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kenobiactual · 2 years

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In The Blazing Heat

A Star Wars Fanfic

CHAPTER ONE

Kellen had fallen on some hard times. This had been the third job he'd lost this month, and his funds were falling dangerously low. He had come all the way out to Mos Espa from his parents' moisture farm to put his education to some real use and earn some money for his family to live on. But so far, it hadn't looked too promising. He may have known his way around the holonet, and any kind of problem it could pose, be it programming errors, viral infections, lost data, or missing computer part, but no matter where he went, there always seemed to be a better man, woman or some unidentifiable alien species for the job.

He had skipped over the desperation phase, and was now looming dangerously over despair. He wanted, needed to, at very least, return home with some sort of earning, some token of his achievements, something to show that his efforts had not been wasted. But no matter what he thought of, all he could picture was the disappointed look on his father's face, the poorly masked grief on that of his mother's, and the burden of having failed to meet his family's expectations.

If he were on any planet aside from Tatooine, he'd swear it should be pouring rain. It would suit the image so greatly if it would – the way he trudged home to his dinky apartment-complex, head hung in despair, another washed up nerf herder, failing to get by in this neck of the galaxy.

"Step right up folks! This is a one in a million chance to get your hands on the most dazzling creature on the outer rim!"

Kellen turned his head up to see the long, pointy head of an old looking Anx, and what looked like an entire speeder cart of downtrodden alien creatures, ranging from Wookies, Squibs, Noghri, Ugnaughts, to Humans like him. It made him shudder to think that each of them was bound for a life of harsh servitude followed most likely by a painful, humiliating death.

"This lovely young lady has been groomed to perfection to take care of all your needs," the Anx rattled on his sales pitch. "Her massages are second to none, her dancing promises to leave you spellbound! And she can be yours for the low price of…"

Kellen lost all perception of the slaver's prattling as he laid eyes on the creature at the end of his chain.

It was a red skinned Twi'lek female, adorned in about as few body wraps as were legally allowed, her lekku head tails wrapped to the tip in black leather. Though her head hung low, her face averted from everyone, her eyes came up and made contact with Kellen's for the briefest of moments…

"You sir, you look like a fine, strapping young man, on his way up in the world!" the slaver called out to him. "What do you say to this fine beauty?"

Kellen had to fight to draw his attention away from the gorgeous Twi-lek. "Uh…I'm sorry…what?"

The slaver just smiled. "Stunning, ain't she? The red skin means she's a Lethan Twi'lek, one of the rarest in the galaxy, and this baby has been raised from birth to serve her master. No worries though, she's still untouched if you know what I mean. That particular honor is reserved for-"

"How much?"

"I'm sorry?"

Kellen wasn't even looking at the slaver. He was still focused on the Twi'lek. As gorgeous as she was, it was her eyes that seemed to captivate him the most. Her eyes that were silently pleading, begging to be set free from this life of imprisonment. For her to have only known slavery, for her to be doomed to this for the rest of her life…

It was unlike Kellen to act so impulsively. He didn't honestly think he could afford her anyway. But some part of his brain told him that the least he could do is check to see if he could buy her out of this life of servitude.

Normally slaves fetch a higher price, but I am a bargaining man, no?" The Anx gloated. "So for this catch, I would say…50,000 credits."

Kellen checked his pockets. Not enough.

His brain told him to walk away. He didn't want to have anything more to do with this. But something in the back of his mind told him this couldn't end here.

"20,000."

"Are you mad!? I've already given you an incredible discount!"

"30,000."

"40,000, if you forgot the package with the chain and whip. No lower!"

"Normally slaves go for over 100,000 credits," Kellen pondered aloud. "For you to offer them at such a discount must mean there is something pretty contraband about these slaves. Maybe they didn't meet the inspections requirements? Or are carrying some sort of disease? Either way, I don't think you want the Hutts digging into the matter."

The Anx's eyes narrowed, his yellow skin taking on a darker hue. "Are you threatening me, sir!?"

Kellen remained calm. "Are you calling my bluff?"

The Anx fixed Kellen with a stern glare that Kellen threw back with equal intensity. Finally, the Anx seemed to grow tired of the ordeal, and let out a sigh.

"35,000. Any lower is theft."

Kellen double-checked his last earnings. He had enough.

"But at this rate, she comes with nothing but the clothes on her back," the angry Anx declared, unchaining the Twi'lek from his speeder cart. "And don't you come back! I don't want anymore trouble from you!"

He muttered a few words in Twi'leki before giving her a harsh shove in Kellen's direction. Kellen caught her in his arms instinctively, and was amazed at how tiny she felt in his arms. Working long hours on his parents' farm had sculpted him into a well-cut young man, and while he didn't consider himself physically fit, he could surely hold his own in a fistfight. As a result, the tiny Twi'lek felt like a starved animal, and when his fingers touched her skin, he could feel she was trembling.

He held her at arms length and stared at her. Her face, while remaining pointed at the ground, was raised just high enough to sneak the occasional glance up at him. Kellen blushed at the scrutiny, and glanced down at her body. She didn't appear to be unhealthy, she seemed rather scrawny, and if her trembling was anything to go by, Kellen could tell she probably hadn't eaten in days.

"Come on," he said to her kindly. "Let's get you something to eat."

She said nothing. She didn't move.

Kellen held out an arm in the direction of the street. "Come, this way."

This, she seemed to understand, and followed obediently behind him as he strode down the path. Every time he paused to allow her to catch up to him, she stopped, remaining behind him at all times. Finally, he reached back and took her hand in his and practically pulled her alongside himself. At this, she seemed to be confused, but eventually got the idea that he wanted her to walk beside him.

What had he just done!? Kellen had practically wasted the entirety of his funds on this girl, and for what? Just to ensure that one Twi'lek girl go free? Yes, slavery was a horrible practice that still went on despite the Republic's anti-slavery laws. Yes, he found it revolting! Yes, he wanted to, if he could, set every slave free, but the fact of the matter was, he lived in the real world, and if he didn't look after himself, he wouldn't last much long, let alone be able to support even one more hungry mouth to feed.

Which begged the question: What now? Sure, it made sense to buy a slave for the purpose of setting them free, but the horrible truth of the matter was, most slaves didn't know how to live. None of them had any of the basic life skills needed to get proper work and support themselves. Twi'lek females in particular, even those coming from upstanding families, still sometimes sank to the darker corners of the underworld, especially on Tatooine. And this girl, who had been raised since birth for the sole intention of making her a slave…

But something about this girl had struck him. Was it her eyes? The look of tortured desperation in her face? The knowledge that this had been all she'd known in life? The knowledge that this was all she ever would know? Kellen couldn't guess. But he was committed now – the Anx clearly wouldn't be giving him a refund should he change his mind. His parents would most likely not be pleased.

He'd have to get rid of her at some point, he realized. He just simply couldn't support her. If he took her to his parents, begging for alms, they would surely disown him, thinking he had gotten hitched to some back alley bimbo. It made him sad to realize he could do so little for her. At least, setting her free gave her a chance she might live up to something more.

At any rate, he'd have to keep her around for at least a little while. There was a sand storm coming his way, and they'd just barely make it to his shabby little apartment as it was.

"Here," he paused, taking the bantha wool cloak off his back and draped it over her bare shoulders. "We've got to hurry."

She hadn't spoken a word to him, and nothing about the way she acted made him think that she understood a word of what was coming out of his mouth. So, once again, he took her by the hand and hurried along the hard packed sandy path to his rented corner of a sandstone hut on the east end of Mos Espa.

He scanned his data card and the door whooshed open, revealing a sparsely furnished single room apartment complex. With the exception of the refresher unit, the living, dining and sleeping area were all in the same room. Although what passed for a dining area was just a low floor table with a single frozen food box and steamer, and the living area was basically a couch. The holopad he carried with him was about the only source of entertainment, and that was solar powered, so it would only last a few more hours before it shut down.

Kellen opened up the food box and removed two slabs of frozen bantha flank steak and put it in the steamer. He couldn't help but notice the Twi'lek eying the steaming food, occasionally licking her lips. She must have been starving.

After heating it, he set one of the two slabs on a plate with a knife and fork, and watched how she handled herself. Apparently, slaves weren't raised to eat at civilized tables, for she simply overlooked the knife and fork and picked the piece of meat up in her hands and began gnawing on the entire piece.

"No, no…" Kellen said, holding a hand out.

The Twi'lek looked confused and set the food back onto her plate. Her mouth was watering, but she still obeyed the command, probably under fear of the lash.

Kellen sighed and picked up her knife and fork and cut the flank steak into bite sized pieces. She watched in fascination as he skewered a single piece on her fork and offered it to her.

She looked at the metal instrument for a moment, before leaning forward to bite the piece of steak off the fork he was holding. She closed her eyes as she ate – Kellen could see how hungry she was, and could only imagine how good the steak must have tasted to one raised on slave rations. He offered her the fork, and she experimentally skewered another piece of steak, and stuffed it into her mouth. Then another. Then another.

Kellen smiled, and started on his own steak. He was barely half finished when the Twi'lek wolfed down the last of her food, and was eying his hungrily.

He sighed and pushed his plate across the table to her. "Go ahead…"

A look of delight spread across her face, and she gobbled up the rest of his share. Kellen couldn't help but smile. Retrieving two water canisters from the freezer, he opened them both and offered her one just as she was finishing her meal. She took the canister eagerly and guzzled down the precious water. Kellen doubted she'd been afforded much to drink either.

He drank down half of his canister and offered the rest to her, which she didn't hesitate to drink.

This girl was going to start straining his resources pretty soon. He had maybe enough food and water for another week or so. If he didn't get rid of her, high tail it home, or find another job by then, he was bantha fodder.

"So, do you have a name?" Kellen asked, making conversation as he wiped her face clean with a towel. There was obviously a lot he'd have to teach this girl.

She didn't respond. She just looked at him, curiously. No doubt, she was wondering why he was being so generous with her. That or calculating how much she could get out of him.

"What is your name?" he asked again.

He was wasting his time – she didn't speak basic. He'd have to find a translator droid if he wanted to make any headway with this girl. Maybe he could find a program on the holonet.

"Look…" Kellen put his hand on his chest. "Kellen."

He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to get the message across.

Obviously, it wasn't working.

"Kellen," he tried again, tapping his chest. "Kel-len."

Again, he placed his hand on her smooth red shoulders. Again, she said nothing. Gods, why was she wearing so little? She was bound to freeze at night so much skin was showing. And it was awfully distracting, the black leather body wraps covering her feet, waist and chest. Not only did they not leave much to the imagination, but the black complimented her red skin gorgeously, clouding his mind with unholy thoughts.

This did not bode well. He wasn't about to share his bed with her. That just wouldn't do. It'd be no different than had he bought her with the intention of actually using her as a slave. She would have to take the couch, but it was doubtful he'd be able to communicate this to her. Gods, the girl didn't understand him at all.

Giving up trying to get her name, he took her by the hand and stood up, pulling her to her feet. He then led her to the couch, and gently sat her down on it. Pulling the bantha wool cloak off his back once again, he draped it over her so that she wouldn't freeze.

"So…it's time to go to sleep now, so…" he made a gesture with his two hands under the side of his face. "You can sleep here tonight, ok?"

She just looked back up at him, curiously.

Kellen sighed, making his way over to his bed on the other side of the room and kicking his boots off before plunking down on the bed. He glanced back at the Twi'lek, who hadn't moved from her sitting position with his cloak draped carelessly over her shoulders.

"So…goodnight…" Kellen waved before hitting the light switch on the wall next to his bed. He laid his head down and went to sleep.

In a matter of moments, he heard a rustling sound over by the couch, and he smiled. She must have gotten the idea after all.

Then he felt something in his bed with him, and he immediately switched the lights back on.

Blast, this girl could move fast when she wanted to!

"Hey!" he yelped at the Twi'lek, who had settled in right next to him on his bed. "What are you doing here?"

She said nothing. She did nothing. She just stared up at his face, a look of pure innocence on her face.

"Get back on the couch," Kellen pointed. "There's not enough room for two on this thing."

She just stared at him.

"Go!"

She didn't move.

Why wasn't she listening to him? He was pointing, she must have realized what he wanted her to do. She had obeyed his instructions earlier over soothing her own hunger, what was making her stop now?

Kellen let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine…"

He got up out and bed, leaving her there, and settled down on the couch himself.

"Good night!"

He flipped the lights off and rolled over.

Moments later…

CLICK.

"Oh come on!" he groaned, seeing her this time curled up next to him on the couch. She was barely staying on, clutching his body for support, which she promptly lost as he got back to his feet.

"Make up your rutting mind!" Kellen growled, making his way back to his own bed.

He kept his eyes on her this time, waiting for her to move. She still sat there on the couch, looking curiously at him.

"You stay there now…" Kellen pointed again. "Stay!"

After a short pause, he lied back down on his bed and turned off the lights.

Sure enough…

CLICK.

"We're really gonna have to work on this, missy…" he sighed as he stared down at the still innocent look on her face. She was practically on top of him now. Each time he switched beds, she had drawn a little closer to him. Was that what she thought he wanted? For her to sleep closer to him? It's not that he really minded, but her skin just felt so smooth, and the contact was driving him mad! Her body was so warm to the touch, and he wouldn't have possible been able to get to sleep with her holding him like this.

As though in the hopes of pleasing him, she then wrapped her legs around his waist, further closing the distance between them. The conjoining of her legs met him squarely in the lower abdomen, and her barely concealed breasts were pressed up against his chest.

"Gods…" he clenched his eyes shut. "You're impossible…"

He couldn't have guessed why the Anx trader had given him the discount he had. Maybe he was trading damaged goods, maybe he wasn't. Whatever reason the slaver felt this girl had fallen short, it was not for her lack of sexual appeal.

"I'm not doing this," Kellen muttered down at her still innocent looking eyes. "You understand? I'm not about to go through with this. As soon as I find you some decent work, you're out of here. I'm not your master, and you're not my slave. And I'm not about to take you, not now, not like this."

The Twi'lek blinked, before unwrapping her arm from his back and placed a hand on her chest.

"Talia…"

Kellen blinked. "What?"

Her eyes glimmered, and for the first time since he first saw her, she was smiling.

"My name…" she said in a soft, waxy voice. "Is Talia."

#twi’lek #star wars #star wars fanfiction #sw kotor #kotor 2 #old republic #oc #fanfiction #fanfic #romance

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dinthehottotty · 4 years

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Catch Me If You Can

Summary: Din finds new meaning to old words.

Warnings: Straight, unadulterated, violently disgusting fluff. It's gross.

A/N: translations at the bottom. No editting.

Those five stupid words got him everytime. They always stirred a childish rivalry between the two of you and he hated it. He was well and grown, those insignificant words should have no effect on him.

But they did.

From the time you were both foundlings it burned him. Not because you were faster than him, because he managed to grab you everytime, but the fact that it always worked on him. He idly wondered if that's why he was so drawn to bounty hunting. Had you trained him to chase?

Often times, when he's flying through the endless streaking that is hyperspace he thinks about you. Hyperspace is to you as visiting the armorer is to his parents. The whirring of hyperspace makes him dream of you saying that like some sick nightmare.

He remembers the first time it's said to him, a couple weeks after he was rescued. He'd seen you, both of you young enough that you hadn't sworn the creed. He remembers you watching him with excited eyes and sneaking over to him when all he wanted was to cry again over the loss of his parents.

"It's easier not to think about it," you'd told him, "and when you do, think about the good things." It had surprised him. He'd never spoken a word, he quickly discovered you were a foundling yourself, rescued only a short time prior. You'd eased him a bit, accepting his quiet nature with your chatty one. He thinks often of your cheeky smile from youth. It's hard to imagine what it looks like now, all he sees when you laugh is just the endless times as children he saw your grin. How you stayed so upbeat he didn't know.

But when he'd dried his tears you begged him to play and he had. "Catch me if you can!" Was shouted and so began his rage because you flashed a devious look over your shoulder as you ran.

You dared him to try.

Then it continued.

Catch me if you can, as you were trained to fight and he'd chase you across the training fields. In the middle of brawls, you'd call it out and he'd immediately turn to chase. It was purely instinctual. How you found him that one time on some outer rim planet, magnitizing trouble his direction, he decided you were bad luck. You'd weezed it as you both sprinted from an unidentifiable creature that was ready to tear you both limb from limb. He'd punched the back of your helmet for it when you were both in private (and you found it hilarious as he shook his knuckles free from pain).

It turned into a joke you'd say. Because he might be faster than you but he always have to push himself to keep up with you. It was competitive but effortless on your part and that brought out the childlike indignation he buried down. You pushed all the buttons in the perfect sequence to rile him up. He hated it. He dreaded it.

You'd appear in the furthest reaches and the most annoying manner, sneaking up on him to whisper it like it was the funniest thing. Swooping in to steal his bounties at the most inconvenient times. He never understood it. You'd catch them just before him and dump them at his feet like a lothcat dropping a womp rat on its owners doorstep. Smug and proud.

You'd jibe him with those five words whenever you could. Some of the most difficult, dangerous bounties that could yield a mighty reward and you'd just... hand them over like it was nothing.

It frustrated him to no end. But there was nothing in the world that felt better than sacking you to the ground, he swears. He loved to win against you, even if it felt like you let him. He always second guesses himself when it happens because you laugh! Like it's all in the fun.

You snare him everytime with that line and he knows he's lost. You were a fierce warrior and honestly he was glad you didn't bounty hunt often. If you did he wouldn't have even half the credits.

You swore the creed before he did. Earned your signet before him. Won a blaster before he did. It was endless chasing and even when you lost he could never understand just why you seemed to enjoy yourself so much. He could never tell if you were a rival or a friend but deep down he always hoped it was just an annoying friend.

He felt like it was a waste of your talents for you to transfer to the covert under medicine instead of mercenary work. To be honest, though he had seen you work, fingers flying effortlessly. They were steady, even when covered in blood.

He tried to tell himself that he was just too exhausted from the last bounty to not clean up his newest wound. A few shallow stabs that he'd acquired in the scuffle of a twi'lek that refused to give in. Din had closed it with an emergency cauterizer but it was mess and awkward, especially the one on his hip.

The excuses kept rolling in his head of what he'd tell you on why he didn't just clean it up himself before he realized he couldn't stop thinking about your modulated laugh or the lightness of your gloved touch compared to his. (He was fully aware of how hard you could hit and was always amazed by the delicacy of your gentle touches.)

It was after he left the Cantina, delivering bounties, collecting rewards, internally punching Kreef, that he finally just admitted he missed you. He missed the only person he might call his friend.

Din is aware that this will be the third time in the last two months that he's sought you out in this manner. That it's becoming a habit instead.

So he tries not to limp to badly to the convert. When he reaches the medical room he feels disappointed that your armor doesn't catch his eye at first. You'd probably been requested on a mission, somewhere important.

That is until he spots you half hidden behind a curtain, hunched over another mandalorian and focused intensely on whatever was under the bandage you were staring at.

He'd seen you do that. You were evaluating. You'd stand still as a droid, thinking about whatever wild random thoughts came out of your head. Another thing that marveled him. You were so creative, always looking for a different way to do things, just for the fun of it. It frustratingly worked in your favor but he thinks it's got more to do with stubbornness than good logistics.

He shuffles that way, and if you notice, you don't acknowledge him as he sinks awkwardly into one of the chairs. He keeps his weight off his hip.

"There is an avaliable baar'ur on the otherside, vod." You murmur without looking up. You'd noticed him, however not noticed it was him.

"I'll wait," he rumbles and your head jerks up in response. He likes it more than he cares to admit because your straightening and evaluating him instead of the man on the table who is no doubt glaring at him. Din thinks it's one of the many that float around and boast for your attention.

"Did you get stabbed again?" You demand.

"Not deep." Your laugh flutters about and then your turning back to your current patient who relaxes as your finally return your attention on him.

"If you want an excuse to see me just ask, you don't have to hurt yourself to do it. Just stop by, bring me some shig." You say and begin to pick up tools. When you remove the bandage Din sees a healing wound. You were checking up on him.

"I'll remember that." He can feel your grin through your helmet.

By the time he was settled on the table for examination, you were already hovering over him. He shifted onto his good side, rolling toward you as he jerked his tunic up. He had to unclip his belt to lower his pants enough for the wound on his hip to show.

You were forced to ignore the glorious dark trail of hair beginning to peak out from the top of them.

He very nearly sighed in relief as your hands carefully braced over either wound and prodded gently. It makes his heart race. "Maker, Din," he could hear you hiss minutely. "Do I have to board your damn trash ship in order to keep you from doing this shit to yourself? I'm giving you bacta."

"Don't need it. And my ship is not trash." He grunts, making you twist your helmet toward his.

"Or'dinii," you grunt lowly. Maybe he was a bit of a moron. "I'm taking your cauterizer away." Finally, you draw away and begin to pull out supplies to clean and dress his wound.

"So I'll just bleed out next time?"

"It'd be a mercy." Din smiles under his helmet as you begin gently cleaning his gashes. You knew by this point that he also refused the local anesthetics by now. He couldnt feel your hands the last time.

Din relaxes against the table, calmed by your presence. "Do you want to stop by for dinner tonight?" You prompt him.

"I have bounties to hunt."

"Tell you what, have dinner with me tonight and I'll help you catch your next few."

"I don't need your help."

"Sure. Sure. I mean, you're totally up to catching me right now." Din feels the spike of emotion in his chest and groans in annoyance.

"I have caught you everytime, wounded or not," he growls. "Were not children anymore." He doesn't expect you to lean down to his helmet. It startles his heart into a sprint as you rub your thumb affectionately over his hip bone. What game was this? All he can see is his helmet reflecting in yours.

"If you haven't realized that I enjoy you chasing me at this point, I may have to spell it out for you, Din." Your threat has a mocking to it that pisses him off more, but he's tense under your thumb stretching to the inside of his pelvic bone. It's taunting, teasing.

"What's the point?"

"Maybe you'll have to try again and find out."

And you rose back to work silently on his wound, letting him mull over your words and over think the tension.

Finally, he's patched up properly and sits up on the table. "What time are you done here?" He asks.

"Twenty minutes ago."

"Why didn't you say anything."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" You make quick work of cleaning up your supplies. "So dinner?" You demand. Din grins under his helmet.

"Fine." He relents, climbing to his feet.

"Good. Oh, and Din," you lean close, backing him into the edge of the stone table your hand presses into his chest plate. "Catch me if you can." Before you take off like there's blaster fire.

You let him catch you this time, right in the entrance to your quarters. He tackles you through the curtain and you roll across the floor, laughing all the way. Clearly, you're enjoying as much as you did playing tag or hide and seek as kids. Despite the bite of pain in his wounds he wrestles your arms to the ground on top of you.

"You like this?" He demands, half amused.

"Yeah, you were the best part of my life when we were growing up, it brings me back, you know?" He tenses when you casually admit that. And the silence hangs heavy, only heavy breathing and the tap of beskar chests heaving against each other.

Then he headbutts the helmet to yours. "I... I think about your smile a lot... from when we were kids." You shift slowly under him, legs framing his hips.

"It's strange isn't it? That we've known each other so long and we don't look anything like we did the last time we saw one another." Your voices lowered.

"We... we could see each other again," he finds himself suggesting. You gasp quietly underneath him.

"Like... like leaving the covert?"

"If you... if you wanted. But..." he hesitates, trying to remember how annoying you were supposed to be. "What if we got married?" He feels more nervous than he ever remembers feeling.

"Okay," you whimper, sounding as breathless as you feel.

"Okay?" He finds himself repeating. Your helmet nods frantically against his.

"Yes, okay!" And he's letting you go of your arms when you sound like your ready to sob. He kind of likes the sound of the beskar armor sliding against more beskar, but suddenly he's exhausted and all he wants is to sink into your warm embrace unhindered. Only rumbling bellies reminding the both of you to detangle.

...

His jump to hyperspace was welcomed this time. His brain swimming around you, his Riduur. His love. His best friend. He could embrace the thoughts of you in hyperspace.

Navarro darts out of view and he settles back in his seat, a pleasant sort of soreness filling his body from his eager activities you'd both participated in. He just wished he could have seen your face after the ceremony, but there wasn't enough time.

"Hey, Din," he hears you call from the doorway of the cockpit. But it sounds different, lighter. You weren't wearing your helmet. A thrill of excitement filled him for a split second. He soaked up a moment before he slowly pilots his chair about.

You weren't just not wearing your helmet, you weren't wearing anything. It stalled his brain to see the shy but mischievous smile as you casually lean against the doorframe. He knows the tightened nipples are due to the cool air of his ship and he takes in the face he's been imagining for nearly three decades.

You smile up at him, mocking him. "Catch me if you can," you murmur softly, but there's no motion to run. Din smiles behind his helmet.

There's no rage this time. Only thrill and awe at the face he's imagined a billion times and how he still couldn't have gotten it right. He reaches for his own helmet lifting it off his head to see his spouse for the first time since they were kids.

....

Baar'ur - Medic

Vod - Brother, sister, comrade

Shig - a hot, tea like beverage

Or'dinii - Moron or fool

Taglist:

@lxdyred

#din x you #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din #fluff #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

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scarjarbinks · 4 years

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(1) The Fool’s Journey: A Star Wars Story

Episode One A Clown, And That's All

Spires of apartments, each ubiquitous in their design, flowed like crude circuits along an ancient motherboard. Following tight alleys in the way a hawk-bat would delicately chase the scent of granite slugs, Vrina—a mauve Mikkian who favored a headdress to obscure his head-tendrils—navigated the dank streets as if guided by intimate knowledge of the sprawling maze.

With his presence masked by way of heel-toe footfall and springing steps, he successfully traversed the ground level of Coruscant without much interference—save, perhaps, the preference of avoiding detritus that would penetrate his worn leather boots.

A cramped alleyway, its stones glossy from fallen humidity, spat the wanderer into the shoulder of a well-traveled intersection. In less time it would take to light a death stick, Vrina arrived at the entrance of Gil's Gab as an intruder of a group that had converged on top of him. He was polite in the way most strangers are: a brief nod or a disingenuous smile. Two Human women and an Iridonian male were already under the influence of some unidentifiable and ostensibly trendy drug.

They kept their wits about them as they spoke with the Trandoshan bouncer. He grumbled in Basic, "Invite only tonight."

With confidence stemming from the ether, the emboldened Iridonian raised his chest and lifted his chin. "I'm—we're friends with Wegil."

"Old myth that all Zabraks know each other." The stiff guardian severed the conversation without another thought.

Vrina broke from the group while the two women fruitlessly argued with their companion. The Trandoshan peered down to the heretofore silent man. "Good evening," the Mikkian bowed his head but maintained eye contact. "I actually do know Wegil, but I'm not too sure how much you believe me after that guy. Do you, erm, have a list?" He searched the bouncer's attire. No tablet, just a DL-44.

"Name?"

"Uh, Vrina Hon. Impressive that you can remember all of those names without, y'know, a list."

"Smarter than most of my kind. Speaking," his eyes reduced by a fraction. "Why is a Mikkian so far from home?"

Vrina crossed his arms and cocked a hip. He was not offended by the amount of venom that laced the bouncer's tone. Most transients would pose the same question for a Trandoshan who appears to have been conned into a low-paying job. "I'm here to perform comedy."

A concave of seedy individuals, each imbibing and shouting. The Mikkian traversed with soft steps through Gil's claustrophobic aisles. Though he recognized very few patrons, some were, of course, impossible to ignore due to their status. Such entities dealt with business practices he would rather steer clear from, yet a pull of his excited consciousness understood when to bow as a show of respect and when to simply ignore them.

Vrina passed the stage where he was to perform and waved at the Ithorian drummer—a talented fellow by the name of Bup Nolot who rattled away upon two snares and three cymbals of various sizes. He appeared too-focused to respond, perhaps intent on keeping a steady rhythm or altogether refused to associate himself with a glorified jester.

The backstage was a small respite from the bombardment of intermingling dialects and languages, though it was only an inch-thick drape that separated him from the rest of the club. He did not expect to be alone. Vrina was meant to open for a favored comedienne dubbed Real by the regulars of Gil's and her absence meant he would potentially have to fill her time slot.

A knock on the wall behind him. With his eyes still glued to the audience, Vrina greeted Wegil with a click of the tongue. "Looks like I'm the headliner."

A copper-hued Zabrak approached the Mikkian from behind. He joined Vrina in scanning the sea of flushed faces and spitting lips. "Do you have enough material?" The low-scratch of his voice collided with the amount of noise that polluted the club.

"Eh, well," the comedian took in a sharp breath and crossed his arms. "Let's just hope that they don't remember the first five jokes from last week. Anybody I have to worry about?"

Wegil frowned. "In what way?"

"You know. Pirates, ganglords, politicians. Anybody notable?"

"Only you would rope a politician in with pirates. Since you mentioned it, sure." The Zabrak leaned to the left and gestured a nod outward. It was as if a beacon shone from the center of the crescent-shaped bar: an antsy male Human nursed eight ounces of scarlet liquid with hunched shoulders. He kept his head down, uninterested in those who took residence next to him yet kept a subtle conversation with the barkeep.

Vrina shook his head. "I have a feeling he wasn't invited."

"He's certainly found his way in here, though. He hasn't said a single word to anyone other than the bartender, one of his own kind. I would prefer not to deal with any acts of speciesism tonight. You and Bup are the only two who can see the entire club wall-to-wall."

The Mikkian thought back to the drummer's intense focus and exhaled. "So you'll pay me for my services of doing twice the work as a comedian and taking on an additional role as a spy." He sucked on his teeth, head bobbing while mentally creating an addendum to the first half of his set.

Wegil clasped Vrina on the shoulder and forced eye contact. "I'm not paying you extra for the simple task of paying attention. If anything or anybody suspicious worms their way in…" The club owner paused and drew his head away. "Try to work in a joke about me. I won't take it personally."

"You're acting as if that wasn't half of my set. Right, understood, but what about covering for Real?"

With a sniff, the Zabrak pulled away and nodded twice. Soon, the Mikkian was once again left alone and felt the weight of the near future pressing into his skin like the heat of too-many suns orbiting a desert planet.

Vrina did not have much time to prepare for the amount of improvisation thrusted upon him. The emcee of the night, a stocky Rodian, hyped those who were listening into an enthusiastic applause. After a lengthy introduction presented in choppy Basic, he introduced the Mikkian. As they exchanged the microphone, the reptilian whispered a few words of encouragement: "If you are not funny, I will take over. No problem." He backed away with two thumbs up.

The initial warm-up dragged on as expected with very few individuals chuckling and pulling the attention of their friends to the stage. With more eyes on him, he began to feel at ease. "Everyone's heard the buzz around the eff-ess-ess, right?" He pursed his lips and made eye contact with as many who cared to pay attention. "A federation of only six systems. What an arbitrary number! How are we supposed to check if that's even correct when they won't give up who the systems are?"

For the first time all night, the Human at the bar spun his stool to face the comedian. Though the lights had been dimmed, he could make out a few key features: jet black hair and a matching beard. The Mikkian did not hesitate to continue. "If they were really trying to be intimidating, they might as well have said six-hundred. Sixteen would instill more terror for a terrorist organization!"

A quarter of the audience responded with a lukewarm chuckle—Bup's drumline accompaniment made sure the comedian's jokes never truly fell flat. A figure entered his field of vision to the right. One passive glance drank in the sight of Wegil who did not seem to find any of the Mikkian's jokes humorous in the least.

It was time for his improvisation muscles to be flexed. "Well, you want to keep the numbers small, I guess. Zipping around in taxis would be more cost efficient than buying fuel." A tight grin appeared on the Human's face. Vrina prevented himself from paying too much attention to him. "No need for a base of operations either, really. Just rent a hotel room or, perhaps, meet at a club."

A movement in the back caught Vrina's attention. The Human exited from the bar to the bathroom, pushing his way past a drunk Twi'lek who gestured unkindly to the man. The energy of the room became dense and the once idle chatter fell away to usher in silence. It was as if he had captured the attention of every single patron.

His throat closed, but he knew that, as a comedian, there could never be dead air. "Everybody here knows our lovely host, Wegil, yeah? Let's be honest, of everyone on-planet, he would be the one to house the eff-ess-ess. Watered down coolers to keep them drunk and drain them off their coffer, ill-tempered Trandoshans to keep an eye on their credit pouch." Vrina began to wonder how much of his material was rooted in truth. The Zabrak unwound from his position backstage and navigated through the back. "Safest place in all of… All of—"

A pressure settled into Vrina's skull and he promptly returned the microphone to its stand as Wegil approached the bathroom with a drawn blaster, one bouncer trailing behind him. The Mikkian hurriedly waved a good-bye to Bup as the audience began to boo them both. His lungs inflated as he twisted through the narrow tunnel behind the stage and was forced to stop by way of another Trandoshan bouncer.

"You need to finish your, what is it, comedy," the hulking figure encroached on Vrina's personal space. "If you can even call it that. Wegil's already sent the credits to your account, so I'd recommend—"

A blast shook the lobby and a wave of truncated screams pinched the Trandoshan's focus. With the bouncer's lowered guard, Vrina slipped through what little space the corridor offered and sprinted toward the stage-left exit. If his movements were deft enough, he could remain under the cover of darkness for long enough to join the growing crowd of patrons that also attempted escape.

Rubble could be made out from within the thick plume of smoke that emanated from the bathroom. Vrina slowed to a stop and examined the situation. Two bodies writhed on the ground and another was motionless. He took stock of who was left in the club: half of the patrons, the remaining bouncers… The bartender was already gone.

As the smoke began to clear, Vrina approached the center of the lobby and squinted at the bodies on the ground. A familiar skull-shape, horned and round. He debated whether he should usher the Zabrak out to safety or—

Vrina was lifted from the ground by a pair of scaly, calloused hands. The Trandoshan heaved the comedian forward and watched as he rolled over a table and barreled into several chairs. Broken glass stuck to the Mikkian's simple outfit, a few shards hid in exposed skin.

"He infiltrated our place of business," the bulky reptilian guard sneered and stepped forward. Vrina attempted to straighten himself to a seated position. Two more bouncers slunk in from the corners of the club and approached the Mikkian as well. "And staged an attack!"

"I—what? Me?" Vrina rotated his torso to face the other Trandoshans and experienced a sharp pain in his ribcage. "Ah, dosh." He seethed and grabbed his side. "H-how could I have set off an explosive if I was up on the stage?"

The main Trandoshan signaled the others to stop. He looked down at the pathetic Mikkian with racing eyes.

"Also, whoever did that is doing all of you a favor. Now, listen to me," he exhaled as the guards began to close in once again. "You are all much too talented of warriors to be stuck in here all day catering drunkards. What have you been doing all this time? What's your motivation?"

There was a moment of hesitation, though his gaze never fell away from Vrina. For a moment, there appeared to be a modicum of empathy that flashed in the Trandoshan's eyes. "We've been waiting to tear someone apart."

The Mikkian flinched and swung both palms to defend himself. A gasp from the Trandoshan as a gust of wind knocked him off of his feet. Vrina's brow furrowed but there was very little time for him to ruminate as the remaining bouncers enclosed him with clawed hands outstretched.

Several bleats of a small caliber blaster sounded from the debris-laden corner of the club. Either bouncer roared when struck in their armor, another in his arm. With their luck pressed, they each drew their heavy blasters and scattered to find cover from upturned tables. Vrina spent this time erecting himself to his feet and so did the once-fallen Trandoshan.

Now careful of his enemy, the bouncer kept his distance with two fists balled and ready for use. Vrina blinked and did the same, though both palms were flat and directed in the same fashion as before. No matter how many times he mentally willed himself to throw wind, nothing as exciting occurred. He began to doubt that it had ever taken place—a trick of the eyes, an anomaly of a pressure shift within the building.

While he was distracted processing the anomaly, the firefight behind him resulted in the dropping of both guards. A bright voice shouted: "Duck!"

Without a second thought, Vrina shrunk to the floor and watched as the second of two red bolts struck the remaining bouncer in the center of his forehead.

For a one brief moment, the Mikkian considered snatching the DL-44 from the Trandoshan's holster to take charge of the situation, to feel as if he were not helpless. The same voice called to him with an edge that convinced Vrina the scenario was not quite over. "Are you armed?"

"N-no."

"Well, why not?"

Vrina turned to face the same Human he had been instructed to spy on earlier. Almond-shaped eyes and well-groomed, about the same height and body type as he was, though somewhat more muscular. "So I should, erm, get a blaster?"

The man rolled his eyes and turned the heel of his weapon toward the comedian. It was a feeble blaster with slender design, uniform in color, but did not seem to reflect a sheen. A perfect weapon to conceal. "I assume a Jedi would know how to use one of these."

"A—" The device was shoved in his hand and the mysterious man excused himself to fetch the much more powerful DL-44 from the fell bouncer.

"It's probably a good thing they didn't know how to handle one of these, huh?" Sucking his teeth, the man looked down the unmodified sights and nodded. "I mean, I barely know how to use one of these, sure, but they were just awful."

Vrina straightened his wrist after acclimating to the surprising weight of the small blaster. "What exactly did you just call me?"

The man threw a humored side-eye at the Mikkian. "C'mon. It'd be nice to have someone who knows what they're doing by my side."

"But… I'm—oh, dosh." He watched the Human step away while offering a tight hand signal that meant nothing to the comedian.

Kept crouched and insecure, Vrina trailed behind the Human with the blaster limp and pointed to the floor. In the many patrons' effort to escape, they had made quite a mess: shattered cups and plates, food tracked under heel, abandoned death stick cartridges. The unconscious form of Wegil caused the Mikkian to pause his trail.

"Do you know him?" The Human kept his weapon pointed to the only way in or out. An expectation of being ambushed was palpable. "You have to let me know now if this is someone worth saving. Like, now."

The truth bit at Vrina's tongue. He wanted to be honest and admit that he knew very little about the Zabrak, but the fear that he would be tracked down by a vengeful conduit of illicit affairs forced his hand. "Yeah, he's worth it." The man gave him a signal to fetch the club owner.

Calling out in just above a hushed voice, "I'm surprised we haven't run into the see-ess-eff."

"Right." Vrina heaved Wegil up and balanced him on his feet. "I-find-it-surprising…" He growled while ushering the unconscious body to the door. "How-heavy-people…" A moment to catch his breath. "Actually are."

The man ignored his sentiment. "We have one shot. I'm really going to need you to muster all the strength you have." He slipped a rod-shaped comlink from his jacket pocket. A pleasant chirp sounded when he began to transmit. "Rokkna-1, critical mission failure. Resort to plan-B, but with the pick-up coordinates of Plan-A."

A woman sighed as a response. "Always with the plan-B. Copy, Rokkna-2."

The individual identified as Rokkna-1 turned to Vrina and flashed a grin. "Don't worry, the mission failure wasn't exclusively, entirely your fault."

"I didn't think it was. Wait, was it?"

"Ready up your friend."

With a shake of the head, the Mikkian stood Wegil upright and braced him. "Where are we going? What's happening?"

The whirring of an incoming shuttle paired with sirens that belonged to that of the Coruscant Security Force. "You'll be back in time for breakfast. On five."

Vrina's heart rattled in his chest. Under his breath, "Dosh."

The feminine voice called in, but the sound was muffled while the comlink was tucked in the man's jacket pocket. "Clear, Rokkna-1."

"Nevermind—FIVE!" The Human set off through the front door with large strides. His shoulder checked the door and swung it open with enough force to allow his new companion the chance to exit the building's threshold and into the dark street.

A shuttle with seamless and bulbous edges hovered several feet above ground, its ramp already dropped and open for entrance. The bearded man hopped on board with an effortless bound but fell to his knees and spun to help the Mikkian and Zabrak aboard.

The excited but passive ambiance of each street in the intersection was interrupted by the aggressive whine of hidden speeders. Rokkna-1 demanded the Zabrak first and Vrina agreed, shoving the body onto the ramp with one final expression of strength.

With the CSF seconds away, the transport shuttle began lifting away from the ground. The pilot spoke through the comlink, but there was too much distance for the Mikkian to make out any one word. The Human disappeared inside of the hull for a handful of seconds. Vrina's chest seized as if a deadly poison had finally taken hold of him.

With the ramp now several feet above his head, he could just barely jump to grab on. His feet kicked the air, his fingers without a decent grip. The first round of blue bolts swept by him but missed by mere inches.

"Hold on, friend!" Rokkna-1 returned with a silver can in his right hand. He activated the device and rolled it off the ramp while extending an arm to lift Vrina onboard.

As soon as it struck the ground, the canister popped and began to spray a viscous white smoke to obscure the underside of the ship; flashes of blue looked like lightning trapped in dense clouds. Once the Mikkian had been pulled in and was comfortable enough, the ramp inhaled and sealed with a pressurized click.

#starwars #starwarsfanfic #starwarsfanfiction #fanfiction #kazuda xiono #kazuda #tamara ryvora #starwarsrebels #starwarsfallenorder #star wars rebels #star wars fan fiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fallen order #star wars resistance #starwarsclonewars #star wars clone wars

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spoon-writes · 4 years

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Chapter 22 | Ends of the Earth

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse, and soon they travel across the galaxy looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 22 - A Mandalorian Walks Into A Bar

The trepidation that had been clinging to the back of Din's mind ever since they entered the system ballooned into a whole new beast as soon as he stepped out of the ship. The hangar on Alpha was crowded, ships and sentients packed tightly together, recycled air thick with smoke and harsh chemicals. Eyes bored into his armor, and he made sure his blaster was ready and within reach. Two Bothans stood in the shadows between two ships, and one of them nudged the other and nodded not so subtly towards Din.

So it was going to be one of those days.

In front of the nearest access gate, a dead Twi'lek lay on the floor, a blade buried deep in his chest and a pool of blood slowly growing underneath him. The crowd stepped over the body, tracking blood into the station. A Jawa scurried across the floor and dove for his pockets, but it seemed like someone had already grabbed whatever there was to steal.

The gate led down a dimly lit corridor that curved all the way around the station. It was clear it hadn't been built to serve as a haven for pirates; through the murk, he spotted a flickering sign leading to the mess hall.

It had been the right call to leave the kid on Zessol, but Din still had a nagging worry that something was going to happen. He knew Sinead would keep him safe - she had risked her life for him before – but the people hunting the child would never stop. The sooner he got out of there, the better.

He passed a cantina, music blasting through the open doors loud enough to make his teeth rattle. The ground was sticky with drink and other mystery fluids that were spilled on Alpha.

Sinead's face kept popping up in his mind, unbidden, and smoldering anger made his pulse speed up. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget the look in her eyes when realization struck back on Seavo. She’d looked broken. And now Kyen was just like those who’d brought her to Sriluur. His hands curled into fists.

The next cantina was darker and less crowded, the air hazy with smoke and grease from an open fire where a Wookiee was roasting a slab of unidentifiable meat. He stepped inside, and what little conversation there was fell into a hush. The bartender put down his tankard when Din approached.

"Looking for someone," he said, putting a hand on the countertop to show he was unarmed.

"Not gunna find 'em here."

A couple of credits landed on the table between them. They disappeared into the bartender’s sleeve in the blink of an eye.

"Aye?"

"Kyen Beck. That mean anything to you?"

"Nope."

"What about Red Vekkass?"

The bartender's eyes flickered. "Might know a thing or two. Might not."

More credits landed on the table.

“Some of his crew stops by now and then, you know, to lay off steam. S’long as they don’t give me any problems, I don’t ask questions.”

“Where is he?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

Din’s fingers twitched. “Where do I find the right person?”

Had Sinead been there she would have had the bartender wrapped around her little finger by now.

“Dunno.”

"That's not good enough." Din stared at the man, clenching his teeth under his helmet.

For a fraction of a second, the bartender's eyes flickered to something behind Din. Stepping back, he grabbed two bottles from behind the bar and hid them under the counter.

"Evenin', fella."

Din didn't take his eyes off the bartender.

A large Nikto leaned against the bar to his right, tapping a rhythm on the worn wood. "Don't see many Mandalorians around these days. Thought you all died, or somethin'."

"Nice armor." A human man appeared on his other side. "Very shiny, isn't it."

"Very shiny, yeah. Say, how much you pay for a thing like that?" The Nikto leaned closer, his breath slightly fogging Din’s visor. He could smell the stink of alcohol.

Breathing slowly, Din widened his stance and analyzed the situation. The human seemed clearheaded, but the Nikto was leaning heavily against the bar, his eyes slightly unfocused.

The anger grew from embers into flames.

"Ay." The Nikto grinned, and there was a sliver of grey meat caught between his front teeth. "I'm talking to you." He reached for the helmet.

Stepping back, Din grabbed the Nikto’s wrist, twisting it around and slamming his other hand down on his arm until there was a sickening crack. The Nikto crumbled to the ground with a scream.

Metal glinted in the light, and Din ducked under a blade aimed at his throat. The human grunted in frustration and swung the blade again, which scraped against the beskar. Din dispatched him with a sharp knee to the gut and a punch in the throat.

A flask smashed on the ground. A human halfway out of his seat sat down slowly and averted his eyes.

Din rounded on the bartender, who slunk back, hand inching beneath the counter.

"Don't even think about it," Din barked, and the bartender froze, fearful eyes straying to the patrons, who all looked stiffly into their drinks.

"I'm not gonna ask you again." Din leaned over the counter and grabbed the bartender by the collar. "Where is Red Vekkass?"

"I-I don't know, I really don't! Some of his gang were in here not long ago, you might be able to catch them!"

"Where?"

"Level 25. The big Twi’lek calls the shots, is sweet on one of Madame Jath's girls. I'm sure you'll find him there. It’s down in the old morgue.”

Din watched the sniveling little man for a second. He could be lying, but Din had to get out of there. It was only a matter of time before whatever fear gripped the rest of the patrons dissipated.

"If you're lying to me, I'll be back."

He left the silent cantina and started pushing his way to the lift that would take him to level 25.

The fight had been too short. His body thrummed with adrenaline; every sound, every change in the air felt like a shock to his system. Starting another fight would be easy; if there was one thing Alpha didn't lack it was hostility. Had he been younger, he probably would have stayed for another brawl, but now he had two people waiting for him on the planet below.

Level 25 was near the bottom of the station, a labyrinth of seedy establishments and darkened apartments where groups of sentients sat around open fires. The harsh air found its way under his helmet, making his eyes sting. Multicolored lights broke through the haze, streaming from open doors that led to spice dens or brothels where tired-looking women of various species called out to possible patrons.

He found the old morgue tucked into a dark corner. A Wookiee leaned against the wall beside the wall. He glared at a Snivvian who dared to cross the threshold. Other than that, the place was quiet.

Finding a spot in view of the door, Din leaned against the wall and waited. A sickly smell of trash filled the air, and he concentrated on breathing through his mouth, trying to push all thoughts of Sinead and the child out of his head.

He was about to go in there himself when a young human man appeared, looking around before stealing into the bordello. He was small and wiry, out of place among the pirates and smugglers. Five minutes of standing in the choking stink and greasy smoke later, the human finally came back out, supporting a Twi'lek that dwarfed him in both height and weight with an almost visible cloud of alcohol. A stumbling Gamorrean with one large tusk broken at the tip made up the rear.

"Get your kriffin' hands off me," the Twi'lek burbled and tried to tug himself free.

"Wait!" The human struggled under the weight. "We need to head back-- Vekkass said-"

Din perked up at the name, and he followed as they stumbled through level 25, taking care not to lose them in the crowd.

"You think I give a flyin' kriff wha’ he s-says ..." The Twi'lek lost his balance and hit the ground with a crash. The Gamorrean threw up against the wall. "Don't just stand there, boy, help me up!"

At last, they ended up in a hallway void of anyone except a small rodent scurrying across the ground with a piece of moldy bread in its mouth. As sounds of sentients fell away, Din heard the engine humming from somewhere below.

The Gamorrean stopped to dry heave, clinging to an overflowing dumpster, while the other two shambled ahead. Din moved silently, his footsteps concealed by the hum and bangs that came from the station. He lowered his center of gravity, got ready to attack.

The Gamorrean let out a squeal. Din grabbed one flailing hand by the wrist and slammed him into the side of the dumpster with a crash. He was out like a light.

The Twi’lek whirled around, yanking the kid with him. His watery eyes widened, and a strangled gasp escaped his mouth before he pushed the kid towards Mando and started running. He made it two meters where a patch of uneven ground tripped him up, and he fell headfirst into a wall and slumped to the floor.

The kid pulled out a blaster. Din started running, letting one blaster bolt ping off his armor, before reaching out and yanking the weapon away. He pushed the kid to the ground, who crawled until his back hit the wall. "Y-you d-don't know who you're dealing with."

"Red Vekkass," Din snapped. "Where can I find him?"

"I-I don't know-"

"Don't try me. I know you work for him. Where is he?"

The Twi’lek groaned.

The human took a deep breath, ready to yell when Din grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

"He's not gonna help you. Tell me now!"

“He’ll kill me for this.”

“I’ll kill you. Where?”

"H-he's in the Dalchon sector. A mining station above Dilo."

Dalchon sector. They were close enough.

Din looked down at the pale face with a mop of unruly dark hair and blue eyes bright with fear. He looked too young to be mixed up with all of this, even though Din had been younger the first time he had picked up a blaster. This kid, though, didn't look like he was cut out for the pirate life.

A sudden, uncomfortable knot formed in the pit of Din's stomach.

"You from Seavo?"

The kid swallowed. "How do you know that?"

Of course.

Din gritted his teeth. He released the kid and gave him a hard shove down the hallway. "Go home," his voice was deep with threats. "Don't come back to Alpha. Don't go anywhere near Dalchon. Find the first ship out of here and go. Home."

"But what-"

Din took a step forward and sent the kid skittering through the doors without looking back. Giving him a moment's head start, Din started back towards the hangar, grateful that he didn't have to spend any more time in the suffocating, smoke-filled station. He left the Gamorrean bleeding and the Twi'lek trying to pick himself off the floor. Killing them wasn’t worth the plasma.

When the ramp to the Crest closed behind him, he allowed himself to breathe out deeply, relax his shoulders and close his eyes for just a moment. The stink of Alpha clung to his armor like sludge.

Finally, after waiting for the swarm of starships to let up, he had permission to land back on Zessol. Through the window, he saw a minuscule Sinead stand by the landing pad with a bundle in her arms. He paused in his tracks when the ramp came down; Sinead was spattered with mud and grime, her braid partly undone, the loose strands hung limply down her face. The kid sat in her arms, chewing happily on a piece of candy. His face and hands were covered with sugar.

"What happened to you?"

She let out a slow sigh. "You know what? Don't worry about it."

As she came closer, a stab of sewage met Din’s nostrils. She handed him the child. "He needs a proper name."

"... okay?" Din turned and watched her disappear into the ship. The kid left a sticky handprint on his vambrace.

Inside, he found her carefully peeling off her jacket on throwing it on the floor. There was a small gash on her arm that she carefully examined.

"Uh, Mando? Can you ..." she gestured to the ladder. "I need a shower …”

A small jolt went through him, and he cleared his throat. “Uh, right.”

Once the door to the cockpit shut, Din looked down at the child, who was happily chewing on the candy. "What've you two been up to?"

He placed the kid in his chair and booted the navicomputer to calculate the route to the Dalchon system. He tried not thinking about Sinead. The sound of running water was audible beneath the noise of Zessol.

One last trip, and it would all be over. They would both get what they wanted; Sinead would get answers, and he would get the nau’orar. He could go back to dodging bounty hunters and keeping a low profile. Without Sinead, his life would become marginally easier; at least, the amounts of life-threatening situations would decrease.

He flexed his hand that had been damaged by the nexu, a tremor of pain prickling across his skin.

Finally, the navicomputer beeped, and the ship rose from the platform, jumping into hyperspace as soon as it was out of Zessol’s orbit.

The door opened, and the scent of soap announced Sinead's arrival.

"You okay?" He gave her a quick glance; her cheeks were tinged with pink, her long hair left wet trails on her shirt.

"Yeah. It looked worse than it was." She leaned forwards and peered at the navicomputer. "You find out where we're going?"

"They're holed up somewhere in the Dalchon sector."

She released a slow, shaking breath. "Alright."

He wanted to say something, but his mind was drawing a blank and all the words burned in his throat. The anger was back, intense, and insistent. He wanted to punch something. Preferably Kyen. He chanced another glance at Sinead, who was staring into the whirling mist of hyperspace, the pulsing blue light simmering in her eyes.

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#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x oc #mando x oc #din x oc #din djarin x oc #fanfiction #ends of the earth #oc: sinead

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crqstalite · 5 years

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SHADOW OF THE SITH, CH. 3

TRI'AMA_RISHI.

"If I hear one more person refer to me as a Howling Tempest gang leader, I will not hesitate to stab them through." Tri'ama deadpans, just loud enough so that anyone nearby could hear. Pierce stifles a chuckle as some of the pirates look away quickly from her gold tinged glare. The blonde sith was already tired of the pirate infested planet, and being considered one was infuriating. Being feared wasn't horrible, but if she was going to be feared, she was going to be feared for her status as a Sith lord, not some wayward gang leader.

Rishi was...interesting. Whatever vision she'd got to send her here was about to be shoved to the very back corners of her mind and she'd just wait to see what occurred because of it. After two years of being driven up the walls by the incompetent dark council (moreso by Darth Nox, but she digressed), she was ready to give up and hunt down the blonde Sith to get on with this Revanite business. She'd surprisingly had more fun then than wallowing in memories, alcohol and dealing with less than intelligent political leaders. The smell of salty water was settling into her bones and the near constant chatter of squatters and criminals alike nearly made her force choke one of those damned monkey lizards if their owners weren't holding onto them.

Damn those infuriating laughs of the tiny bastards.

The new armor helped with the heat of the planet itself though. The heavy armor that she typically donned on adventures proved to be too much within even an hour of being on planet, and she'd immediatly switched it out for a hooded half shirt, sleeveless, with a thinner pair of armored pants and clunky but breathable boots. Anyone one this planet with half a brain would steer clear of her anyways, so her midriff would be fine.

Had it been three years ago, she was sure she probably would've gotten at least a wolf whistle from Pierce, but the man had been surprisingly silent on her new look. Protective, even. Her haircut would have to wait until much later, as the blonde strands were beginning to inch down the nape of her neck and stick there. Tied back with a silk band, she'd had to lower her hood once she'd found some inch of shade and remove her respirator just to relieve herself of the pent up heat in her body. Zykken's information to find whoever did have said information on her was going to take a lot more than just her willpower to get done. She'd sent it to Vette to look it over, then extending it to Pierce, but the three of them couldn't make heads or tails of the intel. Her mind kept wandering to the person who was supposed to be good at these things, good with the insane amount of aurebesh that needed to be decoded, and it was hard to keep those thoughts at bay. The datapad, well, that was another story entirely.

And the Red Hulls. Some cannibalistic gang that apparently had also recently arrived on Rishi. Only days prior before she had landed, something about them had flared up and they were the literal talk of the small town. Some were beginning to gossip that the two new gangs would eventually fight each other, and at this point, she wouldn't exactly stand down if it meant they'd accept she wasn't a gang leader. Hell, those in the cantina when she killed Gorro still didn't believe her, even after she'd killed him by throwing him against and a wall and then progressing to snap his neck with just a twist of her fingers. People here were either stupid, or blind. Or both, if she was being honest. Gutter trash didn't always have brain cells rattling around in those skulls of theirs.

Guzzling down another unidentifiable drink (assured at force choking range that it wouldn't kill her and-please let me down-replenshing electrolytes and hydrating-yes please let me down ), she swiped at her forehead to keep the sweat from dripping into her eyes again. Looking over, she jabbed an elbow at her companion, "Aren't you dying in that pack of armor, Pierce?"

He didn't immediatly answer (a bad sign, Vette had been rather unresponsive while they were on Tatooine and though she'd reassured her, the blue twi'lek had passed out a half an hour later. The same with...him), and she forced a bottle of the blue liquid into his hands, "I'll be fine, m'lord." He finally responded after chugging down the contents and looking visibly relieved. Most would assume she was ruthless and vile with everyone, but even the literal hulk of muscle had carved out a place in her heart. She'd rather not have him collapse on her because of heat exhaustion.

"We can always head back to the Fury. It's been a long day, and there's no reason to force ourselves to stay out here when there's nothing to be found." She admits, the sun beginning to set over the shanty town as she disposes of the bottle and stands from her perch on the barrel. "Whatever's out here can be hunted down tomorrow if it truly is that much of an issue."

He chuckles darkly, "You were the one who forced us out here. Sure it'll cool down once the bloody sun is out of the way," he pauses, most likely because she's reclipped her respirator on and raises an eyebrow, "that's if you want to, m'lord."

She rolls her eyes at the formality. At one point, she saw it as a sign of power, having people respect her and be so absolutely fearful they always added her title, but there wasn't really a need for someone like Pierce to continue grovelling at her feet in such a manner. Well, maybe not grovelling (he pressed her buttons as often as Vette did, but those two were the only in the galaxy allowed to do so), but something closer to begrudging respect that she didn't enjoy. It was just, too close to the things he used to say. "If that's how you want to do it, then we'll stay out tonight, Ash."

The corners of his mouth quirk up into a bit of smile, one of the few times she's ever referred to him by even an inkling of his first name. They continue walking along for a bit, one hand always on one of her sabers before she can hear a crier droid clanking around the boardwalk. Stopping Pierce abruptly, she can just barely make out the droid's buzzing speech, "The Red Hulls have issued a challenge to the Howling Tempest gang! In an alleyway tonight, you may even find the two duking it out over Raider's Cove! Who will come out on top and really rule the Cove?"

"You were challenged?" He asks and she gives him a half shrug before turning to him, clearly even unsure of what he was talking about, and then her eyes were looking skywards at a building before smirking at the lieutenant. He sighs, "Leg up, eh?"

He does so, crouching down so she can climb over him to find a handhold to climb up the building, much like the small beats that stole every shiny thing they came across. Among the dizzying array of streets they could get lost in, it'd be easier just to scout the streets and find a general area of where the thing was clankering around. It was harder than expected, but easier than it had been once on Dromound Kaas when she'd attempted to scale a building to find a newly-appointed lord who thought it smart to disrespect Vette. Holding a hand over her eyes, she dangled precariously off the building with one hand and scouted the cove. While none stood out immediatly to her, something glinted harshly against the sun, and she had found her target. "Three klicks north, we can catch up if we hurry."

"Three? How can you hear that bloody thing then?" Pierce questions gruffly, just barely catching her as she slides down the building, air knocked out of him. "Sure there isn't one closer trying to blast our ears off?"

"There are so many alleys in this damn town, I'd rather go get the one I saw and pray it's still there." She says, nodding towards her sleek silver speeder bike. He climbs on first, and then her behind him as he revvs the engine.

He chuckles, throwing a look over his shoulder as she hooked one leg over the seat, "You gonna hold on this time?"

"If I must." She says, rolling her eyes. She wonders if he can tell how comfortable she's gotten around the soldier, willing to put her arms around his waist and lean into him. This, this isn't love. She knows that, though the struggling had only gotten worse after he had left. He was willing to let her sleep with him, but never pushed her any further than necessary. Let her cry, let her even take advantage of him at one point in some drunken fit she's forced out of her mind. She wasn't quick to say it didn't mean anything, it did, it meant she trusted him enough not to throw him out the air lock, but did admit she didn't have feelings for him. A small part of his mind had always been closed off to her, but at that moment she couldn't sense any repressed part of him. No regret, no sadness. Just...raw relief. Relieved because this meant she was regaining sense and was becoming herself again.

Not defined by someone.

Not defined by a hyphenated last name.

Just, her.

It left them much closer than they once had been, and less likely for him to get thrown through a bulkhead at every scathing remark he made. And every Watcher like position she made him take in retaliation. If the man hated one thing, it was being stuck on the ship and watching the action from above. To imagine the things that would've transpired if she'd given her heart to the lieutenant instead of the captain, how things probably still would've ended badly, just much more violent.

A thought for another night.

NAJI_RISHI.

"I didn't ever challenge anyone to gang war..." Naji mused, pulling her robes tighter around herself, as if that would help hide her in shadows of the dark town more than the force stealth would. Nadia shifted at her side, growing bored with the hiding technique. "If I didn't, who did?"

"I'm not sure, master. I don't think there's a signal force signature out here that would give them away either." Nadia remarks. It's a tad spooky speaking to a literal shadow, considering she couldn't even see her, or see her facial expressions. The darkness of Raider's Cove wasn't helping either, and it was a tad difficult to even know where anyone was. A dark furred Cathar had managed to sneak up behind her on the way to the alley way, and he was lucky he was just out of pole saber range. "You're really still keeping up this pirate thing though? It'd be easier to just abandon it all together."

"At this moment, we don't have anything to go on. It is easier to simply wait for the Howling Tempest's to show up and we can question them." Naji whispers, standing from her sitting position. It was still hot, but thankfully much cooler than it had been days before when they'd landed. She and Nadia had to hide in the cantinas to keep them from passing out. Jedi robes were, unsurprisingly, heavy and didn't leave much room for air. The two, keeping from garnering any unwanted attention, ended up in overcoats and looser tan clothing. Hiding the sabers had been harder, but the darkness of any room compared to the sun outside was enough to hide them. They ran into less questions than expected, other than the occasional 'so who are you running from?' from the occasional spacer.

"Be careful, please?" Felix had asked her once she was halfway off the Polaris, still a tad frustrated that he wouldn't take her with him to Rishi. Well, he acted as if he were unaffected, but he was pouting on the inside. "Dunno what I'd do if you died when I was away."

"I won't die, Felix. But if it makes you feel better, I promise to be careful." She says, rubbing the back of his hands with her thumbs. Calloused, roughened by years of war. But something about his eyes softened her insides to jelly. Dark, chocolate brown skin in comparison to her own sun-kissed pale hues, hazel orbs in comparison to her own azul irises. They were different, force blind, force sensitive, but she enjoyed their differences, and to think she'd let a pirate take her away from her soldier. "I love you." She whispers, pressing a kiss to his lips before Nadia appears at the top of the stairs.

"I love you too, Naj." Nadia passes by him, and he ruffles her white mop of hair, "Same goes for you Nadia. Be careful."

"Alright, alright." She says, trying to brush his hand away from her hair. While Nadia wouldn't say it, and still had a place in her heart for the memory of her father, she and Felix had a hard time not regarding the girl as their daughter. "Whatever you say, Felix." Nadia deadpans.

She nearly laughs herself, as dad was just on the tip of her tongue as Felix waved a final goodbye to the two women.

Still spooked her that someone had framed her as the leader of a cannibalistic gang even before she'd arrived. Sent a shiver down her core just listening to the rumors that quickly spread about her. Eating people? She wasn't anywhere near a picky eater, but the wide berth that had been given by most of the pirates and terrified looks behind their stoic appearances made her rethink going vegan.

Whoever really did go around eating people, she'd hunt down another day.

She heard the engine of speeder getting louder and louder, then abruptly stopping in front of the alley that she and Nadia had been hiding in. Pressing what she thought was the girl flatter against the wall, she was able to catch a larger man, decked out in black armor, making his way into the alley, rifle drawn. Others, the drunk night crowd she'd learned over the last few days, were slower to move away than the mostly sober ones who darted into shops or ran further into the alleys.

The woman who trailed after him, a woman on a mission with a lightsaber drawn and a red kyber crystal igniting it, made her blood run cold. No, no it couldn't be. It had to be some other Sith who just happened to be on Rishi at the same time as her. But one wavering gaze to where she and Nadia were hiding in plain sight, was enough to confirm that the Wrath had less than benevolent intentions of being here.

She pretended not to see her. Reaching out in the force, Naji could only feel a wall. Something between the force and her emotions, something she couldn't reach through. But it was ill-timed, because while attempting to do so, she had taken her mind off the Wrath long enough for the woman to pick up the roof of a stall and hurl it towards their current position.

Nadia just barely yanked her out of the way as the wooden roof crashed against the side of a building, and for a moment her ears were ringing as wood rained down on her and her padawan. "If you challenged me, show your face!" The Sith called out, all too close to where she and Nadia had just escaped near death. "I know you're here."

Hide your thoughts, hide your thoughts, she tried to reassure herself. The other girl couldn't see her, but reaching out to her in the force, they were quick regain their footing. Chunks of the roof came again, but Nadia forced up a barrier just in time, and Naji was quick to wrestle with the chunks from the Wrath. No longer invisible to the Sith and her companion, shots were fired off by the soldier as Naji managed to multi-task a bit and force a basket from a stand in his direction. With the Sith distracted, the chunks were in her control and she threw them back in their direction.

The two were quick, she'd admit. Too fast. Too soon, the Wrath had retaken the situation, and the soldier ducked out of the way, firing off a couple shots before his companion threw a chunk at the shield. Nadia was beginning to struggle, and as much as she tried to keep the woman distracted, she was beginning to fixate on the girl, growing closer and closer to the two before Naji could do anything. The wood was beginning to pound on their little safety bubble, and the gold light it was giving off was beginning to waver as Nadia's willpower did as well.

They had both gotten rusty over the last few years of being off the front lines. Now, they were paying for it.

"You wanted a challenge?" The wrath nearly purrs, before throwing one large panel of something from behind her. "Have one!"

Nadia ducks out of the way, rolling on her side as Naji puts up her own force shield, before something most literally pierces her shoulder, and she crumples in pain. Blood is beginning to gush from the wound, and her hand comes away sticky as she tries to figure what's happened. Eyes trained to the ground as she readjusts herself to be on her knees, her eyes trail upwards to the scantily dressed Sith Lord, and a quick reach with the force finds the rifle toting man now behind her that she hadn't seen before.

She's about to say something scathing before a fruit of some sort gets thrown -more like force thrown- at the Sith, and it clocks her in the head, a grunt escaping her as she can almost feel Nadia's giddy thoughts. Something she hadn't taught the girl, but it nearly made her laugh as anger flashed through the woman's eyes.

She raises one arm, and her heart stops when she hears struggling from her padawan, from her Nadia. Coughs, ragged breaths, as she holds her shoulder, hissing through her teeth from the pain. "Let her go!" Naji coughs out, red staining her pale fingertips.

The Wrath quirks an eyebrow, before Naji hears a slam and sees the woman throw her arm out to the side. Nadia hits the wall with a sickening snap, and Naji is about to have string of explatives leave her mouth before she hears more footsteps coming from the opposite direction. "That is enough!" With an Imperial accent.

Just barely turning her head, she can see green and black clad figure along with a red flash before she manages to stand herself. First, she rushes to Nadia, who groans first as her blue eyes crack open. Nothing seems to be immediatly broken, which fills her with undeniable anger. Fury, nearly, at the Wrath for hurting the girl.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There will be chaos if she hurts Nadia again, she thinks to herself.

"This wasn't the most conventional way to get them here, but I didn't think it'd lead to a fight!" Theron's voice, raspier than when they'd first met, but turning from Nadia's rising form, it's most definitely the SIS agent and his Sith companion. Her outfit had changed, but her blonde hair was still present. "Maybe you should've rethought this whole Sith and Jedi thing, Lana."

"I believed that the Barsen'thor would calm the situation first, though it seems the Wrath didn't give her the chance." Lana rubs her temples before turning to her, "Naji, it's been a while."

"It has." She grimaces, as the Wrath doesn't make eye contact with her. "You couldn't have sent a holo?"

"Discreet methods, I apologize for not making our intentions clear." Lana turns back to the Wrath, "You attacked the Barsen'thor?"

"In my defense, I was challenged by the leader of the Red Hulls at these coordinates. I didn't recognize them, fought them because of it. I wanted answers for why I was here and why someone pretended I was a gang leader." She responds, crossing her arms as her soldier reholsters his rifle. "You would have answers for me, wouldn't you?"

"We had to lure you here under false pretenses, but Lana thought it'd be smart to bring you both. Something about Revan being too dangerous to deal with, especially with only one of you, that we needed both." Theron responds, "This...wasn't supposed to happen."

"We're not the most predictable people either, Shan. That excited to see me?" And there it was, the same old Wrath with her flirtatous nature. That, hadn't changed even though her companion had. The burly man didn't seem to react at all, possibly they were weren't involved as she'd previously assumed.

"I..look, Naji will she be alright?" Theron asks, as Lana continues conversing with the Wrath. He hisses through his teeth once he gets a good look at her. "Will you be okay?"

"Nothing some kolto and meditation can't fix, Theron." She shakes her head and allows herself to smile, "It's good to see you too."

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sw5w · 8 months

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The Senators React

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:29:03

In this shot, you can see Orn Free Taa's two Twi'lek aides, Pampy and an unnamed Lethan female, who were added in the DVD release of Episode I to replace two human aides portrayed by costume designer Trisha Biggar and concept artist Iain McCaig.

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zzapzzaptasers-a · 6 years

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alt!

My lazy ass is copy/pasting my first post from a Leia/Boba rp I was doing on Elli/quiy BECAUSE I ABANDONED THAT SITE BUT I WAS REALLY PROUD OF HOW I WROTE LEIA OK

Among fifty million systems, with an untold number of planets circling several hundred billion stars, a standard year had passed since Leia had last seen Han Solo, whole and unharmed, but on each of the planets she had stepped on, a minute had felt like hours. Plans had been made, tortured over, each moment anticipated. Endless credits had been poured into reconnaissance, every favor Leia or Lando had ever accumulated emptied into a single plan that had seemed entirely foolproof, faultless. These plans and other diversions had occupied the endless time for Leia, and yet every moment had felt like an ache, an eon, seconds marbling into eternity to mingle with the stars, gone forever. She had always been in the moment, focused on the business at hand, but always, too, had her thoughts dwindled on the scruff of his upper lip scratching against hers, the chill in the air as he descended into a shallow pit of hell, the forlorn expression in eyes that had always been so consistently defiant. Plagued by nightmares of that look in Han's eyes, of unsympathetic black t-bar visors in green helmets, of planets ceasing to exist and the recycled breathing that followed her without end, exhaustion had courted Leia in Han's place. Sleep was a luxury; a flighty lover who came around for an hour or two at a time, demanding in the worst of places, and never spent the night. Others had voiced concern for her, for the dark half-moons that had taken up residence under her eyes, but she had turned away from them without an explanation.What could she say? What answer would assauge their fears without igniting fresher ones? A prominent leader of the rebellion, shook to her core? Unconscionable. When the time had come, Leia had not hesitated, had not dallied over reluctance or the fear of danger. The leather and metal spiked customized armor had practically fallen into Leia's lap, fitting to her form as if it had been made specifically for her rather than the recently deceased (and somewhat secretly so) Ubese bountyhunter, Boushh. Brown leather sat easily on her curves, diminishing them to near nothing, the helmet scrambling her voice and hiding her hair until there was nothing female about her. Test missions had proven her unrecognizable -- and, luckily, Boushh's most common partner had been a Wookie by the name of Snoova, which allowed for Chewie to follow her without too many questions being raised.How strange it had been to move among crowds in Coruscant without the feel of creeping, malevolant gazes, each step unidentified feeding her pieces of hope.Infiltrating Jabba Desilijic Tiure's palace had been effortless, an obvious step towards finding and freeing Han. When the borrowed leather boots crossed over into the Hutt's lair, Leia could hardly breath with the anticipation. Somewhere within that hellhole, Han was frozen, captured in his most vulnerable and weakened state and the desire to go immediately to him was strong; foolish, but hard to fight against, even with Chewie standy beside her, always the solid, steady figure to remind her of their myriad assortment of goals.It had all been too easy; the exchange of Chewbacca, the ploy with the thermal detonator and Jabba's laughing compromise. Somehow, she had known the truth even then-- a dark feeling that started in the pit of her stomache and radiated up, hunkering down in the space between her shoulders and dancing across the backs of her arms. Too easy.Too easy.Nothing had gone wrong yet and that in itself was wrong.And then everything had gone terribly wrong all at once.It had only been hours since she freed Han Solo from his carbonite prison, watching him spill from it's melted contents onto the floor like so much liquid instead of man, but already Leia couldn't remember the way Han shivered against her, the way he responded to her touch starved lips, how she felt. Was she relieved? Had her heart hammered in its cage, beating an erratic rhythm against her ribs? Memories she would have like to have kept for darker moments, food for that fatal hope, swept away in the following overwhelming events to leave her terribly alone in a room filled with alien strangers who only laughed when they could be persuaded to look her way.Jabba's inner palace was dark, without windows, all the more to keep the Tatooine sun away, and while the shade did lend it's purpose to the dank, opulent lair, the lack of a breeze kept the air stagnant. It stank -- not only of the beasts that Jabba kept beneath their feet and around the edges of the room (either locked up or on leashes similar in design to the chain kept on her, although some of the less sentient creatures had more room to roam than she did), but of Jabba himself. The mighty gastropod reeked of urine and body odor, mold and particles of uneaten creatures that had escaped his mouth and found its way into the fold of his giant crusting body and when he yanked Leia close, the almost delicate looking collar chafing around her neck, the smell was all that filled her senses, as if nothing in the galaxy existed outside of the rank Hutt. Sweat was quickly becoming a new normal, a constant and unpleasant fact of life that collected itself under the uncomfortable band of her metal bra top, around the tarnished gold hip clasps that kept the ridiculous excuse for a skirt flowing around her legs, and Leia wondered how she had ever taken freshers and baths for granted in all the years she had lived on Alderaan. (For a moment, she considered that she'd be willing to give up the rebellion if only she could have a bath -- a deeply morbid thought she quickly banished, eyes downcast with shame as if anyone present could hear and witness the state of her mind)Lost in thought, it took Leia several minutes to realize she was the topic of tension and several more breaths to realize her whole self was being bartered over -- or pushed off on another. It took herculean effort on her part to appear somewhere in the middle ground of disinterested and angry, to not appear panicked as she listened in to the Twi'lek majordomo contend with the bounty hunter over his payment, and whether or not the price on her head was worth the endeavors of Boba Fett to get Han Solo to Jabba.Boba Fett - how much more manlike he seemed now, in front of her with his hand on his blaster and every inch of him alert, tense, compared to the beast of her waking nightmares. He'd seemed so much more unreal, phantasmal, on Cloud City, that strange floating encampment above Bespin and she stared at him for several long moments, trying to reconcile that image of him with the understandably frustrated man before her. It didn't take long for his head to turn and take her in, as well, and Leia gawked at herself reflected back in that expressionless black visor.His grasp relaxed on his weapon and the stiffness in the palace eased."...Fine." He'd said.It wasn't fine. Guards collected her, not bothering to be gentle with their hands, pressing fingers into the soft exposed flesh of her arms and thighs and Leia fought, thrashed, as they dragged her bodily from what passed as a throne room into the more secluded domestic burroughs of the palace. It wasn't fine.There was no contingency for this, no back-up plan. To be thrown as carelessly into the room of a bounty hunter as she was hadn't been expected or planned for -- everything was ruined by this bizarre outcome.The floor was cooler in his rooms than by the giant Hutt, although Leia could not enjoy it, not even as it soothed the bruises she could already see blooming across her thighs. The door closed behind the retreating guards and locked with a click from the outside and once again, she was forced to blink in the dim lights, trying to adjust her eyesight to the environment around her. Empty. Sparse. Spartan.She hadn't known what she had expected -- something sentimental, perhaps, to use against him? Her eyes skimmed along empty surface after empty surface until, finally, it alighted on the blaster. Suspicion blossomed in her gut, that dark, foreboding feeling arising to the forefront of her mind. It wasn't his primary weapon, of that Leia was certain, but a Mandalorian worth his life would never leave a weapon unattended, out in the open, especially with an unrestrained captive loose. But she was skilled enough with a blaster and she might never get another opportunity like this.Her hand wavers over it, fingers trembling. Could she out-shoot him? He was legendary in his own right and although she had, from time to time, unlikely luck in such situations, Leia doubted she could stretch that luck much further.Torn, she stands over the blaster, fingers stretching and curling reflexively as she listened in the quiet dark for any sign of a return.

#tw lost post #ooc #Man I kind of miss being able to write that much in a single post BUT ALAS #ironimmortal

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arielsojourner · 7 years

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Vader Strikes Back - Part the 7th

Not beta read/really rough/not really proof read/plot holes and OUT of order. Also spoilers for the original first story in AO3 Back From the Future: Episode VI The Clone Wars. Check the tag #vader strikes back on my page for the other parts to this mess/fic outline.

Trying something new with this part. Not sure if it works or if I will rewrite the whole thing. Let me know if it works.

“So we made it to Tatooine,” a voice with a noticeable Mando'a accent began as the holocam view spins slowly around taking in yellow dunes and a cloudless sky. “Most of the settlements are in the northern hemisphere of the planet. I say settlements, but this is pretty much all there is in the north. Sand and looking over here, even more sand. And what’s over in the west? Sand. The south? Almost no one goes to the southern hemisphere because there’s absolutely nothing to see there either. Except sand of course. There’s nothing to see on this entire, Force-forsaken, garbage masher of a–”

*click*

“Are the scramblers in place?”

Even through the helmet, one can see the visible eyeroll that question causes. “For the tenth time Joc, the scramblers are in place. We’re good to go. As soon as He gives us the signal, we go in and we get everyone out.”

The holoimage shakes and wobbles.

“Stand still, will you?” Another helmeted figure hisses. “We’ve got the easy part.”

“You say that but where’s the signal, huh? Why hasn’t He–“

Static garbles the holo-transmission for several seconds and there is an ear shattering boom.

“Move, move!” a trooper orders and they are on the run, bursting through the subterranean tunnels and breaking down every door they can find. It’s dark and only the lights from the clone trooper helmets’ illuminate the cells and the huddle broken figures packed inside.

*click*

From the high angle of the holoimage, the viewer can see a male Crolute is standing on a raised stage before a raucous crowd, shiny datapad in hand. “I hear 32, do I hear 40? 40 peggats for this fine specimen. She’s still got some youth to her, do I hear 48? 48 to the Lady Murra, thank you for you bid. 56! Thank you, sir. Do I hear 64? She’ll earn you that back in a week, look at her!” he crows reaching over to pull off her barely closed shirt exposing her to the eyes of the crowd. “Do I hear 64?”

The girl, barely into her teens, simply keeps her head lowered. She makes no move to cover herself. She stands still and silent on the stage.

“Tell me I can kill him,” a voice mutters darkly.

“Wait, Redeye.”

“I want to kill him. I’ve got the shot. Let me take the damn shot, Captain.”

“Wait.”

“Sold!” the auctioneer roars and two Weequays take hold of the newly purchased slave and drag her from the stage. The Crolute motions for the next lot and the guards drag forth a Twi'lek child from the holding pens. The child is barely old enough to toddle on his own two feet. His face is a howling mask of grief and pain.

“Ryma!” the child cries, his hands reaching desperately behind him to the figures packet tightly into cages. “Ryma! Ryma!”

“Skrag this,” Redeye swears and the holocamera captures perfectly the moment where the guards and the auctioneer are taken out with three quick headshot blasts from sniper rifle.

“REDEYE!” a voice roars.

“Go ahead and put me on report, Captain. I don’t care!” Redeye yells back as the camera angle shifts again and again as he snipes people in the panicking crowd, taking out slavers execution style with one perfect headshot after another. “I’m not watching one more second of this kriffing, messed up–“

There is a thrum of an engine, the familiar whine of a troop transport. Air support casts a large shadow over the auction square. A dark blurry figure falls from the sky to a land amid the screaming chaos of bodies. The mic on the holocamera picks up an all to familiar snap-hiss.

*click*

“–so introduce everyone already, Echo!” the trooper out of the holoframe, but holding the camera, calls out.

“Right, so this is Xian,” Echo says pointing at one of the people sitting with him in the courtyard. They are a motley crew each standing or sitting with slug throwing rifles in their hands, braced against their shoulders, resting on their bent knees. “And this is Lore, Etamin, Kor-Joo, and Anequis. They’re here helping us with the liberation of the planet. Lots of people are willing to help, which sure makes a change from the Wars. They’re helping us organize. Say hello to the rest of the GAR everyone!”

*click*

The holoimage moves around as if the camera is being held by someone drunk.

“Put it into focus. No! Not like that! Push the other button!”

“I can do it, CT-9779! I’m not a nerf, you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” CT-9779 replies under his breath.

“Shut up.”

“Can you just let me do it? It’s my camera! I don’t want you to break it. What are you even trying to do?”

“I’m trying to– ah-ha!” The image stops shaking and then zooms in quickly on the building. Hanging by a chain from the highest tower is a bulbous blurry mass. Then the image comes into focus.

It is the body of a Hutt, dangling in the air. It is wrapped and strangled by chains, purifying in the desert heat, and covered with insects feasting on the rotting remains.

“Really? Of all the things to use my camera for, you want to take a holo of that? You think people want to see that festering pile of–“

“Are you kidding me? This is THE holo. This, right here. People are gonna want to have this framed and in their homes, I tell you. Jabba, dead at last! I only wish we’d managed to get a holo of that moment where He used the Force to wrap the chains around him and choke him to death. The look on his face!”

*click*

“Put the weapon down! Put it down!”

The richly dressed man presses the blade even deeper into the young boy’s throat. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him if you don’t let me go!”

“Put the weapon down and release the boy or we’ll fire!”

“We can come to an arrangement. You can take this one if you leave me be. I’m a reasonable man! I’m being reasonable!”

“Kriff you, we don’t make deals with child raping scum! Let the boy go!”

The boy who’d been hanging limp in the slaver’s grasp seems to suddenly steel himself. He raises his hands and digs his nails into the arm pinning him and turns his head, heedless of the blade at his throat and bites down, hard.

The man screams, the blade slices, blood arcs, the troopers fire.

The camera jostles and the troopers’ hands come into view, pressing against the boy’s gaping throat as he lies fallen on the carpeted floor of the lavish bedroom. “Sith hell! Get a medic! GET A MEDIC!”

*click*

Sharp cracking shots fill the air. The helmet holocamera view is partially obscured by a building wall.

“They’re above the catina! Left Foot! Bats! Do you hear me? They’re above the cantina!”

A woman pushes the trooper aside, steps out behind the cover of the building and brings her slug throwing rifle to bear.

“Get back!” The trooper yells grabbing her and yanking her back under cover. “Xian, are you crazy? We need to coordinate, you can’t just–“

There is a sudden pop and the front of the cantina explodes into a fire ball.

Xian spits and then stands, weapon at the ready and advances into the fray.

“Skrag this! Left Foot, we’re going in!”

*click*

The holoimage is dominated by the cockpit of the fighter. Armored hands work the controls. A piece of starry space is visible through the bend of the transparisteel canopy.

“Swinging around for another sweep,” a trooper voice crackles as if heard through a long tunnel.

“Stay in formation, Kickback. We’re having a hard enough time covering the whole planet with this CAP to have you straggling.”

“Negative, Pike. I’m getting something, something from the southern hemisphere.”

“I’ve got nothing on my scopes,” another voice protests. “No one even lives in the southern hemisphere.”

A sliver of the yellow sunbaked planet is visible now through the canopy.

“I’m telling you, there’s something,” Kickback insists, priming his weapons. “Come around to flank me. I think we’ve got someone about to try and run the blockade.”

“Another feeling, huh?”

Kickback laughs. “I haven’t been wrong yet. There! Do you see? Switch to visual tracking. The engine trail. Point five.”

“They’re flying like a mynok outta hell,” Pike remarks. “Unidentified ship. You are ordered to stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

“They’re not answering and they’re not stopping.”

“I can see that Oddball,” Pike responds with exasperation. “Comm the Dauntless, tell them we have our first catch of the day. Kickback, can you--”

“Hyperspace event!” another voice shouts over the comms. “We’ve got someone coming out of lightspeed!”

“Who is it?”

“GAR cruiser, sir!”

“Blast it, forget about that! The ship is making a break for it!” Kickback yelled. “We can’t let them–!”

*click*

“Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth or are you just a meat sack in armor with a gun? I don’t keep slaves. Everyone works for me because they chose to,” the woman insists. “It’s a job.” She turns and gestures to the various barely clad species huddled behind her.

“Everyone gets scanned,” the trooper insists. “Denal?”

The trooper steps forward and raises the strangely cobbled together device.

The woman stares at the scanner and her eyes widen and she pales. “L-look, I’m telling you. There’s been a mistake. This is a house of pleasure. The girls and boys here make a decent living. What’s wrong with a little companionship? You, trooper. Denal, is it? Don’t you want to rest a bit? Spend some quality time with one or two of my employees? On the house, of course!”

The device flashes once and Denal turns the screen so the woman can see. “Employees, huh? Then why are they all implanted with transmitters and bombs?”

*click*

In the dim light it is hard to make out much, but the clone armor still stands out, reflecting back the emergency lanterns as the trooper digs frantically with his hands, a part of his own armor, and what appears to be the Force, at the side of a mountain.

“Hardcase? Hardcase, there’s nothing more to be done.”

“They were just behind me, sir,” Hardcase explains as he strains to move more debris. “The little one, he was hanging from my shoulders. They’re probably just past these rocks. They’re probably waiting for us to get them out. We just need to dig a little bit more. We just need to prop this up with something--”

With every boulder shifted, ever meter dug, his progress is eaten away by the force of gravity, dragging down more of the mountain.

Hardcase lets out a noise of frustration. “I need some help,” he finally says. “I just need some help digging.” He turns and faces the officer who is trying to get him to stop. “Captain, is Fives up yet? What about Chatterbox? And Cooker? If they’ve recovered, we can clear the entrance together. We can use the Force and–“

“Fives, Cooker, and Chatterbox are still unconscious,” Captain Rex interrupts quietly. “So’s Flare and Bats. They held up the mountain as long as they could. You need to rest too, soldier.”

Hardcase blinks. Then he shakes himself and turns back to his task.

“Just a bit more, Captain. They were just behind me. They’re waiting. I’ve just gotta move a few more rocks. Just a few more, yeah.”

*click*

“Anakin? Anakin, enough now. Turn it off, please.”

#vader strikes back #luke and vader save the galaxy #star wars the clone wars #prequels

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ct-hardcase · 5 years

Photo

Sometimes you want your evil power couple to go on vacation and wear plushy hotel robes.

#inquisitorius #unidentified twi'lek inquisitor #no offense star wars but really. how long am I going to have to use those unidentified tags.#can you please at least release the names for my poor soul.#star dorks #start dorks #inquisitorius tag #CTartcase #Iskat

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thegarbagechute · 7 years

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The Twi'lek tried to carefully put all the pieces of fruit he had just bartered off a merchant in his old, raggedy bag that turned out to be too small this time around for his purchases. The fabric stretched but not by enough to keep some of the holes in it from opening up even further.

He gave up on his attempt to put the last piece in his bag and took it in hand instead while he continued wandering down the dwindling road. On either side of it, merchants and brokers of all kind were starting to take down their stands and remove their wares from the public's eye as the day and the market drew to a close.

A couple of Jawas and their translation droid seemed to be in a heated argument with a Duros fellow who had something clenched tight in his fist and was shaking it furiously at the Jawas, no doubt expressing his opinion on his recent purchase. Even though they were a long ways away from Tatooine, there was no shortage of brokering Jawas on this backwater desert planet either and here too, not all of their goods were worth something despite them claiming otherwise.

Azil'mort paid it no further mind and let his eyes lazily roll to the other side of the road as he walked on, his hands fiddling a little bit with the piece of fruit which closely resembled a dragonfruit.

His eyes fell on a large cage and two gentlemen nearby of unidentifiable species as they had their back turned towards him, grunting and wiping sweat off their brows while they loaded one of the cargo speeders they had with them with smaller cages; some empty and some containing various critters they undoubtedly had intended to sell as pets to the public.

The large cage, too, was still occupied. However, Azil'mort assumed for a brief moment that the beast locked in it was no longer alive as it did not move at all when he walked past until he heard a soft chirp.

He slowed in his step and the creature stirred, weakly lifting up its head. It turned to face him and it edged a little closer to the bars that kept it imprisoned. Intrigued, Azil stopped and observed the creature from where he stood, a mere four steps away from it.

The creature seemed so pale and sickly, that he never would have guessed it to be a Varactyl had it not moved its head between the bars and out of the shadows, its beak and feathery mane now visible, though the latter was lacking all the vibrant colours that was so distinctive of the species and not as voluminous. Azil instantly attributed its condition to its captors, who had taken up arguing over how the platform should be loaded.

He was about to turn away and walk on, but, as if it had sensed it, the Varactyl chirped louder this time to draw his attention and it succeeded. Azil raised a brow and watched it jerk its head towards him, its mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Only when he noticed the creature's nostrils flare, did Azil'mort remember the fruit in his hands.

"Right, of course," he murmured under his breath. He cast a quick look at the salesmen nearby, who had yet to notice his presence, before he stepped towards the cage.

The Varactyl perked up a bit, as though it was surprised that his attention-luring tactics had worked. It eagerly shifted forwards when Azil knelt down. He tore the fruit in two and offered the first half his right hand. The Varactyl was hesitant to take it at first, but when Azil moved his hand just a tiny bit closer, the creature seemed assured it was okay to take it without getting beat. Carefully, it took the first chunk of fruit out of his hands with its beak, but then wasted no further time and gobbled it right down. Expecting as such, Azil already had the other portion of it ready when he heard a loud, unhealthy cough.

"What do you think you're doing?" a condescending voice called to him from just a few steps away. Azil did not bother looking up at all and merely kept his eyes trained on the Varactyl while it also ate the second piece.

"A dead cargo is a worthless cargo, wouldn't you agree?" the Twi'lek answered.

At the lack of any further response to that, Azil did look up and saw that he was dealing with two Nikto gentlemen. They looked scruff but were by no means as intimidating as they clearly made themselves out to be, no matter how fiercely they crossed their arms over their chest. Eventually one of them thought of a comeback.

"You think we're not taking care of our goods?" the one on the left asked, trying hard to sound like he had taken offence to that.

"Judging by the condition of this one here-" Azil nodded at the Varactyl in front of him that was now curiously sniffing at Azil'mort, "I would say that you are not. The pale skin and missing feather ridges on its back and head as well indicates lack of vitamins and minerals--"

"She came to us like that," the Nikto on the right said, clearly getting impatient with the Twi'lek already, who had started to gently stroke the Varactyl's beak with one hand.

"Oh, of course she has," Azil nodded understandingly, "as did they, I assume?" He pointed at the smaller cages stacked by the road. He could make out lumps and little legs and fur, but whatever was inside them, Azil could not recall having seen it move even slightly just once.

Only one of the Niktos could be bothered to actually turn and look at what he was pointing at, while the clearly more dominant and impatient one on the left had run out of patience.

"Look, are you going to buy her off of us or not? Otherwise just beat it, old man."

Azil rolled his eyes at that cheap insult and turned his head to the Varactyl in front of him, who was eyeing him intently. Whether she was trying her hardest to get him to give more fruit or not, he could not help but feel sorry for her and a small bond between them... even though he knew jack about creatures, unless parts of them contributed to medical breakthroughs and the Varactyl was not one of those.

"Well, it is certainly going to take a lot of time to nurse her back to her former self... Probably a lot of training to get her strength back before she can be ridden again by anyone... So I am thinking you might as well give her to me, because honestly, in this state she's not worth much."

The Niktos looked at each other in disbelief. Having gotten confirmation from one another that what they heard was exactly what the Twi'lek had said, they started laughing.

"We ain't just gonna give away our most valuable piece, are we now, old man?" the impatient one asked, probably rhetorically, but it was tough to say.

"That insult is wearing out, so you might want to consider adjusting your tone before I stuff you in one of your cages," Azil'mort calmly replied.

Whether it was getting told by a beggarly Twi'lek that they needed to adjust their tone or the threat that they would be shoved into a cage that did the trick, the Niktos adjusted their stance nevertheless and the one on the right slowly reached for his blaster at his hip.

Azil'mort laughed and shook his head.

"You know what, I don't have time for this. I need to get going if I want to be back home by nightfall, really," he chuckled. He stood up and the Varactyl chirped softly in response. The Niktos seemed to relax when he took a step back from the cage and eagerly waited for him to turn around and scram. However, Azil brought his hands up to his chest and in a swift move pulled them apart. The metal bars of the cage screeched under unseen force as they bent and snapped violently, leaving a large hole.

The Niktos jumped back and stared wide-eyed at the Twi'lek as he coaxed the Varactyl out of the remnants of its enclosure.

"I'm sorry I scared you, darling, but there was no reasoning with these people. Here, have another piece of fruit."

She carefully wormed her way through the makeshift door in her cage, keeping her head low after she had stepped out and circled the Twi'lek, taking the fruit from his hand. He patted her on the back with a smile before turning his attention back to the Nikto duo who had yet to recover from the unexpected turn of events and merely gawked at him from several feet away.

"You can sell that to the Jawas as scrap metal," he jerked his head towards the cage, "which, I reckon, will get you half of what any person would have paid for her, so you gentlemen enjoy that and... see you next week?"

One of them regained his posture fast enough to clear his throat and nod weakly. "Yeah, sure, why... why not... Yeah..."

Azil grinned.

"Good! Let's go, darling, I've had enough of this place for now."

He turned on his heel and set off, his new companion sticking by his side as he continued following the road out of town and into the desert.

#azil'mort #writings #varactyl #which I don't know how to draw but hey #swtor #fic #feel free to point out any mistakes thanks

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