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saintheartwing · 4 years ago

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May The Force Be With You, Part Seven

There was a famous rule for the Sith and the Jedi. The Rule of Two. ALWAYS two there must be. A master, and an apprentice.

Kendall may not have been very good at the Jedi ways, but he was honored to be under Leia’s tutelage, to have her be his mistress. But for Darth Furiosa and Darth Raize...who were THEIR Sith padawans? Who had they chosen to be their apprentices, who would help pass on their own teachings to others, just as they had learned so much from them?

Well, the first padawan had been a rather...unusual choice. Because he’d been an ordinary leftover trooper. A nobody of a Mandalorian warrior who’s first actual instance of action hadn’t gone well at all.

The night was sultry as thunder and lightning split the sky, clouds of dust billowing about under dark red across a dark grey plain. The alien moon was an outpost for a Galactic Republic world, and Mandalorian forces had raided it. It had been simple, you see. The post was run by a governor, who’d recently won an election on a strong interventionist program. The colonies on the edge of the Rim were frequently targets for Mandalorian raiding parties, and Governor Kanaida had spoken up.

Instead of an ISOLATIONIST policy in which planet Corasar just defended itself from any incoming attacks and just had large walled cities and defensive shields and they just kept to themselves...instead, why not be a part of something greater? Have the planets nearby combine with them, pool their resources, have everyone contribute and become a BULWARK against the Mandalorian forces! Sure, it’d be risky...but everyone would share in the risk, and for once, there would be a sense of not being isolated and alone. If they all shared in the struggle, then everyone would feel equal.

He appealed to how much they loved being in the Galactic Republic. To be free of the slave worlds of the Outer Rim. To not have to be farmers and working the land on harsher worlds than what they had here. And to have a voice in how things were run...that, above all, that meant a lot to them. They could matter here.

But of course, it was their choice. So they put it up to a vote.

Sure enough, they chose Governor Kanaida’s plan. The sector of the galaxy decided to join together and work on creating a united militia of planets, as it were, to stand against Mandalore and its many raiding parties. And they’d made things really, really difficult for the Mandalorian warriors. The loud roar of the raiding parties was being quickly drowned out by the loud THUDDA-THUDDA-THUDDA of heavy duty turret fire. The Mandalorians were losing their attempt to try and get a foothold of the planet, and they were losing badly.

The combined resources of the militia of planets had worked well. They’d each covered one another’s weaknesses, and Corasar’s powerful turret stations and their hidden bunkers where the inhabitants of the planet could launch attacks from were proving too much for the Mandalorians. Only a few villages here and there on the farthest outskirts of civilization weren’t doing well.

The Mandalorians were super spiteful about this. FURIOUS. And on that sultry, dark knight, the commander had ordered that particular, special warrior to help torch the entire village, and put every single “fucking hick on this planet to the torch too, and we’ll teach these people to fucking fear us!!!”.

Needless to say, Finn, the warrior, was positively disgusted by this. He’d begun torching one of the houses...and then had begun vomiting into his helmet. His buddies were disgusted...not by what they had to do, but by the fact he was puking all over, struggling to get his v-slit helmet off. He flopped onto the ground, spluttering, coughing, and then felt his stomach churn, as he unloaded even more of the contents within onto the ground below.

“...pussy.” One of the warriors grunted as another one “tsk-tsk’d” and shook their head, a third rolling their eyes behind their helmet.

“You’re a bigger woman than I am.” She remarked as she sneered down at poor Finn. “It couldn’t be more pathetic.” The female Mandalorian remarked as the others all slapped high fives with her, grinning and laughing as they kept moving on to other buildings, and a horrible cacophony of screaming, howling voices was ringing through the air. Finn could hear the wailing of those being burned alive...and he ran. He ran, and ran, and ran, ripping his armor off, and fleeing as fast as he could.

And who should he run into...but Darth Raize. Smack dab into her. She had, interestingly, arrived at the planet because she and Darth Furiosa had been spying on the place, and the other planets in the militia, ever since they’d joined together. She’d been scouting it out, hoping to turn other people to their side, to act as spies. And as she looked down at Finn, she felt something in him…

He had short-cut black hair. Dark brown eyes. Slightly large nose. A face so haunted...and he had FORCE POTENTIAL. Real, genuine force potential. And so she smiled down at him, holding out a gloved hand.

“Do you want to learn how to use a lightsaber?” She’d asked him.

Finn had stared up at her. He saw her lightsaber. Her dark clothes. Her imposing figure. He could tell, he just could, that she was a Sith.

But after what he’d seen only five, six minutes before, he found himself saying “Yes”.

Well, Finn DID learn to use a lightsaber. He was actually surprisingly good at it. Real damn good, for a newcomer. He wielded it like a blunt instrument, smacking and slashing with astounding ferocity. It was as if he had a greatsword or a gigantic baseball bat in his hand. Raize would often have to warn him, anger was all well and good but don’t get TOO furious. Not BLINDED by anger. She’d learned not to do that the hard way.

Well...so she said. But Finn wasn’t entirely sure she took that lesson to heart, because he, like Poe Dameron, had been in the same room when Furiosa’s mother and grandmother had been made fun of with that tasteless joke, and she’d lashed out with raw sith lightning, rather than harsh words.

It’d been...unpleasant to see...but Finn truly believed in what Raize was doing on Nar Shadaa. The quality of life had improved drastically for those on the planet. Who was he to deny results if they worked so well? And besides, she’d been nothing but decent and wise and good to him. And working with Poe...that had been even better.

Poe Dameron was a great, great man. And you knew this because Poe made sure you knew it after every successful mission. Multiple times.

Poe had, regrettably, not been able to make it in the Galactic Republic’s fleet. He’d tried very hard, but unfortunately for him, he was the sort of person who would buzz the tower for kicks. He had a hard problem with listening to people in authority, and while some questioning and skepticism was normally not a big deal, the almost constant refusal to listen to what his superiors ordered him to do WAS.

At first, they hadn’t minded that he didn’t stick to all of the regulations and rules that his ship had to adhere to. Fine, fine, put whatever hot-looking naked woman or man you wanted up in your cockpit. Sure, it was unusual, but we don’t mind you painting your ship a different color or...painting things ON it, however...risque. What was that? You thought you saw an opening to attack those raiders? Hold on now, you shouldn’t go ahead, we’re trying to engage in defensive maneuvers, wait for backup-oh, there he goes. Well, we’ll let it go THIS time.

But you couldn’t keep “letting it go this time” when ‘this time” was turning into “every other time”. Again and again and again Poe just kept ignoring the blatant warnings and orders of his superiors. He was an aggressive combat fighter, a savant behind the cockpit, helped along by being extremely force sensitive.

Finally, the Galactic Federal Republic put their foot down. He’d been called in by the admiral. “Look, nobody’s denying your skills. But we’re asking you…to tender your resignation.”

“WHAT?!” Poe had been furious. Poe had a well-built, slightly long nose, a dashingly handsome face, wavy, well-kept hair, and a five-o-clock shadow, and now that lovely face was scrunched up in anger. “Why?! I’ve been given commendations, I’m the best pilot in my squadron, hell, in the whole fucking Third Fleet!”

“Hold on, hold on. Poe, your skills are amazing. Your aptitude is very high. We grant that.”

“I’ve gathered the most remarkable young pilots around this sector to the fleet! I’m the best captain you’ve got!”

“And what have you TAUGHT them?”

“Things you wouldn’t believe!”

“We can’t believe it, alright. The way you keep ignoring what the instructors said, what the commanders said, what the sergeants said, over and over and over.” The admiral intoned. “Time and time again you deliberately disobey directions. You don’t follow instructions. You go against what you’ve been ordered to do. You even go against what you’re SUGGESTED or ASKED to do every other time.”

“What on Earth is that supposed to mean? How can you say such a thing? Why does that matter?”

“That’s three questions right there in five seconds, thus proving my point.” the admiral intoned. “At a certain point, you NEED to accept what instructions and guidance you’re given on faith. You don’t do that at all. On top of that, you seem to be under the impression that you don’t have to answer to anybody as long as you blow up the right ships. Well, that’s not how it works. We need to know, when we put people out into the field, they’ll stick, overall, to the plans we have and not drastically deviate from them, thus potentially putting our work, our other troops and soldiers and pilots and even ourselves, at risk. What happens when you decide to assault a star cruiser on your own, your co-pilots race over to help, and they get killed because you couldn’t stay in formation like you were asked? What happens when you decide to go blasting your way through a space station when you were merely told to scout it, and you leave your platoon behind, allowing them to be caught off guard, captured, or killed? You spend so much time questioning our orders, yet you never seem to question yourself.”

“Why would I do that when I’m RIGHT?!” Poe snarked, folding his arms over his chest, the admiral staring at him before he shook his head slowly back and forth, sighing as he leaned back in his enormous leather chair behind his desk.

“See, right there.” The admiral said softly. “That’s what I mean. Goodbye, Mr. Dameron. And good luck to anyone who can endure you.”

With that, Poe had been kicked out of the fleet. All his commendations and everything didn’t mean a thing now. Word spread about his reckless, brash behavior and his rebellious attitude. And so it was that he’d found himself forced to take random piloting jobs, and ferrying people around...and one particular job had landed him in Nar Shadaa, where a certain dark-skinned, lovely-looking long-haired woman had taken notice of him.

“Hi.”

Poe had stared at her, stunned at how deep her eyes were, and the fact she was sitting INCREDIBLY close to him, and looking right into his eyes, one hand on his, whilst he, in turn, was seconds from lifting his drink to his mouth. “...um...c-can I help you?”

“I think I can help you.” She told him softly. “Tell me, Poe Dameron. Do you...sense that things are going to happen before they do? Do you feel like you “know” what’s going to occur when you’re flying around before it does? Do you feel connected to something greater than yourself?”

“...I...I mean...are you talking about God or something? I dunno if I believe in it God. My beliefs have always been like...just...something more or less behind it all.” He reasoned.

“That’s cute.” She’d chuckled. “But I was thinking more like...this.”

And then she’d whisked her hand, and a cup had sailed across the bar and into her grip as she grinned at him. “Would you like to learn how to do that? To hone the incredible skill I can see shining off you so brightly, like a star?”

Poe had felt a deep blush swell in him. He stammered and stared, but the words out of his mouth were a distinct “Yes! Yes, please!”

While Poe wasn’t nearly as good with a lightsaber, he was INCREDIBLY good with the more mystical and spiritual powers of the Force. He could easily use telekinetic skills to pull and tug things around, lifting large objects, leaping high through the air, or, of course, the classic “Force Persuasion”. He was very...VERY fond of that.

“You don’t want to sell me gamja leaves.” Poe whispered as he and Finn stood waiting for Darth Furiosa and Darth Raize in the lobby of the tower, a young man in a hood and robe staring stupidly ahead at Poe, slowly lowering his arm, having shown off what laid inside of his robe.

“...I don’t want to sell you gamja leaves.”

“You want to go home and rethink your life.”

“...I’m...going to go home to rethink my life…” The young man muttered as he turned around, heading for the door as Finn smiled, giving Poe a pat on the back.

“Good on you.” He said with a grin before he turned to see their masters descending the stairs. “Ah! Mistresses.” He and Poe bowed their heads as Darth Furiosa and Raize shook their heads.

“Please, no standing on ceremony. We’ve got a very simple request for you. We want you to track down THIS man.” Darth Furiosa held up a small holographic inducer, showing off a rotating image of a faintly familiar, red-haired young man. Oh! Poe recognized him, he worked at the free clinic that he’d frequently visited while he was trying to save money for a nicer ship, so he could take on nicer, better-paying jobs. “His name is Kendall, he’s a nurse, and he happens to be...surprisingly...skilled with a lightsaber. His connection to the Force is otherwise rather pathetic, but he’s remarkably adept. He was able to take Raize’s lightsaber, and fight her off even when she used her spare.”

Finn whistled, surprised by this. “Wow...gee, I didn’t think anyone could.”

“He got lucky.” Raize insisted as she spat on the ground. “Worse still, we’ve had some of our employees bringing up how he’s approached them along with a few other people. Like that worthless relic Han Solo…”

“And that bitch, Leia, his wife.” Furiosa added with a scowl. “With them with him, it’ll be tricky. What you need to do is get him ALONE to take care of him. We’ve sent the locations of bars he frequents often, we want you to stake the locations out and deal with him. Think you can do that?”

Poe grinned cheekily. “Well...you know me. I’ve got a way with words.” He remarked.

“Ohhh no. Don’t bother. He seems heavily resistant to Force Persuasion. I tried to force him to give me my lightsaber back, it didn’t work.” Raize balefully admitted. “No, no...find another way.”

“I will.” Poe swore, he and Finn both nodding. “We’ll take care of him, Mistresses. Don’t worry. We’ve never failed you yet.”

The two of them left the room, both dressed in their finest lightweight attire, with black gloves and boots to match. Poe had a very fine dark brown longsleeve jacket with a belt of many pouches, whilst Finn wore his own jacket, a much lighter shade of brown with many pockets inside and out. The pockets came in handy, they helped to hide all kinds of goodies. For the most part though...it held snacks.

“Here.” Finn reached into his jacket, tossing a small bag of fruit snacks to Poe as he cheerily grinned. “We could be waiting a while when we’re staking out the bars he seems to frequent and I know you’re not a fan of peanuts.”

“Hey, thanks.” Poe said with a grin. “Oooh, they’re “Gusher” style!” He said, examining the fruit snacks and popping the sugary-juice-filled fruit snacks into his mouth with gusto. “Thanks a ton, you’re so considerate.” He told Finn as Finn smiled warmly back.

Darth Furiosa, meanwhile, was making a call, as Frequency the Bouny Hunter appeared on the other end of her communicator. “Wassaaaaap?” He asked.

“We’d like you to take care of somebody. JUST in case things go south with our apprentices. We don’t like leaving things to chance, and unfortunately, that moronic Logosian seems unnaturally gifted with luck.” She informed the blue-furred bouncy hunter as he adjusted the red lifeguard-esque cap he had atop his head, whistling a bit.

“Yeah, um...thing is, that guy you’re sending me this contract on?” Frequency examined the picture. “...I kinda owe him one.”

“What?!” Furiosa sounded mortified. “How?! Is he a former friend?”

“No. Never met him before two weeks ago.” Frequency informed Furiosa as a chill ran up her spine and she and Raize glanced at one another. “Yeah. Remember that guy I said who helped me find your newsstand-owning friend? That was him.” Frequency admitted. “He got the guy who did it to talk in a way I couldn’t. I kinda owe him a favor.”

“...so you won’t help kill him?” Raize wanted to know.

“You wanna pay me to totally waste somebody? Sure. I don’t care. But when it comes to guys who do me a solid, I do it back. I owe him, so I can’t kill him.” The yellow/golden-eyed bounty hunter told her as he shook his head.

“Then...will you at least keep an eye on our apprentices and him and report back to us what’s happening as it happens?” Raize sighed as she pinched the space between her eyes and shook her head back and forth. “We’re not asking you to step in to kill him if they fail, just tell us if they succeed, or if they’re failing, or if that bitch Leia or her stupid husband comes in.”

“Not a fan of Leia, I take it?” Frequency inquired.

“Or her husband. Those hetereos are making me upseteroes. If they DO show up...will you kill them?”

“Yeah...sure.” Frequency shrugged. “They don’t owe me anything. They’re fair targets. They try to interfere, I’ll handle them.” He told the Dyad with a nod. “Adios, dudettes.” He ended the call, sighing a bit as he pocketed the communicator into his red shorts pocket, humming a bit as he walked across the room he was in, going over to the high-powered sniper rifle. His four-digited paws lifted it up, feeling over the cold texture of the gun as he quietly examined it, ensuring it was properly loaded and functioning as he put on the invisible laser light scope. Well, not “invisible”. His eyes could see the dot much better than normal humanoids could. It helped in his missions, having far better eyesight than his targets.

Being an bounty hunter is a good job. You weren’t guaranteed to go hungry, because at the end of the day, there’d always be SOMEBODY who wanted SOMEONE dead.

Now, naturally, there were always moral and ethical questions about this sort of thing. But that was something Frequency had dealt with at a very young age indeed. The psychos who beat their wives to death with their golf trophies or the wives who burned their husbands alive in their beds or the kids who’d stab their parents while they slept had feelings to work through. They had the “passion” for what they did. A professional could have passion, sure, but what they really needed was standards.

And Frequency, in essence, had two. If you did right by him, he’d do right by you. And if he thought the job was doable and the pay good enough, he would do it. Regardless of who he had to kill.

He shouldered the sniper rifle, and readied the knives in his pockets and felt through the little pockets hidden in his sleeveless white shirt. Yep, there they were. He had everything he needed. Feeling satisfied, Frequency walked towards the nearby fancy music player located in a big, mahogany entertainment center in the room, turning the highly advanced “stereo” on…

In a few seconds, he was gone.

…

…“Oh the night that Paddy Murphy died, is a night I'll never forget! Some of the boys got loaded drunk, and they ain't got sober yet; As long as a bottle was passed around every man was feelin' gay, O'Leary came with the bagpipes, some music for to play!”

The bar was filled with loud, rowdy roaring laughter, beer being knocked about as tankards and mugs clashed together. Several people were doing keg stands as Grohtk the Trandoshan had one arm wrapped around Kendall’s shoulder. They were singing merrily along with the assembled shipping yard workers and guards of the tower and a few soldiers even who’d all come to the bar to drink and party and just have a good time.

Kendall had been listening to a LOT of people that worked for the Dyad. They were surprised to find how...personable he was. He just...listened to what they had to say about the events and news of the day, and then he’d just chat about how they were feeling, and their day to day lives, and what it was like to work for the Dyad. It was that ability to listen that really seemed to be getting him hitting it off with the Dyad’s employees.

They all knew full well by now, though, that he’d tried to directly assault the Tower, that he’d managed to fight one of the Dyad off with their own lightsaber, but that had, surprisingly, impressed many of them. On top of that, nobody really tried to drag him off to the Dyad themselves. They just assumed somebody else would, or that someone else had already called the Dyad and told them where he was, and after a few drinks, and just chatting it up with Kendall, the mere idea of that was long since forgotten.

Not even being a gay Logosian seemed to be too odd to them. Yes, it was VERY strange that such an openly religious, fundamentalist species even HAD gay people to many of them. When he’d confessed his sexuality whenever the topic got breached, it tended to make the workers for the Dyad stunned. How had he survived being on a planet that did things like conversion therapy, where being so different, so...alien...could be fatal? Why hadn’t he been dragged into some alley after school with people yelling “We’ll teach you, f-ggot” as somebody wailed on him with a crowbar?

Then they’d realized just what the markings on his neck were, and they didn’t ask about that sort of thing anymore. So they’d dive back into the drinking and the fun, and the singing and dancing would soon be echoing through the bar! Just like right now.

“That's how they showed their respect for Paddy Murphy! That's how they showed their honour and their pride; They said it was a sin and shame and they winked at one another, And every drink in the place was full the night Pat Murphy died!”

Kendall and Grohtk knew some nice “sea shanty” style songs. There was a huge shipping community and it was very easy to work boat songs around a bit into spaceship songs, from “Lukey’s Boat” to “Drunken Sailor”, and a song like this was no exception. So they stomped their feet, barreling out the song’s lyrics as loud as they could. It was really surprising that Kendall, of all people, had the much louder voice. Maybe because of the type of music he reaaaaally enjoyed singing and listening to.

“As Mrs. Murphy sat in the corner pouring out her grief, Kelly and his gang came tearing down the street! They went into an empty room and a bottle of whiskey stole, They put the bottle with the corpse to keep that whiskey-”

Then, alas, the door to the bar opened, and the final word “Cold” trailed off from everyone’s lips as the two apprentices of the Dyad stood there in the doorway.

“...bitches, leave.” Frequency chuckled as he peered on in, watching with his see-through binoculars from atop a nearby roof, his sniper rifle at the ready. The bar patrons were quickly shuffling out as Grohtk glanced over at Kendall. He was in deep shit if he didn’t leave. But he couldn’t just leave Kendall behind.

Kendall gave him a look. “You should go.” He said quietly.

Grohtk however...shook his head. He let go of Kendall, and pulled out a big, thick-looking, wicked knife from a scabbard hidden in the jacket he was wearing, his other hand whipping out a pistol as Kendall nonchalantly reached into the blue jacket he wore, taking out his lightsaber. “I take it you two work for the Dyad?” He asked as he looked the two over.

...oh wow. He stared back at them and they at him. Actually seeing him in person, they were rather taken aback as they heard him speak, and saw him. REALLY saw him. He had such...alluring eyes. The ride of wide cascading all around his pupils, the deep, alluring blue of his irises, and his voice...it had a quality to it they’d never experienced before.

“They require us to take care of you.” Poe said, Finn shaking his head a bit, Poe trying not to look at Kendall’s eyes. “You, Trandoshan, get out of here, we’re only interested in the Logosian.”

“Your bosses are assholes, you know that, right?” Kendall inquired.

Poe stretched his hand out, but Kendall cringed, flinching a bit. “So you’ve got resistance against things like a “Force Push” too, eh...fine. I can handle that…” He said as he snapped his fingers and bottles flew up through the air along with chairs and tables. He launched his hand forward as they all flew at Kendall.

“Duck!” Kendall yelled out, Grohtk diving to the ground, firing off his pistol as Finn twirled his own lightsaber, the purple lightsaber flashing through the air, slashing and slicing, spinning around and deflecting the blows as Kendall fricassed the oncoming bottles and tables and chairs thrown at him. There were, however, far more things to toss in his direction than in the free clinic he’d been in before, and being somewhat drunk, his reaction speed wasn’t what it should have been.

THWAM! One of the tables slammed into his side, knocking him through the air. Poe grinned, launching yet a chair at him as it soared towards Kendall, Finn advancing on Grohtk, continuing to deflect the pistol bolts! But Kendall shot forward and kicked, kicked with astounding ferocity and strength! His training with Leia continued to keep his athletic skills honed, and he’d always been far better at hand-to-hand, close-quarters combat…

And he happened to have very powerful legs at that. A fact that may have saved his life, because the chair shot back at Poe with such force he barely ducked in time to avoid it slamming into his head. Kendall then spun through the air and brought his lightsaber down at Finn, who blocked the slice just in time as Grohtk fired on Poe!

TSSEEW! TSSEWWWW! The shots soared through the air, Poe twirling and diving away. He was terrible with a lightsaber, but he was a very good shot himself. He whipped out his own twin pistols, firing at Grohtk, who was firing back, using his vibro-blade knife he’d drawn to deflect the pistol shots as best he could. Loud TWANG-TWANG noises rang through the air as the shots kept getting knocked into the walls, burn marks popping up left and right as Finn and Kendall danced around one another, slicing and slashing with their lightsabers.

“You’re very...ERGH...good!” Kendall panted a bit, sweat beads dribbling down his brow. He had gotten skilled at using a lightsaber, but as good as he was, Finn was clearly much better than him. He was barely holding him back. “You m-must have trained under the Dyad for...GGHHH...a long t-time! Wh-who’s...YOUR particular...GGRRRGH...mistress? Raize or...Furiosa?”

“Raize!” Finn said, biting his lip. Kendall clearly had some serious raw talent, but he could also tell Kendall was barely able to keep toe to toe with him. The hiss of the lightsabers was echoing through the air, the two now tightly pushing up against one another, trying to force the other back. It was getting hot and steamy in the bar, having the lightsaber so close to his face was really heating things up! Now sweat was beginning to break out upon his forehead too. “She’s really very...wonderful once you...GRRGH...get to...KNOW her!”

It was then that Kendall did something that could have backfired horribly. But this immature, pathetic, sleazy tactic worked like a charm.

He kneed Finn right in the crotch.

“YEEEEEOOOOOOOWWW!” Finn reeled back, howling, clutching at his crotch, and Kendall delivered yet ANOTHER powerful kick, his leg sweeping up! His foot caught Finn right under his chin, making him flop onto his back. Poe whipped his head in his direction, realizing too late he’d been distracted. He barely dodged in time as Grohtk’s shot soared through the air. It missed...but then Grohtk dove at him and sliced with his vibro blade.

Poe got sliced, bad, right across the hand as he held it up to create a shield to protect himself. He cringed, wincing in pain, fingers curling, but his other hand shot out as lightning began to coalesce around his right hand! Kendall, realizing what was happening, leaped through the air as he held his lightsaber up.

KRRRRZZZZZAAAAAAPPPP! The hissing spark of lightning soared out from Poe’s fingers, curling around the lightsaber as Kendall twirled in midair and then tossed the lightning bolt off the saber, through the air and clear through the nearby wall.

Unfortunately, that wall had been positively soaked in alcohol from knocked and sliced-away beer bottles and the like. Now the entire place went up, a loud THUDDA-FWOOOOOOOOM echoing through the bar as Finn quickly staggered to his feet, he and Poe racing out the door as Poe made for the road and steadied himself upon Finn. Poe concentrated, closing his eyes, big, huge chunks of road getting ripped up as he shot them at the exit out of the bar as Grohtk tried to help Kendall up.

“Let’s see you get outta that one.” Poe swore as he and Finn waited outside, panting heavily, trying to catch their breath. “We’ve really put them in the hot seat, huh?” He laughed before wincing, Finn getting out a small medical kit from his jacket pocket. “OOOGH. Damn, this hurts…”

“Can’t you use the Force to lift those chunks of road away!?” Grohtk yelled out as he and Kendall looked around in a panic, the flames rising higher, smoke filling the air.

“I can’t DO lifting stuff, I’m terrible at that! I can’t even lift a glass of water with the Force!” Kendall told Grohtk, speaking as loudly as he could over the roaring of the flames that were hissing and sparking all around them.

“Well you gotta think of something or we’re screwed!” Grohtk insisted as he raced over to the nearby karaoke machine, trying to lift it up. The thing ran on big batteries, it didn’t have to be plugged into the wall at all, and now Grohtk was trying to lift it up. “Help me! If we blow open a hole in another wall, maybe we can race on through that and get out!”

“I’m trying!” Kendall said as he and Grohtk tried to lift the karaoke machine up, but they were both getting very dizzy. The smoke was filling their nostrils, sneaking into their lungs, it was hard to stand, and even though most Trandoshans were stronger in general than most humanoids, being partially drunk, and tired from the fight, AND with so little air left in the bar was proving too much eleven for Grohtk. “I’m...I’m trying, I’m...I can’t...breathe…”

“We...we gotta get...get out…” Grohtk moaned spluttering and coughing, falling to the floor with a THUD, along with Kendall, the flames coming closer…

Closer…

CLOSER...

#star wars #action #adventure #fantasy #fanfiction #fanfic #Kendall #Sith #Jedi #Poe #poe dameron #finn #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq themes

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deviantaccumulation · 7 years ago

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Knightrise - Chapter 2: Negotiator

Read chapter 1 here (tumblr) (AO3)

Read chapter 2 on AO3

“Did you put everything up?” Obi-Wan asked Ahsoka, his eyes fixed forward on the door to the holo-conference room, where they expected Satine to walk out of any minute. Master Yoda had gone into the gardens, and Obi-Wan knew that the Grandmaster didn’t want to bear the wait when there was nothing he could do to help them. Ahsoka however had wanted to come, even if she wouldn’t be going into the session with Obi-Wan.

“Yes,” Ahsoka said with a sigh. Obi-Wan glanced towards her to see her looking down, her montrals drooping slightly. He reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“I too wish that we didn’t have to do this, dear one,” he said quietly.

“It feels like I am… defiling their memory somehow,” Ahsoka murmured. “I don’t know if I can look any of the others in the eye should they ask me about it.”

“It feels like something that should be kept private, doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan asked, feeling her nod through his hand on her shoulder. “If the others disdain us for it, then that is their right. But I think most of them will understand our reasoning behind it.”

The door opened slightly, Satine stepping through halfway to motion for him to come in. Obi-Wan moved, but Ahsoka’s hand clasping his arm made him pause for a moment.

“May the Force be with you,” Ahsoka said, and Obi-Wan nodded.

The inside of the conference room seemed empty, until he stepped into the projector field, and suddenly the walls disappeared behind blue shimmering rows and rows of seats, a representative of the Neutral System seated in each one of them, and all of them staring down at him with impersonal expressions on their faces.

“Esteemed Council,” he greeted, affording them the customary bow of one dignitary to the other. “I stand before you today to request asylum for my people.”

None of the Councilors reacted, but then they hadn’t been elected by their people because they wore their emotions on their sleeves.

So Obi-Wan recounted the Fall of the Republic to them, the last battle for democracy, how Palpatine had been playing both sides of the war and had finally accumulated enough power to call for himself to be made Emperor. He told them of the so-called treason of the Jedi and the massacre of the Temple in as few as many words as he could manage, trying his hardest to keep his voice from breaking.

He was used to doing this for other people, other civilizations, he was even used to be the one who as a Republic representative was being plead to, instead of doing the pleading. He had never wanted to experience the quiet helplessness he had seen in other refugees’ eyes, the desperation, the knowledge that their fate didn’t rest in their own hands anymore, and that they couldn’t afford to be turned away.

The Council was quiet for a few moments after he finished, contemplation heavy in the room.

“Master Jedi,” one of the Councilors said. “You are asking for asylum due to your people being hunted by the Empire, yes? And how do you plan to hide from said Empire?”

“That’s simple,” Obi-Wan said, “I don’t plan to hide.”

“You… do not plan to hide?”

“I expect it to be a waste of energy to try to hide,” Obi-Wan said, the fabric of his sleeves shuffling as he shrugged. “Even at this point, there are already over a hundred people only in this call that know our current location. Any attempt at a secret will slowly trickle down, the number of people who know will increase exponentially and sooner or later someone will have mentioned something to the wrong person.”

“So you expect us to take in a large group of highly wanted people, in a move that would definitely draw the Empire’s ire on us? You are aware that we have regulations as well as a contingent for refugees, yes?”

Beside him Satine tensed in a way that made Obi-Wan suspect that said contingent didn’t get resolved upon with a full majority.

“I am aware, yes,” Obi-Wan said nonchalantly. “Let me alleviate your fear about going against the regulations of the Neutral Systems. I do not wish to apply my people as refugees. Instead I am officially petitioning that we may join the Council as a recently from the former Republic separated system.”

A murmur went through the rotunda, but the same Senator as before seemed quick to gather themself again.

“You need to have a planet to join the Council, Master Jedi,” they said between gritted teeth.

“Oh, but we do,” Obi-Wan said, having to do his best not to laugh at the representative’s face. He took out his comm unit, putting it on the holo-table in the center of the room. Keying up the right data set, the projection of an ice-blue planet appeared in the air. “This is Illum. It is located in the Unknown Region, and has belonged to the Order since before the era of the Old Republic.”

There was a half-stunned silence around the room.

“Master Jedi,” another representative spoke up. “Correct me if I am wrong, but you did mention at the beginning that you do seek asylum on Mandalore, did you not?”

“That is correct,” Obi-Wan said with an incline of his head. “Illum has an average temperature of only shortly above zero Kelvin, and is in general just rather uninhabitable and not self-sustainable. In any case, I expect the new Emperor to know about it, so returning there on a permanent basis wouldn’t be too healthy in that sense either. Still, a planet is a planet in your convention, is it not?”

“Indeed it is,” the same representative said, hiding an amused smile behind a hand. Obi-Wan managed to keep the answering grin from his face, instead reaching out to turn off the projection.

The first chancellor butted in again: “The status of your planet will mean that you are still dependable on us for sustenance, won’t it? How exactly do you plan to offset the cost of living for your people? You cannot act as diplomats anymore, not when there is a warrant for your arrest going around the Republic, and we are a Council that has devoted itself to peace – we do not need your warriors.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “While it is true that there is a contingent of the Jedi Order that acts as Knights, and therefor in the capacity that you have just described, we have more divisions than just that.”

“And which would those be?”

“The Jedi Corps. An organization with four subdivision, respectively the Educational Corps, the Medical Corps, the Exploratory Corps, and the Agricultural Corps,” Obi-Wan said, ticking off his fingers. “While I expect the Educational and the Exploratory Corps to be of little interest to you, the Medical Corps is filled with professional healers, many of whom are specialized in Force healing. The Agricultural Corps usually specialize in feeding worlds struck by disaster, and while half of them is supposed to help the inhabitants of the planet itself to build up their own sustainable structure, the other half of personal and material is devoted to hydroponic ships.”

“Hydroponic ships?” The Councilor who had been so amused before was leaning forward.

“Yes. They are supposed to act as first-aid, in those months were a planet is unable to produce harvest. The ships produce an enormous surplus, which used to go to Coruscant, but that won’t be necessary anymore. They have been rather dispersed across the galaxy lately, but should even three of those ships come into the Neutral Systems, they will be more than enough to produce enough food for my people, and enough surplus to sell that all our basic needs would be filled.”

“Good to hear,” the Councilor said, leaning back with a satisfied smile as their colleagues murmured around them.

“Still,” the first Councilor spoke up again. “We have a responsibility towards our own people too. If it gets out that we are providing you with protection, we will have to fear retaliation from the Empire, even against our civilians. How would you have us justify that risk to our constituents?”

“Honored representative,” Obi-Wan said, any previous humor he had felt evaporating, “You are misunderstanding something fundamental about the Empire. The Republic was largely content to let you be, because they were a democratic body, led by many, and with decent people among those leading. The Empire is led only by one man, Palpatine. This man has no interest in adhering to laws. He won’t make compromises. He will ask you to join the Empire, and once you’ll refuse, he will take what he wants by Force.” Obi-Wan looked through the rotunda, addressing all present. “I know that none of you here liked the Republic. Some of you may have even downright hated it. Well, whatever you thought about the Republic, about its power grabbing, its tyrannical laws and its oppression – all your worst fantasies are now truth when it comes to the Empire. The Republic and having to pretend to keep within its laws so that he could amass enough power were the only things holding Palpatine back. They’re gone now. And he won’t stop until he has each one of your constituents kneeling before him.”

“Surely you are exaggerating,” another Councilor interjected, a frown on her face.

“I have just told you that the entire war was engineered by him,” Obi-Wan said. “Palpatine readily killed millions just so he could have complete control over the Republic systems. You have all been in politics for quite some time. Are these the deeds of someone who will ever be content with what he has when he knows that there’s more yet outside his current reach?”

The room was quiet as the people in the projections exchanged looks.

“Master Jedi,” another Councilor said into the silence. “The official stance of the –former, I suppose – Republic is that the Jedi have been the one who have committed treason. While I am sure that many here know you as a man of integrity, in that matter it is your word against theirs. Why should we not believe that you are the traitor in this scheme?”

Obi-Wan lowered his head, looking at the comm unit still lying on the holo-table. He had known that this question would come, had planned for it even, but that didn’t make it any easier.

A few button presses, and the security recordings began to play in the air above the table.

He could distantly hear a few gasps, and he tried to not look up, not wanting to catch even one more glimpse of the massacre if he didn’t have to. Watching it for Ahsoka had been bad enough, but he had owed her that much. Now, playing it for a group of total strangers, who had no right to be privy to his pain… But it was necessary.

That thought didn’t stop him from switching off the feed after less than ten seconds. Behind him he could hear fabric rustling ever so faintly, knew that it was Satine who wanted to reach out to him, and as much as he would have found solace in her freely offered comfort, they couldn’t have her appear to be playing favorites any more than they already were.

“If any of you are unsure of the credibility of the footage,” he started, and damn it, his voice was hoarse again, “the entirety of the recordings we took from the Temple has been uploaded on the Holonet half an hour ago. While it is of course not everything, I think the few hundred hours should be enough to assure you that the footage hasn’t been doctored.”

When he looked up many of the Councilors were staring at him with widened eyes. Of course they all had heard him before when he had talked how a battalion of the GAR had marched onto the Temple and killed most of its inhabitants, but watching it happen still gave an entirely different view on the same facts, especially for civilians, for most of whom the horrors of battle were something to be read about in reports, and not the burning hot memories of blood-screams-pain-death-death-death.

“If there are no more questions, I would take my leave to let you discuss our petition,” Obi-Wan said into the stunned silence. No one protested immediately, so he bowed (too quick too shallow), and exited the room, his forcibly regular breathing pattern falling apart the moment the door closed behind him.

“Master,” a voice said, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Ahsoka. He forgot that Ahsoka would still be standing here. Shit.

“Everything’s fine, I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, stumbling in the direction he remembered the freshers to be, not daring to look at her. Half-blind he shut the fresher door behind him, then the door of the nearest stall, feeling too much like he was building a barricade.

He plopped down onto the lid of the toilet, burying his face into his hands. His breath was loud in the small space left in between.

In.

Out.

Air filled his lungs, yet he still felt empty.

Something was eating at him from the inside out, and all he wanted to do was to let it, to hope that it would devour even the last bits of him.

In.

Out.

“Ben?”

His head rose from the little cavern his fingers had made, staring at the opposite stall door. It didn’t reach all the way down, so he could see Satine’s elegant yet practical dark boots.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“The discussion is through,” she said, “there is a brief period for quiet contemplation, then the votes are placed. You should start to get ready.”

“I’ll be out in a moment,” he said.

“Alright,” Satine said, the boots walking away from the door.

He waited for a few seconds, then crept out of the stall. There were mirrors above the sinks in the washroom. For someone who had just half-hyperventilated he still looked rather good, he thought as he examined his image. He brushed through his hair with one hand, then decided that there wasn’t much he could do to improve how he looked, and left the bathroom.

He walked into the hallway with the conference room to see Satine and Ahsoka standing before each other, Satine’s hands resting on Ahsoka’s shoulders as the young girl leaned into her, Satine’s lips forming words he couldn’t quite make out.

Satine looked up, and he sent her a look that he hoped conveyed his gratitude, smoothening it back out again when Ahsoka too noticed his arrival.

Ahsoka didn’t ask him how he was doing, and he was grateful for it.

“I’ll call you in when the vote is done,” Satine said, going into the conference room and leaving the two of them in the hallway.

Obi-Wan didn’t know who reached out first, but their hands found each other, saber-calloused fingers curling into tight grips as they stood shoulder to shoulder.

It felt like half an eternity, until the door opened and Satine looked out again.

“It’s a yes,” she said, and Obi-Wan’s legs nearly gave out from under him because of the immense relief. Ahsoka turned into his side, hugging him, and he put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing tight before he had to let go.

“Go and tell Master Yoda,” he said to her, a smile on his face mirrored by her own. She took off with a nod, and he watched her leave for a moment before he turned to Satine.

“I imagine there are now quite a few details to our membership that need to be hammered out?” he said with a grin.

“Some, yes,” Satine said, a small grin on her own face. “Now come, you wouldn’t want to keep your new co-representatives waiting, would you?”

#knightrise #star wars #obi wan kenobi #my writing #please reblog (and comment) if you liked it!

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ncfan-1 · 8 years ago

Text

In Screaming Color

Ketsu on color, life, and Sabine.

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“So you paint, huh?”

The students in Sundari’s Imperial Academy tended to have a much wider age range than what was typical of the galaxy at large, or at least Ketsu had been led to believe as much. Other facilities across the galaxy would be segregated by age, but here on Mandalore, all the best and brightest of all ages were enrolled into the same facility. It was occasionally kind of bizarre to see ten-year-olds in the same class as thirty-year-olds, but Ketsu had grown used to it, over time. You could get used to most things over time.

What Ketsu had not gotten used to was the sheer dearth of color in the Academy. She’d be lying if she said her life before enrolling was an easy one. She’d be lying if she said that living in Sundari in general was easy for anyone who fell short of the top of the pecking order. But there was plenty of color if you knew where to look for it—graffiti scrawled on walls in the slums, paintings stuffed away in back rooms, tattoos you only saw if someone rolled up their sleeves or took off their shirts, the flowers someone was growing in a window box, watered with blood, sweat, tears, and only occasionally portions of their rationed water. They were there if you could find them, splashes of red and yellow, green and blue and purple and pink and orange, though you might not see it at first glance.

In the Academy, tracking down color was like trying to grasp smoke in your hands. You caught glimpses of it, fleeting glimpses, and then it was gone again, swallowed up by white and gray and black. Ketsu had chosen the Academy over homelessness, had jumped through hoops, signed forms and taken entrance exam after entrance exam so she could fill the ever-growing hollow spot in her stomach. She didn’t regret it—she enjoyed the classes, and enjoyed a steady source of food even more. And at least she’d have a job lined up once she graduated, so she wouldn’t wind up homeless again. Ketsu definitely couldn’t complain about that.

But that still didn’t mean she was used to how drab everything was. Not at all.

So when it turned out her new roommate was a painter, well…

Sabine nodded, and glared when Ketsu tried to take another peek at her canvas. Ketsu wouldn’t have thought it would be so easy for Sabine to keep her from seeing the canvas—their dorm consisted of a single room with their beds pushed up against separate walls—but Sabine was doing a pretty good job. Probably because she didn’t have any misgivings about slapping Ketsu’s hands with the handle of her paintbrush it she got too close. “I’m entering in the Young Adults Competition,” Sabine explained. “And you can see it when I’m done,” she added pointedly.

Ketsu shrugged and sent back down on her own bed. She’d heard artists could get kind of touchy about letting people see their unfinished work. Ketsu’s experience with art was more appreciating it than making it, more longing for color than creating it, but she guessed she could respect the artist’s need for privacy. “Why enter it in a competition? Why not keep it?” she asked in mild curiosity. If Ketsu was any kind of artist, she knew she wouldn’t want to just hand her work over to other people.

“Because the Academy administration doesn’t let you keep art supplies in your dorm if you’re just creating art because you want to,” Sabine told her absently, her eyes fixed on her canvas. “Then it’s just ‘a waste of resources’—“ she rolled her eyes “—but if you’re making something for a competition, or a charity, or something like that, then it’s ‘getting the word out there�� and ‘representing the Academy to the community,’ and suddenly the monitors don’t care that you’ve got non-essential stuff in your room anymore.”

Now Ketsu rolled her eyes. “Figures it would be something like that. I can’t remember our overlords ever being too happy when we take our minds off our studies.” An unscheduled inspection in the dorms was usually the cue for all nine hells to break loose at once, as the students raced to hide any “contraband” that might be stowed away in their rooms. Contraband ranged from the older students’ bottles of booze to snack foods to unsanctioned literature to magazines that had probably been pilfered from a doctor’s waiting room to clothing that wasn’t the standard uniform. Ketsu’s last roommate managed to hide a jewelry box for the better part of a year before it was finally discovered. Sabine had a suit of armor packed in a box under her bed—her family had apparently pulled some strings to let her keep it, but that hadn’t stopped the inspector from trying to confiscate it during the last inspection, and wow, Sabine could be really scary when she wanted to be.

(Sometimes, Ketsu wondered what exactly the inspectors did with the stuff they confiscated. “Get rich” was probably the answer; there was a thriving black market in Sundari for just about everything you could think of. Maybe that was why the inspectors had tried to ignore the fact that there was an exception for Sabine’s—never worn—armor; a good suit of high-grade beskar could fetch a fortune on the black market.)

But Sabine didn’t seem to share Ketsu’s contempt for the inspections. “The handbook says what we are and aren’t supposed to have in our dorms,” she pointed out, as she dabbed her paintbrush in the little splotch of black paint on her palette. “It’s pretty clear-cut.”

“You’ve got no imagination.”

“Hey, I have plenty imagination, but the handbook’s still pretty clear.”

Ketsu resisted the urge to sigh long-sufferingly, and instead eyed Sabine with something closely approaching pity. Her new roommate was barely a month out of the auxiliary Academy on Krownest; it was the first time she’d ever been away from home. Her family was an influential one here in the capital, but they were also very, very traditional, and Sabine had been given what, to Ketsu, was a terminally sheltered upbringing as a result. ‘Imagination,’ sure she had imagination, just not the right kind. Knew six ways to kill a man bare-handed, and didn’t know where to go to get an ID card altered or where to go to buy contraband food.

No chance of her getting mugged if she ever winds up on the streets, but she still wouldn’t last long.

Sabine sure could get lost in her art, though. Minutes walked sluggishly by, and Sabine remained thoroughly unaware of Ketsu’s scrutiny, not even looking up from the canvas on the easel in front of her. Ketsu leaned back against the wall and pursed her lips appraisingly, watching her roommate at her work.

At eleven years old, Sabine was two years younger than Ketsu—not the youngest student in the Academy, but definitely on the far low end of the scale as far as age went. She’d been picked up by the Sundari Academy because of her skill in, well, just about everything; the rumor mill confided that Sabine Wren had blown her test scores clean out of the water. She spoke Sundari Standard Mando’a with a noticeable accent, and slipped into her home dialect, a decidedly old-fashioned-sounding thing, when she wasn’t paying attention. Whenever she was in class, she wore her long hair tied back or braided, but when she was in her room, she wore it loose, and she looked…

Pretty. Honestly, she did. The Academy uniform, white and gray, washed her out, made her skin look sallow-sickly, but Ketsu Onyo could not help but notice that Sabine Wren was really very pretty. Her fine black hair had a warm brown undertone, and it spilled over her shoulders like water when she leaned forwards. Her eyes were like amber, and they gleamed under light, two bright spots of color in a very drab world.

-0-0-0-

Two days later, after the hours that she was able to snatch from the jaws of classes and studying (and sleep, Ketsu couldn’t help but notice; if Sabine turned out to be the ‘neglects bodily needs’ kind of artist, Ketsu already knew what the intervention was going to have to focus on first), Sabine was done with her painting. True to her word, she let Ketsu drink in the sight of the finished product.

“…Huh.”

“’Huh?’ That’s it? Come on, Ketsu; I need real feedback, not just a ‘huh.’”

“Yeah, I know, Sabine. Just give me a moment.”

Ketsu’s very first impression of Sabine’s painting was of a riot of color. Nothing was dark or dull or even a little muted; everything was bright and vivid, occasionally verging on neon. Even the blacks and whites were rich and crisp. Her second impression was that it was, well, different.

Any of the art you saw in Sundari tended to be Navanist. The movement had been pioneered by Navana Tiran, an artist who had died about sixty years ago. Tiran had herself revived and modified a style of art that had been in vogue about four thousand years ago, which might explain its enduring popularity today. Mandalorians of all clans, planets and factions did like to talk up their glorious past; even the New Mandalorians on Mandalore, those who had ruled before the Empire, had adopted Navanist art as their own.

(People were always so surprised when Ketsu told them that her favorite elective class this term was art history. They really shouldn’t have been.)

Sabine’s style, whatever it was, was not Navanist. There was some trace of it in the black and white checker pattern in the upper left-hand corner, but otherwise, no, definitely not Navanist. The shapes weren’t as blocky, the lines softer and more rounded. In the lower right-hand corner, there was a starburst, electric blue at the edges and bright, piercing green at the center. The background was a deep, rich reddish-purple, speckled with pink and orange and crimson.

The subject of the painting could only be the woman who stood in the center of it all. Her hair was black and tumbled in curls over her shoulders. Her skin was bright brown, her eyes golden, her sweeping dress as red as human blood. She stood facing the viewer with a proud, stern expression on her face, and in her hands she held a broken sword.

“It’s not Navanist,” was Ketsu’s first, honest assessment, with all that that implied for how it would likely be judged.

Sabine hunched her shoulders. “I know it’s not Navanist; it’s something from home, and something of me. What do you think of it besides it not being Navanist?” she pressed.

“I do like the colors,” Ketsu replied immediately, and Sabine’s smile was so bright she seemed to glow. “I didn’t see much artwork before I enrolled here, but most of the stuff usually just used different shades of a single color—two or three, tops. This is full-spectrum.”

“I know,” Sabine chirped, still basking in that moment of praise. “I like using as much color as I can when I paint.” Her smile twisted into something a little nervous as she reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I think you’re the first person who’s actually liked me using so many colors at once.”

Ketsu laughed. “Maybe I’m just starved for it after so much time here.” She peered closely at the woman in the painting, her eyes narrowed. For some reason, this didn’t feel like a random choice on Sabine’s part. It looked too deliberate, too weighty for that. Add into that the fact that the woman wasn’t painted in the same style as the rest of it—a lot more fine detail around the woman’s hair, her dress, the jagged edge of her broken sword than in either the checker pattern or the starburst—and something was nagging at Ketsu’s mind. “Sabine… who is this woman? Was she based off of anyone in particular?”

This question was met with a shrug and a decidedly evasive shift of body weight from one leg to the other. “Jain-adi. She’s just a story my grandmother used to tell me when she was still alive. It’s not important, Ketsu; I just thought it would look nice with all of the other colors.”

‘Jain-adi,’ whoever she was (probably a story native to Krownest or one of the other colony worlds; it certainly wasn’t a tale Ketsu had ever heard in Sundari) was pushed to the back of Ketsu’s mind as something occurred to her. “Hey, Sabine, come with me for a bit? I want to show you something.”

Color might often be difficult to find and difficult to grasp here in the Academy, but Ketsu knew one place where she could go to find that fleeting experience, and it just so happened to be active right now. There was a testing area where students who were being taught to mix chemicals for explosives were to try to set them off to see if they’d been successful. There were multiple observation ports available, and anyone who was interested was allowed to observe. Ketsu wondered if Sabine had gone before.

As it happened, she had not.

Today, the explosives were producing vibrant red and golden bursts of light, interspersed with undertones of pink and titian. Sabine’s eyes grew very round as she watched in rapt silence. For a long time, she was so silent, and stood so still, that she barely seemed even to breathe. Oh, great. I broke her, Ketsu thought, stifling a laugh. Even so, she couldn’t help but feel the wonder she saw slowly unfurling over Sabine’s face.

Then, Sabine turned to Ketsu, and the grin on her face as she half-whispered, “Do you think you could mix in colored powder to get colored smoke in the blast?” was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Ketsu had ever seen in her life.

ii.

Defecting wasn’t anything planned, in that Ketsu hadn’t been planning for months and months in advance. It wasn’t a case of growing more and more dissatisfied with Mandalore under the Empire over time. It all happened at once, and Ketsu didn’t plan any of it. If there had been anyone with a plan to defect, it was Sabine, and Ketsu wasn’t even sure Sabine had had a plan. Even more than with Ketsu, for Sabine, it had all happened at once. It happened too fast for plans, beyond your very basic “get off-world and try not to die in the process.”

(If they had known to prepare for it at the time, they might have planned against nightmares, Sabine especially—Sabine never slept all the way through the night anymore. They might have planned against memory burning too bright, against tears, against vomiting when they ate something heavier than air, against the screams that rattled in their ribcages until their ears were full of the sound of it, and they could hear no living sound. Might have planned, but didn’t know, and couldn’t plan.

Sabine was good at making things, but neither of them were any good at taking apart the things they’d built deep inside themselves.)

The next stage of the plan was “get off-world and go someplace where they can’t find us,” so Nar Shaddaa had seemed as good a place as any to make for. Nar Shaddaa was an easy place to get lost in, a great place to go if there was someone you were trying to outrun. Ketsu Onyo and Sabine Wren were trying to outrun an entire Empire, so nowhere short of Nar Shaddaa would do. And it did offer plenty in the way of employment opportunities for people with Ketsu and Sabine’s somewhat limited skillset.

“How does this look for a tag?”

“Okay, but Ketsu, why would you even want just one tag? I’d go nuts if I could only paint one thing.”

“It’s for recognition, Sabine. People who want to hire us, they need something tangible for us to base our reputation on.”

Sabine eyed Ketsu’s tag dubiously for a moment, before going back to focusing on what was fast turning into a full wall painting. “If you say so. Me, I’ll just let my style speak for itself.”

“Go right ahead. I could watch you paint all day.”

This had been Sabine’s idea in the first place, leaving a painted ‘mark’ in the general vicinity of an area where they’d nabbed a bounty, though Ketsu was beginning to suspect Sabine had suggested it more out of the need for a distraction than anything else. Ketsu didn’t mind so much, since Sabine had taught her how to use spray paint and now she could create art for herself, though Ketsu’s skill wasn’t anywhere near Sabine’s level. Not yet. Making art of her own was kind of heady (Ketsu couldn’t tell if this was going to be a permanent thing, or if it was just that the novelty hadn’t worn off yet), even if she was trying to ration the paint as much as possible, and only use it for her tags.

Sabine?

Sabine was showing no such restraint. If she was going to graffiti a wall, she was going to graffiti as much of that wall as was physically possible for her to graffiti.

Sometimes, Ketsu wondered if the denizens of Nar Shaddaa appreciated the free art they were being given at such a generous rate. She certainly hoped they appreciated it, because Sabine could spent hours at a time in a single session, and replacing her paints when she ran out of a certain color wasn’t exactly cheap. Tonight, Sabine’s painting wasn’t even bound by a single theme—she seemed to be going for whatever popped into her head.

There was the shriek-hawk, done up in unlikely shades of green and pink. There was a helmet in the same design as Sabine’s, but done in bluish-gray—the helmet of a female Death Watch operative, it looked like. There was a small portrait of one of the big-shot bounty hunters around here, a Zabrak named Sugi. A Gauntlet-class Starfighter, a pink and gold starburst, simple slanting lines of blue and purple. And, in the midst of it all, a broken sword.

The broken sword had been showing up in Sabine’s wall art a lot lately. With each new time she saw it, the less convinced Ketsu was that Jain-adi was a simple bedtime story, or whatever Sabine might try to pass it off as.

Sabine…

The dull white and gray of the Academy uniform wasn’t what Sabine wore anymore. When she’d left behind the ruins of her old life, she’d also quite definitively walked away from the muted color palette home had restricted her to. Sabine had taken the armor she had made with her family (painted, asides from the helmet, white with pale golden accents) and spray-painted it the brightest colors their meager savings could buy, a full spectrum of colors, until you would never have recognized it at first glance. Her hair was short now (which was a shame, since Ketsu had thought it looked prettier long, but when she had found Sabine in the process of cutting it, she’d finished the job herself) and dyed it a shade of pink so bright it almost hurt to look at it. It was definitely a good look for Sabine—the armor didn’t was her out like her uniform had, and once it stopped being kind of painful, the hair dye was a pretty shade of pink—but there was something like desperation running under the surface of it. Like Sabine was trying to project an image of having always been like this.

Ketsu didn’t know what Sabine wanted. Hell, Ketsu barely knew what she wanted, beyond living, not starving or getting shot, and maybe getting picked up to work for somebody like the Black Sun. Some security would be nice; some certainty would be nice. But asides from that, Ketsu had no idea what she wanted; things were usually happening either too fast or too slowly for her to get a good handle on it. She couldn’t even begin to guess what Sabine wanted. She wasn’t even sure that ‘not dying’ was on that list.

(What Ketsu told herself, again and again, was that if this was true, she didn’t care. It didn’t bother her. It was Sabine’s life, and how she chose to live it or end it was her own business. But still, Ketsu found herself checking to see how much Sabine had eaten, whether she was even trying to sleep at night, what she murmured to herself in shadowed places when she thought no one was listening. Ketsu took special care not to examine her own motives, though when Sabine smiled weakly at her, Ketsu couldn’t help but smile back.)

“I’m going to head back to our room,” Ketsu said at length, her eyes fixed on the side of Sabine’s head. “Don’t stay out here all night, okay?”

Sabine didn’t look at her as she muttered, “Sure.” She was absorbed in her work, to be certain, but Ketsu couldn’t see any joy in her face. Just concentration and that desperate thrum thrown up against the wall. Her eyes were glazed over, her mouth quirked in a tight, downwards line.

Ketsu bit back a sigh, and started back for their shared room in the nearby flophouse. There wasn’t going to be any getting Sabine to talk normally when she got like that.

As she made her way slowly down crowded, dimly-lit streets, Ketsu reflected on how different Nar Shaddaa was from Sundari. It was much more crowded, for one thing—Sundari had plenty of people in it, sure, but the Siege had left it rather depopulated compared to what it had been like before, and Nar Shaddaa was bursting at the seams with people by comparison. You couldn’t go anywhere, at any hour, without bumping into someone; the Smuggler’s Moon never slept, and nighttime was merely shift change. This was the last stop for a lot of people, their last chance for any kind of life at all, and plenty of them never made it off the moon’s surface again.

It was also a lot more diverse than Sundari had ever been. Sundari, as well as all the other major cities on Mandalore, was populated almost exclusively by humans. The only non-humans you saw were dock waters, black market dealers, drug runners, exotic dancers and prostitutes, the half-shadowed dregs of society. Here, however, humans were a decided minority compared to the seas of non-human faces Ketsu was confronted with every time she stepped outside her door. Twi’leks and Rodians, she’d had some experience with. But there were so many she hadn’t had any experience with at all, Kiffar and Trandoshan, Bith and Aqualish and Toydarian, Zabrak and Devaronian and Togruta and Quarren and Ithorian, and some species Ketsu couldn’t name. She’d even seen a few Wookiees from time to time, though not many. Nar Shaddaa was an incredible mix of species, a quagmire of languages, Huttese being the only one that bound them all. It still made Ketsu’s head spin, sometimes.

(This, ironically, was an area in which Sabine was doing somewhat better than Ketsu. Krownest being a colony world meant that they did tend to have a little more trade with outsiders, and Sabine’s clan being high class meant that Sabine tended to wind up in situations where she interacted with these outsiders. There were even a few non-human adoptees in Sabine’s clan, and though they might be from near-Human species, one Mirialan and two Kiffar, Sabine had still been brought up thinking of them as kin, rather than “Other.”

Not to say she wasn’t having problems, too. Sabine did occasionally just seem to grow overwhelmed with her surroundings, standing still in a street where everything else was moving, and staring around, huge-eyed and silent. And when there wasn’t the silence, there were the questions. One of the people living nearby them in the flophouse was a Miraluka, and Sabine had managed to make her extremely nervous by pestering her about how exactly she could see if she didn’t have any eyes. Ketsu would have thought it was funny, if she wasn’t afraid Sabine was going to get shot later.)

And there was the color.

Here was where Nar Shaddaa contrasted itself against Sundari most brilliantly: the color. You didn’t have to go digging in back alleys or condemned buildings to find color here—it was present everywhere you went, intense, screaming color. Ketsu feasted on color every time she stepped outside her door. Glowing neon signs in every color, though red and pink and golden were most common. The walls of buildings were done up in rust-red or deep blue or crisp black or orange, though the acid content in the rain tended to leave the paint jobs pretty uneven after a few months. The peoples’ clothing came in every hue imaginable, and so did their skin. Where humans’ skin came in shades primarily of pink or brown, non-humans were not nearly so restricted. In the Twi’leks Ketsu came across, just by themselves, she saw rich crimson, vivid blue, creamy yellow, warm orange, pale pink, bright green, and even striking violet.

This planet, these people, they were a bit like Sabine. There was some fast-flowing undercurrent of desperation to this performance, a plea to look at the surface and look no deeper. They girded themselves in color and were holding it up as a shield against, what, exactly?

Ketsu didn’t know. Even the armor she’d picked up from a non-quite-black market dealer had paint speckled on it, from standing too close to Sabine when she painted, and from her own endeavors. Maybe if she ever figured out what she wanted in life, she’d figure it out then.

Ketsu went back to their room in the flophouse. Waited for about an hour, and nothing. Told herself not to worry, and failed. Waited half an hour more, then strode back out her door.

She didn’t have to go all the way back to the paint site to find Sabine. She barely had to leave the flophouse proper to find Sabine. Sabine had taken perch at one of her favorite spots (or so Ketsu guessed; it was hard to tell with Sabine these days), the railing just outside the flophouse. The railing overlooked one of the major ship routes, but when there were relatively few ships to disturb the smog, the lights sparkling in the smog banks almost looked like stars.

The high wind whipping through the catwalks and the roar of nearby ships and speeder, they were enough that Ketsu didn’t hear it until she was close. When she did, she paused, frowning in confusion.

Sabine Wren could do just about everything you could think of. She could paint, could write eloquently and read and understand easily materials that had people ten years her senior scratching their heads in confusion. She could understand complex equations like other people understood 2 + 2 = 4. She could take things apart and then put them back together better than before. She spoke half a dozen languages, could mix chemicals to make her own explosives, and most impressively, knew six ways to kill a man bare-handed. One thing Sabine could not do was sing on-key.

Ketsu had teased her about it in the Academy. Sabine’s perpetual inability to sing properly was pretty funny, and her flustered reaction to being teased about it was even funnier. Sabine was nothing if not the galaxy’s biggest perfectionist; being confronted with something she couldn’t easily master was either the cue for her to work night and day trying to master it, or just not try at all. Singing had, after a trial period, fallen squarely in the latter category, and Ketsu rarely ever heard Sabine sing after that.

She was singing now, though, so quietly that Ketsu had to draw near to make anything out, and so quietly that you almost didn’t notice it was off-key. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared out over the city, and she noticed not when Ketsu came to stand beside her. She was singing not in Basic, nor Huttese, nor Sundari Standard Mando’a, but in her home dialect, and there was such a slow, heavy quality to her voice that Ketsu barely recognized it.

‘And she said “Where is my husband? Where are my sons? Where are my kin that raised me? Where is the home that sheltered me? It is gone, and I forsaken.” “Oh,” Jain-adi cried, “O broken land, Where must I wander now, So far from any welcoming arms?”’

Ketsu said nothing, and Sabine mumbled over the words of the song, so low that Ketsu couldn’t make anything out at all. She felt helpless, and hated it.

-0-0-0-

Leaving Sabine behind wasn’t anything Ketsu had planned, in that she hadn’t exactly been plotting it out for months and month in advance. It was just something that happened, a decision made on impulse during a job gone wrong. There had been no malice in it; Ketsu had just been trying to survive, like she always did. It had happened all at once, the instinct that told her ‘Stay alive!’ drowning out the instinct that said ‘Protect Sabine!’ like a scream drowned out a whisper.

It was nothing personal.

She hadn’t looked back, had willed herself over and over again not to look back, both in the sense of physically looking back, and later, in looking back upon memories. She’d willed memory to go fuzzy, and imagination to go dead, so she wouldn’t remember with clarity, and wouldn’t imagine what sort of face Sabine must have worn when she realized that Ketsu wasn’t coming back. Ketsu wasn’t so lucky, there.

But it didn’t matter; none of it mattered, now. There was no Sabine Wren in Ketsu Onyo’s life anymore, beyond what phantasms waited in her dreams. There was no one for Ketsu to care about but herself, and she had to focus on surviving. On not starving. On not getting shot, or stabbed. What room was there for anything else, when she had all of this to worry about?

Eventually, Ketsu did manage to get picked up by the Black Sun. She was good at her job, after all, and prided herself on never letting herself grow complacent like some of the older bounty hunters around the galaxy. The Black Sun liked that, and they liked Ketsu’s low failure rate even better. Now, Ketsu found herself with all the security and stability she had ever dreamed of when she lived in that flophouse on Nar Shaddaa, when she had fended for herself in Sundari before enrolling in the Academy. She had all she had ever wanted in life.

So Ketsu almost didn’t notice when she began living that life with an edge of quiet desperation, when she began rushing through it, when ‘Don’t look back’ and ‘That’s ancient history’ became things she told herself so often that she heard it in her head every day. She almost didn’t notice when the food she ate started tasting a little blander, when tracking down a bounty lost a little of its savor. She almost didn’t notice when every bit of color around her started looking a bit desaturated.

(Ketsu had picked up a new set of armor with the money she’d gotten from her first job with the Black Sun. She’d painted it bright, loud pink, nearly the same shade that Sabine’s hair had been dyed on Nar Shaddaa. It gave her some comfort, some reassurance.)

It didn’t matter, and when Ketsu told herself that, she could believe it. If the galaxy was a somewhat duller place, she was at least surviving in it.

iii.

(She met Sabine again, after the passage of many years. Ketsu found that something she’d thought dead inside of her was merely sleeping, and slowly waking up.)

iv.

Out of sheer embarrassment that her intel had been wrong and the Yost system wasn’t safe for Sabine’s cell of rebels after all, Ketsu brought in supplies for them on Atollon when she could. Starship fuel, rations, spare parts and the like; she might not quite be ready to pick a fight with the Empire, but she remembered her and Sabine struggling to get by on Nar Shaddaa, and memory was as keen as a vibroblade’s edge, these days.

“So what are these things again?” Ketsu asked Sabine, as they watched the giant insectoid creatures outside the line of sensor markers try to get at them where they were perched on empty crates. Apparently, the rebel base had a bit of a pest control problem, and though the rebels might have found a solution, the sheer size of these things still made Ketsu a bit leery. Especially since Sabine had confided that literally their only real weak spot, the only instant kill spot, was their eyes.

Sabine rolled her eyes. “A big problem,” she groused. “Thanks to them, nobody can go outside the base without a sensor marker, and we’ve gotta use a ton of sensor markers on our perimeter just so they won’t overrun the base.”

“Wouldn’t the weapons on one of the blockade runners be enough to kill them?”

“Don’t know, don’t wanna find out. They weave webs strong enough to ground the Ghost; I don’t want to know if they can do the same thing with the blockade runners.”

“They did what?! You’re joking, right?!”

“I wish; we all nearly ended up lunch for these things!”

Ketsu eyed Sabine disbelievingly, her eyebrow twitching, just a little bit. “…You know, I know a world with great beaches if you ever decide you don’t want to live on this hellhole anymore.”

Sabine laughed, and Ketsu tried not to think about just how long it had been since she had last heard Sabine laugh (Before they left the Academy, more likely than not; on Nar Shaddaa, Sabine had barely been able to summon the will needed to smile). “No thanks. With our luck, it would probably turn out a Star Destroyer was letting its crew take shore leave there.”

“You’re probably right. Even if they’d never know what hit them, once we were done.”

Eventually, Atollon’s pest control problem got bored with trying to find a way around the sensor markers and left. Ketsu relaxed a little, leaning back with her palms planted on the empty crate she was sitting on. Sabine had picked out a spot at the very edge of the base, still within view of the ships, but not exactly within shouting distance. It was quieter out here, with only the wind to break the silence.

Of course, there was inevitably more than a little dust in that wind. Ketsu wondered how anyone managed to live here without choking on the dust; she certainly didn’t see anyone wearing face masks over their mouths and noses. Whenever she was here, Ketsu found herself keeping her helmet on, unless she was dealing with Sabine. It was hot, too, in a way that neither Sundari nor Nar Shaddaa had ever been. It might have been a dry heat (which sure beat the alternative; Nar Shaddaa might have been humid, but at least it was also cool), but the sun still managed to beat down hard on everything it touched. Between the heat and the dust, Ketsu knew these people must have been having a hard time keeping their ships in good shape.

They wanted somewhere remote, somewhere the Empire wouldn’t think to look for them. They never said anything about ‘hospitable’; there wasn’t exactly anyone in the Yost system I would have called paradise.

Still, the sunsets here were nice.

Night was fast approaching. Give it maybe two hours, and the skies over Atollon would be dark. For now, the horizon, the plateaus and the strange coral-like rock formations, were touched with gentle light. The sky was golden, and shone pink and lavender, tinged orange.

The lavender matched Sabine’s hair, actually. She’d changed her dye since last Ketsu saw her, switching out a bright, electric blue for a softer, gentler-looking lavender—though Ketsu noticed that ‘lavender’ seemed to veer towards ‘white’ closer to Sabine’s roots (She wondered if that was a deliberate choice, or if the dye had just been low-quality). Changed her haircut, too, so that her hair was shorter now, tapering off around her chin instead of clinging to the back of her neck.

Her hair wasn’t the only thing about Sabine that had changed. Her arm and leg muscles were noticeably leaner—she’d always been trim, but it looked like she’d been stepping up her strength training lately. Her face had lost the last of its childish roundness, cast now in narrower, more angular lines, the sharp line of her cheekbones finally fully revealed. Sabine was, mercifully (it would have been a little embarrassing to have to explain herself), unaware of Ketsu’s scrutiny, instead staring off into the wilderness, with a look on her face that defied definition. A type of regret Ketsu refused to define curdled in her stomach as she looked at her.

Maybe… but no.

“So… how have things been around here? Asides from your pest control problem?”

It seemed as good a conversation starter as any. Nice and safe, with nothing that could even remotely be defined as a leading question. Sabine could talk so much more freely, but Ketsu found herself barely able to spit out anything more personal than ‘I’m good.’

Sabine kicked her crate with the back of her foot. “About the same as the last time you were here,” she said noncommittally. Last time, Sabine had been nervous and snappish, and though she’d never explained her behavior, Ketsu had gotten the impression that there was a bit of a situation on the Ghost. Apparently that situation was still ongoing, though maybe not as bad as last time, if Sabine could be calmer now. A small smile appeared suddenly on Sabine’s lips. “You remember what I told you last time? That Commander Sato was trying to track down an illegal still?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Apparently, drinking alcohol, let alone brewing it, was a big no-no on the base. Ketsu didn’t get it—it seemed to her that these people needed a way to unwind if they were risking death every day—but that was still the way things were around here. A boring place, as well as hot, dry and dusty. “I take it he found it?”

“Oh, yeah, he found it, alright.” Sabine snickered. “He found it in the hold of his own ship. We all thought we were gonna have to peel him off the ceiling.”

Ketsu snorted. “I’ll bet; he seemed like a bit of a hardass when I met him. So what, are the perpetrators kicked out of the rebellion?”

“Uh-uh. We… can’t actually afford to toss people out over stuff like that; we don’t have enough personnel for that. They’ve just been put on maintenance duty for the next six months.”

“Well, that’s one way to discourage a repeat offense.” Ketsu rolled her shoulders and quirked an eyebrow. “In their place, I probably would’ve done the same thing. It’s not like there’s a lot around here for entertainment; I’d take your worst homemade booze over sitting around on off-hours doing nothing any day.”

Sabine wrinkled her nose. “Ketsu, we have to be ready for an attack at all times. It’s kinda hard to be ready if you’re drunk or hung-over.”

A sudden burst of laughter escaped Ketsu’s throat. “You’re still so strait-laced, Sabine!”

“Only compared to you!” Sabine retorted, but she was smiling.

-0-0-0-

“Jain-adi…” Sabine sighed lightly, staring out at the dark sky. It was night now, and Atollon’s remarkably clear skies showed a canvas of billions of twinkling stars. “…I never told you about Jain-adi, did I?”

Ketsu didn’t answer. She stared at Sabine in silence, wishing she could see in the dark better, so she could see her face.

But Sabine seemed to take Ketsu’s silence for uncomplicated assent, for she went on, “Jain-adi was a story my grandmother taught me when I was little. It’s a poem, as long as the epics we learned about in the Academy, but it can be sung, too.

“Jain-adi was a Mandalorian who fought during one of the great clan wars about two, two and a half thousand years ago. No idea if she really existed or not; I just know that the poem dates to about eighteen thousand years ago. Jain-adi was a warrior who fought for House Vizsla. She made…” Sabine paused, and even in the dark, Ketsu could see her tense, could see her lick her lips. “…She made weapons for her kin to use.”

I can see why that would hit a little too close to home.

“But the plans for her weapons were stolen,” Sabine said, very softly, “and the enemy turned her creations against her, and all that she held dear. Her homeworld was attacked, and most of her clan was killed, including her husband and their children. She was beaten; her sword was broken. Jain-adi was forced to go into exile, carrying her broken sword with her.”

It was a long time before Ketsu could say anything in response to that. Finally, she managed, “That sounds… familiar,” in a voice that was only a little choked.

Sabine nodded. “Yeah,” she replied, in a voice that was only a little choked, too. “There were times when I felt like I was living…”

Stories had their power, but that power wasn’t always a force for good.

“But,” Sabine said suddenly, and her voice was as crisp and clear as a winter morning with no clouds, “up until recently, I’d forgotten how the story ends.”

“With all the major characters dead and the spoils being sorted out amongst whoever managed to live to the end?” Ketsu asked skeptically. That was how most Mandalorian epics tended to end.

“No, Ketsu.” Sabine drew her legs up on the crate and turned to face Ketsu directly. “Jain-adi wandered the Outer Rim for about twenty years, but eventually, she went home. She gathered an army, and she went home. She routed House Vizsla’s enemies and freed her homeworld. She won.

“I… I don’t know if I’ll ever go home.” Sabine looked away briefly, saying quietly, “I don’t know if there’s anything left for me there,” before turning her attention back to Ketsu. “But I believe we can beat the Empire. I believe we can get rid of them. I’m not saying I think it’ll be easy, but I know I can try, and I know I can keep fighting until we’ve won.”

She spoke with such blazing certainty, and with none of that edge of desperation that Ketsu had discerned in her on Nar Shaddaa, or in Sundari by the end. It was like… like she really believed they could do it, her and the other rebels. Ketsu stared at Sabine, stunned. When did this happen? When did she get like this?

When Ketsu finally found her tongue, she couldn’t address this directly. Not quite yet. Instead, she leaned in a little closer to Sabine, and asked curiously, “Whatever happened to that first painting you did for that competition? The one with Jain-adi in it?”

Sabine let out a choking, exasperated laugh. “It didn’t even place. The judges said it was ‘amateurish’, which is hilarious considering every one of the contestants were my age, so it wasn’t like any of us could have been professionals. I sent it home to my family. I wonder if they even kept it, after…” She trailed off, and there was no mistaking the undercurrent of bitterness in her voice.

Ketsu’s heart began pounding too hard, too fast in her chest. There was something she found herself longing to say, but still, she couldn’t find it in herself to say it just yet. Instead, there came something that had been a long time coming, something that had spent the better part of a year festering in her chest. “…Sabine, for what it’s worth… I am sorry for what happened.”

“I already said I forgave you,” Sabine replied swiftly, looking away and hunching her shoulders.

“Yeah, you did.” Ketsu shifted her weight uncomfortably. “But I never said I was sorry.”

She was. It surprised Ketsu more than probably anyone else, but she was. She’d done it to survive, but that still didn’t mean… The more she thought about it, the more it screamed in her, deep inside.

Sabine drew a deep, whistling breath; she folded her arms over her chest. Still avoiding Ketsu’s gaze, she muttered, “We… we were both really screwed up, weren’t we?” An uneven sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob, wasn’t much of anything tore from her mouth.

“Yeah.” Now it was Ketsu’s turn to look away. “We were.”

This was still too easy, but it would have to do.

…

“Sabine, listen.”

“What is it?”

“It’s gonna be a while before my contract with the Black Sun expires. But when it does… I was thinking. You guys need all the people you can get, right?”

At that, Ketsu had Sabine’s full attention. Even in the dark, Sabine seemed practically to vibrate with excitement as she demanded, “Are you serious?”

Slowly, very slowly, a smile unfurled over Ketsu’s lips. “…I think so, yeah.”

She’d always been looking for something she couldn’t find. She’d always been trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. Ketsu still wasn’t sure about those first two points, but lately, she’d been wondering if just surviving was really what she wanted after all. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but just looking at how the rebellion had given Sabine her sense of purpose back, her sense of joy back, Ketsu wondered if maybe it wasn’t worth a shot. She’d never know if she never tried.

It was too dark to see if Sabine smiled or not. But her amber eyes shone like stars in the darkness, and that was enough.

#Star Wars: Rebels #Star Wars #Fanfic #Femslash February #Ketsu Onyo #Sabine Wren #Ketbine

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