#huttese music

[completewermosguidetohuttese]

Please check out this inkabunga metal band, Sliimo, the singer sings with Huttese lyrics!!! The music is awesome, too. :D (And sidenote that the band graciously used the dictionary on my site to write their lyrics, very humbled that my site was helpful to such a great project!)

[iconac]

linguists hate them! revan reveals clever trick to learn any new language instantly.

[sailorkamino]

the force and plants (tech's pov)

wildflower masterlist

relationships: twi'lek!jedi!reader x tech [gn, neurodivergent reader, can be platonic or romantic]

word count: 1.9k

summary: You and Tech can talk for hours about your shared interests and curiosities. On your first mission to Felucia you go on a nature walk and explain how you perceive each batcher in the force.

warnings: tech and reader are neurodivergent, brief insecurities, mentioned sensory overload, tech worries his info dumping is annoying, reader befriends a snake, dehumanization/mistreatment of clones

mando'a translations: vod- sibling, ori'vod- older sibling

ryl translations: nerra- brother

Tech has never met anyone that shared his thirst for knowledge, then he got a jedi.

When you mention liking plants he tells you every fact he knows. When you fire back with plants he’s never even heard of he stares at you in shock. Later he uses his datapad to confirm everything you told him is correct. He doesn't sleep that night. Too busy researching.

The next day he sees the lockscreen on your own datapad. It’s you, a Kel Dor jedi, and a clone trooper with a gigantic white wolf. You notice his stare and smile. “Did you know loth wolves are force sensitive?” No, he did not know that. He asks you multiple questions about the force and the jedi. He knows Hunter told him not to interrogate you but he can’t help himself and you don’t seem to mind.

“I read that jedi can heal with the force. How does that work, sir?”

“Well first you use the force to assess the injury, feel how much damage is done and envision what needs to be fixed. Then you use the living force to speed up the natural healing process.”

“Can you read minds?”

“Yes but not in the way that you think. I don’t hear verbal thoughts, it’s more like feelings and intentions.”

“What is the force like?”

“It’s like a comm in the back of my mind, constantly flicking through channels. The volume changes but it never turns off.” Without meaning to his face screws up. That sounds completely overwhelming. He thinks about Hunter hiding under his blankets, whimpering from sensory overload after a hard training session. He frowns worryingly.

You smile as if sensing his concern. You probably can. “I know it sounds like a lot but once you’re used to the background music, you can’t live without it.”

You also enjoy mechanics but oddly enough you talk about droids like they're living beings. You confess that when you first joined the order, later than most and unable to speak a word of basic, you had a hard time making friends. You spent a lot of time with droids. Tech can relate.

Then you’re excitedly pulling him to your temporary quarters on Kamino, saying you have something to show him. “When my master found out I was joining a unit without an official medic he got me Pup.”

“Pup?”

“She’s an AZI series surgical assistant droid!”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’ve named your droid. And gave it pronouns. You never use CT numbers when referring to clones. If they don’t have a name yet you call them vod or nerra or even an affectionate name like dear one. But never by a number.

You even show him the inner workings of your lightsaber, all though Tech is a bit distracted by the fact the parts are all levitating. The way you explain your weapon as it’s a part of you reminds him of Crosshair.

You both have an interest in foreign languages and cultures. Tech explains that growing up the bad batch were completely isolated from other clones and most trainers. The little mando’a they do know they learnt from their ori’vod, 99.

Your conversations become a mix of languages the others fail to keep up with: Basic, Ryl, Dai Bendu, Mando’a, and even Huttese. You’re practically fluent thanks to past undercover work and Tech finds the crass language interesting. The insults are most creative.

When he sits in the pilot seat of the marauder for the first time you’re beside him with a smirk, “modify anything you want, just tell me how to use it.” He has never been given so much creative freedom before and it makes his mind buzz with ideas. When he tests how fast the ship can go his brothers scream but you grin in the co pilot's seat. Tech finds he quite enjoys your company.

Your first mission takes you to Felucia. It’s a success. The locals invite the you all to a feast that night but until then you have some free time. Tech wonders if you would be interested in helping him with those modifications you mentioned. Just then you enter the ship.

“I’m going to do some exploring if anyone wants to come. A local told me a lot of flowers are blooming right now.”

Tech’s head snaps up at your offer. Being raised on Kamino he has no real life experience with plants. It sounds most fascinating. He tells you so. You grin, bid goodbye to the rest of the batch, and the two of you are off.

He’s excitedly telling you about the medicinal properties of a neon colored flower when he spares a glance at you, his words trailing off awkwardly. Your back is to him as you kneel in the grass. Apparently the ground is more interesting than him.

The dismissal stings a bit but he tries to ignore it. He should be used to this kind of reaction by now. But… he learnt all this for you. He thought you liked plants. Maybe he’s the problem?

“Why’d you stop?”

The question makes him pause. He wasn’t expecting that. Maybe you’re pretending to care about his lecture to spare his feelings. Yes, that makes sense. From what he’s observed you care a great deal about other’s feelings.

“Apologies, general. I have the tendency to ramble.”

“I know.” You state neutrally. He gulps, feeling his ears redden in shame. Then you’re standing and turning to face him in one swift movement, a comforting smile on your lips. “I like it.”

For a moment he’s speechless. A feeling Tech is not used to. “Pardon?”

Then he notices something bright blue-green curled around your bare arm. Because you didn’t want to wear any armor for a nature walk. He has so many questions.

“I like talking to you. I always learn something new.” You calmly pet what Tech now recognizes as some kind of snake. “Your brothers don’t mind your talking either.”

He stares at you in shock. An odd warm, fluttery feeling blooms in his chest. Maybe he’s ill. You notice his stare and offer a shrug, like you soothe insecurities while adopting unknown creatures all the time. Maybe you do.

“This little guy was chilly so I offered him some body heat.”

You say it like that explains everything. Tech still has so many questions. “How could you tell he was uncomfortable?” He finally asks.

“In the force,” you answer plainly. “I can form emotional connections with animals. He's so calm because he can sense I want to help him.”

Okay. So you can communicate with animals. He’s adding that to his notes as soon as possible. Tech continues to stare at the colorful reptile. Where has he seen that scale pattern before? He made sure to research Felucia before their arrival so it’s reasonable to assume the snake popped up, but what is it’s name?

Tech frowns as he turns on his trusty datapad. He hates not knowing things. But before he can even open the app he remembers. Feluican tree viper. Venomous. He looks at your serene face in alarm.

“Don’t worry, Tech. He won’t hurt me,” you soothe, meeting his shocked gaze with a small smile. “I can feel your concern.”

He’s still put off by the venomous reptile wrapped around your flesh but he has to admit, it’s fascinating. He raises his datapad to take a pic. You wordlessly move the animal closer. “Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me that off missions.”

He hums noncommittally. The viper flicks out an orange tongue just as he snaps the holopic. “Do animals feel different than humans in the force?” He asks curiously.

“Mhmm it depends. All living things have a presence but creatures and plants are more... shallow." You give him a playful look, “I can recognize familiar signatures. I would never confuse you with a snake.”

“Do clones feel different from one another?”

“Of course they do!” You answer immediately, as if the question is ridiculous. “I could tell you apart blindfolded.”

He recalls a time the two of you were working on your droid when without looking up you greeted Crosshair who had entered the room. Tech didn’t think that much of it at the time. Growing up with a brother who can hear heartbeats and recognize scents he’s used to that kind of behavior. But now he’s curious.

“How do you perceive me?”

“You feel like… a tuned up engine.” Your eyes widen in alarm at your own words, the snake suddenly becoming restless against you. Tech is confused by your sudden change in demeanor. And slightly worried about the venomous reptile. If you get agitated while sharing an emotional connection with a creature, how will they react? For the first time in Tech life, he doesn't want to learn.

"Not in an inhuman way!” You splutter. “Your mind is just… a lot of working parts coming together. Is that rude?”

Tech has never been good at social cues but he is genuinely baffled now. Nothing about your explanation seemed snide or backhanded. “How would that be rude? It sounds like a fitting description.”

You take a calming breath as the viper slithers torwards your chest in an almost sympathetic way, small head resting over your heart. It's seemed to relax thankfully. It's almost like it's trying to comfort you? Fascinating. Your voice is meek when you answer, “well, some nat-borns treat clones like droids. I don’t want you to think I’m like that.”

Tech is caught off guard. Not only do you care about his emotions, you care what he thinks of you? That should be obvious. Why would he go on a nature walk with someone who views him as subhuman? Who doesn't respect him? He’s never been good at expressing himself so he just focuses on being honest. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t enjoy your presence. You have given me no reason to doubt your character.”

Your smile is gentle but meaningful. He awkwardly pushes up his goggles. Not one for emotional conversations he reverts to his comfort zone, researching. “What about my brothers?”

You hum thoughtfully as you bend down, allowing your snake friend to slither into the brush. You notice some fire colored flowers and plop onto the ground to get a closer look.

“Hunter is like… A calm forest.” You say, plucking a few of the plants. “Wrecker is fireworks.” You begin to tie the stems together with nimble fingers. “Crosshair is the air before a storm.”

Tech finds all your descriptions fitting. He's efficient. Hunter is steady. Wrecker is free spirited. Crosshair is harsh. That only leaves one member. “What about you?” He asks.

“Me?”

“How are you perceived by fellow jedi?”

“Well it changes from person to person but I’ve been told I’m bright and warm.” You explain as you stand. “My master once called me a shooting star.”

You suddenly thrust the hoop of flowers towards Tech. “It’s a necklace!” You explain proudly. He observes your innocent happiness as he dons the creation. He finds it hard to accept you’re the same warrior who took out 50+ battle droids only hours ago.

“Thank you, gen–” he cuts himself off, recalling your preferred nickname. “Thank you, Blossom.”

You positively beam. Tech is not force sensitive, nor does he understand the mystical energy field, yet he finds himself agreeing with your master’s assessment. You are indeed a shooting star.

[sithfox]

A playlist I made of both canonical in-universe music and fan-made songs, in Basic and Huttese both. All songs are something your blorbo could feasibly hear on the radio ❤️ Happy listening!

[trooperst-3v3]

You're lucky it was just a silly younglings' song. She knows a few Huttese metal numbers with lyrics scandalous enough to make your ears fall off, even if you don't speak the language.

That's not my fault, by the way. I've wiped them from her memory loads of times, but she somehow keeps finding the weirdest radio stations while I'm asleep.

My Senator Weems costume is coming along pretty well. And the tooka I’ve adopted is being friendly with Pudge and Miu Miu.

Excellent!

Tell me: Does the tooka shed as much as the cats?

If not, maybe I can convince K8-T3 to hang out with that instead.

I love Pudge and Miu Miu, but Katie keeps bringing them to our quarters to play and my sofa is constantly covered in cat hair.

Soon, I'm going to have to find a vaccum droid to live with me full-time. And with all the other droids that already live in my room, I have no idea where it's gonna fit.

[askbensolo]

the alderaanian waltz

we make dinner together on fridays and every week we switch who picks the music.

one week, classic jizz. the next week, rylothian folk. this week, sleemocore. but she hated the huttese growling vocals so i put on high republic classical instead.

'this reminds me of going to political galas with my mom,' i told her. 'i had to learn the traditional dances and everything.'

'you dance?' she asked, surprised and maybe amused. 'i didn't know.'

'i danced,' i said. 'let me see if i remember.'

i tried to demonstrate the steps to the best of my memory, but partner dances just look dumb when you do them by yourself.

'here, let me try again.' i set down my spatula and put her hand on my shoulder and put my hand on her side and one two three, one two three

one two three

one two three

'this is a very different kind of dancing than the kind my father's dancers do,' she said. it was a funny remark but also horribly sad.

'i suppose so,' i said.

one two three, one two three.

it felt a little different from dancing with my mom. i don't know how. just different.

one two three, one two three.

'you really are a gentleman,' she teased.

'i'm technically a prince too but it doesn't mean anything,' i said.

'oh? is that why you can be such a royal pain sometimes?'

'whoops, i stepped on your foot. oh sorry, i stepped on your foot again. gee, i just, dang, keep on stepping on your foot, i don't know why—'

'haha, ben, stop! you're heavy—'

suddenly the pot on the stove started boiling over and we both cried out and rushed to get it at the same time, laughing and tripping over each other and pushing each other out of the way

[cabezadeperro]

Hi! Can I ask for pocho + 44. sitting on the other’s lap?

hello!!!!!!!

pre-relationship, takes place during the war, before echo "dies" on the citadel. established echo5, T, ~1.1k words.

---

Echo checks the coordinates one last time and pushes the speeder forward,. Damp, hot wind crawls up from the dark, and Echo scrunches up his nose, missing his bucket. The civvie clothes aren’t his but Fives’s, who always had the stickier fingers of the two, and the jacket is too tight about the shoulders, and somehow too warm for the weather and not enough. Echo scowls impatiently at the speeder in front of his, paused in the middle of the empty skylane and waiting for the way down to clear—after a beat he rolls his eyes and cuts the engine, ducking under the other vehicle’s and cutting in front of it. Someone yells at him in Huttese. Echo rolls his eyes again and ignores them. 

He wants to go back to the front. He never loved Coruscant, and the experience of having to actually work in the city is making him hate it like he hates very few things. It’s loud, it’s smelly, and it’s insanely expensive. Fives keeps pestering him, asking for updates, telling him to visit this place or another, and Echo’s running out of ways to tell him that living in it is more expensive and more boring than spending your two-day leaves there now and then. Their respective schedules are so off it’d be funny if Echo was in a better mood: they talk little and not very often, and Echo misses him so much sometimes thinks he’s going to die from it. 

The jacket smells like him. Echo doesn’t sigh, quietly judging himself and his own banthashit, and forces his mind back on track.

He was told to take one of the suspiciously ample number of unmarked Corrie speeders and drive down to one of the lower levels, and to do it out of armour. He’s to pick up someone else—they didn’t tell him who, or why. 

Echo dislikes not knowing, dislikes the vagueness and the surety on his handler’s part that he’ll just yes-sir and do as he’s told, but by now he knows that’s how it goes. He will get the job done, and then he’ll go back to Arca—he’s been spending so long in the range there that his scores are within the ten highest on the list. 

The coordinates take him down the nearest chute, many levels below the surface, and to a small landing pad close to one of the entertainment districts. Echo parks the speeder and then stays inside, leaning in his seat with the engine off. He’s sweating under his leather jacket: it’s warmer than up top, and the air stinks of speeder exhaust and cooking food, the lights and the music that come in from the nearby streets distracting and alluring at once. 

One minute becomes two, three. Ten. echo’s impatience grows sharper and more bitter.

His comm beeps in his ear. Echo accepts the call with a scowl.

“1409,” a voice says. They sound like a clone trooper, but—off. Hoarser, lower.

“Copy.”

“Two levels down, next to Herrik’s garage. Get the speeder as close as you can to the wall and wait there. Five minutes.” 

The call ends. Echo lifts an eyebrow and starts the speeder again.

He can see Herrik’s from where he is, the shop’s neon boards shining poison green in the murky dusk of the chute. Echo drops across skylines, ducking under the top-heavy freighters floating their way back up to the surface, bored and impatient and already thinking about dinner, about taking a shower and maybe trying to call Fives again, and then—

Blaster shots, the noise unique and familiar and somehow comforting, and then a flash of dark clothing and dark eyes, and a smothering and sudden weight. One arm around Echo’s neck, warm breath against the side of his face, and

“Drive,” the clone trooper says. 

What the fuck.

Echo swerves away from the wall of the chute, the motion of the speeder pushing them back against the side, the other man heavy in his lap. He’s wearing civvies, and he stinks of tibanna discharge, and instead of moving off Echo’s lap he stays, looking back, deecee in one hand. There’s blood on his face.

“This’ll be easier if you get off my lap,” Echo says. 

The trooper blinks. He shifts and settles on the copilot seat, breathing hard. Echo doesn’t roll his eyes and pulls them higher, ignoring the skylanes, just pointing them towards the upper levels. 

They’re being followed. Lights, too far away to count properly, moving too fast. Echo scowls and switches gears, gets them under one of the big freighters, hides them in its shadow, and blaster shots slide uselessly over its hull, showering them in bright hot plasma.

“This won’t last,” the clone trooper says. “You should let me drive,” he continues. “I’m the better driver.”

He sounds so—sure of himself. Confident in his own abilities, or maybe just distrustful of Echo’s. He’s very—standard. Hair regulation short, no tattoos, no facial hair. Just scars, and that hoarse voice. He looks exactly like Echo, except in all the way he does not.

“No,” Echo replies. “I have my orders.”

“I can make it an order, then” the trooper says. 

It takes Echo longer than it probably should.

He has met Thire and Stone. Fives has met Thorn. Echo doesn’t know enough about Commander Fox to know if he’s the kind of man to pull rank just because he wants to drive a shitty speeder. 

“Of course, sir,” Echo replies. Not too slow, perfectly bland. The commander sighs, exasperated. He doesn’t move, and neither does Echo.

Echo shifts his grip on the controls, checks the rearview, glances up: he sees lights, lights, lights, and then a patch of orange sky. The sun’s setting on the surface. 

Fives would love this. He can never know. 

Echo feels the commander’s eyes on him all the way back to the surface, while they fight their way back to the Corrie barracks, and then on the Corrie medbay, Echo being treated for a nasty blaster burn on his back, the commander bleeding from his nose and his mouth and sitting on the cot next to his.

Later, he’ll wonder about Fox. He’ll find himself wondering about what kind of man jumps on moving speeders from great heights, Coruscant’s endless void under his feet and blaster shots at his back, about his flat dark gaze and his breath on Echo’s throat, but that night—tired, hurting, hungry, missing his friends and missing Fives—Echos ignores him the best he can. This is it, he believes. Fox’s already just another story.

(He’s wrong.)

[anonthefold]

I am totally on board with unique new tales of the universe from a perspective other than space wizards and big government. I like the idea of stories told that encapsulate the adventure and exploration of the world.

This looks really fun! I have a lot of hope for it to be entertaining!

Also can we just appreciate that someone sung a version of Major Tom in Huttese? Like yeah whatever licensed music in my fantasy BUT THAT IS SO FUCKING COOL IDGF WHAT YOU THINK

[kill-the-feels]

cuyan

a/n: hey everyone! i didn’t mean to leave y’all on such a cliffhanger last time for so long, but real life got in the way. once more, minimal Jango content, but the next chapter will fix that, promise! enjoy! :) (previous part) (masterlist)

word count: ~3.9k

warnings: implied/referenced slavery (Gardulla returns), implied/referenced child abuse, injury mention, blood/stabbing mention

It has been nearly ten years since the last time you stepped foot on Tatooine, and nearly twelve years since you found yourself being bartered away from Gardulla’s service.

For a long time, after escaping Gardulla, even on Kamino, you lived life like you were waiting on the other shoe to fall.

You didn’t let yourself be all the way happy, because you were so afraid that something would come and take that happiness. Anytime you felt joy, you carefully smothered it, tamping it down in your chest, like you were keeping the universe from finding out and snatching it away.

And then, just when you weren’t looking, just when you let your guard down, felt such unbridled joy, the universe did snatch it away.

But.

You are not going to go quietly.

The planet has not changed much — the same harsh winds, relentless suns, and ever-shifting sands. But what was once a palace that housed Gardulla and her ill-gotten gains has fallen into a bit of disrepair.

As you stare up at the spires, once as tall and as sharp as her tongue, you see the way they’ve started to crumble in on themselves.

Once a place for lookouts, they’re now defunct and in need of serious repair.

The front door is much the same. Time and whipping sands have stripped the paint; the lavish purple now a dull grey lavender, bleached by the harsh environment.

The hinges squeak as you push open the door, and no one is there to stop you.

It seems in the dawning of a new era, Gardulla has quietly and slowly — but surely — been left behind.

Perhaps you won’t have to part with as many credits and weapons as you thought.

The inside of the palace is dark, the lamps long since spent of their fuel, and a layer of soot covers everything. The helmet allows you to see more than you normally would, filtering the shadows and increasing the contrast automatically. No wonder Jango can see so well in Kamino’s storms.

Grit crunches under your boot as you take the familiar path towards Gardulla’s lair, at the very center with her precious throne.

There’s faint music playing, but it’s scratchy — a recording and a far cry from the live bands she once entertained.

A mass of people is huddled in the room, much more subdued than you’re used to, a smokey haze curling around everyone.

Few people give you an interested glance — most look bored out of their minds. You recognize none of them; the old girls and the people who used to hang out here are gone or dead, a product of the life they were forced into.

And there, in the very center, is the Hutt herself. She’s snapping something churlish at a young man who holds a tray, and he scurries off, tripping over her tail as he goes.

You follow his path, stopping when you see the little girl at the end of Gardulla’s tail.

She’s young, far younger than you ever were, with long, stringy hair, and brown eyes that seem to look right through you, as she becomes the first person in the room to take real notice of you.

“Bring me a fucking drink,” Gardulla howls in Huttese, skin quivering in rage.

It’s a strange power dynamic now. Here you are, back in the same room, looking at a little girl in the same spot you were. Only now, you’re the one in the armor; you’re the one with the hidden past and the ulterior motives.

You step out of the shadows without a word, waiting on Gardulla to notice you. Her tail tightens around the little girl’s ankle, and you watch the girl wince before she catches herself, shoulders straightening.

White hot anger courses through your body, and ultimately, it’s what gives you the strength to speak.

“Gardulla.” Her name is a harsh sound in the midst of the droning music, and you watch as she turns to you, visibly trying to place your voice through the crackling modulation of the helmet’s filter.

You don’t give her a choice.

“I need a bacta tank. No questions. Fifty thousand credits.” The Huttese is rusty on your tongue, but as you speak, it comes back to you. She stares at you, silent for once in her life, as she processes your words.

“Who said that?” she asks, and you step further forward, until you’re in the center of the room, in the center of the circle.

“I did.” She stares down at you from her throne, and you’re struck by the irony. She used to be so big to you, and in your mind, she’s always been this hulking shadow, never quite vanquished.

But now, up close, with all these years removed, you can see her for what she is: just a scared and conning gangster, trying desperately not to lose what little power she has left.

“You’re not Fett,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you. You study her for a long moment in return, refusing to cower away.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. I need a bacta tank. You can get it. And you clearly need the credits.” She waves a hand, obviously stalling.

“Still, I should think you would be willing to… indulge me. You come into my house, start making these demands? I would think you’d want to get on my good side.” The young man returns with the drink, and she snatches it up, taking a long draw before tossing it away.

It glances off the little girl’s shoulder, and she barely flinches. Your fists curl in an effort to refrain from removing one of Jango’s blasters and ending the Hutt where she sits.

“I should think for fifty thousand credits you’d be willing to listen to my demands,” you say. Her head tilts.

“And yet, there’s something familiar about you. And if there’s one thing I like almost as much as credits, it’s having my curiosity satisfied.” You stare at her, weighing your options.

Finally, you reach up and snag off the helmet. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust in the dark, hazy room, and you blink back the sting of smoke.

You see when it registers just who you are. Her mouth opens and closes as she mouths your name, and you tilt your head impatiently, ready to get on with it.

“I thought you died,” she finally says. You reach into the bag and pull out a handful of credits.

“Fifty thousand for a bacta tank and no questions. And another fifty thousand for the girl.” Gardulla stiffens and the little girl’s head jerks up.

“She’s not for sale. I’m training her to be a dancer.” You let out a humorless laugh.

“For what, Hutt? There’s no one around even remotely interested in that. Your place is shit. Take the credits and fix it up. Get someone better down the line.” Her lip curls, but you can see it in her eyes. She’s not going to turn you down. She values the money too much, just like you knew she would, greedy bastard that she is.

“Fifty thousand for the tank, seventy-five for the girl,” she counters. You know she’s expecting you to protest. What she doesn’t know is that you were prepared to part with much more, before you saw the state of things.

“Deal. Where’s the tank?” She’s flustered. Her tail loosens and the girl shoves it off, rushing to your side. She’s a little younger than Boba, and despite the heat, she shivers beside you.

“Well, I-I didn’t realize you’d take the deal. What I meant to say is that it’s seventy-five for both.” She tries to backtrack, and your hand drifts down to one of the blasters as you pull your helmet back on.

“Don’t piss me off,” you warn. “I can take these credits elsewhere and leave you with nothing.” She grits her teeth. Gardulla doesn’t like to lose.

You cock your head, waiting.

She hollers for two of her guards.

“There’s a spare tank in the north room. Bring it to me.” You cross your arms as you wait, and finally, the two emerge, the tank on a floating platform between them. Carefully, you count out the credits, still mildly surprised she agreed to this in the first place, without you having to part with any weapons. The girl says nothing as she watches you.

Finally done, you push the tank forward and out of the room, nodding at the little girl who follows closely behind you. Remembering how scared you were in her position, you wait until you round the corner, out of Gardulla’s sight, then kneel beside her, careful not to touch her.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been where you were. Once I get you out of here, you’re free to go wherever you want, okay? What’s your name?” She shakes her head, and you nod.

“That’s okay. I’m not big on trusting people either.” You glance down at her feet. Like your past self, she has no shoes. You have no cape, but you do have the bag the credits were in, so you tear it up.

“The sand outside is hot. It burns. If you put this on your feet, it’ll help.” You show her how to tie it off, fighting the urge to go kill Gardulla when you see the raw skin around her ankle, where Gardulla’s tail must have constricted, day after day.

“When we get out of here, I’ll find you something better,” you whisper. She hesitates, then looks up a you with a tiny nod. Something swells in your chest, and you consider it a small victory.

As you step outside, the late afternoon suns hit you in the face. Even with the helmet, you’re squinting, and the girl cowers back. Without thinking, you reach up and tug off the helmet.

“Here. This will help filter the sun so it’s not so bright.” She pulls it down over her head, and it tilts slightly to the side, just a little too big for her.

A cruel laugh echoes over the sand.

“As a live and breathe. A former Gardulla Girl.” You turn. There, slipping out of the crest of a dune, is a pink Twi’lek. You squint in the sun.

“Maswoni?” Years and years ago, the Twi’lek was one of the favorites. Now, it’s clear that the years have not been kind. She’s scarred and missing some of her right lekku. The bags under her eyes are visible, even from a distance, and the provocative dress she wore as a dancer has been replaced by a baggy flightsuit and utility belt. She’s picking at her sharp nails with a blade.

“In the flesh,” she replies. Her gaze is hostile as it lands on you, jumping between you and the girl.

“Still as noble as ever,” she adds. In a flash, Maswoni flings the blade at you, and you duck, shoving the girl down behind the tank.

“Stay here,” you tell her, trying to draw Maswoni’s attention elsewhere. If she messes up the tank, you’re back to square one.

You’re also aware you’re running out of time. The longer it takes you to deal with Maswoni, the more time you waste that you could spend helping Jango. If you don’t die first, that is.

She charges at you with a shriek, and you duck as she fires the blaster at your head. You’re a terrible shot with the blaster, so you know you’re going to have to get in close.

Jango’s lesson comes rushing back to you.

Don’t fight to win, fight to get away.

“Listen to me,” you whisper to the girl. “I’m going to distract her. I want you to take and push this towards the city — it’s over the dunes. There’s a ship with blue and yellow details, twin blaster cannons, real funny looking. I need you to take it there. Please.” She looks between you and the still-charging Maswoni, visibly torn. Finally, mercifully, she nods, then grabs your arm. You watch as she takes off the helmet, pushing it into your chest.

“Are you sure?” you ask her, and she nods again. You waste no time in slipping it back on.

You step out from behind the tank, unholstering your blaster as you do.

The armor, as you have seen, can take a few hits. But the closer she gets, the deadlier they’ll be. You have to knock the blaster out of her hand, you decide. Get rid of it, engage her in a hand-to-hand fight. That’ll keep her busy long enough for the girl to get away, then you can run.

To throw her off guard, you fire a few shots near her, but it’s painfully clear you don’t know how to shoot.

She pings one off your right shoulder, and you stumble backwards, tripping in the sand. It’s been years since you’ve had to move around the shifting sands, and the armor adds weight that you’re not used to. As you stumble, you catch your hand in the spare utility belt hiding the old blaster shot. It tugs to the side, exposing it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the little girl and the tank, slinking away. Good. Boba will know what to do if she makes it to him. But that’s a big if.

You fall flat on your back as another shot hits your other shoulder, the wind knocked out of you. Everything in you screams at you to get up, but a quiet voice keeps you still.

Anything can be a weapon. She needs to be closer.

You play dead, blaster shot in the middle of your chest on prominent display. To her eyes, it looks like she got you center mass. A kill shot.

It’s a calculated move, because the little girl is still not far enough away, but Maswoni is entirely focused on you. You hear the crunch of her footsteps in the sand, feel the stray grains she’s kicked up dust over the helmet. Your eyes remain fixed on her figure, the benefit of a helmet. She can’t tell you’re watching her, waiting.

Ten feet. Seven. Five. Two.

She leans over you, nudging you with her toe, and still, you don’t move.

It’s not until she bends down, tries to snatch the helmet off you, that you spring into action.

With a cry, you kick at her hands, knocking the blaster away. She cries out too, falling backwards and taking your helmet with her, even as she reaches for her other blaster. You don’t give her a chance, instead tackling her backwards and pinning her in the sand. Frantically, you toss the blaster as far away as you can get it.

The two of you wrestle there, you just trying to subdue her, Maswoni trying to kill you.

She lands a solid punch on the side of your head, leaving you dazed as she rolls away. Maswoni scrambles for the blade she threw at you to start this whole fight. You reach for your own blade, still stuck on your back in the sand, blinking away the grey at the edge of your vision.

With a howl, she leaps at you, knife pointed at your neck. Your hands fumble as you try to get your own knife up between you two, to block the blade. She lands on your chest, and you tense, prepared to feel the sting on your neck, feel the hot blood seep out.

Instead, she goes limp, a gasping cough escaping from her lips.

Your knife is buried in her chest, sticky blood starting to seep over your hands.

Her hand trembles and she tries to force it to work, to stab you, but she’s too weak. Carefully, you role her off you, and stand on shaky legs, swallowing the bile that rises in the back of your throat.

“Why did it have to be fucking you?” Maswoni says in between gasps.

You kneel beside her, not relishing the ending she’s been dealt. She’s right. Your roles could oh, so easily, have been reversed.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. She scowls, looking away at the suns, which have started to slip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the two of you.

“We used to talk, y’know. About how long you’d make it. Every single one of them thought he’d kill you. But I knew you. You were too fucking stubborn to go down so easily, even if you acted scared all the time.” Her voice is choked and bitter, the words spat at you.

You gently pry the knife out of her hands, biting your lip as you look down at her.

“Maswoni,” you say, trying to figure out how to apologize. For stabbing her, for what she’s been through, all of it.

“Don’t,” she says. “Let me have my dignity. You beat the system. You won. Now get out of here. Before it pulls you back in.” Her eyes close and a sad, bitter smile graces her lips. Her next words are delivered softly, as if she’s resigned herself to what comes next.

“It never would have been me, anyways. Every time he’d come in there, he was always looking at you.” Carefully, you take her hand, hands smeared with blood and sand, wanting her to have some comfort, a gentle touch, something, before she dies. She snorts softly, pressing a hand to her wound, and with one long exhale, she’s gone.

You hang your head, fighting a sudden rush of tears. It isn’t fair. Maswoni, who used to be vapid and mean, but also entirely ready to protect the other girls at Gardulla’s, the one you could always count on to fight back.

Gone. In a blink.

The winds pick up, shifting the dunes, starting to cover her feet. You find your blade, and hers, and tuck them both into your belt. A quick look around reveals the helmet nearly covered, and you tug it back on, leaving bloody fingerprints on it, watching through the twilight as the sands reclaim Maswoni. Another breath, and she’s gone, the sands perfectly undisturbed, no evidence of your fight except the extra blade.

Your force your feet to move on, and when you crest the dune, you don’t look back. ~~~ You find the girl, stumbling through the sands, resolutely pushing the bacta tank, and you help her get it the rest of the way, slapping the side of the ship to let Boba know you’re back.

The ramp lowers, and you shove the tank up, catching the girl’s hand when she hesitates.

“You can come in,” you tell her. “I told you I’d get you out of here, and then you’re free to go wherever.” She settles in the corner as you position the tank along the wall and toss the helmet in a nearby seat.

“Boba!” you shout, and he rushes down the ladder. You’ve never hooked up one of these, don’t know what to do, and neither does Boba, but surely between the two of you, you can figure something out.

Boba notices the little girl as he messes with the control panel.

“Who’s she?” He glances between you and the girl, and you catch the way his eyes linger on the dried blood covering the armor. You tug a spare tube, trying to figure out what it connects to.

“Gardulla was keeping her. I didn’t like that.” You’re vague, having never really told Boba about your past, and now is not the time to elaborate.

“Buir, how did you even find this?” Boba asks, a strange inflection — awe maybe? — in his tone, and you shake your head. Not the time, you repeat.

The girl creeps out of the corner and touches your hand, pointing to one last spare tube. You frown.

“I see it, but where does it go?” She hesitates, glancing between you two for permission.

“Go ahead,” Boba says. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Her eyes go wide, but she scurries under the tank, pulling the tube and connecting it to some unseen valve.

The lights flicker on, and the tank starts to fill.

“Yes!” You and Boba cheer.

“Okay,” you tell Boba. “I’m going to get Jango in the tank. Can you get us in atmo?” He nods and the girl slinks back to her corner. Boba pauses right before he climbs up the ladder, instead heading for the bunks in the ship.

He returns, carrying Ai-Ai. Gently, he places the toy in front of the girl.

“For you,” he explains. “He makes me feel better.” The girl watches him with big eyes, and you blink a few times to clear the tears, frozen as he climbs the ladder, so mature and so calm in that moment. You’re not sure when he grew up. Just that one moment he was a baby, and now he’s just like his father.

Right.

Jango.

With the little girl watching you, you carefully strip the remains of Jango’s flightsuit.

You’re in the process of adjusting the bacta levels — not wanting to splash it everywhere when Jango is put in — when the little girl sits up suddenly.

Her eyes stay focused on Jango as her grip tightens on Ai-Ai and you pause.

“What’s up?” you ask. She shakes her head, unwilling to look away, and you step closer.

He isn’t breathing.

The realization sticks your feet to the floor, wasting precious seconds and your body goes hot then cold in the matter of a second.

“Shit,” you hiss, falling on your knees beside him. You don’t know what to do.

Patrons used to die at Gardulla’s all the time, in sudden and increasingly creative ways. You’ve never seen them brought back to life, though.

Think.

You close your eyes, wracking through your brain for anything. There was a safety training video you half-watched once, listening as Boba watched on the holopad while you worked on something else.

You have to press his chest, hard. And breathe air into his lungs.

The girl curls into a ball, and you bite down on your lip, placing the palm of one hand on the back of the other. In the video, they pressed hard enough to break ribs.

Jango’s ribs already feel pretty busted when you press, but you suppose it’s either busted ribs or death, so hopefully he’ll forgive you.

You’ve no idea how many times you’re supposed to press, so you take a guess, stopping when your arms ache. The breaths. You’re fairly sure it was two breaths, long breaths at that, so you tilt his head back, holding his nose — it feels like a logical conclusion, a way to keep the air in.

You slot your mouth over his like a twisted kiss and blow, once, twice.

Nothing.

You go back to pressing on his chest, the tears coming quickly now.

“Don’t you fucking do this to me,” you plead, pressing hard enough that you feel something give.

“I need you. You told me you were a survivor. That we were survivors. Cuyan. Cyare, what am I supposed to do?” Back to the breaths.

His mouth is cold against yours, a fact that registers uncomfortably at the front of your mind.

“Please,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his.

Jango coughs, just once, and draws a raspy breath, then another. You sag against him before drawing yourself up. Into the bacta tank. You can’t wait any longer.

It takes some finagling, but you manage to get him in with minimal jostling, tugging a mask over his face to give him air, and pushing a button to seal him in.

Now. You wait.

[numerousbees1106]

Angstpril Day 1 - Homesick

This Loneliness Insists On Ripping Out My Wings

Loneliness was a grotesque, soul-crushing thing, a cancer that consumed someone from the inside out, rotting the mind and hollowing out one’s enjoyment of life until nothing is left but an empty crevice filled with the phantoms of better days. It wilted the flowers of the garden of one’s soul, crushed their emotional state like rubble at a quarry, slipped inside one’s thoughts like a parasite to warp their perception of the world around them. And, Anakin thought, the worst part was the inability to escape it all. It was a vicious cycle, loneliness - one he hadn’t managed to break free of. Obi-Wan was… fine, but he was distant at the best of times, absent at the worst of times. Anakin missed the warmth of his Family, of Mom and Kitster and all the others.

Slaves didn’t have much - community was everything. And while the Jedi did have a sense of community within the temple, it was alien to him, a bizarre culture of emotional detachment and mental distance and physical isolation. Where the slaves revered touch - for some, it was the only time touch wasn’t used to harm, and thus was infinitely precious - the Jedi found it rude and invasive. Hugs, shoulder touches, the gentle grazing of skin against skin in silent reassurance that the other person is still there - all were frowned upon. And Anakin - he felt alone. All his life he had grown up exposed to a world of constant touch. His mother gingerly carding through his hair, holding him tight to her chest or to her side, tangling their arms and legs together as they slept to prevent one or the other from getting snatched away in the night. Kitster’s constant closeness, one of the few good things he had known throughout his short life, the two of them pressed together even in the heat of the desert noon, an act that both cemented their bond and allowed them to take up as little space as possible - a must, for slave children. It also helped discourage attacks, and for that reason the slave children traveled in groups or not at all. The Grandmother’s hands, wrinkled and gnarled and scarred from a life of hard work, brushing up against his hands and arm, brief moments of reassurance that he was fine, she was fine, they were both alright, he was part of the group and she was part of the group, they were a Clan, and a hundred other miniature messages passed on in mere moments.

The slaves had many languages - they had to, to communicate across the innumerable language barriers generated by mass sentient trafficking, and to pass on messages under the Masters’ watchful eyes. Sign language was one, touch was another, the slave language - a hodgepodge of a dozen or so languages - a third. Huttese was common by necessity, but not preferred, and languages such as Basic were spoken rarely. Each and every street was a cacophony of different languages, and those languages’ dialects, and those dialects’ various accents. The markets were full of chatter so diverse in its origin that the chaos ceased to be chaos and instead became a musical murmur, a background drone that he had found soothing.

No such murmur was present at the temple. Rather, every Jedi either spoke Basic, or had a translator device to speak Basic if they were physically incapable of doing so. As such, a kind of mind-numbing monotony is dominant, the homogenized similarity scraping against his mind like fungus, rotting his brain with the sheer lack of variation.

Oh, but not everything was understimulation - the sheer amount of textures present in the temple alone was, on bad days, far too much for him to handle. On Tatooine, textures were fairly limited - mostly, it was sand, with the occasional low-quality metal or sandstorm-blasted stone or rough rock. Wood was somewhat common, though often sanded down and low quality, shipped at a cheap price from forested worlds. Glass was rare, except in bottles, and bantha fur and hide were common-ish too with the freeborn families.

But on Coruscant, in the Jedi temple? Texture was everywhere. There were a million kinds of stone, all with unique qualities, all utilized unevenly as if designed specifically to mess with him. Limestone, granite, diorite, andesite, quartz, sheet rock, cobblestone - all either raw or refined, sanded or unsanded, laminated or non-laminated - and that was just the rocky textures! There seemed to be an infinite number of fabric textures, and a hundred thousand wooden textures. More metallic textures existed in the temple than Anakin had even known existed. So many different degrees of ‘soft’ and ‘hard’ and ‘rough’ and ‘smooth existed that it made his mind spin. It both fascinated him, and made him feel even lonelier. He found time and time again that the joy of discovery was marred by not having anyone to share it with. Obi-Wan didn’t care, neither did his peers. They lacked the reference to know why he was amazed by it all, and instead thought him bizarre. Kitster would have been just as amazed, and his mother would be delighted to foster his exploration - the fact that nobody here cared only made him miss them more.

And that was the whole thing about homesickness, wasn’t it? Missing someone or something or many things - ultimately, homesickness was a compilation of yearnings, a desire for the familiar and routine, and even though Anakin knew that for him, that routine was a lifetime of slavery, he still missed his home. He missed his family. He missed his Clan.

He missed when he didn’t feel so alone.

[completewermosguidetohuttese]

Please check out this inkabunga band, The Kyberpunks!!! I did a little Huttese languauge help with for their lyrics. They've got some really fun and catchy songs, upbeat and great for dancing!

[isagrimorie]

IGYAH KAH - Sabine Wren Intro music

Huttese Space Punk

[vodika-vibes]

Please talk about Xyn a bit more than "him being smaller/thinner than Jango" is he baby? is he precious clumsy baby? what's wrong?

Thank you for the ask ~ ❤️

Xyn stands at 5'5", and is built like a bean pole. Skinny and scrawny. This should bother him, but the only time it does is when Go picks him up and carts him around like a tooka.

Xyn loves music. If he could choose what to do with his life, he would be a musician of some sort. Riff bought him a wooden flute once, and it's Xyn's most prized possession.

He's not capable of keeping up with his brothers in most combat scenarios. He's not fast enough, not strong enough, and he's not as confident with weapons.

He shouldn't have survived the hell training that the Shadow Squad went through, but did because Riff is an overprotective bastatd who had no qualms about faking Xyn's scores.

Xyn is quiet, easy to overlook, especially when compared to the more gregarious Go.

He worries that people think he's creepy because of how quiet he is and because he has a hard time connecting with other people.

He likes fruits and vegetables, and isn't the biggest fan of sweets, but he will eat candied strawberries.

Xyn is vegetarian.

Riff was the person who pointed him towards intelligence work. Xyn will never be able to keep up with his brothers in combat, but he can use his brain and his small stature to help keep them safe.

Xyn is a bit clumsy, but only because he doesn't pay attention to his surroundings when in a safe place. He has walked into walls and fallen down stairs because he forgot they were there.

He speaks four languages: Mando'a, Basic, Binary, and Huttese.

He created his name by picking three random letters and stringing them together in a way that is slightly pronouncable.

[soundwavefucker69]

Okay here we go.

It was Bogo that had convinced him to come out. Nobu had been nervous about it. He hadn't had a 'night out' since he came to Nar Shaddaa, and Ashanti had agreed with Bogo that Nobu needed to get out of the house and go have some fun. He had practically been bullied into it.

They had gone to a bustling club, and there were chairs set up around a little stage. Apparently, there was going to be a show, so Nobu bought a drink and sat down to wait. Bogo seemed excited enough, saying he had waited for three weeks for this, and Nobu was content to sip on his drink and watch the show from his seat in the back.

It started in an explosion of color, and for a second Nobu wasn't quite certain what he was seeing. There was a beautiful woman on stage, lip synching and dancing to a wild, upbeat song in Huttese, and it took Nobu a second, longer than a second, really, to figure out what was going on.

"Bogo... Did you take me to a drag show?" he asked his friend over the music, and Bogo beamed at him.

"Isn't it great?" Bogo thundered over the music, and Nobu stared at him, because he did... Not actually expect that from his friend. Not at all. Honestly, he was more shocked that Bogo wanted to be here than he was at being here.

"Alright, then," Nobu said, and turned his attention back to the scantily clad woman dropping into the splits on the stage.

This was happening, he guessed. This was very much happening.

[lonewolflupe]

aLoF ch16 | Burial Of The Conscious Mind

First of all, I am SO sorry for being a week late with this chapter - I just couldn't find the time to finish the last gaps. There's a lot going on in this chapter, and I needed it all to fit together (I hope I managed that). Whilst writing this chapter, it all turned a bit darker and angstier than I anticipated (I accidentally created some sort of sick lovechild between Rampart and Hemlock, I am so sorry in advance I didn't plan this it just happened as I was writing this chapter I apologise and I hate him I want to punch him I am so sorry). Please read the end note as well! And again, I am SO sorry for this chapter!!

Summary: whilst searching for clues, an encounter continues to change Lupe's life for the worse Rating: Mature/Explicit (NSFW) Tags: canon-typical violence, sexual insinuations (but no actual sexual interactions), swearing (usage of slang; kriff/kriffing = fuck/fucking, kark/karky = shit/shitty), drinking/intoxication by booze, torture (interrogation/needles/electric shocks), angst (anxiety/hurt/dark thoughts/trauma/guilt), clone abuse Words: 10.687 Characters: Lupe (OC), Jabba the Hutt, Bossk (cameo), Vice Admiral Trent (OC), CT-6830 Silk (OC), unidentified Scrapper Guild members, unidentified clone troopers; mentions of: ARC-5555 Fives, CT-7567 Captain Rex, Lone Wolf Squad (OCs) aLoF masterlist | AO3 ch15 < | ↓ | > ???

19 BBY, Outer Rim | Arkanis Sector | Tatooine

(About a month after chapter 15)

The partially lit palace room on the unforgiven desert planet was filled with lively music and exotic dancers when Lupe entered it. Her boots made a heavy, thudding sound with every step. The armour on her legs was tucked away behind a bundle of rags, whilst the pieces on her arms were painted to make her look more like some kind of mercenary. She had hated to desecrate her clone armour like this, but she didn't have a choice. What she hated even more was definitely the helmet she was wearing.

She positioned herself opposite to the hoversled that carried the crime lord known as Jabba the Hutt. She made sure to stay clear from the hatch on the floor; it was obvious to everyone it was a hatch, right? She lifted a bloody bag and took out its contents. She tossed the severed head towards the crime lord, leaving a trace of blood as it hit the floor, rolling towards the hoversled and finally coming to a stop.

The room fell silent. She remained at her spot in silence, putting one hand on her hip whilst she awaited the Hutt’s reaction. And when it came, it sent a tremor through the room, as his booming laugh was low and deep. The colourful array of attendees carefully joined in the laughter. They fell silent when Jabba started talking in Huttese, the protocol droid at his side stepping forward and ready to translate.

“The great Jabba is most pleased with this outcome. He asks you to reconsider a more permanent position in his service,” the droid told Lupe, and she couldn't help but huff. “Oh, I will reconsider,” she lied, but with enough confidence so they seemingly believed her; never in the remains of the galaxy was she going to join this slimy poodoo. “But first, I'm here for my payment.”

It wasn't credits Lupe required; she was after intel. And she needed to be careful whom to ask. Since it was now considered sensitive Imperial information, she couldn't be too careful poking around, turning over stones that were meant to stay untouched. But she had to find Rex, figure out what had happened. And in her need to find him, she found herself at a new low, pretending to be some bounty hunter to please this low-life of a gangster. She at least hoped Fives would have found amusement in this.

The bounty she had collected was some slippery sleemo that had evaded every bounty hunter so far - until she had come along. But with her Jedi senses - although she was being more careful than ever to use them out in the open - it hadn't taken her too long to sniff him out. And when she did.. Well, it hadn't been pretty. She had no intention in killing him, although she could imagine his faith as Jabba’s prisoner was probably worse than death. But when she had found him, he had made a run for it. And let's say his skills weren't really on a Jedi level; whilst attempting to jump to another rooftop, he hadn’t been able to reach the other side. He fell down and had broken his neck, killing him instantly. And since he was so unfortunately deceased, Lupe thought it would be in her best interest to make a good show out of this.

“The mighty Jabba asks if you changed your mind and want the credits instead,” the protocol droid continued. Lupe crossed her arms before addressing them. “I haven't. I came for the intel and I'm not leaving without it,” she said, the voice regulator in her helmet making it sound low and raspy. A silence before Jabba and his translator continued. “Suit yourself. The great Jabba merely wants you to know it is dangerous to meddle with the Empire's affairs.” She huffed again, wondering if that really was what ‘the great Jabba’ was saying. But she didn't regret learning Mando'a over Huttese one bit.

“I wouldn't be here, meddling with the great Jabba’s affairs, if I couldn't handle some Imperials,” she shot at them, resulting in another booming laugh. Jabba slightly leaned forward - she thought he did anyway, but there was so much Hutt she couldn't be sure of any of his bodily movements - and, to her horror, licked his lips with his greasy tongue before continuing the conversation. Kriffing gross. “The great Jabba would grant you more than the intel if you decided to stay,” the protocol droid translated, its voice emotionless and lost on Jabba's insinuations.

“Just. The intel. Your Excellency,” she said through gritted teeth, scolding herself for stroking his obnoxious ego. But she didn't have another choice; she needed the intel. He bellowed another laugh through the room, before finally giving in. He must have been in a good mood during that rotation. The protocol droid translated the Huttese dialogue: “There is a junkyard planet in the Mid Rim, called Bracca. You might find what you need there.”

Might? All this effort for a kriffing hunch? She could have just treated some old mechanic to a drink and they would have told her. Lupe was fuming inside, but she couldn't let her emotions get the better of her; Jabba was in a good mood, but that could change with the snap of a finger, were she to say - or do - anything she might regret. She didn't want to give him a reason to make any rash decisions. So with the utmost effort, she thanked them for their time, and made it for the exit. She wanted to get out of this place as quickly as possible, ready to wipe the image of Jabba's tongue - and everything else - from her memories.

A huge Trandoshan blocked her way out, and lost in thoughts, she almost bumped into him. Annoyed yet cautious, Lupe let her gaze slide upwards, where she found a pair of orange eyes piercing through her visor. “Careful, sssweetheart,” the man hissed, “The Ssscrapper Guild opperatesss on Bracca. They report to the Empire.” Lupe frowned her brows below her helmet, not sure why he would aid her like this. Was this considered courtesy among bounty hunters? A moment of silence before she regained herself. “Thanks, Bossk. Next drink’s on me,” she thanked him, whilst flipping a credit towards him. He moved aside to catch it, and that was Lupe's cue to move past him, rushing to get away from this dreadful place.

---

Mid Rim | Bracca System | Bracca

It was dark when Lupe landed her shuttle on the surface of the planet. The emerging fog made it hard to find a safe spot, and she wished it had been Claw in the pilot's seat. She had always trusted him with his piloting skills, never worried about any of his landings. She managed her own landing with a heavy thud, sending a sharp nerve-wracking sting through her guts. She shut up the beeping alarms by turning off the freighter's power, and let out a deep sigh before she leaned back in the chair.

She reached for a bottle at her side, and finished whatever booze was still present in it. When it was empty, she tossed it behind her, the glass shattering when it hit the durasteel floor. She looked around the cockpit for more, but couldn't spot any. Kriff, that was probably the last one. Another good reason to get her thrusters off the seat and continue with whatever she was doing here.

When the boarding walk lowered, she was welcomed by the fog. It was a wry reminder of how little she knew about the Empire and their reasoning, about what had happened to the Jedi Order and what was going on throughout the galaxy right now; it was all shrouded in fog. Of course she had picked up some intel along the road, but it was still a big mystery to her. The only thing she knew for sure right now was that she couldn't let anyone know she was a Jedi.

A sigh before she wrapped the cloth around her and walked into the fog, ready to find whatever was waiting for her - that being the intel she was looking for, or more disappointments she was getting used to. She climbed some nearby debris, trying to get a better view of her surroundings. She needed to reach for higher grounds.

After some more climbing, Lupe found her spot. It was hard to recognise the wreckages of the ships she passed, but now that she had reached higher ground and let her gaze slide over the horizon, her breath caught in the back of her throat. In the distance, a dark structure against the slowly illuminating morning sky, there was the eerie sighting of a Venator-class Star Destroyer. It awoke feelings inside her she didn't know any ship could bring her; fondness over the memories of a bygone time, hurt over what had happened. It was bittersweet.

She pulled herself together and took a datapad from her belt. She was adapting, and started to remember carrying necessary gear around. The boys would be proud, although she knew Twist never minded providing her with whatever she needed. A half-smile appeared on her face as she accessed the scanner function of the device.

This wasn't going to be an easy job. The Galactic Empire had only just emerged from the looming shadows it was preying from. Lupe wasn't sure if any of the Republic wreckages even had the intel she was searching for at their disposal. But since she had nothing to lose, she was going to try anyway. If she could find a more recent ship, something with direct ties to the current Empire, that might give her what she was looking for. And so she started her search.

---

It took her several rotations, and she had only been able to cover an insignificantly small part of the junkyard. She had to be careful not to get spotted by the occasional scrappers, as she was trying to hide her presence from any passersby. She was running short on ration bars, and she needed something containing alcohol. Badly.

“Maker, look where you've gotten me,” she grunted out loud, aiming her frustrations at Fives before she took a bite of her last ration bar. There was no water left in her canteen, and she sure didn't feel like drinking from any of the nasty puddles out there. Today was her last chance; after this rotation, she really needed to move on. But she didn't have any other leads. She had to find something here.

Whilst sitting on some rubble, her gaze kept sliding back towards the Venator, which she had nearly reached by now. She sighed before putting away the remainder of the ration bar; she needed to save some for later, since she still had quite some ground to cover. She got herself back on her feet, and whilst keeping a sharp eye out for any scrappers, she started her ascend. Reluctant to use any Force-jumps, afraid anyone laying eyes on her might make the connection, she was sorely relying on her body's strength as she climbed the debris.

When she finally reached the plateau, she swallowed when the massive cruiser overshadowed her. She felt so small, standing in the shadow of the Republic's remnants. Pain and longing filled her chest. But she had to keep moving, she couldn’t dwell on things that would never be again; she had to pull herself together. And so she did.

With a newfound confidence, she found her way through the belly of the beast, all the way up towards the bridge. Good thing she knew the interior of a Venator, although she had never seen one so far gone, as if she had found herself inside a decaying creature. Her thoughts running back and forth, she tried to keep an eye out on her surroundings. She wasn't expecting any sentient species here, but she was currently more wary of any non-sentient ones. She didn't want to end up some creature's meal.

When she finally reached the bridge, she advanced slowly, memories taking a hold of her mind. It was almost as if she could see Master Plo and Commander Wolffe standing in front of her, gazing through the transparisteel viewport into the vastness of space. Waiting for her to join them, to move forward into their next mission. Her heart seemed to be shattering all over again. Where were they?

She tossed herself back into reality with an annoyed grunt. “Thanks, Fives. Happy memories,” she shot out sarcastically, before heading towards the bridge’s central computer. She needed enough power to access it, but wasn't in need to get the engines up; it wasn't as if this cruiser was still able to get airborne anyway. Luckily, Twist had taught her a trick to power up a computer without the need of boosting the whole ship. She just wished he was here to do the job; he was so much better at it than her, and he was so much more patient.

She worked quickly to boost the power she needed to get the central computer running. Of course it took her longer than Twist would have needed. “Shut it, Fang,” she scolded out loud, because she swore she could hear some witty remark about her technological inabilities. “I don't need to be good at it, since we have Twist,” she continued under her breath, working on some wiring, not really paying attention to the words coming from her own mouth.

And thank the Maker, it still had some power left. The computer's internal programming whirred up and the familiar sounds of the ship's controls made her heart ache from bittersweet memories, from moments long gone. She bit her lip to focus on the physical pain it caused, instead of the psychological hurt from the memories. She connected her datapad to a socket and patched into the system. “Alright Fives, show me what you've got.”

The amount of files she found on what was referred to as the ‘Great Jedi Purge’ made her nauseous. There wasn't time to read them all, to transfer them all to her datapad, since she didn't know how long she had before the power would shut off again. She knew she couldn’t get the computer up and running forever. But she made time to transfer Master Plo’s file. The fact that there was a file on him made her stomach turn, but she had to go on with her mission.

She moved on to her initial objective: finding Rex. She quickly punched his designation number, CT-7567, onto her screen and read the file whilst it was transferring towards her datapad. Battle of Yerbana, she was aware of that one. Siege of Mandalore? What had he gotten himself into; Mandalore hadn't even been under Republic or Separatist occupation? What was he doing there? The capture of- What? The capture of Maul? Returning him to Coruscant on a Venator-class cruiser named the Tribunal?

Her eyes widened when she continued to the next part. She read about how the Tribunal had crashed on some faraway moon, and her heart seemed to briefly stop beating when she read his status: ‘Killed in action’. She sank to her knees, feelings of dread and devastation taking a grip on her. A darkness grew inside her, slowly spreading through her body from her stomach to her chest and to her head. When it reached her mind, a bone-chilling cry left her lungs and filled the decaying bridge. Even if there was a chance there was still someone out there, at this moment she felt like everyone was gone. She was all alone, swallowed by the much dreaded black hole.

“Fives! You told me he'd live!” she shouted, ramming her fist into a wall as she spoke the words. Tears ran down her cheeks. After all the effort she had done to come here, after all the hopes she had put into it. And now, it was all shattered. Shattered into pieces, pulverised into dust and blown away by the wind.

He'll live.

Fives’ voice echoed through her mind again, remembering his words from their earlier ‘conversation' back at Oba Diah. “‘He'll live’ my shebs*!” she shot out in frustration, groaning through gritted teeth as her mind darkened. “You got me all the way out here for this? The kriff, Fives!” She hit the wall again, her knuckles bruised by now, before she put her hands on her head, her long, silver hair messily dangling from between her fingers. Everything was getting so dark before her eyes.

*shebs = ass

It's bigger than any of us, than anything I could have imagined.

“So you’ve said! But I don’t know what it means. Fives, what am I looking for?”

Name's Fives. Fives. It's Fives.

“And you’re not just a number, I know! I-” She interrupted herself when it finally dawned on her. “Wait, you want me to find you?” She waited for his reply, but the only thing she heard was his name echoing through her mind. It took her a while to regain herself, to pull herself from the darkness. And when she did, she memorised how it had been Fives who had always brought her back from the darkness, whenever she needed a light to shine the way back towards the surface. Fives. She pulled herself together and started punching ‘CT-27-5555’ onto her datapad’s screen.

She skimmed through the files. Domino Squad, the defence of Rishi Station, the attack on Kamino, promotion to ARC trooper, the battle of Lola Sayu and the escape from the Citadel, the Umbara Campaign, among others. They all sounded familiar, since Fives had told her all about the battles he had fought and the missions he had been on. But wait.. The battle of Ringo Vinda caught her eyes. It had been his last battle, and although he did not die there, there must be something that tied it together. A picture of a brain scan filled up the screen. Tup, Jedi Master Tiplar, another brain scan. And suddenly, a holorecording of a Kaminoan.

“An independent investigation confirmed that the Clone Trooper CT-5555 experienced a malfunction with his inhibitor chip. Both the Senate committee and the Jedi Council have accepted these findings. However, a grievance report was filed by CT-7567.”

A malfunction with his inhibitor- What? “Fives, what is she talking about? What happened to you, my cyare?” she whispered, as she searched for Rex’s grievance report the Kaminoan was talking about. She found it, but it was sealed; she had to enter a pass code for clearance. An ominous feeling made her ponder over her next step. As a Jedi Knight, she might have had access to such a sealed file as part of the Republic. But since the Republic was no more, she didn’t know what would happen if she accessed it. Maybe her access request would just be denied, or maybe it would trigger something. Maybe she would draw unwanted attention towards her by performing this action. But she had come so far; she had to pull through. Reluctantly, she punched in her four digit pass code. It worked. A rush of grief when Rex appeared in a holorecording.

“I already know this report is gonna fall on deaf ears, but I owe it to Fives to record what I saw. I’m not sure I believe it myself, but there’s a possibility that the inhibitor chips the Kaminoans put inside of us have a purpose that we don’t yet fully understand.”

Lupe sat in silence, taking in Rex’s words. She heard him continue about a sinister plot against the Jedi, about the inhibitor chips being able to make the clones do whatever someone wanted, and about the Chancellor being in on it - at least, that was what Fives had told him, according to Rex. He concluded the grievance report about Fives not being himself, but Lupe’s mind was already wandering off. She remembered the conversation she had shared with Fives after Umbara, about something the traitorous Krell had said before his execution.

“He spoke about a new power rising and how a new order would rise when.. When the Jedi have lost the war and the Republic has been ripped apart from the inside.”

A stabbing pain in her chest when it all fell into place. The new rising power Krell had been talking about, how the Republic would be ripped apart from the inside. Fives’ findings about the inhibitor chips, how they could make the clones do anything - even kill the Jedi. How all this had been orchestrated a long, long time before the end of the war. And Fives had figured it out, but no one had heeded his warning. And she hadn’t been there to listen to him, to help him, to protect him. The tears started flowing when the guilt took over. “Oh Fives, my dear Fives, I am so, so sorry..,” she whispered through the sobbing.

Oh mesh'la..

---

All sense of time was lost on her. Only when the computer’s power finally failed and all the lights were shut off, she noticed how dark it had gotten. It must have been somewhere during the night; she had wasted precious time. Lupe disconnected her datapad from the central computer’s socket; she had been able to transfer Fives’ files from it, along with her own file, taken from the ‘Great Jedi Purge’ dossier. She was both curious and terrified about what she would find in there.

When she finally made it outside the Venator cruiser, she was welcomed by the fog again. For once, she was glad she was wearing some sort of cloak, wrapping the cloth around her tightly before she started her descent, setting course for her shuttle. She was aware of the fact that it would take her a while to reach it.

She was not aware of the fact her access request had indeed triggered an Imperial alarm. She was not aware how precious the time had been she had wasted, as the Empire had tasked the Scrapper Guild to seize her, so she could be retained by Imperial troops. And since her mind was wandering from everything she had learned from Fives, she wasn't focussing on what mattered most at that moment; the danger lurking in the darkness.

When the first rays of light started to appear above the heaps of debris, Lupe started to get light headed. She was out of water, leaving her mouth dry, but she still had part of her last ration bar left. She sat down and took small bites to finish it, as if taking longer to devour the bar would prolong her feeling of fullness.

But she was never able to finish the ration bar. A shiver down her spine made her look up, her muscles tensing instantly. The ominous silence surrounding her got interrupted by a faint buzzing sound. When she realised it was a repulsorlift, it was too late; a Scrapper Guild patrol was staring right at her. Kark. She blamed herself for not noticing their presence earlier, but ever since Fives’ death and the clones turning on the Jedi, she had felt out of touch with the Force. As if she had lost the connection to everything that was dear to her. But there was no time to grieve that lost bond.

She was up and off before the remainder of her ration bar hit the ground. Still light headed, she suddenly had a hard time orientating, and navigating through the debris proved rather difficult. “Get your kark together,” she urgently shot at herself through gritted teeth, whilst clumsily manoeuvring through the heaps of junk in an attempt to shake off her pursuers. The Scrapper Guild patrol was right on her tail, and she was more than eager to lose them.

Readying her already overworking lungs to shout out an order to Ragnar, making sure he would lead the men forward so she could defend their rear, she realised once again she was alone. And not for the first time, this realisation distracted her from her objective - which was currently fleeing for her life. Her mind shaken, she made a badly calculated step and found herself stumbling against some debris. The air was knocked out of her lungs, and she had difficulties stabilising herself. Her knees were trembling and her legs started to give way. Meanwhile, the buzzing sound of the repulsorlift kept coming closer.

Run for it!

Fives’ voice snapped her out of her desperate state; he had her back. With a sharp nod, as if replying to him, she focussed on her surroundings. It was only then she noticed a nearby path she could use as a shortcut. Between the heaps of debris, a small tunnel-like passage was left open; big enough for her to slide through, but too small for the repulsorlift to follow her directly. It wouldn't take the danger away, but it might give her the opportunity to gain a slight advantage.

With renewed energy, Lupe leapt towards the opening, and with a smooth movement, she slid straight through. Judging by the sound of the repulsorlift right behind her, she knew she had just been in time. Without wasting any more time, she made it to the other side of the junk heap and continued her way towards her shuttle. She knew as soon as she reached it, she would be safe; the Scrapper Guild's craft wasn't able to follow her into Bracca’s space.

As she finally neared her ship, the sun was already high up. The adrenaline kept her going, making her able to ignore the light headedness and the way her body was starting to protest. She was nearly there.. But the sudden pressure on her chest and grasp around her throat started to slow her down.

Wait for my signal. Signal.. Signal..

Fives had spoken those words before; she remembered them from Oba Diah, when he helped her on her trail to search for Rex; which all seemed in vain now. But she couldn't afford the luxury to linger on it. Not right now. As Fives’ mentions of the word ‘signal’ kept echoing through her mind, as the pressured feeling on her chest and throat kept tightening, she noticed how a modified attack shuttle emerged from Bracca's sky towards the surface.

“Kriff, that can't be good. I think I overstayed my welcome, Fives,” she managed in a panting whisper, the tension on her throat making it uncomfortable to speak the words any louder. And as Fives’ words still echoed through her mind, she finally reached her shuttle, quickly readying it for her eager departure. She waited until the latest arrival to the junkyard was completely out of sight before taking off, the identities of the Omicron-class shuttle’s passengers totally lost on her.

---

Mid Rim | Bracca System | Space

As soon as she found herself in space again, Bracca still eerily behind her, she found the opportunity to breathe, the pressure and tension slowly washing away. She found another ration bar laying around, and with a little more food in her belly, she felt better instantly. The darkness in her mind lifted and she was able to think clearer again, ready to start planning her next step. But she had no idea what that step should be. Her hopes had been on Rex, but now that she knew he was dead, she didn't know whom to turn to. It was as if she was back in the exact same mess before she got the brilliant plan of searching for Rex.

She let her shuttle fly in realspace, making sure to leave Bracca behind, but not knowing what her next destination would be. To her delight, whilst rummaging through the back of the ship, she came across several leftovers of alcohol. That would make a great mix; she was going to need it, since she planned on reading the files she had managed to transfer from the Venator’s computer. She sat herself down in the pilot's seat with the alcohol and her datapad.

Reluctantly, she opened Master Plo's file. She read through it, starting with obvious intel she was already fully aware of. But at last she reached the dreaded part that stated his status; which was ‘deceased’. She had known deep down, as soon as she had heard the voices crying out loud, and again when she had first heard the news about the Jedi's so-called betrayal, back at Oba Diah. But now, seeing the word connected to his name, it felt so final. A sharp pain in her chest as her heart ached. “I'm sorry for letting you down, Master,” she whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek. Her fingertips briefly touched his picture, which accompanied his file.

A gulp of booze before she continued reading. She needed to know if Wolffe had been present, if it had been the Wolfpack that was accountable for their General's death. But to her faint relief, it hadn't been. According to the file's intel, Master Plo had commanded the 442nd Siege Battalion at Cato Neimoidia, along with Commander Verd. She wanted to be angry with him, blaming someone for Master Plo's demise. But she quickly realised none of the clones were really responsible, since it had been that inhibitor chip making them comply, executing every order without questioning.

What was it again, what had Ragnar said to her? “Order 66”. A shiver ran down her spine when she recollected her memories from that catastrophic day. If she had known back then what she had known now, was there something she could have done to prevent this, to stop the Lone Wolves from turning against her? “Oh Ragnar..,” she whispered, before shakingly opening her own file.

It wasn't as extensive as Master Plo's; which was obvious, since he had been around way longer than her. But it was mostly her status that caught her eyes: ‘deceased’. What? Her brows frowned in confusion whilst she read on. According to this intel, she was killed in action back on.. Back on Gelida Nix.

Her heart skipped a beat. The boys were absolutely smart enough to be aware they hadn't killed her. Did this mean Ragnar had filed her as deceased into his report on purpose? To keep her out of the Empire's grasp? Did that mean they were still able to think and decide for themselves? If so, she had to find them somehow, to get them out of this mess. Protect them like they were supposed to protect each other, as a squad, as a family. But where to start..

When she looked down at the collection of bottles scattered around her, she noticed they were all empty by now. Her head was pounding, and an annoyingly high tone suddenly caught her attention. She hadn't heard it before, and she sure had spent quite some rotations on this bucket of bolts, this karky excuse of a ship. She got up to her feet and staggered over to the source of the sound.

Her heart dropped. There was a kriffing homing beacon attached to the cargo hold’s hatch. Without dwelling any further on it, she jolted forward, igniting her lightsaber and melting it on the spot. “Kriffing di’kut, gotta be more careful,” she scolded herself, before returning to the freighter's cockpit to power up the navicomputer, ready to punch in some random coordinates for a hyperspace jump. She didn't know where to go, but she had to get moving. Anywhere but here.

But it was too late; when she entered the cockpit, stumbling over an empty bottle that was laying on the floor, she noticed how a Venator-class Star Destroyer had emerged from hyperspace and was now hovering ominously above her. She remembered Bossk's warning all too well; how the Scrapper Guild now reported to the Empire. She should have been more careful.

She collapsed into the pilot's seat, turned off the autopilot and took over the controls. She pushed some buttons, making the freighter turn around to move away from the cruiser. But when she punched the engine, nothing happened. When her shuttle was slowly pulled backwards, she realised; she was already caught in their tractor beam.

“Kriff..”

---

Space | Onboard Venator-class cruiser

Lightsaber within reach, Lupe emerged from the docking station. She was welcomed by several clone troopers, pointing their blasters towards her. Kriff. She definitely didn't want to hurt them. “So what are my charges? Did I exceed the speed limit? It sure as hell is rush hour out there,” she shot at them, forcing a smirk on her face as she gestured to the emptiness of space behind her.

“Stand down, Jedi traitor,” one of the clones barked at her. She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him. “What are you gonna do, shoot me? Yeah, already been there.” Since they had already figured out she was a Jedi, there wasn't really any need to hide her identity anymore. She took the lightsaber's hilt from her belt, positioned it in front of her and slowly ignited it. She didn't want to hurt these clones, but she wasn't going down without a fight either. At least she could wreak some kind of havoc aboard the cruiser.

But as soon as the blue glow of her saber lit her face, a cramped feeling took her in its grasp again. Her chest felt like it was slowly being crushed and her throat was tightening. The air was pushed out of her lungs. Not again; what was happening?

Wait for my signal.

Fives’ voice echoed through her mind again. What signal? She tried stepping forward, but the uncomfortable grasp worsened as his words repeated in her head on and on, making it pound. She took a step back, and she felt better instantly.

Wait for my signal.

With a sigh, she sheathed her lightsaber and let her head hang in defeat. The cramped feeling was gone in an instant, but anxiety took over when she wondered what would happen next. Two of the clone troopers ran forward, quickly removing the lightsaber from her hand, before they put her hands into stuncuffs behind her back. “You've been brainwashed, boys. Get that inhibitor chip out of your heads. I'm telling you! You're better off without it! You can think for yourselves!” she started yelling at them, despair starting to rise in her voice, squirming in their grasp as they took her away.

She was forced onto her knees after being roughly pushed into a cell. The clones positioned themselves around her, aiming their blasters at her. “You're gonna execute me just like that? You clones are better than this,” she shot at them, wriggling her hands to get them free, but the restraints wouldn't budge.

“Oh, you're wrong there, sadly,” an arrogant voice replied from the corridor, moments before an Imperial officer rounded the corner and entered the cell. “I was surprised to see you didn't just slaughter them on the spot, given what they did to your precious Order.” Lupe looked up at him, her teeth gritted and an angry frown on her face. With his hands casually on his back, the officer looked down on her with a smug smile on his face and one eyebrow slightly raised. His blonde hair, parting at the side of his scalp, was neatly combed sideways. His face was smoothly shaven; too smooth. He had a very dislikable appearance, and it sent a shiver down Lupe’s spine.

“Where are my manners? I am Vice Admiral Trent. And you must be..,” he started, casting a nonchalant look at his datapad, before continuing: “Lupe of Lothal?” She noticed a flicker of contempt in his voice. “What of it?” she bit back at him, almost snapping her teeth at him. He chuckled, and it was the most annoying sound she had ever heard. “So feral,” he noted, before walking towards the trooper holding her lightsaber. “I thought you Jedi were more civilised.”

“Take it, it's kriffing useless anyway,” she shot at Trent right after he took the saber, turning it around in his hands, intriguingly examining it. He shot her a quick glance before igniting it, almost surprised that it did work. The trooper at his side took a cautious step backwards. “Works perfectly fine to me,” he said whilst sheathing it again, returning it to the trooper for safekeeping. “Yeah, well, it's useless if I can't use it whenever I need it,” she replied with a huff, still trying to free her hands.

Trent kneeled in front of her, levelling with her. There was something in his eyes that unsettled her. Something dark and sinister.. He was enjoying this. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to work with a Jedi. And you're the perfect specimen.” His haunting words left her silent, no witty remark coming to mind. What was he talking about?

He got back to his feet, turned towards the troopers and snapped his finger. “Take off her armour,” he barked at them. Two troopers jolted forward to carry out the order. She let them; there wasn't much she could do anyway. And besides, it wasn't their fault; it was their kriffing inhibitor chips. But as soon as one touched Fives’ pauldrons, she janked sideways and bit him in the fingers. The trooper howled in pain as he staggered backwards. “You keep your hands from that,” she shot at him, her eyes fiery and fierce when she spoke the words.

With an unamused expression on his cold face, Trent snapped his fingers again and the troopers heaved Lupe back on her feet. They held a tight grasp on her arms to keep her in place, whilst the officer walked towards her. With a sudden movement, he hit his fist into her stomach, making her roll over when she took the blow. She groaned, now hanging from the troopers’ grasp. “Finally getting your own hands dirty, eh? You etyc* piece of kark,” she grunted through gritted teeth. The clones exchanged quick looks as soon as they heard the Mando'a.

*etyc = filthy

Trent took her face in his gloved hands, squashing her cheeks between his fingers as he forced her gaze towards his. “Let's see how much temperament you have left once I'm done with you,” he said to her, an alarming grin appearing on his face before he let go of hers and turned around to walk away. Lupe groaned whilst shaking her head, trying to shake off the feeling of his touch on her skin. “Untie me and we'll fight this out right here, right now,” she growled at him, making him halt. “You're clearly drunk,” he replied, an amused tone to his voice. “You should be thankful; at least now you stand a chance,” she bit back at him, tugging her arm in an attempt to free herself from the trooper's grasp.

Trent turned around, and the urge arose to punch that smug face of his. “I thought the Jedi were prohibited from consuming alcohol,” he continued, ignoring her snarky remark. Lupe scoffed. “‘Not recommended’ is the phrasing you’re looking for,” she said whilst rolling her eyes, before looking straight at him and continuing: “And there’s not really any Jedi left to keep me from consuming it, if you hadn’t noticed.” Another of his annoying chuckles. “Oh I have. I have noticed,” he replied with a smug voice, and the fact that he found amusement in it made her dislike him even more.

She growled before she tried lunging forward, to tear his face off with her teeth if she needed to, since her hands were still bound behind her back. It took both troopers great effort to restrain her. It only resulted in Trent chuckling again. “You show spirit, I’ll give you that. Maybe we can recondition you, grant you a higher purpose within the Empire. Lord Vader would be pleased,” he grinned at her. Lupe, still struggling with the troopers, shot him a toxic look. “I’d rather stay here and let you torture me to death than join you Imperial scum.”

Trent huffed, and before he left the cell, he granted her one more look. “Ironic choice of words. That was exactly what I was planning to do.”

---

Mid Rim | Truum Sector | Inferneous

When she woke up, she had no idea how much time had passed. After Trent's leave, she had been stunned and thrown on the hard, cold bench at the back of the cell, from which she awoke now. Her body felt stiff from the uncomfortable position she had been laying in, her mouth and throat dry. She moved her lips and tongue around to regain some feeling in her face whilst she heaved herself upright. Her hands were still bound behind her back, and Fives’ pauldrons - along with the rest of her armour  - were gone.

“Kriffing hell,” she whispered, positioning her shoulders against the wall and taking in her surroundings. She pondered over what had happened and what her options were, but she quickly realised she had none. She had to sit this one out, even when she didn't like it one bit.

After a moment of silence and solitude, she started to focus on Fives again. “Well, thanks for your lack of signal. Look what you've gotten me into now,” she said with a huff, shaking her head as she let it hang. “I wish you could've just sent me to Naboo or whatever,” she continued in a whisper, a painful feeling of longing filling her chest again.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-

“No no, don't be sorry. You know me; I would have gotten myself into trouble anyway,” she snickered softly. “I just.. I wish you were here with me. Could use your help getting out of this mess.”

I thought you might.

“Yeah, you're being real helpful over there. I at least hope you and Echo are having a laugh out of this.” Silence. “What, no witty response?” Nothing. A deep sigh as a tear formed in her eye. “Just.. Just tell Echo I said ‘hi’.”

Wait for my signal.

She was taken slightly by surprise when the cell's door whooshed open. To her complete horror, Trent was standing in the doorway. “Who are you talking to?” he asked in a demanding yet curious way. Lupe let her lips curl into a smirk before she replied. “Your mother. She told me you're such a disappointment to her.” Trent pressed his lips into a thin. “Charming,” he muttered, before nodding into the corridor.

Two troopers emerged from around the corner, walking into the cell towards her. They harshly grabbed her arms before pulling her to her feet. “Woah, didn't know you liked it rough,” she smirked at them, resulting in some head shakes. “Where did all the tender clones go?” she continued, as they dragged her towards Trent, still positioned in the cell's doorway. They dragged her up the steps of the stairs, and when she was in front of the Vice Admiral, he leaned forward. “Let's see how long you can keep up that wit,” he grinned at her.

The Venator-class cruiser was docked on top of an Imperial base. As soon as they entered the facility, an ominous feeling crept up inside her. This was not like any military facility she had ever been to; no data centre or technical depot. No, this was something else, and she didn't like it one bit. “Welcome to my medical facility. I call it ‘Operandus Base’,” Trent informed her with that infuriatingly smug voice of his. “Not sure I want to know what that means,” Lupe expressed her thoughts out loud, her gaze sliding left and right at every room they passed, taking in her new surroundings like a shriek-hawk. “I'd gladly elaborate, but I know you'll find out soon enough,” he chuckled. “How considerate,” she said under her breath.

She was nudged into a small, empty room. Her armour was already taken from her earlier, onboard the cruiser, and her heart ached for the loss of Fives’ pauldrons. She was shaken from the moment when Trent flatly ordered the two troopers to take off her clothing. They struggled to keep her in check when they worked around her binders. She felt vulnerable, standing in front of them in nothing more than her breast wrap, and she almost felt fortunate when she was allowed to keep wearing it. She was then dressed in a knee long, mint-coloured prisoner's gown before her hands were bound behind her back again.

“Is this meant for prisoners or for patients?” she asked somewhat rhetorically, glancing over the dreadful gown she was now wearing. “Why not both?” Trent chuckled, before gesturing to the troopers. “Get her into interrogation room five,” he ordered them, and they started to drag her around again. “Not five,” she whispered under her breath, nothing more than an inaudible mumble to the troopers at her sides.

Inside the room, she was roughly put onto a horizontally rotated interrogation chair. The troopers worked quickly to fasten the straps around her body, making sure she couldn't move. She didn't blame them for anything they were doing; she knew they were following orders, trying to be compliant, good soldiers. She felt for them; a sharp pain in her chest being proof of it. When the last strap was tightened, Trent ordered one of the troopers to stay inside the room, the other was to position himself outside. A red laser barrier was activated and shut her off from the outside, resulting in a cramped feeling inside her chest.

Trent shoved a stool to the side of the torture table and sat down, a datapad in his hands. “Let's start with some simple questions,” he grinned at her, whilst accessing a file on his device. “Is your name Lupe?” She shot him an annoyed look from the corner of her eyes; she wasn't able to move her head to face him directly. “I have no recollection of my name giving. You should just ask the one who named me.” Trent's lips slid into a thin line again; she instantly knew he wasn't amused. “A simple yes or no would suffice, in this case.” Lupe tried to shrug as she replied: “I guess.” A moment of silence before Trent's gaze slid from her towards his screen. “I'll write that down as a ‘yes’.”

“Where were you born?” he continued, with renewed effort. “Let’s say I came from a tube. So let's try Kamino,” she huffed; she was ready to play this game as long as necessary. Trent let out a deep sigh before he continued in a low, menacing voice. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he shot at her, leaning closer. Lupe forced a smirk on her face. “Yeah, you remember our first meeting? When you called me ‘Lupe of Lothal’? So take a guess, shebspalon*.”

*shebs = rear (ass) / palon = hole

Lupe could swear she heard the clone trooper in the back of the room snicker. Trent, although the meaning of the Mando'a lost on him, seemed less amused. He closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids before continuing. “Would you consider yourself a Jedi?” Lupe raised an eyebrow, letting her gaze wander the ceiling above her as she pondered over her next words. “I would consider myself a lot of things, but I'm not sure Jedi is still on that list,” she replied casually. “Let me rephrase. Was there any point in your life where you were part of the Jedi Order?” he asked with a sigh, clearly annoyed. “I guess. But I bet there have been several points in my life where the Council wished I wasn't,” she said with a smirk. “And why would that be,” Trent slowly replied under his breath, before moving on to the next question.

“Are you still in contact with any of your old accomplices?” Lupe frowned, somewhat confused. “‘Accomplices’? You really have to overthink your interrogation strategies, focus on your phrasing. You see, if you mean the Jedi, then it's a definite ‘no’. If you mean partner in crime, then yeah, I talk to him on a daily basis.” Trent put his datapad away and leaned towards her again. “I'm glad you're enjoying this, but the fact that you're not really in a position to mess around seems to elude you,” he shot at her, and she could see the frustration in his eyes, now that he was close. Time to rile him up even further.

“Oh, I'm fully aware. But gotta keep things fun. And if it comes to my position; I do prefer a different one. It's where I wrap my legs around his-” Trent's hand shot up, making a shushing gesture. “I'm going to stop you right there,” he interrupted her. He abruptly jumped to his feet, readjusting his pants and sliding a hand through his blonde hair to put a loose lock back into place, before he leaned close to her again. She could feel his breath on her skin this time. “I gave you a choice, but you've chosen the hard way.” She started to grin from ear to ear; this man really had to overthink his phrasing. “I was just going to add that to the description of my favourite position,” she chuckled. Trent muttered something under his breath before he stormed out of the room.

“Yeah, that was fun,” Lupe grinned, before she noticed the clone trooper was still positioned in the room. She tried turning her head towards him, but the strap around her forehead wouldn't budge. “You alright there, trooper? Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable there,” she shot at him, her demeanour shifting immediately, her apology genuine. He didn't reply. “What’s your name? What battalion did you serve? Under whose command?” she asked him out of curiosity. Another moment of silence. “So you're not allowed to talk to the prisoners, right?” From the corners of her eyes, she noticed he started shifting on his feet.

“You should get that inhibitor chip out of your head. Being rid of it makes you think more clearly. Making decisions for yourself again,” she shot at him, wriggling her limbs, but it was no use. She shifted her focus back on him when she finally heard him speak. “What are you talking about?” He sounded harsh and bitter; nothing she was used to, coming from a clone.

“I'm talking about the duse* they deliberately put inside your head. It's what they use to control you, to make you follow orders blindly. It's how they turned all of you against the Jedi,” she elaborated, hoping it would make him start thinking for himself again. “We turned against the Jedi because you committed treason against the Republic!” he shot at her, almost in a spiteful way. Lupe huffed before replying: “All of us? And what exactly did we do? Do you have any recollection of that?” There was another moment of silence.

*duse = rubbish, waste (lit. unclean things)

“Thought so. Trooper, you're not a droid. You're not another number. You should be able to think for yourself, make your own decisions. Get that kriffing chip out of your head,” she shot at him, hoping he would heed her warning.

Before he could reply - if he was even going to -, Trent re-entered the room. He halted in front of the trooper, granting him a quick glance. “Is there a problem, trooper?” The clone stood at attention before replying: “N-no, sir. Everything's under control.” Heh, they were still bad liars. Lupe wriggled her head against the strap, vigorously trying to look at the trooper. “Not another number!” she shot at him, resulting in a confused look on Trent's face.

He quickly regained himself, walking towards Lupe's side again. “You might not have thought this through, but two can play this game,” he ominously told her. “Well, three, actually,” he continued, before stepping aside and revealing the interrogator droid that was hovering inside the room. Kark, this was going to hurt.

---

“I asked you a question. Where are your accomplices hiding out?” Trent asked her, still remaining calm. There was no need to hurry; he had all the time in the galaxy. Lupe grunted and gritted her teeth when another needle entered her skin, injecting a yellow liquid into her veins. She whimpered when she felt how it entered her bloodstream, how it painfully flowed through her body, making every spot it reached ache and itch. She wanted to scratch those spots, scratch away her skin, scratch away the flesh underneath to make it stop. But she couldn't; she was still tightly strapped down, the bare skin of her arms and legs against the cold surface of the torture chair. She vigorously started wriggling her whole body, trying to get loose. But the straps wouldn't budge. They never did.

“Kriff you, Trent!” she roared at last, saliva spraying from her mouth with the intensity of every word spoken. Trent just stood there, a smirk on his smug face, waiting until the liquid had worn off before he would continue with his next toy. She shuddered and tried catching her breath, for she knew she was going to need it to survive Trent's next atrocity. “Y-You think I'm gonna.. I'm gonna yield to some p-pain?” she stammered, sweat dripping from her feverish temples.

“I was hoping you'd say that. No, I have something else in my mind,” he started, interrupting his train of thought to manage one of his nasty chuckles, before continuing: “Oh, I stand corrected. In your mind.” He turned himself towards the droid, giving the order in a low, practical voice. “Administer the anxiety serum.” He turned around to face Lupe again, leaning close to see every twitch in her face. “But let's double the dose,” he aimed at the droid.

Her eyes widened in fear, and that was exactly what Trent wanted to see; he was even enjoying it. The sick kriff. She flinched when the needle entered the skin of her neck, and she could see Trent stare intensely at her as the liquid entered her body. Only when the droid moved away, Trent did as well. He rubbed his hands together whilst addressing her. “You see, fear is a stronger weapon than pain. And since you've probably had your fair share of it during the war, I'm sure this serum will prove quite effective on you.” Lupe gritted her teeth, her chest heaving heavily from the pure hatred she felt for this man.

“There is just one disadvantage for me. It takes a while to work at its fullest intent, you see. So I'll leave you to it for now.” He reached for her thigh and gave it a quick squeeze. “But don't worry, I'll be back.” It sent a shiver down her spine. With those words, he turned around and left the room. Lupe wanted to swear at him, to hit him with every impurity she could think of, but words eluded her. Instead, she let out another furious roar; it ended in an agonising cry, before it died down into soft sobs. “Fives, where are you? I'm still waiting for your kriffing signal,” she finally managed, her voice full of pain and hurt, taking a deep breath in an effort to regain herself.

“Who's.. Who's Fives?” She had totally forgotten about the clone trooper in the room. He had silently stood by during the torture, ordered to stay in the room. He had turned around, unable to watch whatever Trent was doing. The Jedi might be traitors in the eyes of the clones, but he had found absolutely no pleasure in any of this.

Lupe took a few breaths, this time doing no effort to try and turn her gaze towards him. Her head was pounding, and every movement of her eyes worsened it. Every movement in general, actually. “Fives is.. Fives is my shereshoy,” she finally managed, although weak. She was surprised to see the trooper looming over her, as he had finally decided to walk over to her. “Where did you learn Mando'a?” he shot at her, but this time, there was no harshness or bitterness to his voice.

Lupe tried to chuckle, but it only resulted in coughing. The trooper doubted for a moment, but finally decided to loosen the strap around her forehead. He gently guided her head up until she was done coughing, before he aided her in drinking some water from a canteen he was carrying. Water had never tasted so good before, and after some more, she rested her weary head back on the headrest. “Vor'e*,” she managed, accompanied with a very faint smile. “I started learning it during the war. To.. To show my respect to the troops. To let ‘em know I.. I cared. Grew close with ‘em,” she elaborated, stammering through her words, not sure if she made any sense.

*Vor’e = Thanks

A moment of silence before the trooper continued. “And is this Fives a clone as well?” He cautiously took off his helmet, revealing his face to her. The face she had looked up to so many times before, but still, they were all slightly different. She searched for the differences in this one. “Yeah, he was. Thank you for reminding me of him,” she whispered, a tear forming in her eye, her lips creating the faintest of smiles. If her hands had been free, she would have gently touched his right temple.

The trooper felt her pain, understood her loss, and let his head hang for a moment. “I'm sorry,” he whispered distantly. “No need. None of this is your fault. Any of the clones’,” she whispered, as the tear rolled down her cheek. He evaded her gaze. “Tell me, trooper. What's your name?” Although she had asked this before, the question took him by surprise. He looked back into her eyes. “It's, er- It's CT-6830, Silk, sir-” he said, immediately trying to correct the way he had addressed her, but he had already spoken the word. Lupe managed a faint smirk on her face. “Smooth,” she shot at him, and he couldn't help but laugh. She instantly felt better; how she missed to hear their laughs, to see their faces, to be in their presence.

But something started to gnaw inside her. A nauseating feeling in her mind made her thoughts and her memories warp. Distortion crept up into her vision. She blinked, hoping it would go away, but it worsened. She started to panic, her heartbeat rising, her chest heaving from heavy breathing. She started to gasp for air. “What’s- What’s happening?” she managed, looking at Silk, her eyes wide and full of anguish.

“It.. it must be the serum. I-I’m sorry,” he said to her, stepping back slowly, his helmet under his arm. He swallowed; he felt helpless as he watched the substance doing its job, Lupe laying struggling in the chair. Now that the strap around her forehead was detached, her head darted around alarmingly; it was spinning as it filled with flashing images. She couldn’t tell apart memories from fears anymore, as it all blended together in her dazed mind. “Master, I-I- No! Wolffe, please no..,” she started rambling.

At that very moment, Trent re-entered the room. His hands on his back and a satisfied smile on his smug face, he calmly walked over towards the interrogation chair. “Thank you, trooper, for showing your purpose,” he said to the trooper. “No!” Silk shot out in disbelief, but was quieted by one stern look from Trent. He continued his stride until he reached Lupe, where he contently watched how her shaking body and troubled mind were being affected by the serum. “Perfect,” he whispered. He leaned forward and took her cheeks between his fingers, roughly guiding her panicking gaze towards him.

“You think I didn't read up on your file? Read all about your fondness for these clones? Let’s make you fear what you love most,” he grinned at her, before gesturing towards Silk to move over. The clone shook his head reluctantly, not wanting to take any part in this twisted game. Trent granted him another stern look. “You know what happens to clones who do not execute orders, so be a good little soldier and come over here,” he shot at him, a toxic tone to his voice. Silk swallowed as he slowly started walking towards them.

When Silk was close, Trent grabbed him by the back of his neck and forced him forward, close to Lupe, almost pushing his face against hers. Silk could see the despair in her eyes, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing that wouldn’t result in any of his brothers getting hurt. “Just a heads up, clone; do not touch the chair,” Trent warned Silk, before he activated the torture chair’s internal electrifying system. The chair’s metal casing conducted an array of electric shocks, and Lupe started to quiver vigorously as soon as it reached her body.

Trent only granted her a short moment to catch her breath when he deactivated the electrical current. As she laid panting, gasping for air, her body still shivering as it tried to recover, he moved his mouth next to her ear. “That will teach you defying me, Jedi,” he whispered, spitting out the last word as if he was talking about vermin. When he withdrew his face, she could see the most sadistic smile on his smug face. If she would survive this ordeal, she was sure she would never be able to wipe that from her memory.

Just like that, the electrical current was reactivated, the shocks reaching deep inside her body as she laid trembling and shaking. Trent made sure Silk’s face was close to hers, so from this day forward, she would associate the clones’ faces with fear and pain. Those who she loved the most.

And slowly, it started working. Even whenever Trent had the electrical current deactivated, she laid shuddering from fear whenever she looked upon Silk’s face. Whenever the image of a clone’s face flashed before her. Even Fives’.

…

Epilogue

Trent was far from done with her. A Jedi was a rare catch these days, and he was fully using the opportunity to discover one’s limits, to push one’s boundaries. To experiment on one, finding out how - or if - her Force-connection would alter his known results on certain questionable experiments. And since Lupe was a traitor to the Republic, an enemy and threat to the current Empire, he was free to continue his experiments under military and political acts.

No one was going to stop him.

Lupe laid wearily on a hover-stretcher, her body broken and her mind numb, as she hovered through the base’s corridors. She didn’t look up anymore from the gut wrenching cries and agonising shouting coming from these parts of the facility; she had become one of them, just another number, and there was nothing she could do about it. There was no way forward from here. And with every passing rotation, any hope to get a signal from Fives died down. She rather not think about it anymore; she rather not think about him. She could feel the electricity shooting through her body, filling her with fear whenever she did. So she tried not to. It seemed easier to just forget.

When she opened her eyes again, she was blinded by a bright light. For a moment, she thought - she hoped - the Cosmic Force was welcoming her, but she knew the opposite was true when Trent’s voice slowly started to make sense to her. “.. and we don’t want this scum to reproduce after we repurpose her. Make sure of it.” She twitched her eyebrows in defiance, but didn’t have the strength to show any more resistance. “And don’t hurry with the procedure; we have all the time in the galaxy.”

No one was going to save her.

I AM SO SORRY please believe me some parts of this chapter were so damn hard to write 😭 I promise things will get a bit better after this chapter, but first, I'll take a break from posting new aLoF chapters to figure out how exactly I want to continue (and to take a breather after these angsty chapters). I'll keep working on the aLoF ficlets in the meantime! Thanks for sticking around <3

[therapardalis]

The disruption revealed itself after a few moments to be a man, accompanied by two droids. One a BB Unit and the other very much an older model, but she was fairly sure it was a protocol kind. As the music faded a small cock of her ear caught the final sound of the main doors clanging shut, sealing these poor unfortunates inside the stronghold for the time being.

Or ... for at least the time being.

The dancing lights cut out a several seconds after the sound, the room's illumination growing as the regular ambient globes were dialed up, leaving the man ... Thera's head canted the smallest touch to one side, with an even smaller narrowing of her eyes. He was handsome, by human standards, but that wasn't the reason for her gaze - rather he was familiar ... a puzzle that only lasted until he gave his name, and another kind of light dawned; she knew exactly where she'd seen him before.

As with most of his kind, Braga understood Basic perfectly well. His reluctance to speak it was rooted in pride, though less of the arrogant kind that many assumed; a Hutt's wide jaw and lack of teeth made pronunciation difficult, and he was not prepared to be mocked for it. Which meant he absorbed every word their visitor had to say, listening with an intent that subtly sharpened as Dameron's speech went on.

And after ... silence settled, Braga's great golden eyes blinking slowly. A moment. Another. Then he turned to Thera at his side. "Uma ..." A wave of stubby arm to his almost-empty wine bowl, with its long, flexible straw.

"Of course, my Lord." She bent to collect a bottle from beside her seat, leaned across to pour the contents into the bowl. A small pantomime to remind that a Hutt Lord did not simply leap to the whims of a petitioner, especially not a reckless, uninvited one - and aside from that it gave them a chance for a quiet word. "Plausible." Murmured, barely moving her lips, and Braga's huge head nodded once.

"Organa," He hummed back, before picking up his straw and speaking aloud in Huttese, "Uma ... Show our guests hospitality."

Thera inclined her head, reminiscent of a bow, and stood up from her seat. "Lord Braga wishes to think upon what you have said. If you will accompany me, I'll see that you're made comfortable meanwhile."

with Thera ( @therapardalis ) ▌continued from here.

Although Poe was aware he should feel honored that General Organa allotted him this task ( she trusted him, a fact which meant a great deal ), he hadn't been able to shake off his inherent revulsion the second the Hutts were mentioned. He had been told there were a few individuals among the kajidics who separated themselves from the more widely known crime families, yet he had yet to come across any who valued much aside from power, excess, and the subjugation of others; he would certainly like to meet one to confirm that it wasn't a myth.

Nevertheless, here he was, with C-3PO beside him fussing about something or other. Poe had stopped listening after the third time the protocol droid remarked, ' And here's another thing to consider — ! ' Counting every conceivable manner this whole endeavor could go sideways would do little to serve them. He preferred to follow his instincts, anyway. As the sound of music and raucous laughter grew louder, Poe's gaze flickered to BB-8 on his other side. They had faced worse; the quick chirp he received in response to his glance told him that, despite reservations, his friend believed the same.

Their entrance caused a quiet turbulence among the Besadiis' true guests. The pulsing, rhythmic tunes slowed, leaving the atmospheric lights to continue bouncing along the walls in an eerie silence. Everyone was looking at them, and not in a good way. "You're up, Threepio," he muttered under his breath as they approached the throne. While it wasn't uncommon for Hutts to possess their own translators, Poe preferred to know that he was told exactly what was being said ( and any other pieces of conversation that C-3PO might pick up amongst the crowd ).

"I'm General Poe Dameron with the Resistance, and I'm here with a proposal for one of the great Hutt lords." Addressing the Hutt like this left a bad taste in his mouth, but he knew better than to ruin this opportunity with the glibness he would have preferred to use. "We share a common problem among the Nikto." A species the Hutts had long held cruel and complete control over until the era of the New Republic, though he wouldn't mention that. For now. "Only a few years ago, Rinnrivin Di's cartel was the greatest threat to your power, with the profits he received from his dealings with the First Order as its backbone. We thought his death was the end of it, but we now have reason to believe that another Kajain'sa'Nikto has stepped in as the new leader, and resumed operations with the First Order." Briefly, Poe gestured with his hand to the Hutt seated high on the dais. "It would be in all of our best interest to discover the truth, and put an end to this before they regain the strength they once had."