamie had ever seen crouched in the far corner, bolted into the wall as well to prevent theft. They hadn’t even bothered pretending there was space to make food; for the next nine days it was all dietary supplements or overly priced galley grub on the upper canteen deck. 

“Looks cosy,” Jamie said, peering in over Dani’s shoulder. 

“How long did that droid say the trip was again?” Dani asked, gripping the straps of her bag at her shoulder.

“Nine days.”

The two of them looked back, and marinated in the notion that they would be spending nine whole days in such close quarters that one could barely turn in a circle without hitting the other. 

“Where are the bathrooms?” Dani asked.

“Dunno. Let’s find out.” 

Jamie nudged at Dani’s back, and the two of them stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind them automatically and sealed itself with the blink of another red light. While Dani set down her bag on the bench, Jamie started hitting random buttons on the panel by the door to see what they all did. The first dimmed all the lights. Useful. She turned them back on. The second opened the door again, which she quickly shut. The third opaqued the tiny port hole that admitted a view of the cramped hallway outside. And the fourth slid back a wall panel opposite the cot.

“Found the toilet,” Jamie said. “And the shower.”

Dani, who had crouched down to open the storage lockers beneath the cot, straightened and turned around. She made a face. “All in one?”

Jamie poked her head inside. “Seems like it. Smells clean, at least.”

Indeed, the industrial-strength cleaning vapours were so overpowering they made her eyes water. Screwing up her face, Jamie leaned back. Dani came to stand beside her and investigate the ablutions closet as well. The moment she caught sight of the tiny mirror bolted to the wall inside however, she made a strangled noise and jerked her gaze aside. Jamie watched in puzzlement as Dani whipped back around and tried to pass it off as a cough.

Without a word, Jamie hit the button to shut the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “You all right?” 

Still facing the other direction, Dani nodded. She cleared her throat and said in the most unconvincing tone possible, “Yeah. Fine. I’m - I’m fine.” 

Carefully Jamie slipped past Dani so that they didn’t brush against one another. She dropped her own travel pack onto the bench beside Dani’s and unzipped the main compartment to rummage around inside. 

“Don’t reckon there’s much chance the menagerie will die down until well after we’ve hit hyperspace.” Jamie checked the time on her travel credentials chit, hitting a few buttons on the display until it was set to a standard self-regulating clock so she could actually remember to sleep on a decent schedule. “But if you’re hungry, I can battle my way to the canteen on deck 34?” 

“No. Thank you. The lunch we had at the hangar terminal was enough.” 

Peeling back the packaging of a dietary supplement from her bag, Jamie shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and tossed back the supplement with a dry swallow and a grimace. Another quick search around the room revealed a tiny spigot protruding from one of the walls, which delivered a dribble of fresh water when she set an open travel bottle beneath it. Jamie took a grateful sip, then filled up the bottle to the brim before capping it. 

“Wish they’d just knock you out flat for trips like these,” Jamie said. “But then they couldn’t gouge us at the souvenir shops, I guess.” 

Behind her, she heard a begrudging huff of laughter. When Jamie turned around it was to find Dani with her hands around her stomach, as though trying to give herself the galaxy’s most ineffective hug. Dani glanced up and shuffled her weight back and forth in obvious discomfort. Even now, standing as far from one another as they could, Jamie could easily reach out and touch her if she tried. 

“I - uh -” Dani made a feeble gesture towards the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “I thought I saw something. That’s all.” 

Jamie shrugged. “Didn’t ask. Not my business.” 

Beneath their feet, Jamie could feel a slight rumble as the engines hit maximum burn. There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness, and then the familiar pull behind her navel when they finally hit hyperdrive. Some ships — sleeker, more capable ships than this — liked to make an experience out of going into hyperspace. Like pushing in the throttle on a first rate speeder. This experience however could only be described as lumbering. Like an overworked beast of burden taking that first reluctant step towards its destination.

Letting out a long tired exhale, Jamie said, “Right. Nothing left to do, then.”

And without further ado, from her bag she pulled out a set of pajamas — the only set of other clothes she had brought with her, to be perfectly honest, apart from a heavy thermal jacket in case they got stranded on an ice-ridden hell hole like Hoth or some shit — and began to change. 

Unlike the previous nights, Dani did not avert her gaze or get flustered. Instead, her eyes traced the tattoo on Jamie’s shoulder, a series of vines and flowers curling down the bicep of her right arm and partway up her neck. A large enough piece to be eye-catching, while also easily concealed by clothing. Not that the Jedi Order cared about tattoos. Just that some planets had different rules than others, and when you hopped from place to place as often as Jamie did, then you hedged your bets. 

“Does it mean anything?” Dani asked, nodding towards the tattoo.

Pulling a soft shirt on, Jamie shrugged. “Means I was young and stupid. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

Dani didn’t have a reply to that, though the expression on her face said that she didn’t buy Jamie’s story for an instant. She squeezed by Jamie to start pulling out her own set of sleeping clothes, and Jamie had to hop out of the way while tugging a pair of sweatpants up her thighs. 

“Don’t suppose you have any you’d like to share with the class?” Jamie asked, giving Dani a quick once over. 

Dani, who had been in the process of taking off her cloak, froze, then continued what she was doing once more. “No,” she said, facing the wall so that her back was turned to Jamie. 

“Thought it was a fair question,” said Jamie. She stepped atop the first rung of the ladder built into the wall so that she could inspect the cot in all its glory. Thin sheets. Thin mattress. Thin pillows. Happy days. 

“I appreciate tattoos,” Dani answered, her voice muffled momentarily by the shirt she pulled over her head. “But I’ve never wanted one for myself.” 

“Fair enough.”

When Jamie had assured herself there were no unfortunate bugs or surprises in the bed, she hauled herself up into the cot. She had to lie flat to slip in, and the ceiling was close enough to her face that when she was on her back she could make out every scratch and detail in the panels. 

“Well, this is shite,” she muttered. Turning her head to one side, Jamie asked, “Do you get claustrophobic? Only that I can take the end nearest the wall if you’d prefer.”

Dani went very still in the act of pulling on a thicker set of socks. Then she gave Jamie a guilty little nod.

“All right.” Jamie shuffled over some more until she was wedged up against the wall. 

Padding across the small room, Dani dimmed the lights before she climbed up into the cot beside Jamie. It was so cramped with the two of them, that there was no way they couldn’t not touch, and there was no way for Jamie to plaster herself against the wall any more than she always was. Eventually Dani was lying flat on her back, sheets pulled up to her chest, and staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling, while Jamie tried her damndest to not move too much. 

A futile effort, in the end. With a muttered curse, Jamie wriggled around so she could reach up and scratch at her own tattooed shoulder. Dani frowned over at her quizzically, and Jamie answered, “Got a scar. It itches like mad sometimes.” 

Dani hummed a wordless note. When Jamie had finally stopped scratching, she asked, “Why are you helping me?”

Jamie adjusted her pillow and said, “I don’t like Czerka. And, well, I guess I’m stuck with you now.”

Through the dark, Dani’s expression was inscrutable. She rolled over to face Jamie, and the pillow obscured her partly so that the only eye that watched Jamie was the one that seemed to gleam golden in the deep shadows of her face. “You just left your whole life behind on a whim.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments,” said Jamie. “Even Force sensitives are discouraged from it, generally. Especially at the Temple.” 

Dani blinked at her. “I’m sorry if I was too forward, or -”

With a snort, Jamie shook her head. “Not at all what I meant. Just — I move around a lot. And you’ve seen my apartment. Did it look like I was planning to stay long?” 

Rather than answer, Dani asked, “Do you not like the places you live in?”

“I like them fine. Telos IV is fine.”

“What about family?” 

Jamie arched an eyebrow. “What about them?” 

“Well -” Dani faltered over this for a moment. “I miss my mother. She’s awful and she drives me crazy, but I still miss her.” 

She said it like it was an example, an invitation for Jamie to give her own in return. 

“Don’t have one,” Jamie said. 

“What? Nobody?”

“Nope.” 

“But what about -? I mean -” Dani blew out a frustrated breath before continuing. “Surely there are people who care about you. You’re a good person.” 

“You’ve known me three days,” Jamie pointed out. “Less. Two and a half.” 

“Jamie,” she said in an admonishing tone.

With a sigh, Jamie rolled onto her back. She could hear their neighbours through the thin walls. Someone was playing thumping music and talking loudly amongst themselves in a language she did not understand, until they blended into a drone of white noise. 

“Attachments are forbidden for Jedi,” Jamie repeated, “but I’ve never been Jedi material. When I was still in training at the Temple, there were people in my group that I cared about. Sure. Formed an attachment with a youngling named Mikey. We weren’t related by blood but we might as well’ve been. I looked after him, and for a while things were good. But he was strong. Stronger than I could ever dream of being. And for people like him, people strong in the Force -” Jamie made a helpless gesture towards the ceiling. “They separated him from the rest when he was still so young. He’s a Jedi Knight now. We don’t talk anymore. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dani said softly.

Jamie’s stomach swooped, and she grit her teeth against it. “I hope it is. It’s for the best.”

“And what about these other friends? The ones we’re going to visit on Tython?” 

“Just friends,” said Jamie. “Good friends, but friends. They’re actual Jedi, and they take that shit seriously. Or, well -” she huffed out a laugh. “One of them does. Sometimes I wonder if Owen takes anything seriously. Most people, though? No. No attachments. Most people aren’t worth the effort.” 

Dani's gaze was a dart of gold through the enclosed space, the two of them cramped together, their knees brushing despite their best efforts. Then, she said, "I'm glad."

Frowning, Jamie turned her head to look at her. "About what?"

"That this isn't an effort."

Jamie opened her mouth to retort but no sound came out. It hadn't been said with venom or sarcasm. It had been resigned. Matter of fact, even. 

And before Jamie could gather her wits about her enough to formulate a response, Dani rolled over and nearly took the rest of the blankets with her. Scowling, stomach churning unpleasantly, Jamie rolled over as well and tried to get some sleep. 

 --

Three days passed without anything noteworthy occurring, which — given the way Jamie’s week had been going so far — was a miracle in and of itself. And after three days of scouring the various lower and mid decks, Jamie could with great confidence say that no Czerka had followed them aboard this particular vessel.

Now, if only those weird fucking nightmares would go away. That would be grand.

Jamie was at the canteen bar on the mid decks. She was allowing herself to indulge in the vice of a foamy alcoholic beverage which resembled beer but which definitely wasn't beer. The location she would've preferred to drink at — a corner table with an excellent view of the whole room, and good access to one of the side exits — was already occupied by a group of surly looking humans, which meant that Jamie was forced to drink at the bar itself. She nursed her not-beer and tried not to think about how she still had six more days of sleeping beside a very attractive woman who was alternatively clingy or kick-y in her sleep.

Right when she was constructing ways of padding Dani's legs — more socks would do the trick, surely; and the woman was always bloody cold; she wouldn't complain — Jamie felt a frisson run down her spine. She straightened from her stoop with a frown, and looked around the room for any indication of new threats or danger.

Which was when someone stepped up to the bar beside her. He waved down the droid bartender and ordered himself a drink. Non-alcoholic. She looked at him, and went tense.

When it had seemed that she could finally allow herself to relax, to enjoy this leisurely cruise through hyperspace — as much as anyone could enjoy passage in their shit quarters — Jamie just had to go run into a Jedi.

An actual Jedi this time. Brown robes. Lightsabre. The whole lot. In fact, the last thing she noticed about him was his lightsabre. It was everything else that gave him away. The way he held himself. His clothes. The way he even breathed.

Immediately, Jamie buried her nose back into her glass and prayed that he wouldn't look her way.

He did. Of fucking course he did.

His sharp eyes promptly found the Service Corps dog tags hanging from her neck. Jamie was still mentally kicking herself for wearing them today, when he slanted his head sideways to read her Corps Assignment on the metal tags.

"And how is Telos?" he asked without preamble.

Jamie shrugged and stifled the urge to walk very quickly away. "Scarred," she said, "but alive."

He hummed. The droid brought him his beverage, and he murmured his thanks before turning his attention back to her. "And you're heading to Coruscant," he remarked thoughtfully. "Are you being Reassigned?"

Jamie shook her head. She bought herself some time by taking another sip of her not-beer. "Nah. Been three years since I've seen some friends on Tython. Thought I ought to say hello. They'll be sick of my pre-recorded postcards by now."

His answering smile was small, a thing barely there. Then there was a flicker of his brow. "You know," he said slowly, "I think I recognize you."

Well, that sure wasn't ominous. Not in the slightest. 

"Oh?" said Jamie. 

"Yes. You used to be ExplorCorps, didn't you?" He leaned closer, elbows on the bar, considering her. "My old Master was a Seeker. He showed me the proceedings of a smuggling bust he took part in about four years ago on an undisclosed planet near Nar Shaddaa. You gave the testimony that sent that Hutt crime lord to prison."

Jamie bought herself a second by buying her nose in her glass and taking a deep drink. So much for identity suppression. "Ah - yeah. That was me. Small galaxy, innit?"

He held out his gloved hand. “Pasha,” he said.

Switching her not-beer to her other hand, Jamie took his hand and shook it. “Jamie. And what brings you here?"

Setting his hand down, Pasha tapped his fingers against the bar top. Then he surveyed the rest of the room, as though checking for eavesdroppers. "I trust I can rely on your discretion?" he said in a tone that was too casual.

"Yeah. 'Course."

The droid bartender trundled by on its treads, and Pasha waited until it was gone. “I am investigating a murder."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over Jamie’s head. "Someone in the Order?" 

His expression was grave, and he nodded. "A young Consular by the name of Edmund. His body was found on a transport cruiser passing through Vurdon Ka. We believe it was the work of a Sith assassin."

Well, that was new.

"What? That close to the Core Worlds?" Jamie asked, and her voice was as incredulous as she could make it.

"Yes," he said and he was the definition of sombre. "You understand why this is so important. If the Sith have managed to infiltrate so deeply into the Core, then the risk to the Republic is far greater than we had thought."

"Well, fuck," Jamie muttered. Though not for the reason he probably thought. 

She really had to go and get herself involved in the biggest clusterfuck of the decade. No. Biggest clusterfuck of the century. 

“We’re almost finished making our sweep of the ship,” Pasha sighed as he lifted his glass for a sip. “I’ll be glad to be done. It’s tiring work, and this assassin somehow manages to slip through our fingers every time we get close.” 

Wait, wait, wait. Hold the holo. 

Jamie jabbed her finger against the bartop. “You think the assassin is on this hunk of junk?” 

He nodded, lowering his glass. “We’ve done a thorough check through the upper and mid decks the last few days. Just making our way to the lower decks now.”

“I’m down there, and I haven’t seen anything,” Jamie said, hoping she didn’t sweat straight through her shirt. “Now, I’m no Knight, but I think I would know a Sith assassin if I saw one.”

“Have you ever met a Sith before?” 

Jamie paused. She’d had plenty of dealings with Sith associates over the years — smugglers, crime cartels, weapons dealers, drug runners, you name it — but an actual Sith in the flesh? She shook her head. 

“Pray you never do,” Pasha said darkly. 

Jamie felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms lift with a shiver. Then the sound of heavy boot steps approached the bar. Two masked Troopers in scuffed body armour stopped behind them, the Republic insignia emblazoned in blue on their left shoulders. They were walking talking weapon arsenals with more military tech between them than the rest of this sorry boat combined. One had a massive assault cannon strapped to her back and a bandolier of grenades clipped across her chest. The other was armed with a blaster rifle, a shielding pack, and an honest to fuck harpoon. Jamie sank down into her bar stool a little further. 

“Sir,” one of them said, her voice muffled through the helm. “We are ready to descend into the lower decks whenever you are.” 

Pasha gave Jamie a commiserating look and then drained his glass in one long pull. “Seems like the job is never done,” he said with a smile. “May the Force be with you.” 

Jamie lifted her own glass in reply, watching them go without taking a sip. The two Troopers cleared the path just by walking in a straight line. People scrambled out of their way. The three of them passed through a door, rounded a corner, and they were gone. 

Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Jamie slumped against the bar, letting her head rest against the cool and slightly sticky surface. She could hear the whir of mechanical treads as the droid bartender shifted position behind the bar. Jamie lifted her head. 

“Oi,” she whistled to get the bartender droid’s attention. 

It stopped cleaning a glass and gave her a low tired beep.

“Is there some sort of tech or maintenance shaft I can use to get to the lower decks fast?” Jamie asked. 

Another beep, and a spindly mechanical arm popped out of the droid’s flank to poke a button. The garbage chute sprang open from the wall. Craning her neck, Jamie wrinkled her nose as she looked down into the chute, which ended in a trolley full of rubbish that was just big enough for her to fit inside if she tucked in her legs and arms. 

With a deep sigh, Jamie bolted back the rest of her drink, then stood and started to round the bar towards the chute. “Fuck me.” 

 --

Jamie was still picking eggshells from her hair when she walked the corridors of the lower decks. At least the bar’s garbage had mainly consisted of fresh fruit rinds and nut shells, though she had a stimcaf stain on her pants that would take an age in the ablutions closet to get out later. She hurried along the hallway, pushing past clumps of other passengers who wandered about or chatted with one another. 

For the first time since stepping foot on this ship, she wished they’d gotten a room on an even lower level deck. This was only two decks beneath the canteen, and battle-hardened Republic Troopers weren’t exactly known for sitting on their hands. 

The door to their room was open, and Dani was nowhere to be found. Swearing under her breath, Jamie looked left and right down the hallway, hands on her hips. She checked the time at her wrist, and then continued down the corridor at a light jog. Every open room she passed, every tightly-confined communal space, Jamie poked her head in for a quick check, until finally she found her.

Dani was, of all places, twenty doors down with the Jawas. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, nursing a steaming mug of something or another while listening intently to the surrounding seven Jawas chittering at her. Jamie stopped in the open doorway, slightly out of breath. 

“That’s extortion!” Dani remarked, and one of the Jawas nodded emphatically. Then she said, “I’m very impressed.”

This earned Dani a series of gratified chirps from all of the Jawas, one of which eagerly topped up Dani’s mug with more of whatever beverage they were all drinking. She thanked him, and several of the others began demanding Dani’s attention with small sharp hand gestures and fast-paced prattling. 

One of the Jawas noticed Jamie's presence and started making a high-pitched growl, like a territorial womp rat. The noise alerted the others, including Dani, who glanced up.

"Can we talk?" Jamie asked. She stepped further inside the room with a furtive motion for Dani to approach her.

Looking puzzled, Dani handed the mug to the Jawa sitting closest to her, then rose to her feet and crossed the room. “Is there something wrong? Why do you smell like orange juice?” 

“Long story.” Jamie smacked the button which shut the door and opaqued the tiny porthole that peered into the Jawas’ quarters. Lowering her voice so that the Jawas couldn’t easily hear her, she whispered, "There’s a Jedi on board and two Republic Troopers. They’re looking for you and they think you're a Sith assassin."

Dani stared at her. "But -" she spluttered, "I'm not."

"I know that. But they don’t."

Dani glanced towards the door, then at the Jawas. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “What do we do?” 

“We hide and hope that once they’ve cleared this deck, they don’t come back,” said Jamie. “I don’t know how much time we have. They were making their way down here right as I left.” 

"Spike was telling me -"

"Who?"

Dani pointed to the Jawa she’d handed her mug to. "Spike."

"You learned their names?"

"They're cute!" Dani insisted.

Right as she said it, one of the Jawas snatched up what appeared to be a tiny live rodent from a container, and swallowed it whole. The rodent vanished into the impenetrable darkness of the Jawa's hood, until even its wriggling tail was slurped up as well.

"Yeah, they're fuckin' adorable," Jamie said dryly.

“Spike was telling me,” Dani repeated more firmly this time, “that there are ventilation ducts that they use to pressurise the cabins during take off and landing.”

“And what happens if they decide to de-pressurise the cabins while we’re in there?” 

“We’re in hyperspace. What are the chances we’re going to be boarding anything?”

“The way my luck is going,” said Jamie, “I’m willing to say the chances are pretty bloody high.” 

“Do you have any better ideas?” Dani asked, and there was an edge to her voice that from anyone else would have sounded angry, but which Jamie could already tell was just fear bleeding through. 

“I do, actually.” Jamie jerked her thumb towards the door behind her. “We ride the rubbish chute to the upper decks and lie low until they finish their sweep down here. They’re not going to retrace old ground, and once they’ve cleared the entire ship, we’re gravy.” 

“The garbage?” Dani furrowed her brow, giving Jamie a once-over. “Oh, I see. That explains it.”

In the background, a few of the Jawas had huddled around a small handheld screen and started chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Jamie and Dani ignored them until Spike scurried over and tugged at the trailing ends of Dani’s cloak. Both of them turned to listen, and Jamie felt her blood pressure tick up in real time. 

“What?” Dani asked, face going pale.

“They can’t have made it to this deck already,” said Jamie to Spike. “You must be seeing things.”

In answer, Spike motioned towards the cluster of Jawas, one of whom turned the little screen around to show the holo it displayed. They had somehow hooked into the security feed and on the screen, clear as day, was Pasha and the two Troopers, striding down the corridor towards them. 

Without peeling her wide eyes from the screen, Dani asked in a trembling voice, “Where did you say the garbage chute was located?”

“They’ve already passed it,” Jamie muttered.

Yammering in agitation, Spike pointed towards the ceiling, where a vent was located just above the sleeping cot. Jamie groaned.

“Oh, all right,” she relented. “C’mon.”

Picking their way across the Jawas’ quarters was like navigating a minefield. There was junk sprawled all over the place in piles. It was a mystery how they even managed to get it all in here. When Jamie climbed the ladder beside the cot, there were two sets of glowing yellow eyes watching her from the dark corner of the bed.

“‘Scuse us,” Jamie mumbled and pulled out her mining laser to cut the vent free just enough so that it swung open on two rusted hinges.  

If Jamie wasn’t in the habit of hauling herself up trees all day, she would’ve had a hard go at clambering into the crawlspace. As it was, she grunted and pulled herself up. With a bit of wriggling — her hips got stuck in the small vent opening — she managed to get inside. She held a hand down for Dani just as there was a knock on the door. 

“Let’s go,” Jamie muttered more to herself than anyone else, as she heaved Dani up and into the ventilation shaft with her. Dani scrambled in and Jamie barely had enough time to seal the vent shut before the door opened with a hiss.  

Jamie was squashed between metal on three sides and Dani on the other. The only light in this space shone through the slats in the grating. Every breath was loud, as loud as Jamie’s heartbeat. She couldn’t have moved much if she tried. At her feet she could feel the shaft turn a corner, and any attempt to crawl along after it would end in one or both of them getting well and truly stuck. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Jamie heard Pasha’s cultured voice. 

"Official Republic business," said one of the Troopers, his voice sounding muzzy through the speakers of his helmet. "Your cooperation is appreciated and expected. Any opposition will be met with force."

The Jawas jabbered and quibbled, but the sound of heavy boots stepping into the room regardless of their protestations was unmistakable. One of the Troopers, the one with the harpoon strapped to his back, stepped into view right below the vent. Jamie watched him crouch down and open up the storage lockers beneath the cot for inspection. 

Dani’s eyes were squeezed shut. Jamie could feel the way she was trembling all over. Reaching up, Jamie took her hand, but Dani’s only reaction was to clutch it in a white-knuckled death grip. Jamie winced, the bones of her hand creaking, but she did not pull away. 

“What’s this?” 

The Trooper below had dragged something out from the locker, while his partner searched the ablutions closet. The Trooper nudged a large crate with the barrel of his blaster rifle, then turned to a nearby Jawa. “Open it,” he ordered.

The Jawa needed the help of two friends to heave the lid of the metal crate back. The Trooper had his blaster rifle tucked up against his shoulder, ready to fire, only to lower it once more, when the crate’s contents were revealed to be piles of more useless junk. Tangled skeins of wire. Dismembered droid parts. The works. 

“Have you checked the cot?” his partner asked. 

“Nothing but a litter at roost,” the Trooper replied. 

Pasha spoke up from the doorway. “What about the vent? It looks like it’s been tampered with.” 

Shit. 

Dani’s breathing started growing fast and shallow. She was a line of tense muscle pressed up against Jamie’s front, her jaw clenched so tight Jamie was amazed she hadn’t cracked a tooth. There was a groan of metal around them and whole sections of the walls started to flex and bend in an alarming manner, as though something were attempting to crumple the entire shaft in one massive fist. Meanwhile, Dani’s shaking fingers dug painfully into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

Double shit. 

“Shhh,” Jamie whispered. “Shh.”

Dani’s brow was furrowed and her breathing had shot straight past panting and into hyperventilating. The pipes beyond the crawlspace hissed and whined. 

Below them, the Jawas were crowding around the two Troopers, but Jamie paid them no attention. With her free hand, she cupped Dani’s cheek and said softly, “Look at me. Dani. Hey.” 

Dani opened her eyes, expression raw and panicked. Jamie could feel every sweeping exhalation as Dani struggled for air. 

“With me,” Jamie murmured, and she breathed in and out with slow exaggeration. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. 

Slowly Dani matched it, her muscles relaxing in the smallest of increments while Jamie coaxed her along, until they were breathing in synch, until Dani’s forehead rested gently against her own, noses brushing. 

“All right, all right,” Harpoon Trooper growled below them. “We’re going. You’ve made your point.” 

The Jawas were still talking over one another all at once and waving their tiny robed arms while the Troopers stomped out of the room. It was a small thing, the relief that burst like little fireworks in Jamie’s chest. She smiled, then breathed in sharply when that relief continued to branch out into something more, something alive, electric, and beyond herself. She gave Dani’s fingers another squeeze and shook her head quickly.

The Force retreated like a skittish hand reaching forth in the dark, but it was too late.

The footsteps below them had gone quiet. 

"Is something wrong, sir?" one of the Troopers asked.

"I thought I felt something,” said Pasha slowly. “We went too quickly through the deck above this one. I want to go back.” 

“But -”

“There is something above us, Commander,” Pasha insisted, and his voice was stern. “Ignore this floor, and let us go with haste.” 

When they had finally gone, Jamie allowed her body to slump with a beleaguered sigh. Then she began to laugh softly. One of her hands was still cupping Dani’s jaw, and she brushed her thumb over the round bluff of Dani’s cheek, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Well done, love,” Jamie said with a smile.

Dani’s gaze was surprisingly steady for someone who had just been in the throes of a panic attack. She swallowed thickly. “Thank you,” she breathed. 

It was an extraordinarily bad idea to glance down at Dani’s mouth. Jamie hadn’t even realised she’d done it until Dani blinked at her, tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. A nervous, automatic gesture, but one which Jamie could not ignore. 

“I think we can leave now,” Dani said. 

“Right.” Jamie cleared her throat and let go of Dani quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.” 

While she worked to open the vent again, Jamie had to sternly remind herself that Dani was a wanted murderer, and that the warmth pooling in her gut was a very very bad idea. Dani was silent as Jamie urged her to go first. One after the other, they squeezed themselves out of the vent and dropped down onto the floor below. 

When Dani did it, the Jawas caught her and cooed over her, patting off the dust from her clothes. When Jamie did it, the Jawas let her fall in a bruised and graceless heap onto the floor.

“Thanks, mate,” Jamie grunted at Spike.

Spike narrowed his yellow eyes, then offered Jamie a mug of that steaming stuff they’d been drinking before. Sitting up and brushing herself off, Jamie took it. The drink tasted like battery acid warmed over, but it filled her with such a mild and pleasant feeling that she drained the cup. 

“They’re not going to stop looking, are they?” 

Jamie ran a hand through her hair. “No,” she said. “Don’t reckon they will. He sensed that, so he knows now there’s something on board. He’ll be back.” 

Dani twisted her fingers together. When a Jawa offered her a cup, she demurred with a murmur. “So, now what?” 

Tipping her head back towards the ceiling, Jamie closed her eyes. She mulled over their options, then shook her head with a wry grin. “God. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.” She waved the mug at Spike. “Don’t suppose you lot have a long-range transceiver I could borrow? Preferably untraceable, but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Rather than hop immediately into action, Spike looked at Dani for confirmation. Dani nodded and said, “Please.” 

With a series of noises that could only be described as high-pitched grumbling, the Jawa rummaged around in the still open crate that the Troopers had inspected earlier. He unearthed a dented and ancient subspace transceiver, dusted it off, and handed it over to Jamie. 

“The hell is the range on this thing?” Jamie muttered to herself as she turned it on.

The transceiver blinked to life with a flicker of white noise. Hoping beyond hope that the frequency was still the same as she remembered, Jamie keyed it in and hit the transmit button. 

For two of the longest minutes of her life, the only answer was a blur of static. Then a familiar voice crackled to life. 

“Well, well. Jamie Taylor. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Jamie’s smile was more of a grimace. “Hello, Rebecca. Remember how you owe me a favour?”

[vinyls-and-valentines]

⭐️ punk?

There’s this droid punk-industrial-techno-fuck-knows-what band in the Lobby that heavily samples old cartoons from that period when instead of dialogue they had instrumental. On top of it they lay heavy percussion and jerky guitar solos all over the place, as well as vocals that go between spoken word and yelling and the tiniest bit of synth. Juvies absolutely love it.

They’re called Toybox and they describe their music as being something called “nostalgiacore”. They regularly play gigs at The Lounge