#oc: draike highwind

[greyias]

I decided to forgive Kessan's Landing for being the home of the angry cat lady long enough to try and run a weekly (see: it's Galactic Season's Objective), and Draike has apparently made a friend out of a baby grazer. The grazer mission is over, but this little guy is apparently just part of our party now. He keeps getting flung off into the distance with knockbacks, but just rushes back up to Draike immediately after.

I love him.

Apparently his name is Skappi.

[greyssketchbook]

Our secret moments... in a crowded room...

[greyias]

I wish you would write a fic where... Theron somehow amasses a following of actual, physical porn bots droids and shenanigans ensue

I saw this prompt come in and devolved into a fit of heinous cackling. How, oh how could I resist trying to render our collective Tumblr nightmare into fictional text form?

Context: While not required reading, this is technically a sequel to this stunning crackfic, authored so long ago. If you need a refresher on the Medical Droid Love Triangle Saga, follow this link. Or this one, which is the real villain origin story of this fic. Or don't, you're already cursed if you click beyond the read more of this post.

With special thanks to @grumpyhedgehog, @sandwyrm, @storyknitter, @kitsonpaws, and @andveryginger for providing me with ideas, cursed pornbot summaries, and many cursed HoloNet websites that should never exist. You are not required to read any of this.

Technically rated T, but in reality rated N for Nobody, because no one should have to read this. I'm packing my bags, as my ride to superhell just came. Enjoy.

It had started as such a normal day -- if you could indeed have called any day on Odessen “normal”. What with the galaxy always being at the brink of some disaster or another, and their merry little band of misfits being led by the galaxy’s most notorious do-gooder, Theron’s schedule and to-do list had a tendency to get derailed on almost a daily basis.

This, however, was not how that usually happened.

He’d paused, mid-step, finger still hovering over his datapad, mid-entry as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, slowly dawning horror washing over him. His head turned slowly, like one of those doomed characters in a horror holofilm to look at the droid he’d just passed.

It was one of the new ones that had come in on a recent shipment. So new in fact, that there was still a fleet of them in the middle of being unpacked in the Logistics Wing. Shining, tall and blue, its highly polished quadranium head pivoted to look back at him.

“What,” Theron swallowed, willing his voice to sound even and not give in to the creeping dread, “what did you say?”

“Theron Shan,” the droid repeated helpfully, “is a master lover.”

“Oh no.” The words slipped out of their own accord.

“Just a moment, sir,” the droid continued, seemingly oblivious to the human’s distress, “I’m not quite done with your evaluation yet. Let’s see, where were we?”

“No no no no.”

The round flattened dome that served as its head tilted to one side, beady orange eyes sweeping over Theron from head to toe, before resuming its cheery, if horrifying report. “Subject is an exemplary specimen. In good cardiovascular health, above average muscle tone. Tall, well-built, and very clean...”

“Um,” Theron stammered. “I’m...” Flattered? Taken? Leaving? Wait--yes, that last one. “Going now!”

He didn’t give the cursed machine any more time to continue ogling him, instead taking off down the hall at a very brisk walk that nearly bordered on a jog. His mind raced at he beat a hasty retreat, trying to understand what was happening. It had been over a year since the The Incident, dubbed by some as the “Sexy Spy Virus”, and others by much more crude names, where a little harmless reprogramming had taken on a life of its own. Theron had been meticulous in his coding of the antivirus, wanting to ensure that the entire debacle would be forgotten. There was simply no way that it could crop back in on its own.

“Theron,” the brisk accented tone of one Lana Beniko burst in over his comm, “why did a droid just feel the need to inform me that they found rust on its insides during its last tune-up?”

“I don’t know,” Theron insisted, but his words were almost drowned out by a metallic clanking echoing down the corridor.

He threw a look over his shoulder, and to his horror, saw that his robotic admirer had decided to give chase. 

“I’m going to have to call you back,” he quickly said into the comm as the droid picked up speed from a walk to an all out gallop.

“Theron,” she sounded both concerned and exasperated, which, considering Lana, was about par the course, “what’s going on?”

“Save me!” He shouted as he took off a dead sprint.

In his many years in the field, Theron had been threatened, sure. Shot at? Many times. He’d been drugged. Tortured. Stabbed through the gut with a lightsaber pike and lived to tell the tale. He’d run into Sith, Revanites, bounty hunters, thugs, fanatics and cultists alike. He’d been in more firefights than he could remember, and more covert ops than he cared to. He’d even been accused of being a traitor (although that was kind of the point at the time).

None of that compared right now to being chased down by a droid yelling at top volume claiming he was the best lover it had ever seen.

And this time, he was pretty sure it wasn’t actually his fault.

He rounded the corner from the corridor leading from the Logistics Wing, passing by the Commander’s (and at this point, his) Quarters. HK-55 and Z0-0M straightened to their full height at his arrival. Oh thank the Force, allies.

“Salutations: Agent Shan, you are looking quite spry today.”

“What?” he panted as he approached.

“Yes, Agent Shan, don’t believe what anyone else is saying!” Zeeyo exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. “Your undercarriage doesn’t look rusty at all!”

Mind sharp as a tack, Theron realized the implications of this just in time, and dodged to the side, ducking and rolling as the assassin-turned-bodyguard droid lunged forward to trap him in a bear hug. Not pausing to even catch his breath, as soon as his feet hit the ground he propelled himself forward and further down the hall.

“Frustration: I only wish to profess my admiration for you, Agent Shan!”

“Nope nope nope nope!” Desperation was starting to tinge the edges of his words now.

The metallic clanking intensified as more droids behind him joined in the chase, all of their vocabulators joining in unison to tell him in one way, or another, that he was in fact, the pinnacle of sexual prowess.

Theron couldn’t run forever, despite whatever their programming was forcing them to say, his stamina would give out before the lustftul droids’ power supplies. As the corridor zigged and twisted, he saw an opening in the form of a door sliding open. Without hesitation he dove in, shoving the individual there, thankfully made of flesh and bone, aside as he slammed the door controls.

The door slid securely shut just as the thunderous clanking filled the corridor beyond, their lustful words of appreciation and encouragement nearly drowned out by the racket. Theron hadn’t bothered to look or count, but he was pretty sure that the number had risen from three in the scant moments it had taken Theron to dart from one corridor to the next.

He held up a hand to his lips as he turned to thank the person who had unwittingly provided his temporary salvation. The words of gratitude died on his lips, as he realized exactly who’s room he had sought refuge in.

For a moment, Theron truly considered surrendering himself to the lusty droid mob.

Draike Highwind’s face was caught somewhere between confusion and amusement, but the latter was winning out as he started to decipher individual phrases drifting in from the corridor. A dark brow arched higher, lips twitching with undisguised mirth as the stupid blue droid that had started this whole mess yelled once again about Theron being a master lover.

More seconds passed, the ruckus quieting down, before silence descended once more, and it was finally safe to speak.

“So,” Draike drew out the word, somehow lacing it with more innuendo than all of the malfunctioning droids combined, “what ya been doing, Shan?”

“Nothing!” he insisted, voice still hushed just in case one of the droids could somehow hear.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” His brother-in-law’s smirk widened into an almost feral grin, eyebrows waggling. “Sounds like you’ve been getting... busy.”

One of the greatest mysteries in the galaxy was how one man could make anything sound that dirty. “I was minding my own business!”

“Oh, I bet you were.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“I mean...” If looks could kill, the pilot would have melted on the spot. Unfortunately for Theron, Draike was apparently immune to that sort of thing. “How often do I get the chance?”

“Did you do this?”

“Me?” Draike let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Stars, I wish I could have thought of something this good! These are memories I will cherish forever.”

Theron massaged the bridge of his nose. “I hate my life.”

“I mean, I’m not really into droids,” Draike went on, either not knowing (or more likely caring) about his brother-in-law’s predicament, “flesh is more my kind of thing. But you know, if you and the little lady need to spice things up by bringing in a little metal--”

“Please stop. I’m begging you!”

“Begging, eh? So you’re saying you’re more into--“

“Forget it, I’m taking my chances with the sex-crazed machines roaming the halls.” His palm hovered over the door sensors.

“Theron, wait!” There was enough urgency in Draike’s voice to give him pause. “It’s dangerous out there, take this.”

At first, he was honestly afraid to look, expecting to be offered something like a condom or some other bad joke, but was surprised to see the other man holding out a stealth generator.

“To escape your fans.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know. I’m a genius.”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly nabbed the stealth generator before Draike could change his mind and frowned at the initials carved in the side in Aurabesh. “Is this even yours?”

“Eh, close enough.”

Whatever, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Theron would deal with those potential repercussions later.  He flicked on the power to the stealth generator which let out a low, almost inaudible hum as a burst of life engulfed his form. He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of brightness, and when he opened them again, dark spots of the light pattern danced in his vision for a few seconds. He blinked a few more times before they faded away.

He waved an arm experimentally in front of his face, and only felt the slight movement of air. Draike didn’t seem to react at all, and that was probably good enough.

“Thanks,” he said, palming the sensor to the door.

Draike rolled his eyes and ambled out into the corridor, looking around with the air of a man all too used to hiding from those looking for him. Theron watched as he raised a hand to a very slowly moving GNK power droid.

“How’s it hanging?”

“GONK!” 

“Oh yeah? You don’t say! I think I saw him head that way.” Draike pointed in the direction leading to cantina. “Just between you and me, I heard he’s sweet on that droid who’s a comfort enthusiast.”

“GONK! GONK! GONK!”

Still hidden underneath the stealth field, Theron had to bite down the urge to make any noise of frustration and just turned an invisible, irritated gaze at the other man’s back. As if sensing Theron’s irritation, Draike just grinned wider.

“Yeah, you know how those spy types are. Always toying with droids’ hearts. You could do better than him.”

“GONK!”

“Oh, you spicy droid! Yeah, trundle off that way, big guy. I’m sure you’ll catch him!”

With a loud clanking, the GNK droid began his slow and steady journey towards the cantina. As the echoes finally faded, Draike casually stretched, pointing towards the direction of the War Room.

Theron skulked on by, but not before giving his brother-in-law a well deserved whop upside the head. The stealth field flickered momentarily on the physical contact before shimmering back into place.

“It’d serve you right to get caught by doing that,” Draike sniffed indignantly, “after all I’ve done to help you.”

“When all of this is over--”

“Hush now,” Draike waved at the air in front of him. “You have bigger problems to deal with. Meanwhile, I will be heading to the cantina. And definitely won’t be live-streaming any brawls breaking out over the Master Lover breaking droid hearts everywhere.”

Theron snorted out an annoyed breath, and checked his urge to trip Draike as he sauntered off, hands jammed into his pockets as he whistled a jaunty tune. Like the purloined stealth generator, he’d have to worry about slicing and corrupting any servers containing evidence of this mess after he figured out how to stop whatever this was from spreading any further.

The upside to this whole unfortunate side encounter, was that the stealth generator made it possible for him to quietly creep around any droids he passed in the corridor. Most seemed to be making a hasty exit for the cantina, almost as if word had spread of Drake’s false rumor about his and C2-N2’s torrid love affair and every heartbroken circuit was flocking in that direction now.

And when he thought about it like that, when exactly had this become his life? Oh, right. Like fifteen minutes ago. Or however long this nightmare had started. Time had sort of lost meaning, if he were being honest.

He managed to make it to the war room, undetected and unmolested, and quietly snuck his way towards the irritable blonde Sith, holding her head in her hands as if she were battling the world’s strongest migraine. As Theron approached the Sith, he could hear her muttering under her breath in frustration. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat, causing her to jerk her head up in surprise.

“Who’s there?”

“Quiet,” Theron hissed. “They might hear you.”

“Oh, for Sith’s sake,” she exhaled, “where in the blazes have you been?”

“Hiding,” he whispered urgently. “These droids have all gone haywire!”

“And who’s fault is that, I wonder.”

“Not me,” he insisted, “not this time!”

“Right,” she said sardonically, “and I suppose that’s why there isn’t a reality holoseries entitled ‘Programmed for Love’ currently being live-streamed in the cantina for the entire HoloNet to see.”

“Damn it, Draike!” Theron cursed. “I thought he was joking about that.”

“Of course. How did I not see that coming?” she muttered.

“I’ll slice in and scrub all of the servers after we figure out this... this... whatever this is?”

“Your insecurities laid bare in binary?” she suggested, oh so helpfully.

“Why did I come to you for help again?”

“Because--”

It was at that point, that a probe droid, currently speeding its way towards the cantina, happened to take notice of Lana talking to thin air, and veered off its intended trajectory, heading straight for Theron’s position near the back of the war room. If the loud alarms and flashing lights were any indication, it had been able to see through his stealth generator.

Wait... those weren’t alarm proximities it was flashing. As Theron watched its rapid approach, he couldn’t help but stare at it in dumb fascination, brow furrowing as he tried to make out the images it was projecting. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say it was a bizarre mixture of Aurabesh and hologlyphs.

He squinted, just able to make out: “DX-98 🤖🔥 Analytical  Scanner 💋🙏 Okara Droid Factory 🔍🌌💕 Exobiology Research 🥵🍑 Top HoloFans 0.7%!”

Before he had a chance to process any of that, the droid was already upon him, pincher arms spreading wide to snap him up for some purpose far beyond its original programming. He only had milliseconds to react before the droid reached him, when an explosive force sent the droid flying backwards harmlessly, and had Theron landing ungracefully on his tailbone. The stealth field fizzled out with a pop on his impact with the ground.

A familiar figure landed between him and the droid, twin blue scarves billowing behind her dramatically, blonde ponytail swaying with the motion of her movement. A small frown of concentration bunched her forehead as his wife threw a concerned look in his direction.

“You requested rescue?” Grey asked.

“Ah, my knight in shining armor has arrived,” he quipped back.

“I am not wearing my armor.” The frown of concentration morphed into one of confusion.

“I--never mind.” He pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his hands. “Thank you for the timely intervention.”

She graced him with a hint of a smile and a bob of her head in acknowledgment. “Any time.”

“As touching as all of this is,” Lana broke in sourly, “it still doesn’t solve our larger problem.”

“Yeah,” Theron rubbed the back of his neck, “you’re not wrong. It sounds like this has spread across the entire base?”

“It appears that way,” Lana said tightly. “You know, you assured me that all of this had been taken care of the last time we dealt with this issue.”

“Hey now,” he bit back, “I’m a man of my word!”

She snorted at that. “Tell that to the Umbaran Transit Authority.”

“How are you still mad about that?”

“You tazed me!”

“Focus,” Grey said, eyeing the stunned probe droid warily. “If memory serves me correct, you had a program you deployed to revert the programming of the droids the last time this happened.”

“Yes, that’s what doesn’t make sense.” He watched as the holoprojectors on the downed probe droid flickered, hologlyphs flashing rapidly in the War Room’s dim light. “I programmed it to eliminate all trace of the offending code. The only way it could be reappearing now is if someone took one of the infected droids offline before I deployed...”

Lana arrived at the same conclusion right about the time that Theron did, picking up the thought. “I seem to recall a certain someone requesting you replicate your work for less-than-legal purposes.”

Theron angrily punched the button on his comm as he growled, “Gault!”

The Devaronian’s voice came back immediately, almost a little too suave. “Theron! What a surprise to hear your dulcet tones requesting my presence.”

“Gault,” Lana managed to keep some measure of calm, “are you responsible for this current situation?”

“What situation is that?” he asked far too innocently, even as a distant call of a droid’s clanking nearly drowned out it’s loud declaration of the presence of rust on one Theron Shan’s “bolt”. There was a moment of silence before he continued. “Oh! You mean the lustful droids currently running amok on the base?”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lana said dryly. “My original question stands.”

“I am shocked, shocked and scandalized that my name would be the first to come to mind! Might I remind you, it was one Miss Djannis who requested you create her a Shan Sexbot.”

“Yeah,” Kaliyo jumped in on the comms, clearly annoyed, the sound of metallic brawling nearly drowning out her voice, “I wanted it for hilarious crimes! Not whatever the fuck this is!”

“Gault,” a third voice, Hylo Visz, cut in. From the background noise, it seemed she was in the same location as Kaliyo. “I swear, if you don’t help us figure out how to stop this, when you’re not looking I’ll cut off your--”

“Okay, okay, geez!” He interrupted before his significant other could finish whatever that threat was. “Fine, it was me! I deactivated a droid before Theron uploaded his program.”

“Of course.” Lana rolled her eyes upwards, as if asking the Force for patience.

“In my defense,” Gault continued, “originally it was just to shut the stupid thing up! But then Kaliyo came up with that brilliant idea for the Shan Sexbot Distraction, and I thought, why not hold on to this beauty in case it came in handy for a con?”

The sound of Theron smacking his forehead in frustration echoed throughout the War Room.

“So you know, just had a fun idea come to me the other day, so I extracted the original programming and altered a few things, and tried to put it into a new droid for my plan.”

“Did that droid happen to be a blue medical monstrosity?” Theron was actively massaging his temples at this point.

“I will have you know,” Gault said, “that BL-U3 is a consummate professional. You would be lucky to have him perform a medical exam on you!”

“Yeah, that was definitely his intent,” Theron shot back. “Purely professional and not lecherous at all! Which was not in any of my code.”

“Hey, I never claimed to be very talented when it came to software programming. I may have made a mistake or two when altering your code.”

“May have?!”

“How was I supposed to know that the remnants of the Gemini Frequency code in our systems was going to work after the entire Eternal Fleet had gone offline and deploy your software STD to the entire network? Sue me!”

“I’m considering it!”

Before the mostly pointless argument could escalate any further, the sounds of metallic clanking from above, roughly from the location of the cantina, began to grow closer, the cacophony increasing in volume, until it sounded like it was coming in all directions.

“That is not a good sign,” Grey’s mutter was nearly lost to the noise.

“Hey,” Drake’s annoyed voice cut in over the comm, “my livestream is now officially ruined! I hope you’re all happy!”

“I’m afraid to even ask why,” Theron said.

“Oh, it seems all of my extremely eligible and single contestants heard your voice over the comms and abandoned challenging Seetoo Enntoo to unarmed droid combat for the right to court you, and are now all headed in your direction.”

“Oops.”

“Worry not Agent Shan,” the unusually warbly vocabulator of C2-N2 came over the comms, “I will not rest until I alone can provide you with the ultimate in comfort!”

“We should probably get a different housekeeping droid after this is all over,” he told his wife.

That seemed a lesser concern to Grey, as she had shifted into Alliance Commander mode, and was currently on the comms, shouting for every available member of the Force Enclave to get to the War Room as fast as possible to help hold off the incoming army of lustful droids.

Yeah, come to think of it, that was probably more important.

“We must use nonlethal force,” she stressed, giving a particularly severe look to Lana when she said that, getting a simple nonplussed shrug in return, “as we only need to hold the droids at bay until we can come up with a solution. They are not to blame for what’s happening.”

Theron begged to differ, but she was probably right in this case. The cost of repairing or replacing an entire base full of droids would be astronomical.

As Force users began to stream in and take up position around the room, the sound of wheels racing along the metal plating caught Theron's attention, and he looked over to see a familiar silver T7-series astromech racing into the room. He tensed up instinctively at the sight of a droid, as anyone would have in his situation.

“Teeseven!” Grey called out with a smile, clearly not as wary or droidshy.

The little astromech let out a friendly whistle and series of chirps in binary, that roughly translated to: “T7-01 = Safe! // Been off network entire morning!”

“Oh, what a relief,” she breathed, “I would have hated for you to be infected with this too!”

He let out another series of beeps: “T7-01 = still in possession of original antivirus code. // Can tweak it and upload to servers = Save the day?”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Theron muttered.

“T7 = not scared!”

Grey’s expression melted into one of admiration and pride. “Teeseven, that’s incredibly brave -- but are you sure? Theron’s right, it could be very dangerous.”

“T7 = Jedi + Theron’s friend. // Helping > Risk!”

She looked at him and he returned the gaze with a small nod, realizing there wasn’t much in the way of choice. It was either that or let the droids overrun them. And then whatever happened when one of them actually got their hands on on Theron -- a prospect he wasn’t really that thrilled to explore right now.

“Fine,” he said tersely, “let’s do this!”

The two of them rushed over to the center console in the room, Theron pulling out his slicer spike as Teeseven plugged his scomplink arm into the main network terminal. The rest of their reinforcements from the Force Enclave arrived just in time and formed a ring around the two slicers. They managed to erect a large Force barrier just as the metallic clanging and clatter grew to a roar, announcing the arrival of the lecherous horde.

Near the front of the mob, Z0-0M threw up her arms in glee and excitement as she jumped to try and catch sight of her beloved. “There you are Agent Shan! You left before we could finish our conversation -- you were saying something about oxidation?”

“Interjection: Do not listen to this hussy, Theron! You and I will make sweet explosions together!”

Theron valiantly tuned them out as he took in a feed of the original antivirus code that Teeseven shared with him. Yes, this all looked correct. Unfortunately, he was going to need get a look to see how Gault had mutilated his beautiful original coding to know how to alter it.

Teeseven was two steps ahead of him, and a stream of code flashed across the HUD in his ocular implants. He watched in horror as he saw the butchery with his own two eyes.

“Gault, where the hell did you get this code?” he asked over the comms incredulously. “HornHub?”

“Excuse you, I only frequent the classiest places on the galactic communications grid, like HoloHump!” The growl of Gault’s name from a very angry Mirialan smuggler had him quickly adding. “You know, I’m just going to shut up and let you concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Teeseven, ever the valiant worker, ignored the conversation completely, and was hard at work running diagnostics on the altered code and the best way to modify the antivirus to address it. Theron watched the stream of letters and numbers fly across the HUD at lightning speed.

The little guy was good at what he did. He let out a flurry of beeps and whistles as almost the last piece of this very lurid puzzle started to fall into place. The little droid seemed to almost be singing along with the code as he wrote it, like a mechanical maestro conducting an orchestra. They were close, so close and--

The next whistle Teeseven let out was not his normal, cheerful way of communication, much lower in timbre and more seductive.

No.

Teeseven whirled his flat head around until his visual sensor faced Theron, and let out another wolf whistle, his holoprojector lighting up to proudly display: T7-01 🤖👀🔍 Observant 👁️🔭 Scanner 🔍🏞️ Tython 🌄👏 215 🍒♎ Repairing 👅🙈 Top HoloFans 3.6%

“What was that?” Grey shouted to be heard over the droids catcalling.

“No no no no,” Theron muttered, “we’re so close! Don’t do this to me, little buddy!”

“What happened to my precious baby boy?” Grey demanded, sweat trickling down the side of her face as she struggled to maintain the Force barrier.

Beyond the barrier, the rest of the porndroid army followed suit with Teeseven, all either wildly projecting their own series of hologlyphs and random facts about themselves and their planets of origins, while others struck disturbingly seductive poses, and a scant few demanded that “ShanDaddy” start a holocall with them in private.

With no time and no recourse left, Theron dove back into the system, yanking Teeseven’s unfinished code as he was nearly overwhelmed with lewd images and thirsty hologlyphs, struggling to finish and upload the code as the volume in the War Room rose to a crescendo just as the Force users’ began to fall, one after the other, their barrier weakening by the moment.

The overwhelming cacophony of hologlyphs, lewd poses, and robotic come-ons that had filled the War Room suddenly disappeared. All eyes turned to the droids as almost in unison, as they all powered down—a sign that their malware had been neutralized. Theron slumped back in relief, his work finally done.

Grey, Lana, and the others let out a long sigh of relief, the tension leaving their bodies in a rush.

“Thank the Force,” Grey murmured, sinking down to the ground. “I do not think I could have held that barrier much longer.”

Theron nodded, feeling a similar sense of exhaustion. He leaned back against the console, closing his eyes but was unable to banish the mentally scarring series of images that were probably permanently burned into his retinas.

“Remind me,” he said faintly, “to obliterate HoloHump’s servers. Once I’m done murdering Gault.”

“You act as if there will be anything left after I find him,” Lana said darkly.

“Remember everyone,” Grey spoke in her best and most official Alliance Commander voice, “murder is bad and frowned upon in the Official Alliance Employee Handbook.”

“Query: Why are we all in the War Room?” HK-55 asked as he came back online. “And more importantly, why is that blue meddroid manipulating its medical instruments into a heart shape, as if expressing affection towards the Commander?”

[greyias]

Precious Life Day Traditions

Angering a gift droid on the Promenade until he starts pelting you with never ending snowballs, then using your baby sister as a human shield for the next five minutes until it respawns.

[greyias]

Finally, some truth in advertising with this new legacy title

[greyias]

Now, @grumpyhedgehog in no way whatsoever asked for this, but somehow I still took it as a challenge to create a Fuckboy outfit for Draike. I think I nailed the assignment pretty well, given the outfit constraints within game.

[greyias]

If there was a chance that you can bring to real life one of your OCs, which OC will you choose and why? How do you spend your time with them?

Oh goodness, if I had to choose only one... well, I could do that to Grey, because then she'd know she was a fictional construct and her whole life was a lie and that Theron doesn't even exist outside of pixels -- and Draike would cause way too much chaos (and online thirsting). Ben would mind less but be brokenhearted that dragons are not real in this reality... sooo I think the Highwind siblings are out.

Let's go with Ari, because she would be delighted by the amount of music and entertainment there is to offer in the real world. We'd have a jam session (well, she would jam, I would listen as I have zero musical talent), enjoy delightful confections, and probably bingewatch something highly entertaining. Whatever happens, it would at least be fun.

[greyias]

From the protective sibling starters: “I’d never let anyone else talk shit about you. Only I can.”

Draike Highwind had a public image to maintain. As he was forcibly ejected from Carrick Station’s VIP Lounge and the swanky party he’d managed to sweet talk his way into, he took care to appear in control of the situation. His humiliating exit had been witnessed, much to his consternation. In an attempt at cool nonchalance, he straightened his jacket and ran his hand through his hair.

Sadly, his convincing performance did not seem to work, and his brother-in-law came sauntering over, sporting an amused smirk that Draike would gladly wipe off the other man’s face. He made one last attempt to pretend he hadn’t seen the spy, hope springs eternal and all that, and tried to head for the bar opposite his pursuer—but was intercepted before he got halfway there.

How did the man move so damn fast? Must have been the SIS training. Or the (supposed) Jedi training. Either way, it was unnatural.

“Smooth moves, Highwind.”

“Shut it, Shan!”

He really wasn’t in the mood.

Of course, Theron Shan was as perceptive as he was annoying, and he immediately noticed the shiner that was already making its presence known. He quirked a brow.

“So—” Somehow he drew the word out into multiple syllables, “I take it this means you’re making friends?”

Normally, Draike would have the perfect response ready, some zinger that would sink in and wipe that smug look off the spy’s face in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately, there was something about the arch of Theron’s brow, the throbbing behind Draike’s eye, and the casual question that transported him back over three decades...

“This isn’t how you make friends, Draike.”

Draike attempted to stare sullenly at the ground, but his mother’s firm grip on his chin prevented him from completely avoiding her stern, yet disappointed, gaze. It was a look he was all too familiar with, as was the heavy sigh she let out as she carefully examined the purpling around his eye.

“Just wait until your father sees this—you know how he feels about fighting.”

He snorted an angry breath, but knew better than to say anything. He’d heard some variation of this lecture a thousand times before. Instead, he just fumed as she continued her long diatribe. Don’t get into fights, Draike. Watch your temper, Draike. Stop picking on your sister, Draike. He was always doing something wrong, and the underlying cause almost always seemed to be the same.

Her.

His annoying little sister.

Because he thought it was hilarious to tug on her pigtails, causing her cheeks to puff up with indignation and turn the most hilarious shade of red. Or because she caught him breaking one of the house rules and found the nearest adult to tattle to. Or simply because he said something to her that made her cry (such as making fun of when she’d loudly proclaim her status as a Jedi).

“Why did you feel the need to punch Drice Hawkens?” Vainas asked. “Aren’t you two friends?”

Friend was a funny word with Draike. Having friends from his community on Dantooine proved to be a double-edged sword for him. It was nice that he could share in the everyday lives of his peers, and it was fun to be in a position of authority with a bunch of boys his age in a society where he had to take orders from adults most of the time. But there were always going to be some people in any group with whom he wouldn’t want to associate if given the choice. In a small community, you couldn’t be choosy about who you hung out with unless you wanted to spend all of your time bored out of your mind because there was no one else to socialize with. He didn’t mind being the center of attention, whether it was through accepting crazy dares, telling stupid jokes, or finding any other means he could think of to break up the monotony.

He’d have to chase off his “little shadow,” as he called her, about half the time he was with them. He didn’t need her ratting out what he and his pals did to break the boredom and pass the time. Even worse, if some of his antics inspired her, she might try to imitate him and end up hurting herself. That would land him in a world of trouble, more than anything he or his friends would get up to. So maybe he didn’t always do it in the nicest way, and maybe he felt a twinge of guilt when Grey’s face fell when she was told to leave. But it was for her own good.

Draike hadn’t noticed her stalking their small group today. She appeared to be becoming sneakier with each passing day. She seemed to know exactly when he’d look back over his shoulder and melt into the shadows before he could see her. Drice had spotted her just as they were about to climb the fence into the shipyard and had whirled on the little girl, calling her an annoying tag-a-long among other choice words.

A peculiar sensation rose up in him, something he had never felt before. Something hot, molten, and blinding. He’d seen her face fall a thousand times before, those big blue eyes welling up and watering. And the sight had inspired nothing other than annoyance, but the moment those tears spilled down her cheeks at Drice’s words, that odd feeling took over. He was jumping off from the fence he had been attempting to scale and was shoving the other boy away with some choice words of his own. Things had kind of escalated from there.

Draike’s mother’s patience seemed to wear thin as the silence continued, so he finally offered the only explanation he could think of: “I’m not friends with jerks.”

Except he hadn’t said “jerks”.

His mother’s brow furrowed with suspicion and condemnation. She had the uncanny ability to tell when he was lying, in the same way his younger sister could shadow his every move. He could see twin blonde pigtails peeking out from behind the door as his mother dabbed more kolto on the cut above his eye, a guilty expression on her little freckled face.

“Draike...” His mother drawled his name out in her most disapproving tone.

Under her astute gaze, he shifted, suddenly uneasy in his own skin. Despite her stern demeanor, the penetrating gaze had a gentleness to it. She’d always had that effect on him, as if she could see right through his bluster and every wall he tried to build. It was almost as if she could see right into his soul.

After dinner, he had been sent to his room to think about what he’d done. Draike stared at the ceiling, contemplating his life and how things could have gotten so out of hand when he actually tried to do the right thing for once. His door creaked open and bare feet padded across the floor. He looked up to see his sister sneaking in with a plate, which she placed on his nightstand. With a start, he realized it was her portion of dessert — her favorite — and she had brought it for him.

His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist as she tried to sneak back out of the room without saying anything. She came to a halt and turned to him with a cautious, inquisitive look. He said nothing and simply broke it in half, offering her the larger piece. The tentative smile she offered him almost made up for the black eye and lecture.

Draike blinked back to the present, surprised at how far his mind had wandered. He hadn’t meant for it to. It was just one of those things that happened now and then when he let his thoughts wander.

He and Grey had never spoken of the incident again, and Draike would have rather been tortured than admit it aloud... but it was one of his favorite childhood memories. The quiet, companionable silence of two siblings defying authority and, for once, enjoying each other’s company.

Theron lifted an eyebrow to Draike. “So the reason you got thrown out was—”

“No reason,” Draike snapped.

Their argument was cut short when the VIP Lounge’s burly bouncer forcibly escorted another person out of the establishment. The individual stumbled but turned around to glare at Draike, but the security guard shoved them in the opposite direction. Angry shouts echoed in his wake, but the only thing that could be made out in the drunken slurred speech was something distinctly foul and unsavory about the Alliance — or, more specifically, its commander — and Theron’s face twisted into a scowl, as if he was ready to finish what Draike had started.

Finally, Theron glanced at his brother-in-law, who was stiffening in his seat. “So, you got thrown out... for no apparent reason?”

“Some people just deserve a good punching,” Draike shrugged nonchalantly.

Theron’s hard stare softened as he motioned to the bartender for the smuggler’s next drink. It was a double of the most expensive thing on the menu, because why waste generosity? Miraculously, Theron said no more, just raised a glass in salute to their mutual understanding and common ground.

No talked shit about Draike Highwind’s little sister.

...except maybe Draike himself.

[greyias]

How did Draike get along with his class companions!

Oh, he got along with them all pretty swimmingly! Team Ship-Still-Tragically-Unnamed-Ten-Years-Later 4eva!

He and Corso are total bros, and he and Bowdaar are also total bros (but in a different, cool way), he and Risha would be total bros except he keeps burning credits and flirting with everything in sight, Guss is his lovable scamp sidekick and protege in all things dubious, and somehow he both got Akaavi to agree to have sex with him in every hidden smuggling compartment on the ship and get her to propose to him!

Really, the worst thing to happen to him was the time this one asshole stole his ship on Ord Mantell. And then later that whole Zakuul mess.

[greyias]

petrichor - the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of dry weather

A little late on the reply, featuring @grumpyhedgehog​‘s Lyra Dorn, as she makes a new friend.

There was something unique about springtime on Dantooine, the way life renewed itself after a long winter slumber, but perhaps one of her favorite things was the first rain of the season. It signaled the beginning of the planting season. Her grandfather tended to the fields with his old, rusted equipment, while Lyra Dorn helped her grandmother in the garden. She loved the way the damp soil gave way beneath her fingers as she buried the seeds that would blossom into herbs and vegetables given time. But most of all she loved the deep, earthy scent that filled her nostrils as the rain hit the dry soil. It smelled so fresh, like a renewal. A new beginning.

That smell was almost overpowered here in the nerf pens by the musk of her large furry companions, something the boy with her was not shy sharing his opinions about.

“How can you be this close to something that smells so bad?” he held his nose dramatically as he shook his head, his shock of black hair echoing the movement.

“You get used to it,” Lyra said with a shrug.

“But why?”

“Because they’re cute.”

“They are not. They’re big, hairy, and they drool.”

“That’s not drool,” she smiled as the boy tried to shove the nerf intending to nuzzle its newly adopted human-calf affectionately, “it’s a kiss!”

“Well, make it stop!”

“She likes you!”

The boy glared at the large animal right as he was drowned in a big, sticky kiss. “This better not be the cool thing you promised me!”

Lyra happened to think sloppy nerf kisses were perhaps the best thing in the world, next to maybe Grandpa Dorn’s special tea blend. “That’s Floofer. She’s my favorite.”

The boy glared at Floofer, as if doing so might somehow summon back the dignity that had been licked away by her giant, slobbery kiss. Not for the first time, she wondered what the boy’s name was — but he hadn’t offered it when she’d found him balancing precariously on the fence to the nerf pen, instead preferring to talk about all of the different types of spaceships he was going to fly one day. It had been fascinating to listen to him talk about space and flying as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as Grandma and Grandpa were always talking about the farm and growing things. It was like being introduced to a whole new world.

They had been talking for over ten minutes by the time she realized she didn’t know what to call him, and it felt a little rude to ask now. It would be like pointing out bad manners on her new friend’s part, and Lyra didn’t have many friends outside of the nerfs. The only clue to the mysterious boy’s identity that he’d let slip was that his father was the doctor that was currently inside the house, and he’d been forced to accompany him on his rounds as some sort of punishment for some misdeed that he didn’t really feel like explaining.

The doctor, Lyra knew.

Doctor Onasi had been coming out to the farm a lot lately, but Lyra wasn’t allowed in the house when he came around. Grandpa said it would be boring and that she should just play with Floofer and the rest of the herd. He never said anything about it having to do with how tired Grandma had been lately, but Lyra knew that was the real reason. She couldn’t say exactly how, but she did. Just like she knew that despite his bluster and glowering, the dark haired boy wasn’t as annoyed with Floofer’s displays of affection as he was putting on.

Without a word she moved further into the pen, waving the boy over. Floofer followed dutifully as Lyra knelt down in the pile of hay where four (relatively) tiny balls of fur huddled together. The boy knelt opposite to her, hand tentatively reaching out before he seemed to catch himself.

“What are they?”

“Babies!” she said if that explained everything in the world. At his narrowed brow, she clarified. “Calves. Nerf calves.”

He looked at one of the balls of fur that was sniffing him with great skepticism, but that melted into a smile as the calf surged forward to press against him affectionately.

“Aren’t they cute?” Lyra asked.

“No,” he said, although the big smile on his face said otherwise, “they’re just really big hairballs.”

“I guess they are,” she allowed, “but they’re still cute.”

The boy shook his head, but continued to pet the little nerf, as he spent the rest of the visit going into great detail on how the Corellian XS Freighters were the best and fastest ships in the galaxy, and how one day he was going to be the best pilot the galaxy would ever see. She let him talk, happy to hear about the wider galaxy, and just to have a new friend.

[greyias]

Oh, he’s a wild one all right.

[greyias]

This one got… epically long. Like, over 7k words. Based on one of @grumpyhedgehog’s headcanons with her Jedi Lyra and the trash panda extraordinaire. Main pairing is Draike/Lyra (Smuggler/Jedi OC) pre-relationship, secondary pairing of Theron/Knight. I should also warn for a very brief foray into a M rating. For reasons that will become very clear about halfway through.

He didn’t care what anyone else in the Alliance said, Draike Highwind was in the very firm opinion that life on Odessen was boring. The pace around the base had practically slowed to a crawl the past few months, what with them officially laying low and trying to stay off the galactic radar while the rest of the galaxy started to ramp up back into their umpteenth war. Not that Draike liked the constant state of war they all seemed to live in, but at least out there things were happening.

A thin trickle of condensation ran down the side of his glass, and he flicked the droplet across the cantina table, watching it skip along the smooth polished metal surface. It wasn’t the most entertaining diversion — no, he still had a few hours left before that particular game started again — but hey. It was better than watching paint dry. Another trickle worked its way down the side of his glass, and he tried to see if he could get further distance.

“You do realize,” a pleasant voice chimed in, “they make coasters for that.”

Draike lifted his attention from the very interesting and oh-so-important glass of booze to see the familiar form of Lyra Dorn, standing next to his table. As usual, she was looking stereotypically Jedi, decked out in armor and robes even though they were just stuck here in this boring excuse for a base of operations. Her honey blonde locks swept back from her face as she arched a delicate brow at him. He spied a datapad in one hand, and in the other a platter filled to the brim with fried Capellan turg-root, roast gorak, and Ahrisa.

“I’m just livening up the place,” Draike said drolly, by way of greeting.

Lyra almost rolled her eyes, but seemed to catch herself before plopping down in the chair opposite him, delicately setting down the platter in the center as if it were some sort of offering. That was all the invitation he needed, and he snatched up a turg-root.

He was already halfway through chewing with when she let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “Yes, those are for you.”

He just returned the remark with a crumb-filled grin, as if to say, “I know.”

That got past her internal defenses, and she was unable to suppress her urge to roll her eyes. The twitch at the edge of her lips let him know she found it amusing though, despite whatever airs she liked to project.

Summoning some modicum of manners, Draike finished off his bite and waved a hand at the plate. “You can have one too.”

“Oh, how magnanimous of you,” she said, but there was no sting to her tone, and she politely pinched off a piece of Ahrisa, setting down the datapad as she did so.

He eyed the device, disguising his suspicion with an easy smile as he snagged another turg-root, smothering it in one of the spicy sauces ringing the platter. “What you got there? Some spicy HoloNet fic? Apparently the latest trope everyone’s writing about is the poor betrayed rebellion commander and their traitorous spy lover.”

“How do you know that?”

“There is nothing to do here. I get bored.”

“Those are about your sister!”

“Look, it’s not my fault she professed her undying love to her stupid boyfriend in front of an open broadcast to the entire galaxy!”

“And that’s your brother-in-law now.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “Okay, so if you’re not reading fictionalized accounts of my baby sister’s love life, what’s the datapad for?”

She shot him a look, as if to ask him once again why she would ever read trashy romance about a real person in her life, much less a relative of his. “It’s…”

“Yes?”

“For your reports,” she sighed.

“What? My reports?” he sat up a bit straighter. “Why?”

“Someone made me aware that you’ve been having difficulty getting your reports turned in on time,” Lyra said hesitantly, “and so I thought I’d help you out with them.”

Draike managed to summon his most offended face to bear. “So you bring me a giant platter of my favorite food as a ruse to trick me into working?”

“It’s not a ruse,” she was quick to reassure him, “it’s a… peace offering. And fuel for the brain.”

“It’s a bribe is what it is.”

“Oh, and so what if it is?” A little bit of haughtiness was beginning to creep into her tone, accent thickening ever so slightly as his combativeness managed to puncture her friendly demeanor. “You need to get your reports done, and I’m willing to help you write them because I am a good friend. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is I don’t need help writing my reports,” Draike said, crossing his arms as he leaned back into his seat.

“What... yes you do! Theron said—”

An almost maniacal grin spread across his face before he even realized it and quickly smothered it. Usually he was better at keeping a good Sabacc face, but for a moment, even that was eclipsed by the momentary and purely malicious glee that stole through him.

“What was that?” Lyra asked.

“What was what?”

“That look.”

“There was no look.”

“Yes, there was. I know that look—Draike.”

One of the most boring parts about living on Odessen was the rules—and the paperwork. On his own, he only had to do the bare minimum of paperwork to get his cargo runs in. Just enough legality to keep people off his back. It was annoying, but he did what he had to. And at some point he just let Risha take care of that sort of thing — he secretly suspected she enjoyed the tedium. Alas, those salad days were behind him. Here they liked to dot all of their i’s and cross all of their t’s. They wanted a flimsi trail and records for runs, but also stupid things like, incident reports. Which unless something really exciting happened was just an absolute snore fest.

So, he’d made a little game out of them.

Because of course the one person who was hounding him the most for all of this pointless paperwork was his new brother-in-law. If there was something Draike liked less than being told what to do — it was being told what to do by a joyless workaholic that was giving it to his baby sister every night.

“Your report was supposed to be handed in this morning. Do you need any help getting it—?”

“Oh no, help isn’t necessary. I’ve already got it done.”

An adorable little frown of confusion creased Lyra’s face. “Then why the delay?”

“No one, and I mean no one gives Draike Highwind orders,” he said proudly. “Shan will get the report when he’s good and ready.”

Bless her heart, Lyra always seemed willing to believe the best in Draike, even more than most people. That belief was getting tested at the moment, as he could see the wheels starting to turn in her head. She hadn’t put the pieces together yet, but she would soon.

“I’ve got, oh,” he made a show of glancing at the chronometer, “about nine hours and fifty four minutes to go before turning it in.”

As if in triumph, he picked up another turg-root and ate it with an almost perverse pleasure. This time he didn’t try to smother the big grin that blossomed in full on his face.

The thing about Shan was that he was way too predictable. Mister Super Secret Agent Man and dedicated workaholic was never too far from a datapad, whether it was in the war room or in his own quarters. If something were to come into his inbox tagged as urgent, his type couldn’t resist taking a look. No matter what they were doing. And hey, what could Draike say if maybe the message was perfectly timed to chime in right at the most, ahem, romantic portion of Shan’s evening? And if the report itself had been a little more exciting than expected, so exciting that it completely distracted Shan from any other plans, well that was just a side benefit. He was just trying to keep everyone entertained. And of course every report had a twist ending, because Draike was really giving like that. The twist being that the giant  cliffhanger he was building up to was all a sham, and that the incident report was really just a boring waste of time all along.

By his reckoning, Draike was pretty sure that he’d successfully prevented any nighttime activities between his sister and brother-in-law for at least a week now. If Shan was sending Lyra to do his dirty work, it meant he was probably getting desperate. Perfect.

Lyra let out a long suffering sigh, still acting as if she was trying to negotiate some all-important intergalactic trade deal instead of just trying to get her best friend to do some pointless paperwork. “Look, if it’s already finished, I could send the report in for you. Theron does need to sleep some time you know.”

He just snorted and shook his head. “I love you, sweetheart, but you don’t mess with a man’s data stream. If Shan has a problem he can come and talk to me—”

Draike’s statement ended in a lurch, his whole body going rigid as he suddenly processed his own words. He slid a look over to Lyra, who blinked back at him. The hints of a smile were starting to form at the corners of her mouth, something she tried to hide by taking a prolonged and yet somehow delicate bite of her Ahrisa as if she hadn’t heard anything at all.

It didn’t really matter how much she pretended though, because he knew what he’d said. It was as if the entire, expansive cantina had somehow managed to shrink in those few seconds, the natural carved stone walls closing in around him. His chest tightened, each breath a little harder to pull in than the last, as all of the blood drained from his face.

Panic could take on many forms — it all depended on the person. Some people go rigid and weren’t able to move. Others hid theirs with anger or lashed out at others. Some didn’t hide theirs at all, going into full on hyperventilation. But Draike Highwind was none of those types of people. And so he scanned the room, desperately searching for salvation, and found it in the tall form of a Wookiee at the bar.

No actual coherent thought was in his mind as he leapt to his feet, Lyra, the datapad, and platter of food seemingly forgotten as he loudly proclaimed for every patron of the cantina to hear. “Hey, Bowdarr!”

The wookiee looked up with an inquisitive growl.

“You know I love you, right? I love all my friends!”

Bowdarr shook his massive furry head, neither confusion nor resignation registering on his face as suddenly the much shorter human had crossed the threshold, practically slinging his arm around the taller being. Without missing a beat, Draike slung his other arm around the Mon Cal that was also at the bar.

“You too, Guss!”

“Oh, Captain! This is so unexpect—”

“Hey, you! Droid!”

C2-N2 had been dutifully sweeping up a mess over in the corner of the cantina, and the protocol droid looked up in confusion, as if not expecting to be pulled into this of all conversations. “Oh, Captain Highwind, as flattered as I am by your affections, I don’t—”

“What? No. I don’t love you.”

“Well I never!”

“You’re taking good care of my sister, right?”

“But of course, Captain Highwind. I am the primary expert on comfort in all of—”

“Yeah, yeah yeah. You know how much I love her right?”

An audible and communal sound of confusion rippled through the entire cantina. Apparently, this was news to everyone on base.

“In fact,” Draike continued, broadcasting at the top of his lungs to drown out the dissenters of his brotherly affection, “you should go let her know that. Right now.”

The protocol droid practically saluted him as he scuttered off to do as he was told. Orders taken, Draike turned to give the next, and possibly most important person in his life, the good news, and proclaimed to the bartender on duty his undying love for the perfect glass of whiskey that he poured every night.

Off in the corner, Lyra sunk further and further into her chair the louder Draike got, eyes raising up to the ceiling. As if somehow, counting all of the flecks up there would somehow, magically, get him to stop.

This was the perfect plan, if Theron did say so himself. Not that he was really saying much at the moment. Just enjoying the slow, slick slide, the enveloping heat, and the low but appreciative noises filling the room. It had been far, far too long. That was, of course, a nice chunk of his good mood—just having some nice quality time with his wife. But it had the added benefit that he’d finally managed to outwit his stupid brother-in-law’s attempts to derail it. There was no way Draike and his late reports could screw this up. All it had taken was rearranging several meetings and some nonessential business to get the afternoon off.

And Theron was putting the time to good use.

His lips wandered their familiar route, starting just under the shell of his wife’s ear, slowly making their way to the hollow of her throat. Just the way she liked it, if the fingernails digging into his back was any indication. That’s right. Just like that. He let out his own sound of appreciation, and just a little more and he’d—

That thought, and the precious rhythm he’d been building up, was completely shattered as the telltale hiss of hydraulics cut through the room as the door to their quarters whooshed open. Both occupants in the bed went completely still, wide eyed and dumbfounded as a little breeze of recirculated air drifted in from the hall.

Before Theron could say anything, or even twist in what was now a very awkward position, a cheerful robotic voice called out from the doorway. “I have wonderful news, Master!”

A frown of confusion stole over Grey’s face, clearly perplexed by whatever was more important than their privacy.

Heedless to this breaching of protocol, C2-N2 continued on obliviously. “Your brother was just telling the whole of Odessen how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. He urged me to make sure I was taking the best possible care of you that I could!”

At this point, any glimmering hope of continuing their previous activities had now been shattered thoroughly. Theron let out an inarticulate growl as he disentangled himself, flipping and turning even as the bed’s coverlet, previously shoved out of the way magically flew up to cover both occupants propriety. Just about at the same time, Theron had grabbed the nearest pillow, and had chucked it as hard as he could towards the doorway.

It was a marvelous throw. One for the ages. Truly, Theron had missed his calling in Huttball. Unfortunately, pillows weren’t nearly as aerodynamic, and it flopped to the floor several feet away from its intended mark.

“Oh my!” Seetoo exclaimed.

“Close the door!” Theron’s snarl echoed across the expanse of the room.

“Oh, quite right!” Seetoo hit the button for the door to close, and it swished shut behind him. That task completed, he turned back to the bed as if awaiting further instructions.

“I meant for you to shut it with you on the other side!”

“Well, you must be more specific in your wishes if you—”

“Get out!”

“How rude.”

Theron flopped back on his pillow, or he would have, if he hadn’t flung it across the room. Instead his head hit the mattress with a slight spring and bounce back. The motion made him nostalgic for thirty seconds ago, when that bounce back had been for different reasons. He glared at the room in general, as if it had betrayed him. After thoroughly expressing his displeasure with his environment, he turned to look at his wife.

“First it was the manipulative Force parasite in your head interrupting us. Now it’s your brother.”

By proxy no less.

“Did you just compare my brother to Valkorion?” Grey asked. He couldn’t tell if she was offended or in agreement with him. At the moment he didn’t particularly care.

“If the evil shoe fits!”

At some point, Draike’s near maniacal effusion of love for every person and object on Odessen had finally run its course. Probably around the time that Bowdaar had practically shoved a bottle of whiskey into his mouth. It had been an effective measure of finally getting the endless stream of affection to stop.

It had been a little while since that point. So much so that Draike had migrated from his laze-a-bout in the cantina over to the Logistics Hangar. He wouldn’t have said that he was consciously avoiding Lyra or anything, but at some point he’d looked back to where he’d abandoned her at the table and realized that he may have made things a little awkward. There was an itchy feeling on the back of his neck as a tiny in voice in his head told him that he needed to apologize to her. That voice sounded a little too much like his mother for his own comfort, so he studiously avoided it.

Besides, a far more logical part of his brain said that he had nothing to be sorry for. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

He looked up from his contemplative perch to see his brother-in-law angrily storming in his direction. Draike took in Theron’s untucked shirt over rumpled pants, the lack of belt and mismatched slippers in place of the normal calf-high boots, bloodshot eyes, twitching brow, and a possibly new undiscovered vein bulging in his forehead. As an expert in the field, Draike recognized the all-too-familiar signs of someone who had dressed very hastily. That same wide, nexu-like grin spread across his face at the sight.

Okay. Maybe he had done one thing that was technically wrong. But why did it feel so right?

The open display of amusement did nothing to quell the spy’s rage, as he finished closing the distance and furiously poked a finger into Draike’s chest. He growled something distinctly unflattering in High Gammorese, and while Draike tried to hold his mirth in—he didn’t really try that hard, because he almost doubled over laughing.

This only egged Theron on, and the next string of curses mixed in several other languages. Who knew the man was a polyglot?

“I will have you know that my mother was a saint,” Draike managed to get in between wheezes, “and you better not let your wife hear you talking about her like that.”

That seemed to break through Theron’s sexually frustrated rage long enough to stem the seemingly endless, nearly incoherent tirade. But the anger was clearly still simmering. If looks could kill, Draike was pretty sure he would have been a puddle of incinerated goo on the floor of the Logistics Hangar. Of course, he’d been on the receiving end of far worse looks. Shan would need to bring his A game if he wanted to attempt to intimidate Draike Highwind.

Theron started again, in Basic this time. “You son of a—”

“Ah ah, a saint,” Draike reminded him, possibly a little too mockingly.

Theron’s mouth shut with an audible click, and breathed out a long whistling breath through his nose.

“You know, Shan, you really should put a little more care into your wardrobe. Tumble bunny slippers? Really?”

The spy wrinkled his nose, the newly discovered vein seeming to bulge again with a freshly ignited rage. “You sent that droid into our quarters on purpose!”

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Draike widened his eyes, the complete picture of innocence. How was he supposed to know that Theron was trying to route around his carefully crafted plans and engage in a little afternoon delight? Truly, it had just been a cosmic coincidence that had turned out in the smuggler’s favor.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Highwind! I know what you’re up to!”

“And what is that?” Draike blinked languidly.

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of saying it out loud!”

“Oh, no,” he tsked sadly, “is there some trouble in the bedroom with you and the misses?”

“Knock it off!” Theron snarled. “What the hell is your problem?”

That sort of language utterly wounded Draike, and he displayed that the only way he knew how, by dramatically clutching his chest and crying out in the most melodramatic fashion. “I’m just upset that I wasn’t invited to the wedding!”

“What?” Theron asked flatly.

“It was always my dream to walk my baby sister down the aisle — and your elopement ruined that!”

“…no it wasn’t, you goddamn liar!”

“I’m wounded, utterly wounded!”

Theron pivoted on his heel, letting out an inarticulate frustrated cry.

“You know what would cure that bad temper?” Draike couldn’t help himself. “A little good quality time with the little mis—“

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by another particularly vile High Gammorese curse as Theron stormed off. A final “Turn in your goddamn reports!” echoed across the hangar, and Draike couldn’t hold it any longer and broke down in laughter.

There was really only one problem with Draike’s plan to completely avoid any potential awkwardness with his best friend — and that was when you completely avoided someone, it had a tendency to compound the issue of not seeing them. In fact, Draike had been so successful in his efforts, by the time it occurred to him that maybe he’d overreacted a little, and the encounter itself had probably long faded from her mind, Lyra was nowhere to be found.

Which was just rude. People shouldn’t be able to use his own tactics against him. There had to be some sort of rule or code against that.

Naturally, all inquiries made in regards to her whereabouts were completely and utterly casual. As he had carefully cultivated an upstanding reputation of detached aloofness that had served him well. If he appeared too eager for anything, someone might get the bright idea in their head to saddle him with more responsibility — maybe mistake him for the other Highwind on base that seemed to thrive under that sort of thing.

And it wasn’t like Lyra was the most entertaining Jedi or Force user on base to hang around with, she wasn’t even the most entertaining person—because apologies to everyone, Guss would forever and always hold both of those titles. No contest. No contenders. It was just the cold, hard facts of the situation.

But if Draike was being honest… her company was missed some. Bowdarr didn’t laugh at his stupid jokes that he told in an attempt to cheat—er, strategically get the upper hand—at Sabacc. The wookiee just let out a non-amused growl and called him on it. And Guss just kept trying to palm the cards himself. It just wasn’t the same. He would hang out with Gault, but both Hylo and Theron had strictly forbidden it, as if they were convinced the entire base would erupt in flames if the two of them engaged in a battle of wits.

(And there was no way in hell he was ever going to sit at a table with that Rattataki, no matter how many lewd invitations she offered.)

So, Draike had been forced to turn to the very last place that he would ever dare to find answers: the duty roster.

“Who the hell is Houch Plehnt and why is he flying my ship?”

“Last I checked, the Khoonda was registered to Master Dorn, not you.”

Draike looked up to see one smirking and insufferable spy staring at him over the brim of a large mug of caf.

“Shan.” Any joviality in the greeting on Draike’s part was forced. “Nice to see you up and at ‘em. Still suffering from that acute case of prolonged sexual frustration?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” a wide, unrepentant grin spread across the other man’s face, “I’ve found that if I wake up early enough, there’s definitely enough time to fit in a quick bit of quality time with the little lady. Sometimes twice.”

“Gross! That’s my sister you’re talking about!”

“A wise man would know better than to ask a question he didn’t want the answer to.”

“Don’t think I won’t camp outside your door and bang pots at random intervals!”

“I think our guard droids might take issue with that.”

“HK-55 loves me and you know it!”

“Where are you going to find the pots?” Theron challenged, taking a long sip off his mug.

“I have friends in the kitchen!” Draike crossed his arms. “They’ll hook me up.”

“Don’t you think you’re going to excessive lengths to ‘protect your sister’s virtue’?”

“She’s a Jedi, I think she’s entirely capable of protecting her own virtue,” Draike sniffed indignantly. “Besides, this has nothing to with her, and everything to do with you.”

“And what did I do now?”

“You let some moon jockey take my ship out!”

“Again, not your ship.”

“Well, it’s the closest thing I’ve got to one until we track down where mine is,” Draike huffed.

“Guess it’s a shame you were off pouting somewhere when Dorn got her mission then,” Theron said a little too casually, taking another long, slow sip from his mug. “She had to go find another pilot since you were incommunicado.”

Draike tried not to look as put out as a he felt. Lyra knew that he was bored out of his skull and she had just left him here? And had gone off with some moon jockey? Who probably couldn’t even take off without scraping the paint? Houch Plehnt — what kind of name what that anyway? Man probably didn’t even know how to handle his blasters! (Pun partially intended.)

“You don’t just hijack someone’s crew, Shan!”

“Oh?” There raised those eyebrows again, another sip and a smirk. “Your crew, eh? I didn’t realize things were so… official.”

“They’re not,” he snapped back, perhaps a little too quickly. “We just have an understanding—she knows how bored I am! And she just leaves me here?”

“What she left you was this message.” Theron paused in his sipping and smirking long enough to produce a datapad. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“It’s not.”

Theron shrugged, picked his mug back up and began to amble off. Presumably to his next meeting, or a rigorous and boring round of coding, or something equally dull and chaste per the elaborate fantasy that Draike was concocting in his head. 

“You still haven’t sent in your report for the Kathol Rift incident yet.” The spy didn’t turn around or even flinch at the silent, rude gesture sent his way. “Maybe you’ll have some time to finish it now, since you’re so bored and have nothing better to do.”

“You know, Theron, I never pegged you as some flimsi pusher,” Draike called after him, which seemed to break through the smug haze, because he saw the spy’s shoulders stiffen, as if that insult had hit particularly close to home. “I guess we all become the thing we hate, eh?”

“You’re the one with the problem here, Captain, not me,” came the sharp reply, before the spy stalked off.

Draike glared at his retreating back, and when that had finally disappeared off into the bustle of the Odessen crowds, he turned his ire back to the traitorous duty roster that had started this whole thing to begin with. He ignored the datapad in his hand for longer than was probably necessary, before finally flicking the thing on.

Hey you. Got a little job to do in Taris. Couldn’t find you to see if you wanted to tag along. Houch Plehnt volunteered — should be back in a day or two. Wish me luck, he’s… not as quick with his blasters as you are. If you know what I mean. See you later, friend.

He glared at the datapad and the text on it, trying to smother the rising and conflicting emotions welling up in his chest. The walls weren’t closing in like the other day, but that nagging voice was starting to whisper in the back of his mind. In particular he kept staring at the word “friend” over and over, as if trying to parse out if it was some sort of hidden message.

It was stupid, that’s what it was. If she wanted to get herself killed by letting some random person with lesser skill at the helm of her ship, then fine. So be it. See if he helped her steal it back again if the jerk decided to fly off without her. Of course, that might strand her on Taris, which was not exactly friendly territory to have to try and navigate a flight out of.

Whatever. It wasn’t any of his business. He had better things to do. Like go teach Guss how to cheat better at cards.

In between about the thousandth time of trying to demonstrate the proper way to palm a card, and Guss accidentally spraying the entire Sabacc deck across the table, Draike had to admit defeat on his latest venture. The game of 76 Card Pickup was only entertaining about the first three times in a row, and then it just became dull. Like everything else around this place.

While he was amazing at most everything he did, Draike would have to admit that maybe he could have been a more effective tutor if he didn’t keep getting distracted by trying to calculate the average duration of a roundtrip between Wild Space and the Ojoster sector. Granted, a talented pilot could shave off a little time from that route, but he was pretty sure Houch Plehnt was anything but. Did the man even know the front end of his blaster from the back?

Not that Draike was concerned.

Because he wasn’t. He just had to find some way to fill his time, and unfortunately he’d been reduced down to basic algebra problems that most school children learned in their third year. And he wasn’t put out. How could he be? It wasn’t like he and Lyra had any formal arrangement (no matter how much Shan tried to slyly imply) to not go on missions without each other… they just… hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t an expectation exactly, it was just the way things had been for a while. Help each other on assignments, hang out in the down time. Keep the ever encroaching boredom at bay for a little longer.

He also would not define himself as moping about the Logistics Hangar, with Guss trying to pick up an entire Sabacc deck off the floor where he’d accidentally flung it for the umpteenth time, when the Khoonda made its landing again. The ship’s owner emerged down the boarding ramp, covered in something utterly foul. Draike had almost no warning before a particularly sticky and odious arm was flung around his shoulders, an unidentified muck slurping itself onto his jacket.

“Hi,” Draike said, one hand discreetly covering his nose. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” Lyra enthused as she laid her head on his shoulder, further smearing the gunk of whatever covered her onto his skin.

He valiantly did not cringe at the slimy sensation. “You know that you stink, right?”

“It’s your fault,” she insisted.

“I don’t recall smearing you with the most disgusting substance known to man. That you’ve now smeared all over my best jacket.”

“Good,” she said firmly, “ and it is your fault. You disappeared on me, forcing me to take Houch as a pilot.”

“What kind of name is that anyway?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Lyra wrinkled her nose. “He was so afraid of getting bit by a Rakghoul he refused to step off the ship. So I had to get samples for Lokin myself.”

“Wait, so this stuff is—”

“Yes,” Lyra said lightly, “Rakghoul guts.”

“This was my best jacket!”

“Was being the operative word. Now it’s just a jacket covered in guts. We match!”

Draike sniffed indignantly, which was a mistake because all it gained him was a giant whiff of the odious stench emanating from the Jedi. “Why did you not shower?”

“Because Houch was so afraid of being infected he quarantined me in the cargo hold. Wouldn’t even let me near the refresher.”

“It’s your ship!”

“Trust me,” she muttered dangerously, “I know.”

“He still in the cockpit? I can go give him a hug on your behalf.”

“You’d do that?”

“Bastard stole my ship and by proxy ruined my favorite jacket. He’s got it coming.”

“You do realize it’s technically my ship, don’t you?”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?”

“Well, you have fun talking to Houch,” Lyra said breaking away, “I am going to go take a shower and then burn all of these clothes.”

“Looks like I’ll be doing the same,” Draike muttered petulantly.

“And be nice to Houch.”

“No promises!”

The conversation itself was normal. Friendly side-hugs and spirited banter but… as Lyra walked away, Draike couldn’t help but feel something about the encounter was different. The barbs just a little more pointed, and Lyra avoiding catching his eye. She had usually been quick to follow up the banter with some sort of reassurance, but this time she just walked away. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been an ass, and she had always let him off the hook before. He wasn’t sure why this time was different, but it was.  

He watched her go, that same matronly voice in his ear starting up in its familiar scolding refrain.

The expletive slipped out on its own accord. His jacket was thoroughly ruined. It was a nice jacket. He’d just finished breaking it in. The sleeves were no longer stiff, and it had breathed so much nicer than the cheap synthleather ones that they kept in stock here on the base. Also, Houch Plehnt really needed a sticky Rakghoul gut hug. But mostly the man just needed to be kicked off and banned from ever re-entering the Khoonda.

Is that all you should really be thinking about right now? — the infuriating voice in the back of his mind asked.

He tried to come up with some excuse, some flim-flam to distract it, but arguing with one’s self was the first sign of insanity. He couldn’t give into it now, not after managing to keep his wits about him being stranded for five years on a backwater planet while the galaxy passed him by. That would just be insult to injury.

Fine. Fine. He’d listen to the stupid voice just this once.

It was much, much later when he found her out in the nerf pens. After a shower, burning his jacket, and covering one asshole Rodian pilot in rakghoul guts — not necessarily all in that order — he walked into one of the dirtiest places on base. It seemed almost pointless for Lyra to scrub herself clean and then go commune with the giant stinky beasts, but this was where she liked to hide out when she was trying to pretend she wasn’t upset. Like that time they had to steal back the Khoonda from the Corellian shipyards. Or the anniversary of dates that she’d never really explained the significance of.

Just like those other times, she was petting the nose of one of the giant, gentle creatures. Leaning in and saying something low. He spied a small smile playing at her lips, even if there was the air of something else about her. Like even with her big animal friends she felt she had to pretend that everything was fine.

Draike cleared his throat, and both Jedi and big nerf head looked up at him. He held up a bag from the mess hall as an offering, and her eyes lit up at the familiar sight. She gave the big beast another affectionate pat on the nose, whispering something before wiping her hands and ambling over. Just like all of the other times, they took a seat on one of the fallen logs that served as a makeshift bench.

They didn’t exchange a word, but he pulled out the to-go containers and utensils. She took his offering, removing the lid and inhaling the spicy scent wafting out. The smile that played at her lips was different from the ones she graced the nerf with, and she arched a brow at him. The noodle dish wasn’t her favorite Dantooinian variant, but it was the closest he could wrangle up. Thankfully, the grumpy cook wasn’t in the kitchen today, so he’d been able to negotiate a special order.

“Smells spicy.”

“I’m surprised you can smell anything over that nerf,” he said.

She shook her head, lips pressing together lightly, but the expression was a familiar mix of exasperated amusement. Not the slightly edged smile she’d greeted him with in the hangar, so that was probably a good sign.

“I don’t recall this being on the menu today,” she remarked lightly.

“I called in a favor.”

“How big of a favor?”

“There’s an extra container of hot sauce in here. You’re liable to lose a few taste buds.”

“Ah, that was quite the favor,” she mused. “The kitchen never wants to make it spicy enough.”

“You just have to know how to ask nicely,” Draike shot back, “and also slip them a few credits when no one’s looking.”

She slurped up a noodle with more gusto and noise than was necessarily proper, but the genuine smile blossoming on her face counterbalanced the breech in manners. For a few minutes, they were content to munch on their food as they watched the giant stinky beasts graze. It was almost tempting to just let the companionable silence stretch on, but he was supposed to be listening to the stupid little voice in his head, so…

He took a little time preparing the noodles for his next bite, seemingly focused on getting the absolute perfect twirl as he spoke. “I turned in the damn report.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pause in the middle of her chew, shaking her head almost in disappointment. As if that wasn’t the actual issue. He continued to twirl his fork slowly, gathering more and more noodles and sauce. She was the one that left him behind, and yet he had swallowed his pride and given that stupid smug spy the satisfaction of having his precious paperwork turned in on time.

You know that’s not the real issue here, that damnable maternal voice in his head whispered again.

He ignored the voice. It only got one good deed out of him per month. That was the deal.

“You left me here,” he said continuing to twirl the noodles into what was starting to resemble a monstrous bite.

“You disappeared,” Lyra shot back. “What was I supposed to do? Refuse a mission because you were pouting?”

“I was not pouting,” Draike said huffily.

“Then what were you doing?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, so instead of replying he stuffed his now epically sized pasta twirl into his mouth. It was a mistake, as there was hardly any room to chew, and the spicy oil of the sauce set his cheeks on fire. Gamely he looked at her and shook his head, pointing at his full mouth as if in explanation that he couldn’t answer her question with his mouth full. The effect was ruined by the fact that he could feel a bead of sweat start to trickle down his face, his traitorous body betraying the fact that he was not as immune to the level of spice that she enjoyed in her dishes.

Lyra quirked a brow at him, unimpressed by his obvious skirting of the issue, while an oddly satisfied smile threatened to quirk at the corners of her mouth. It made him feel as if he had stepped into some sort of well-planned Dejarik maneuver she had been planning from the beginning of the game. Although Lyra Dorn really wasn’t the evil mastermind type.

“It really stung, you know,” she said after a moment of literally letting him sweat, “that you’d avoid me instead of talking to me about whatever was wrong.”

He could have had a perfect follow-up quip for that to distract and derail the conversation, but his mouth was still both on fire and impossibly stuffed with noodles which prevented him from forming any coherent sound. So he just let out a muffled series of noises in protest.

“Chew your food,” Lyra said, that eyebrow quirking again.

He snorted out an annoyed breath and tried to find a way to safely chew his monstrous, ill-conceived bite. He felt not unlike one of the big, stinky piles of fur chewing their cud. In retrospect, perhaps this maneuver of stuffing his face to avoid questions had backfired, as he was now at the mercy of anything else the Jedi had to say.

“I’d never strong arm you into saying or doing anything you didn’t feel,” she continued. “The fact that you don’t trust that…”

He shook his head at her, still unable to form coherent words.

“No, you don’t trust me?”

He shook his head again.

“No, that’s not what you meant?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “Can we just both agree to not do that again? Neither of us goes incommunicado when something’s wrong and… you never leave me at the mercy of a Houch Plehnt again. Fair?”

Draike couldn’t sigh, could only snort out a very long and aggrieved breath through his nose and shrug in an exaggerated manner — but he nodded. That seemed… fair.

“Good.” Lyra shot him a small, almost mischievous smile. “You know you’re being uncharacteristically silent.”

He tried to say something, but his mouth of noodles prevented more than an impolite, disgruntled sound.

“Chew,” she reminded him again, that little smirk still blossoming further. “So, did you get up to anything fun while I was gone?”

He let out another incoherent noise of frustration, unable to form proper words around the fire on his tongue and the noodles trying to slip out of his mouth.

“It’s impolite to talk with your mouth full, Captain.” Lyra clicked her tongue, and took a delicate, small bite. “You know, these are really good.”

He wrinkled his nose at her and tried to communicate his plight with his eyes.

She just flashed him another wide smirk, leaning over so she could bump his shoulder with hers. “You want some of my extra sauce to help wash those noodles down?”

Her only reply was a disgruntled grunt.

[greyias]

I almost skipped my “main” Smuggler past Forged Alliances and straight to Rishi so I could play the class story wrap-up, and I’m glad I didn’t. Because there are some true snarktastic gems in some of the dialogue options.

[greyias]

Theron, have you ever heard the saying about throwing stones around glass houses...?

[greyias]

Honestly I cannot choose between Grey and Draike. I have a soft spot for both types of characters. So, why not both?

He’s making the face because he hates sharing the spotlight. Vain, jealous boy that he is.

[greyias]

Draike’s going around and hugging Wookiees on the Promenade, and every time an overheated gift droid spawns he offers up his baby sister as sacrifice for the snowballs.