#they’re watching out for deception booby traps

[orionfrommars]

Someone call Elita 😭

[Please do not steal, trace, repost or do anything with my work]

[master-sass-blast]

I’m Not as Think as You Drunk I Am.

OH, WHAT’S THIS, ANOTHER FIC?

YES. YES IT IS.

And, like the title suggests, it involves drinking; this is your obligatory PSA to drink responsibly and legally. It may seem like fun, but you can actually kill yourself if you drink too much. Stay safe, kids.

Summary: Wade gets the Reader DRUNK during a New Year’s celebration at the X-Mansion. Piotr finds out and gets pissed, then helps the Reader recover from their hangover the next morning.

Rating: T for strong language and alcohol consumption.

Warnings: Vomiting, legal alcohol consumption, hangovers, etc.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

(Title from “Don’t Threaten Me with a Good Time” lyric by Panic! At The Disco.)

You’re minding your own business, just hanging out in the library while you innocently sketch in your drawing pad.

But, then, that’s usually how these things happen.

Wade bounds into the library, skips towards you, and hops over the couch before crouching behind you and putting his hand over your mouth. “Don’t scream. It’s just me.”

“I literally just saw you come in,” You mumble against his palm before pushing his hand away. “What’s up?”

Wade yanks on your arm until you climb over the back of the couch and crouch next to him. “Okay, so this is for your ears only, okay? Wolvie and I managed to hide some booze in the mansion for the New Year’s party tomorrow. There’s going to be a party in the basement after the fireworks go off. Anyone under twenty-one, Mr. Pole Up the Ass, and Colossus are absolutely not invited, capiche?”

You frown. “And you’re telling me this because...”

“Uh, because drinking alcohol is a great rite of passage in America. I’m Canadian, and I know that. You’re legal, right?”’

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re invited. Look, it’s better to drink with friends for the first time. We’ve all drank alcohol before --I can’t drunk anyway, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on you--and you’ll be at a safe place with literal doctors on staff if you get sick. It’s perfect!”

Hindsight will tell you that this is a bad idea. Horrible. Utterly stupid.

But, right now, you don’t have hindsight. All you have is foresight, and you’re foreseeing a lot of fun and new experiences in the future.

You grin. “Awesome.”

“And just what are you two doing?”

You and Wade both jump and stare guiltily up at your boyfriend.

He’s in his metal form right now, thick arms crossed over his burly chest. “Why are you hiding behind couch and whispering?”

“Hi, Pete!” You chirp with a sunny grin. “We’re booby-trapping Scott’s underwear drawer for New Year’s!”

“Don’t tell him!” Wade hisses, playing along with your deception.

Piotr simply shakes his head --but you can seem him repressing a smile. “Play nice, you two. No pranks tomorrow.”

“Aw, babe--”

“Nyet, myshka. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow is celebration, not time for pranks.”

You pout, slump your shoulders, and hang your head. “Okay.”

“Hey! I didn’t agree to this!”

“Fine! Do it without me!”

Piotr chuckles and turns to leave. “Behave, you two.”

“I make no promises!”

You opt to blow a kiss at your boyfriend --and he blows one back, which makes your cheeks flush--then grin at Wade when he’s gone and hold up your fist. “How awesome was that?”

Wade returns your fist bump with an equally devious grin. “So awesome.”

“Five... four... three... two... one!”

People cheer, fireworks go off, and camera lights flash as the world officially rolls over into a New Year.

Piotr grins down at you, holding you to him with one hand and using the other to caress your face. “S noyvm godom, myshka.”

You grin back. “Kiss me, darling.”

He does. Passionately, and longer than he would normally dare in other public displays of affection. When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and he looks immensely pleased. “A New Year.”

“A New Year,” you repeat. You grin, then lean up on your toes. “To all it may bring.”

“Da.” He kisses you again, then breaks it with a sigh. “I am on teenager duty tonight, unfortunately.”

“I know.” You feign a yawn and give him a sheepish look. “I’m actually kind of tired...”

He pats your shoulder and kisses the top of your head. “Go rest, myshka. One of us should.”

You press a kiss against his cheek, then head upstairs. Phase One: Complete.

You and Wade had constructed a damn near fool proof plan to sneak you downstairs without your mother hen boyfriend noticing. Wade had paid Russell fifty dollars to light something outside on fire to create a diversion, and he’d text you once it was safe for you to come down.

Within two minutes of skulking around the hall, you hear the loud ‘fwoom’ of one of Russell’s fireballs; mere seconds later, your phone chirps with a text from Wade.

Bro: Silver ballz is outsies. Bring on da booze!!! Get ur ass down here. XD XP

You: Don’t ever call him ‘silver ballz’ again. That’s just gross. And I’m on my way.

You creep back down the hall, listening for any signs of approaching residents. 

Fortunately, almost everyone’s outside, distracted by Russell’s explosion. 

You hop over the railing by the staircase and make an air current to float down to the floor. The backdoor’s open, and you can actually see Piotr outside in defense mode, trying to put out a burning rose bush.

“Psst! Come on! Stop ogling and get down here!” Wade hisses through the barely ajar basement door.

You dart over and slip down the stairs, an excited grin on your face.

Logan and Nathan are already down there, drinks in hand. Neena’s with them as well, along with Peter, Kurt, and Bobby.

“Rogue and Gambit should be joining us later,” Wade says as he joins you at the bottom of the stairs. “In the meantime, let’s get this party started!”

“For once, Wilson, you’ve had a good idea,” Logan growls as he takes a swig from his red solo cup. “Colossus’s kept us from having adult New Years for a while now.”

“Yeah, well, the world’s largest Silver Bullet ain’t got nothin’ on me!” Wade pulls out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. “First shot of the night goes to Princess here, since it’s her first time.”

“Oh, everyone, you know what that means,” Neena says with a grin.

You frown as the others refill their cups. “What does it mean?”

“Everyone downs a drink once you take your first shot,” Bobby says as he blows on his cup to cool it down.

You blink, then eye your shot glass suspiciously. “That sounds... dubious.”

“Don’t worry, that’s just your inner Piotr talking.” Wade holds out the shot glass to you. “He’ll shut up after the second or third shot.” When you hesitate, his face softens. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You eye the glass in his hand, then shrug. “Hashtag YOLO.” You pick up the glass, lift it to your lips, then tilt your head back and down the shot in a few swallows, just like you’ve seen in the movies.

Well, almost like you’ve seen in the movies. It takes a couple tries for you to swallow it all down, and you cough once the glass is empty. “Oh my gosh. That burns.”

Wade cheers and claps his hands. “Well done! Considerably less flailing than I was expecting. All right, everyone else, she’s done it; bottoms up!”

You watch, stunned as the other adults drain their cups --cups, not shot glasses--in long, easy swallows. Your mind already feels a little hazy, but you still can’t fathom drinking this stuff that easily.

Nathan finishes first with a growl. “Keep it coming, Wade. It’s been a hell of a year.”

A couple hours in and you’re feeling great. The shots just get easier and easier to take the more you drink, and each shot you take has you feeling more and more relaxed.

Beer, however, tastes like piss; you have no idea how Nate and Logan stomach the stuff.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Nathan says with a crooked grin after he lets you trip a sip of his drink; his cheeks are flushed --apparently, he can drunk, just not as fast as you.

“An’ you keep callin’ Wade the s-su-stupid one.” You giggle and rock back in your chair, almost knocking it over. “You’re the one wi’ the stupid hair, ‘fter all.”

“My hair... is not stupid,” Nathan grumbles, pointing a finger at you.

“Maybe not, but Wade doesn’ have any, which jus’ leave you.”

“She’s got a point,” Logan says with a chuckle as he watches Domino destroy Bobby, Kurt, and Peter at beer pong. “The default answer is you.”

Nathan flips him off.

You laugh again, flopping around in your seat. You feel amazing. Normally, there’s always an underlying current of stress and worry, but right now it’s gone. You feel completely relaxed, without a care in your mind.

Your ‘Piotr’ voice --it’s not gone, just really hard to hear right now--is saying something about it being fake and one of the addictive side effects of alcohol, but you’re too busy taking another shot to focus on the actual words.

“Okay, pumpkin!” Wade lifts the shot glass out of your hand. “That’s the cut off point for you. You’ve had seven, and I’m not trying to give you alcohol poisoning.”

You pout at him. “I was havin’ fun! The fuck?”

“You can have it back in a couple hours, once you’ve guzzled some water, peed, and eaten something. The bathroom’s right behind you. I suggest you go there, because pissing your pants isn’t as fun as it sounds. Believe me, I would know.”

You blink owlishly at him. “Huh?”

“Maybe you should cut her off for the night,” Logan suggests. “She’s clearly a lightweight.”

You can’t really process what they’re saying. You’re too busy rubbing your hands all over your face. “I can’t feel my face,” You sing. “She tol’ me... don’ worry... ‘bout it!” You slap yourself across the face --it takes a couple tries, but you manage--and gasp when no sting of pain follows. “Holy shit! I don’ feel pain anymore!”

Wade laughs hysterically as he holds your hands away from your face. “I wish I had a camera! This is fucking priceless! Y/N, you’re completely toasted!”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a loud banging noise that distracts you. You loll your head back and try to see what’s going on.

Piotr tromps down the stairs in his human mode, fists clenched at his side. His blue eyes are wide with fury, and his mouth his clenched shut. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and glares down the room. “What is going on?”

“Shit,” Wade mutters under his breath. He forces a grin and stands, partially hiding you from view. “Colossus! Buddy! Welcome to the party!”

“Enough. Where is Y/N?”

You gasp once your brain catches up with your eyes. “Oh! Piotr’s here!” You smile --because you’re genuinely happy to see him, even though you’re too drunk to think right now--when his gaze snaps to you. “Hi, baby! How’s it goin’?”

He relaxes, just a little. “You’re going to bed. Now.”

You nod, happy to along with whatever he says. “Okay.” You manage to get out of your chair, but start falling over as soon as you try to walk.

Piotr darts forward and catches you, clutching you against his chest to keep you from toppling over.

You nuzzle your face against his chest, marveling at how soft his shirt is. You can’t really hear what he’s saying to the others, but you can feel the resonance of his voice in his chest. It tickles your face, and you let out a soft giggle as you wrap your arms around his waist. “You’re all buzzy.”

Piotr sighs and pats your back. “Come on, lyublyu. To bed with you.” He places his hands under your shoulders and tenses. “I’m going to carry you, okay?”

“Right.” You gasp when he lifts you --then groan when the room spins. “Oh shit. Everything’s sideways.”

Piotr tucks you against his chest and walks towards the stairs. “Close your eyes. Just let me take care of you.”

The trek to his room is mercifully short --though that might have to do with your passing out halfway through. Your eyes pop open when he sets you on his bed. “Huh? Where am I?”

“In bed.” He kisses your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll get you one of my shirts.”

You whine as he walks away. “No! Don’ leave me!”

“I’m just right here, at the closet. You can still see me.”

“But you’re so far ‘way!” You sob into the bed. “‘m all alone.”

“No, you’re not,” he says as he kneels in front of you. “I’m right here.”

You gasp. “You’re back! You were gone f’rever!”

He kisses your temple and wipes the tears off your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’ll be faster next time.” He sits you up and starts peeling you out of your clothes.

“Bow chika wow wow,” You mumble as he strips you out of your jeans. You start singing the intro to ‘Careless Whisper,’ but give up about halfway through. “Pete?”

“Da, dorogaya moya?”

“I think ‘m drunk.”

Last night, you felt great.

This morning, you abso-fucking-lutely do not.

Your head feels like someone’s driving an ice pick into it. Your body aches, and your stomach feels like it’s about to commit mutiny.

And you’re tired. You feel like you got hit by an insomnia train.

Piotr’s hand rubs up and down your back in soothing circles. “How are you feeling, myshka?”

You bury your face into your pillow to try and block out the light streaming through the windows. “Oh God. I think I’m gonna die!”

His lips press against your shoulder. “You’re hungover. Wade said you had seven vodka shots last night.”

“I didn’t mean to! Holy shit, this sucks! Why didn’t Wade tell me about this? I’m gonna murder him!”

“Later, dorogoy. Try to focus on getting rest for now.”

You would, but at that moment your stomach decides to launch its mutiny into motion. You lurch out of bed and bolt for the bathroom, diving for the toilet as the first round of stomach contractions start.

You’re not sure how long you spend vomiting into the porcelain bowl, but when you finally get a reprieve you realize Piotr’s sitting next to you, holding your hair back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s natural reaction for hangover.”

“No --well, yeah, but not what I was talking about. I’m sorry that I went to the party behind your back, and I’m sorry I drank alcohol when I wasn’t supposed to. I’m sorry I broke the rules.”

He rubs your back with his free hand. “We’ll talk about it when you’re better --but you are very much forgiven.”

Once your body settles, he leaves your side to turn the shower on.

You grimace at the sound of the water pelting the shower floor. “That’s so loud! Turn it off!”

 “Sorry, dorogoy, but you’ll feel better after shower.” He helps you out of your pajamas --then strips down and joins you.

Normally, you’d be delighted by that, but right now you’re entirely consumed by how shitty you’re feeling. All you can really do is stand under the spray of the water and squeeze your eyes shut to try and block out the pain.

Fortunately, you don’t have to do more than that. Piotr’s in full ‘mother hen boyfriend’ mode right now, determined to help you survive your first ever hangover. He gently washes --and conditions--your hair and lathers your body in soap with such nurturing tenderness that you don’t even get turned on from having your boyfriend literally rub you from head to toe.

That, and you feel like shit. Actually, it might be more of the latter than the former.

Once you’re all rinsed, Piotr turns the water off and dries both of you off before helping you into a fresh set of pajamas. Then, in a gesture of ultimate chivalry, he carries you the ten foot distance back to the bed and tucks you in. “I’m going to make you some breakfast. Rest in meantime.”

You groan. “No. No food.”

“Your body needs food to help process alcohol out of system. Trust me, da? I have been hungover before. I know what helps.”

You snort, which makes your headache worse, but you can’t help it. “You? Hungover? Likely story.”

“I had rebellious phase!” He sounds indignant. “I was not always like I am now.”

“Sure, babe.” You manage to find his hand and pat it. “What, did you jaywalk instead of using the crosswalks like a law-abiding citizen?”

He huffs and kisses your temple. “Very funny, myshka. Get some rest while I make food.”

You’re out before he closes the door.

Nearly an hour later and he’s back, gently rousing you from sleep and helping you sit up.

“Breakfast in bed? What sort of alternate universe is this?” You grumble, feeling somewhat better after a nap.

“Special circumstance.” He sets up a tray table next to his bed, then sets a bottle of water and a couple ibuprofen pills on the table. “Take these and drink some water. I’ll be back in few minutes.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, you realize your mouth is bone dry. You take the pain pills and guzzle half the bottle, but your mouth wicks all the water away like one of those miracle drying rags Wade keeps buying off the infomercial channels.

Speaking of Wade, he’s walking into the room. “You okay?”

You glare at him as you gulp from the water bottle. “I’m gonna fucking murder you.”

“Figured. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the hangover. I don’t get hungover anymore; I didn’t even think about it.” He sets an orange prescription bottle on the tray table. “But I brought a peace offering. Prescription painkillers. Best shit you can get.”

“Absolutely not.” Piotr storms into the room, sets the plate he’d been carrying for you on his desk, and yanks Wade away from you. “You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Piotr, calm down!” You exclaim, wincing at how loud your voice is. Quieter, you add, “He’s just trying to be nice.”

“By offering you stolen prescription. After getting you overly intoxicated.”

“They’re mine!” Wade insists as he flails in Piotr’s grip. “Legal and all that shit! I still have cancer, asshole. They prescribe painkillers to help with that.”

Piotr picks up the bottle, then sets Wade down after reading the label. “I am sorry. I should not have assumed. But you still got Y/N drunk --after you were told to not bring alcohol in for New Year’s. And you bribed Russell.”

“Look, babe, he wanted to introduce me to alcohol safely.”

“By breaking rules, causing damage, and lying.”

“By doing it in a safe place, with people who know me and know how alcohol effects the body, and where we had access to a doctor if things went super sideways. He didn’t take me to a bar, he didn’t force me to drink anything, and he cut me off before I got too out of control. I think he deserves some credit for that.”

Piotr mulls it over, then sighs. “Your intentions were... good, Wade. Even if your techniques were... misguided.”

“Thank you.”

“You still have to answer for your actions. You broke many rules last night, and bribing Russell to cause damage to property is unacceptable. He or any number of others could have been seriously hurt.”

 “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Wade waves his hand dismissively before plucking his bottle of painkillers out of your boyfriend’s hand. “I’m going now. Before you get too far into lecture mode.”

Piotr glares after him, then shakes his head and retrieves the plate from his desk. “Sorry about that, moya lyubov’.”

“It’s okay.” You gratefully accept the plate --you’re hungry now, ravenous beyond belief.

The plate is loaded with all your favorites --including a small stack of golden, perfectly fluffy chocolate chip pancakes.

Piotr kisses the top of your head as you dig in. “I will be right back. Do you want more water?”

“Yes, please.”

He returns a few minutes later, water bottle tucked under his arm and two glasses in hand. One is filled with an orange liquid and almost looks appetizing; the other...

“Is that... pickle juice?” You grimace when you give the contents of the glass a precursory sniff. “Why? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Salt will help your body. Take sips. Don’t try to drink it all at once.”

You take a sip --and it’s a disgustingly salty and sour--and eye the other glass with suspicion. “Do I even want to know what that is?”

Piotr holds it out to you. “It is Russian hangover cure. I think you will like this better.”

You sniff the contents --it smells decidedly better, just barely not like orange juice--and take a sip. “Oh! I like that!” You down the glass easily and set it on the table as you smack your lips. “Can I have more of that?”

“Maybe later, if you still need it. Try to keep eating.”

You manage, growing more subdued and sleepier as you fill your belly. Eventually, Piotr says you’ve eaten enough --and drank enough of the pickle juice, which is still gross--and lets you flop back down on the bed.

He pulls the blankets up around your shoulders and smooths your hair away from your face as you settle back in. “I will check on you later. Rest well, myshka.”

You wake up several hours later, feeling considerably less fucked over. Your head no longer feels like it’s being scooped out by a melon baller, and your stomach is considerably less grumpy. You manage to get yourself upright and pad out of Piotr’s room on shaky legs.

The mansion is practically silent as you wander through the large halls. Most of the mutants visit their families during Christmas and New Year’s, meaning that there’s no one to run into while you search for your boyfriend.

Which is probably for the best. You can walk, but you definitely don’t feel human enough for conversation.

It takes a while, but you manage to track him down; he’s outside, in full on defense mode, watching Nathan, Neena, Logan, Kurt, Wade, Peter, and Bobby clean up the remains from Russell’s bush burning.

Scott’s also there, supervising, which briefly makes you hesitate; you ultimately decide that you want your boyfriend, so you jam your boots onto your feet and brave the cold and snow.

The sunlight hurts your head, and you tromp towards Piotr as quickly as you can.

He starts slightly when you wrap your arms around his waist --considerably harder than usual since he’s in defense mode--and turns around with a concerned frown on his face. “Y/N? You should be inside.”

“I wanted to come find you,” You mumble as you press your face into his coat to block out the piercing sunlight.

He makes sure Scott is good to go, then scoops you into his arms and carries you inside. Before you can think of anything to say, you’re back in his room and in bed again with the blankets tucked over your legs.

He hands you the water bottle as you prop yourself into a sitting position. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. My head still hurts, though.”

He kisses your forehead, almost like a parent kissing their child’s scraped knee. “Do you want some more painkillers?”

“Later. I saw that you had the guys and Neena doing due penance. Why didn’t you have me out there, too? I was part of last night.”

Piotr takes one of your hands in his and kisses your knuckles. “Scott and I talked it over with the Professor. We decided better ‘penance’ would be to have you take course on alcohol safety.”

You frown. “Scott agreed to that?”

“Eventually. Wade made very compelling case for you this morning. He said you had no experience with alcohol previously, and that you had no basis to know why New Year’s rule was in place to begin with.”

You make a mental note to thank Wade later.

“The Professor and I agreed --and Scott added the safety course, which is not that unreasonable, I think.”

“It’s not,” You admit. “But I might bitch about it anyway.”

“And I will be there to pat your hand and remind you that it is due consequence of your choices.”

“Like the wonderful boyfriend you are. Pampering me and keeping me grounded.” You smile softly. “I like to think you bring out the best in me, Pete.”

He smiles back and kisses you gently. “I like to think you bring out best in me, Y/N.”

Despite the pounding in your head and the knowledge that you’re going to have to take a pain the ass course eventually, you melt into the kiss.

There’s no place you’d rather be.

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

Episode 4.2: Steve: The Intergalactic Kevin

DM: By popular demand, one night only, a largely improv emergency meeting. If you drive me to alcoholism I’m billing you for therapy.

T: M, if you get sued for therapy bills, it’s coming out of the wedding budget. (T and M got engaged over Christmas break)

Everyone: OOOOOOO

DM: Corellia is one of the major core worlds, in a system with 4 others, but it’s the largest and closest to the main star; part of the Republic but maintains its own navy. Its main specialty is shipping and transportation.

Grif: OK, here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about what you said, Rralwarr; the ship is a death trap, what if we turn it on them? Like, booby-trap it with bombs, set it to fly off somewhere on autopilot, and when they board the ship it’ll blow up with them in it hopefully. Now, there’s a couple more things you guys will hate.

Taveau: Oh I’m liking it so far.

Grif: You won’t. We’ll need to leave some things behind to make it look like we died. Your armor for one. 

Taveau: Ex-CUSE me

Grif: ...and three bodies off the black market. Also a wookiee pelt. 

Rralwarr: HOLD UP NOW. If I see someone with a wookiee pelt, I’m going to rip their arms off. 

Taveau: Grif? You... seem to be taking this well. Uh, more or less. So, uh. I’ve got some stuff to mention. 

Grif: Go ahead. 

Taveau:  Here’s what I noticed... First, we assist in killing a member of Death Watch; they’re killed with a blast to the throat. A short amount of time passes, and in that time, two things happen: we get a message from Death Watch, showing that they know who we are. And someone kills your mother with a blast to the throat, which is exactly the way that we killed the Death Watch guy down on Hypori. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me. It seems like they’re trying to send you a message. And if I’m right, that means there’s already someone on Alderaan, and they know where to find your family.  I still think we should change ships, because if there’s anyone following us, it might throw them off, and we’ll have fewer of these guys waiting for us when we get to Alderaan. But we should do it fast.

Rralwarr: Right. Here’s my concern, Grif; I think these guys are smarter than you think. I don’t think your dad is safe, and I think he said what he did at gunpoint. Your dad isn’t that stupid. There’s something else going on here. 

H, OOC: Rralwarr feels torn that he cannot uphold all of his duties at once. He legit thinks Grif’s idea is mildly OK, aside from the wookiee pelt, but no matter what they do they’re going to end up fighting the Mandalorians.

Grif: Right. So, any way we can get back at them now is a good start. We need to lose the ship that they’re tracking, and we need to get back there as quickly as possible. This idea seems the best for doing that without getting anyone else in danger. If we just leave the ship on Corellia, we could be implicating the people who end up with it. 

Rralwarr still doesn’t like the idea of wookiee pelts. He leaves the cockpit. 

Taveau spins around in his pilot chair. “So. Uh, he’s upset. How much family do you have on... Alderaan, is it?” 

Grif: Yes. My dad and uh.. a bunch of siblings. 

Taveau: Oh, that’s not good. If it was just your dad they’d be more likely to keep him alive to use against you. If you’ve got multiple family members they could start killing them off at any time. 

No one questions Taveau’s knowledge of Death Watch, to my surprise; apparently they just assume it’s cultural knowledge and accept it. Taveau is very relieved about this. 

We land on Corellia, and Grif’s current plan involves selling the ship to someone, because “we need the credits”, but setting the autopilot so it flies away before they can claim it, and hopefully getting off the planet before we’re arrested for this little scam. Taveau doesn’t like it but doesn’t have a better idea. Rralwarr really, really doesn’t like it but is in a similar position. 

Taveau leaves his helmet in the cockpit, so he can have an excuse to run back into the ship after it’s officially been sold and grab it (and also set the autopilot at the same time). Additionally, with his poncho covering most of his armor, he can walk around town looking like your average shady individual, and not a distinctly Mandalorian brand of shady. Upon us asking what the chances of being attacked around here are: 

DM: There is pretty heavy police presence here, CorSec does not take kindly to disruptions. ...(repeats, pointing at M/Grif): CorSec does not take kindly to disruptions...

M: That’s why we need to get out of here fast after we set the autopilot :) 

DM: ...It’s not likely that Death Watch would prefer to start a firefight here. You’re heading into the Corellian Engineering Corp. headquarters, yes? You are immediately accosted by at least 3 dealers, complimenting your hair, your robes, and waving information pamphlets at you. 

Grif: Thank you! Lovely! I’ll consider it. One moment. (OOC: can I roll perception to see who has the best deal?) 

DM: yeah go ahead. (he rolls high) You notice this one guy standing back a bit, close to the wall-- 

M: I GO OVER TO HIM 

DM: What do you say? 

Grif: Ah! Interesting tactic, not rushing me~ 

DM: ...Roll charisma. (fail) Yeah he just kinda... gives you a slightly offended look, says “I’m busy” and walks away. 

M: Oh. 

Meanwhile, Rralwarr is hanging out in the courtyard near our ship, trying to keep an eye on our surroundings. He rolls a 9 on perception. 

DM: ...Yeah, you don’t see anything unusual. You do notice a very fascinating fountain. You stare at that for a while. 

Grif, meanwhile, heads for the table marked “sales and trade-ins” and identifies his ship type to the droid attendant. He’s sent out with a scanner team to check the condition of the ship. 

Taveau, who’d started off to check out one of the other dealers, hears that Grif has it handled and, relieved that he doesn’t have to talk to anyone, rejoins Rralwarr. Taveau also manages to roll a 9 on perception (2, originally, with modifiers). He, too, becomes enamored with the fountain. He stands by Rralwarr and contemplates his place in the universe. While Grif accomplishes things, the two of them gaze at the fountain together. 

Grif chats up the scanner team foreman while the rest of the dudes set up the scanner. Eventually they call him inside to look at something and Grif waits outside, tucking his hands inside his sleeves and gripping the tiny concealed blaster he keeps up one of his sleeves (which I only heard about very recently, and this makes me wonder if Taveau has noticed it. Possibly, as it seems like something he’d notice. But possibly not, because as we all know, he’s kind of clueless.) 

M: Grif feels edgy. 

DM: Do you mean he feels On Edge or is he just... intentionally acting as edgy as possible 

H: Oh it’s definitely that

M: Edgy, probably. I mean it’s not like he’s actually going to shoot anyone, he’s just gripping his gun and feeling edgy for the sake of edginess. 

There’s muffled conversation from inside. oh, really?...huh...well, that’s... interesting...

The foreman reappears, carrying a small device in his hand, and tells Grif that the ship seems to be in pretty good reselling condition, but the scan found a hyperspace tracker on the bottom of the engine. He’s guessing that they bought it from a secondhand dealer, as some of the less-scrupulous of those will often attach a tracker to a ship so they can track it down if payments aren’t met. He also volunteers that it only transmits when in hyperspace, and gives it to Grif when he asks. 

(Lore-wise this tracker bugs me a bit because hyperspace technology was considered brand new in The Last Jedi, which is considerably later than the time period we’re playing in. I then consider the fact that we’re playing a game for fun and not accuracy and that it’s a cool concept and I tell myself to take a chill pill.)

Foreman: Also, you have excellent taste in rum. 

Grif: Oh, yes! Why don’t we get it down, actually, to celebrate the sale? 

Foreman: That’s not a bad idea. I’ll send the boys back early. 

The Rest of the Party: * C O N C E R N * 

M: guys I’m gonna be fine don’t worry. 

And in fact Grif did not die. Grif didn’t even drink (rum). He had water, and he gave the rest of the bottle to the foreman as a gift, considering he couldn’t let Rralwarr see it with him anyway. The foreman, for his part, left in an excellent mood and promised to give his ship a really good report. 

I think this may have been the first time Grif succeeded with charisma. M comments that, thanks to the character change, he’s more focused than usual. 

We reunite and discuss an alternate plan, now that we have the tracker: take it with us on the new ship, hyperspace-jump to the middle of absolutely nowhere, fling the tracker off the ship and then hightail it to Alderaan. Taveau grabs his helmet and, taking the tracker along, we trade in our old ship for a shiny new one. 

DM asks if we’d like to name the ship. H/Rralwarr don’t have ideas. M goes “yeah I don’t think Grif really cares right now.” So it’s up to me. 

“...Steve?” (laughter. The DM is going to accept it) “No wait. The.... The Intergalactic Kevin.” (H really likes that one but I feel like I should come up with a name that isn’t a joke) “Wait, I’ve got it: Blindsider.” 

A good name, as Taveau sincerely hopes that they’ll be able to reach Alderaan undetected in this ship. Everyone likes the name, the DM okays it, and we have a newly-christened ship (with two sonic showers). 

Someone suggests that we get a party pet, some kind of space dog, and name it Steve: The Intergalactic Kevin. 

Rralwarr, a little calmed down now that we’ve found a plan that doesn’t involve massive amounts of deception, swindling, and disrespecting the remains of the dead, goes to talk to Grif as Taveau is starting it up. 

Grif: I’m gonna be fine, it’s just.. this entire day all I’ve been able to think about has been Alderaan. I wanna go home, but also I wanna stay away as much as possible. And when I think of Alderaan I think of mom, but she won’t be there...it’ll just be a house, it won’t be the same. And I still kinda wanna get back at those Mandalorians. But I know we don’t have the power to do that, and it just frustrates me.

The two share a moment. The moment is interrupted: 

Taveau: HEY GUYS ARE WE TAKING OFF? 

Grif: ..YeS

Rralwarr: Grif, I know you’re under a lot of stress, and I don’t blame you for your suggestions, and while your suggestion regarding the wookie pelts deeply offends me, I know you were more concerned with getting us off here safely than with how you did it, and I understand. Don’t do that again, though. You know very well how wookies treat their dead. 

Grif: I know, trust me, humans are the same way. I’m sorry, I know that was out of place, and... I wish I could say that I wouldn’t have done it.

Rr: We’re at war, things happen... I didn’t have a better idea at the time.

Grif: also I’m still not certain that people won’t get hurt because of our ship. 

Rr: there’s no perfect way to handle this. Let’s think of it this way: we’re going back to protect the rest of your family, they’re all targets; we’re all in danger now, we need to make sure they’re safe.

We take off, make the jump, and stop to dispose of the tracker. Taveau rolls really well on piloting and I decide that this ship has really easy controls. Here’s where Mistakes Happen. 

Me: Can I do the honors of yeeting the tracker into space? 

DM: Absolutely. There’s, like, a waste disposal hatch, and you-- 

H: You should roll dex for that!

Me: What? For shoving something down a garbage chute? 

H: Yes. Because it’d be really funny if you failed. 

Me:...ok

DM: Excellent! Roll! 

Me: 

Me: a 1 

H: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Me: WHAT. WHAT HAPPENS TO ME. 

DM: ....which hand are you using? 

Me, recognizing that this is an opportunity for mercy and deciding not to take it: I mean realistically probably my dominant hand, which is my right. 

DM: It’s stuck. 

Rralwarr: I grab your arm and pull you out!

DM: And now your wrist is broken. 

Me: GREAT. THAT WAS MY SHOOTING HAND. 

Rralwarr treats me with his medic skills and fixes me up with a wrist brace. I’m told that I’ll be alright in a few days (presumably Rralwarr inflicted some sort of rapid-heal treatment upon me?), but I should, in the meantime, avoid stressing my hand. Specifically, I shouldn’t fire any weapons with recoil. 

Yeah, good luck with that. 

As we end the session, I ask H if Rralwarr has any painkillers. H says gleefully that he does indeed, and that he’s looking forward to seeing a high Taveau. 

masterpost

[moony3rror]

POOR BEE 😭😭😭 ORION LEAVES THE CHILD 😭😭🔫

Someone call Elita 😭

[Please do not steal, trace, repost or do anything with my work]