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letsquestjess · 10 days ago

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It Never Rains - Chapter 6: Hunted

Story summary: What was supposed to be a straightforward assassination turns into one of the most challenging bounties Crosshair has ever faced. Upon discovering that his target, Eudora Avani, was given an Andeladite stone by a fallen brother, he becomes determined to protect her and safeguard the treasure from falling into greedy syndicate hands. With a secret of its own, the stone becomes a race against time for Crosshair and Eudora as they set out to uncover its hidden knowledge and stay ahead of the bounty hunters pursuing them.

Word count: 3K | Warnings: Blood, injury, and violence. Animal death.

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Masterlist

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Warbled chirps skipped above the bough line, accompanying the odd flutter and bob of miniature aerial creatures bouncing from branch to precarious sprig. A group of larger birds congregated on the peripheries of a corroding ion engine as though safeguarding their domain, the budding trees contorting to the shape of the long-downed generator and suspending a curtain of lacerated vines over the opening.

As Eudora lifted her curiosity skyward, the blue waded into the veil of dense moss. Bounties of flora conserved their radiant lustre, shirking the sun in favour of providing the life of the woodland with their own luminescence.

Spongy lichen sucked at her boots with a squelch and released them with a disinclined pop. She thanked her lucky stars she decided not to bring a longer coat, avoiding the cloying damp that infused the forest floor. Once or twice she lost her footing, skidding on the wet underbrush and managing to remain upright by sheer force of will. After the first couple of near misses, she paced herself and proceeded with a conscientious step.

Further in, the foliage opened into a world of its own, set apart from the galaxy entirely. Scant remnants of civilisations long gone and even longer forgotten lodged in the dirt at splayed angles. Cavernous, elliptical structures constructed with interwoven vegetation screamed into the peace like stretched mouths and statues carved and embellished from tree trunks squabbled to prevent themselves from becoming smothered by nature.

In amongst the bold greenery, speckles of white sprouted, and she paused. Wild lace flowers. Exquisitely sophisticated in their separated, hollow-veined petals, and deadly if utilised correctly.

She stooped to harvest a clump, prudent to sever them close to the top of the stalk to assist a swift regrowth and binding them in the kerchief in her belt pouch. Considering bounty hunters stalked their path, ignoring a calculated advantage when it presented itself to her seemed foolish.

A smattering of elegant and lethal fronds flourished in the fissures of hulking roots and infected the bole, forming cloudy clusters where sticky mildew poisoned the timber. Administered in controlled doses, the sap of those flowers acted as an effective sedative, but burned they produced a fatal mist.

The scent of those blazing plants and the silence carried by the vapour nested in recesses of her memories. Musty, sour, as though stinking rot covertly invaded the blossom. It stuck true on everything, fastening to virtually every surface and pervading fibre threads with a dogged determination. Weeks she devoted to scouring her wardrobe in secret, dreading her aunt getting a whiff of the smell and questioning its origin.

When she lost herself in those images, the pinch of the mechanical mask over her mouth and nose and the whiny whistles of her breath inside the apparatus sparked in her mind as she forded into lace smoke with other rebels to eliminate the leftover Separatists. The occasional pop of a blaster when a barely responsive survivor was located and the rigid thump as they perished. Whole facilities succumbed to her flowers, and the enemy never identified why. Investigating officers concluded a malfunction of equipment that discharged a noxious gas, but she knew the truth. Their hubris and her innocent facade killed them in their droves.

In the end, her actions and the revolutionaries self-sacrificial rage granted the Republic an opening to intervene, not even a cycle before their downfall and the Empire’s ascent. She did not wander into her past with pride, she was supposed to be a healer, but as more fell to vicious persecution and the rest corralled into subjugation, her horror mutated into scorn and righteous fury smouldered. Her knowledge protected the people of Cressina. She plucked lives, collecting them like a starving child scooping dropped coins in the street, never looking behind and never giving in.

From the bole of a second, much grander tree, a baby tapera squatted on an overhanging leaf, chirruping as it stretched its thin maw up to the berries hanging from a leaning branch. It snarled in its failure to snag the fruit, and Eudora noted the withered wing propped by its hind leg.

“Are you hungry?” she cooed, moving gently to avoid scaring the little four-legged creature. He ruffled his tawny fur, and with a timid chirp, accepted the outstretched berries.

He was no bigger than her forearm, dappled in dew and seemingly alone compared to the groups of tapera on the borders. She cupped her free hand by his torso to steady him as he wobbled excitedly on misshapen legs. Judging by his scrawny size, he couldn’t have been out of the den long enough to care for himself properly.

Finishing the remainder of the dripping crimson fruit, he hopped unsteadily onto a sinuous branch, trilling and nudging Eudora’s elbow before scampering off. She trailed after him, over fallen trees and trampled undergrowth, halting at a ravaged nest. The slight animal clawed the ruptured twigs and shredded leaves, and in defeat, padded to the massive carcass of an adult tapera, silver eyes closed and motion stilled in her fuzzy chest. Blotches of blood choked her body, leaking into the moss of her resting place and bald patches on her splayed wings where poachers ripped her feathers from her as well as her children.

“Oh, sweet one,” she breathed, crouching by the befuddled creature as he prodded the remains of his mother, unable to understand why she would not wake at his tiny cries. “I can’t help. I’m sorry.” She drew soothing fingertips over the crown of his head, scratching under his chin when he discovered some comfort in the gesture. His ears pricked and twitched.

Still crouched, she straggled to the fallen nest and the dead tapera. Vine clusters clung to twisted segments where they once held the den in the cover of the boughs. No tree-bound creature possessed the strength or size to push it, but for local trappers, a rough shove would complete the task.

The tapera infant purred. His colouring was weaker than his mothers, fair rather than rich brown, but his kind eyes glittered, acute and alert.

“Left all on your own, huh?” she guessed as he nosed at her palm. “I know that feeling, but you’ll be okay. I can see you are a strong little survivor.”

She doubted he understood the horrors that visited his mother and his home. Whenever a noise flickered past his keen ears, he padded to her remains, sniffing at the air and chirruping for her to wake and protect him.

Eudora straightened up, picking loose twigs from her trousers and inspected the area for a safe place to put him where he was free to scamper into the outgrowth and hide, or at least nab another few berries. But the moss was so slimy and slippery, she suspected he might end up on the forest floor again before long. With plenty of carnivorous animals prowling in the underbrush, one strike and he’d make a quick meal, no family left to defend him and nurture him.

“Crosshair isn’t going to like this, but I can’t leave you here,” she said, harvesting a low-hanging berry and calling to the tapera. Juicy droplets spilled between his separated teeth as they gnashed through the skin to the succulent flesh underneath. “We’ll find you somewhere safe.”

While the hungry animal finished the scraps, a patch of shade tremored against the peeling trunk of his former home and a scattering of twigs fled. No breeze crossed, and no birds took flight to rouse the foliage with their wings, but deliberate strides and the waft of weighty fabric disturbed them again. From the silhouette spiking by her shoulder, she caught the long-nosed shadow of a rifle.

As she swung her fist to protect the lone creature, the helmeted tracker jerked her wrist, wrenching her arm and rising his gun to her face. Front paws stretching, the tapera hissed, and as the hunter made a new target, Eudora hauled herself up in his grasp and kicked out at his unprotected stomach. She hardly hit the floor before she snatched the comms device from her pocket and activated the emergency button.

Scrambling up, she ducked the brandish of the barrel, driving a connecting strike to his inner arm and kicking the weapon from his clutches as his fingers loosened. “You won’t get him,” she said. “You’ve done enough harm.”

“Not him I’m here for,” the modulated voice inside the helmet rasped. A gloved hand wrapped her throat in splitting grip, squeezing almost to a killing crush.

Eudora gagged out a wheeze, legs dangling and her flails weakening. Lifted higher, she came face to face with the unmistakable snarl of not just any hunter, but a bounty hunter.

* * *

With a solid shove, Crosshair deposited the last of the fuel cannisters in the exterior storage hatch. Knelt on two middle steps, he poked inside to prompt it neatly against the stack.

Back with his brothers, Wrecker handled the strenuous lifting and the stockpile of bulkier items, hoisting loaded crates like they were sacks of feathers, usually with that gratified grin he mocked him for in their earlier years.

As cadets, it had been his brawler brother who carried them when they sustained injuries during training sessions and sprinted to the medical bay. Wrecker, who boosted their spirits when missions became dire. Wrecker, who had been beaten down and made to feel small by regular clones and rose again even stronger despite their torment.

The memories of his discipline conjured the night he woke to hushed voices, pretending to sleep while he listened to Wrecker confide in Tech how he often felt inferior intellectually, compared to his squad. The Empire could beat him, wear down his courage, and torture him until the end of his days, but he would never forget Tech’s response.

‘Intelligence is not bound by academics. You have more heart, more strength, and more warmth in your spirit than all the regs put together. We are proud to call you our brother, Wrecker.’

Kaminoan ingenuity shaped his squad to differ from other clones, to retain the excellence of commandos and yet improve upon the blueprint. In doing so, they only designed their own downfall. His brothers would never be a gear in the Imperial machine, but bearers of their own destiny. He wasted his life convincing himself he was a good soldier that he never truly stopped to contemplate what it meant to be one, not to any Republic or Empire, but to him.

Good soldiers follow orders.

No.

Good soldiers safeguard their squad. Good soldiers are loyal to those they love. And he spent so long as an obedient soldier but an awful brother.

He flexed the fingers of his mechanical hand as the familiar, uncomfortable barbs crawled where creased, mottled skin connected with rigid metal. Hazel eyes floated to the prosthetic. After everything, he reunited with his brothers and stood shoulder to shoulder with his family against the Empire. He would go back to Pabu, when he was ready. When bounty hunters weren’t on his tail and he didn’t have ghosts to chase.

He dusted dirt specks off the outer hatch and secured the cargo, glancing at the tangle of trees. Curtain flora dressed the boughs, and a musty, damp aroma engulfed the place.

Descending onto the soggy vegetation, he mulled over the towering trunks in search of Eudora. With the ship refuelled and plenty of rations, no reason remained for them to linger, but he did not wish to disturb her if she discovered some sense of peace there. She had been uprooted from her home and thrown into the galaxy with nobody to rely on. Well, not nobody. She had him.

The notion stunned him for a second. What was she to him but a temporary passenger? Why did he care so much? Nothing but Nox’s memory tied them together, yet she reached him, stealing into his skin like a thorn. Even inside the cavernous, echoing husk he hid in, she found him.

He landed on the idea of housekeeping while he awaited her return, scarcely reaching the door when his comm unit cried out. His fingers touched the device as a piercing scream and the fierce crack of a gunshot ruptured the stillness. Breaking into the confines of the stifling forest, he sprinted for the distressed noise.

Suspended branches whipped his face, splintered ends jutting out to carve at his skin and missing by mere centimetres. Surrounding animals fled, scampering from his path as he tore over knotted thickets and hidden puddles.

Not far beyond a crashed ship almost completely claimed by the forest, he located Eudora propped by a tree, a groan attending each loll of her head. A young tapera pawed at her thigh, chirping in apprehension as he struggled to awaken her. As he neared, the animal bristled and clawed at the mud in warning.

“I’m a friend,” he insisted, as though the fluffy creature might understand him. Recapturing his breath after his panicked run, he tempered his movements and squatted by the collapsed medic. The tapera scuttled behind the trunk and peeked.

“I see you got yourself a new partner,” Crosshair commented. “And an enemy, if these marks are anything to go by.”

“Crosshair?” she muttered.

“Yeah, it’s me.” With his prosthetic hand on her wrist, he placed the other below her jaw and trailed up to her temple, probing for signs of injury or hurt. “That’s it,” he encouraged as she unfurled from the dizzy slump. “Stay as still as you can, okay?”

“There’s a…” Her words drowned as she swallowed, her stirring gaze sailing upward to his shoulder and flaring.

A leering profile reflected in the sage green of her irises and a heel shaved the bracken behind him. The ball of the foot followed, rolling towards to the toes.

Crosshair didn’t permit the other foot to shift. Lightning fast, he wheeled his leg. On contact, the stalking bounty hunter sprawled onto his backside. Before he could attempt a recovery and retaliation, he snatched his rifle from the hook between his shoulder blades and smashed the butt of the weapon into his face.

Danger temporarily averted, Crosshair tipped the attacker’s face with his boot. Scorch marks created ashen tracks up the side of his jacket sleeve, and bruises bloomed between the tattooed network on his cheekbones. Eudora even managed to split his lip in several places in the scuffle. The fact she achieved multiple shots and punches was impressive, the glaring fact she fought dirty even more so.

The tapera trotted to the unconscious bounty hunter and screeched, angrily flapping his pale wings at them. Satisfied, he wobbled over to Eudora and plopped his chin on her thigh.

“He seems quite enamoured with you,” Crosshair observed.

“Are you jealous?” she teased, dampening the laugh at the returned scoff. “I think poachers got to his mother. Not sure where the others are, but I saw tracks, so it’s likely they took some of his siblings.”

Crosshair regarded her natural inclination to care and protect as she cooed at the endearing creature. “We can’t stay here,” he said, slipping his hands under her elbows and supporting her upright. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted as he moved a steadying arm to her waist, his touch strangely soothing. Tender. Firm. Assuring her he was there. Seconds ticked, dewdrops splashed on saturated leaves, and he remained her stable anchor.

Her own fingers wandered to squeeze the grasp on her waistline. “Little sore, but I’m all right,” she said gently. His worry bore into her, begging her not to lie to him, not to pretend for his sake. “Nothing that won’t heal.”

He scrunched his nose and suffocated the impulse to press her for a promise. “Have you still got the stone?”

She withdrew the pendant from inside her top. “He tried to grab it a few times, but I kept away. Didn’t seem too keen on getting close when I pulled the gun out.”

Crosshair took one look at the Andeladite treasure before the raw, purple scuffs on her knuckles lured his concern. Inspecting them with care, he tutted. “Did my brothers not teach you to punch properly?”

“I panicked and whacked his helmet. Knocked it clean off his head, and got a few shots in before he skimmed me with a blaster pulse.”

Retaining his prudent grasp, Crosshair sighted the headgear a couple of paces to his right and stretched out a long leg to stamp the covering. The facial design crumpled flat, and he loosened his rifle again, directing the barrel at the bounty hunter’s skull.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Eudora demanded, stumbling over uneven earth to shove the gun away from the immobile attacker.

“What does it look like? Leaving him alive is a liability.” He hesitated at the flicker in Eudora’s imploring expression, a cut on her eyebrow leaking and his thumb instinctively wiping the red trail before it could intrude past her lashes. “He wouldn’t hesitate to kill us. If others come, we need to send a clear message.”

“He may have information about the stone or who hired him,” Eudora said. “Right now, we can’t just eliminate a potential advantage.”

“What if he refuses to speak?”

“Then take your shot.”

From a tactical perspective, and acknowledging the threats that hounded their progress, the opportunity to glean some information and potentially outdistance their pursuers outweighed the risk. And should the vermin decline to answer them, he got the satisfaction of removing an obstacle. “Fine, but we do this my way. If I give an order, you comply. You run, hide, abandon me here if you must. Understood?”

“Do you honestly think I would leave you?”

“I’m not playing around, Eudora. This could have ended very differently.”

She considered the slumbering bounty hunter, the swelling in his engorged nose and the blood stains smearing his top lip, and stepped up to Crosshair. Close enough to see her breath on his dark chest plate, she reared her unflinching eyes, clashing with his and holding fast.

“Do you think I would leave you?” she repeated, slower and decided. She would not run, or hide, or forsake him. Whatever adversary impeded their mission, they met it together, whether the scowling sniper agreed or not.

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#star wars #star wars oc #star wars fic #tbb #the bad batch #tbb fic #the bad batch fic #crosshair x oc #crosshair x eudora #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x oc #oc: eudora avani #tbb x oc #the bad batch x oc #it never rains

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