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niqhtlord01 · 3 years

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Humans are Weird: Soldier without a war. Part I

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“You sure the speks don’t patrol there?”

“If they did do you really think I’d bring this rust bucket along for a job?”

Melp strapped himself into the copilot’s chair and looked over the console readings one last time. All systems were showing minimal operational capacity which normally would have been setting off alarm bells but with how things had been going for him and his captain lately it was the best they could ask for.

Melp was part of the salvage company “Outlying Star”, co-owner in fact with his partner and current captain Galem. When the war against humanity had started the two had thought it was the best idea to make a fortune with all the wrecks floating between star systems from fleet combat and had went all in on a converted freighter to pick through the bones and sell what they could.

At first Melp and Galem had made a killing, bringing in semi functional sub space drives and salvaged fully automated hard shell loaders from human ships. They made enough to fund a fleet of five ships and live the good life back on Valfha without a care in the world; for a little while at least.

Galem thought it was because of the government’s restrictions on salvageable items that had hampered their business but Melp believed it was because they were just too good at it that and had inspired countless others to take up the salvage game. Soon markets, both legal and black, became flooded with salvaged goods and people willing to undercut each other to make a quick buck. Neutron cannon went from 3.5 billion credits in value to just under 300 million credits in the span of six months. As a side effect of the sudden influx of salvage parts the government began taking notice and cracked down hard. Salvagers were called “Scavies” and deemed criminals by the government and the military would all too happily fire on any scavy ship they spotted. Seems they weren’t too happy about people rummaging through the wrecks of ships that once held their friends and the government would turn a blind eye if a scavy ship was destroyed during “Live Fire Exercises”.

Soon the jobs became even riskier and Outlying Star lost three ships after they were caught and destroyed. Another had to be sold for parts and salvage and now the final ship, the Morning Gale, was the last hope for Galem and Melp to make back some money.

“How do you even know this site hasn’t been picked clean already?” Melp asked over his shoulder as Galem entered the cockpit and locked the door behind him. “We could be wasting our time on a fantasy.” Galem shook his head which did little to ease Melp’s concerns.

“I got it from a reliable source that there was a big fight in the Glipi Cluster that we lost to the humans.” Galem began as he took the controls and slowly pulled back on the engine throttle as the ship ascended. “It was so embarrassing that the navy wiped all records of the battle and said the destroyed ships were lost in a freak transition from sub space into a rogue comet cluster.”

“If the data was wiped how does your source know about it?” Melp quipped as the ship breached upper atmosphere and exited the travel lanes for the jump point.

Galem smirked as he engaged the sub space drive.

“They were there.”

As the salvage ship exited sub space Melp let out a gasp. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes yet when he opened them all he could see was a shroud of purple. Galem saw Melp’s confused expression and chuckled.

“It’s the color of the gas filtering through this entire cluster.” He said calmly as he flicked on several scanners and filter units. “Try looking now.”

Melp looked again as the shades of purple faded away and let out a startled gasp. Upon gazing out of the cockpit window he could see why the navy had wanted to cover up this place so badly.

Floating around them were dozens of lifeless wrecks of Mibari warships ranging from light destroyers to several cruisers. Compared to their tiny ship it was as if Melp and Galem had entered the realm of giants. Melp was transfixed by the wrecks and became utterly enthralled when a massive shadow draped across their vessel.

“Is that what I think it is?” Melp spoke sheepishly as his blue hands trembled and changed to a soft orange color. Galem leaned forward in his seat to look out the window and whistled as his eyes caught sight of what had terrified Melp.

“A galaxy class troop carrier.”

The massive ship spun slowly in place like a top that refused to stop spinning, the metal interior exposed in several places from weapons revealing a dark interior of metal supports and long dead hallways. Melp looked towards the front of the ship as the command deck slowly spun into view and he was surprised to see the name of the ship had survived the damage it had taken.

“The Vault of Ohya…” Melp softly spoke. He reached out with an arm and shook Galem who was smiling like a hatchling on birthing day. “That’s the Vault of Ohya!”

“A piece of her hull to the right collector would be enough to refurbish this little dingy,” Galem said as he playfully smacked the command console, “into one hell of a floating casino.”

The two of them broke down into fits of laughter as if they had just been driven mad by their findings; but it was not of madness that now drove them but the sheer joy of their discovery.

These dozen ships floating lifelessly in the cluster were more than enough to bring the two of them back into the life of luxury they once held and keep them there until their dying days.

Melp was still star gazing at the shattered troop carrier when something else suddenly grabbed his attention.

“What’s that?”

Melp tore his gaze away from the Ohya and saw what Galem was looking at.

A new vessel slowly drifted out of the shadow of the troop carrier and came into view. It was clearly a human vessel of some kind; the lack luster design a clear give away. The body of the ship was missing sections of itself, but rather than appearing as if it had been damaged in the battle it looked more as if the ship had not finished being built. Sections of the body were lacking armor showing a complex network of pipes and corridors. The hull was painted in a soft grey color that stood out sharply among the ever shifting gas cloud surrounding it. Rows of gun ports ran along the sides, their openings revealing nothing of the pitch black interior giving them the appearance of small gaping mouths ready to consume Melp and his ship.

The more Melp looked at the ship the more he felt something was just wrong with it. Galem must have felt something as well as he pulled up the virtual display and began interacting with it.

“Not sure what that thing is but it’s not listed in the records.” He said as he closed the display and leaned over the controls to get a better view of it. The tingling feeling at the bottom of Melp’s three stomachs was starting to grow stronger as his uneasiness did not subside.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there’s no record of that ship variant from the entire war with humanity on any recorded file.” He popped open the virtual display again and flicked it over so it was hovering in front of Melp to view while he fiddled with the controls again. “Which means it’s worth a whole lot more than anything here.”

“How do you figure that?” As a response to Melp’s question he waved his arm across the scattered wrecks.

“Out of all the ships here the human ones are all clustered around that one as if they meant to protect it.” Galem said as he began moving the ship closer to the strange human ship.

“They could have bugged out and ran, but instead they all fought and died just to protect that thing; which means something on it must’ve been worth defending.”

Melp knew what Galem had some merit, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still very wrong; but before he could raise his concerns though a loud shudder ran through the scavenger ship.

“Get your suit on,” Galem said as he exited out of the cockpit, “let’s go find us some treasure.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If the exterior of the ship had uneased Melp, the interior down right terrified him.

No sooner had the airlock door opened the two scavengers leaped back in shock. Standing at the entrance was a humanoid looking figure. Galem screamed and grabbed hold of a nearby cutting tool and swung it at the figure before Melp could even say anything.

A shower of sparks eradiated off the figure’s body as the plasma torch cut into it, all the while Galem was continuing to scream, and cut a decent size hole through the beings torso.

“Shut it!” Melp shouted at Galem, forcing the scared halfwit to calm down some while Melp inched closer and retrieved the still burning plasma torch. The figure had not moved and inch even as the torch had melted away his exterior and as Melp moved closer still he noticed why.

“It’s an automated drone you idiot.”

Melp motioned him forward and the two of them inspected the machine.

It was human shaped but it was entirely of metal and wires, a mindless drone used for menial tasks such as inventory handling or maintenance. It wore a human uniform for some reason which clashed with its blank reflective visor face.

“Why’s it standing here?” Galem asked as he nervously tapped the drone. The touch pushed it off the ground and the dead drone slowly lifted off the ground in the zero-g environment and floated back into the ship, bouncing off the back wall before continuing to silently float away.

“Maybe it’s here to greet us?” Melp chuckled as he activated his mag locks and his feet latched on to the metallic floor. Galem followed suit and the two began entering the derelict ship.

“Can’t be,” Galem began as they reached the airlock secondary doors and began slowly opening them, “these tin cans would run out of power in a day and it’s been years since this tussle went down.”

With several loud grunts as the two strained with the manual release the inner airlock to the human ship finally cracked open. The two entered slowly, not knowing what to expect, and took stock of their surroundings.

They entered a long hallway that seemed to stretch out far into the distance passed the reach of their head lamps. Melp could see side corridors scattered every few dozen feet no doubt leading to other sections of the ship, but likewise they too were pitch black.

Something about Melp’s comment made him pull out his data scroll and do a quick scan. The device beeped rapidly as the scan commenced before ending with a loud “DING” and displaying a waterfall of information.

Melp read the data as the two continued to hover by the airlock entrance.

“It says here that somethings still giving off a power signature here.” Melp commented as he ran he scan again to be sure.

“Give it here,” Galem said as he turned to Melp with his hand outstretched, “you must be reading it-“

When Galem didn’t finish his sentence Melp looked up and saw something akin to a mixture of fear and surprise on his face. He was staring at something over his shoulder so Melp slowly turned in place , his magnetic feet latching heavily to the decking with each step like two magnets smashing together.

When he finally turned around he let out a yelp of surprise and tried to jump back, but his magnetic feet kept him firmly locked to the floor leaving him in an almost comical off balance state.

Standing directly behind him was another of the drones, this one dressed in what appeared to be some sort of security uniform even including an empty weapon holster at his side.

Neither of the scavengers knew how the thing got there as it most certainly hadn’t been standing there a moment ago. Before either of them could respond the drone’s visor lit up and displayed a pixelated face. The visor was damaged with a deep crack running the length of it making the display flicker in and out on half the screen giving it an eerily ghost like visage.

“The captain,” the drone began as it stepped to one side of the hallway and extended a hand into the darkness, “requests your presence on the bridge.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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sullustangin · 3 years

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Darth Marr and Satele Shan: Names and Priorities

I’ve reached the point in my Yavin fic that I’m starting to use Marr’s POV on occasion. One of the things I’ve been chewing on (likely to the annoyance of others) has been the Marr-Satele-Theron dynamic during the Yavin 4 op. It’s clear that Satele and Marr have put aside differences and have become friends (as much as a Force ghost and a self-exiled Jedi Master can be friends) by Chapter 12 of KotFE.

I give credit to @swtorpadawan for posting about Satele on Yavin 4 a few months ago and being willing to have continued discourse about the post -- thank you. In comments and reblogs, there’s been discussion about how to interpret Satele’s references to Theron during the op and her motivations for why she does this.

This is a spin-off of that post, since I’ll be focusing more on the dynamic between Marr and the Shans instead of Theron and Satele.

During the Yavin op, Theron is consistently referred to as Theron, not as Agent Shan or as Shan. The issue of his last name is avoided. A few people (including me) have the headcanon that ‘Shan’ is a common name in the galaxy, like Smith or Patel or Garcia would be on our world; two people named Shan does not a family connection make, necessarily. It would explain why Theron doesn’t have a code name (though he jokingly? complains about it on first meeting).

And yet, Satele avoids using the name in reference to Theron. So does Marr. And Theron doesn’t insist on being referred to by his last name, even though his peer, Lana Beniko, is referred to as ‘Beniko’ by Marr. (Satele never addresses Lana using her name.)

Why the dance?

Honestly, when I try to reverse-engineer dev!logic, in terms of the game design for Yavin 4, I’d guess it was done to help the player differentiate between Grand Master Shan and Agent Shan. And maybe that’s all it is: calling Theron “Theron” just keeps the player from getting confused, especially if the player isn’t a Jedi and doesn’t know Satele; and/or skipped the Forged Alliances quests and thus doesn’t know Theron.

Within the universe, however, what’s an explanation a player can come up with?

The Spies in Question

Theron’s name was broadcast across the galaxy as a wanted man for killing Colonel Darok. He was to be apprehended on sight, but Theron was a spy; spy agencies to this day rarely let any images of their active duty agents be circulated, even if they do go rogue or defect to the other side. Theron’s image in direct connection to his name and job as SIS agent would be on a need-to-know basis. This has led me to headcanon that Director Trant was well-aware of Theron going off the grid; in fact, he aided and abetted it.

Lana, on the other hand, was a known member of the Sphere of Military Offense. She commanded troops on Hoth. She had a known face, and there was an Imperial bounty contract on her head, per Theron at Manaan. If anything, Lana was in as much danger as Jakarro; someone could try to claim the bounty on her head, since the bounties weren’t lifted til the end of the Yavin op.

And yet, Theron’s name was the unspeakable one.

Satele and Theron

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I feel that the dynamic between Theron and Satele is not that of son and mother; both of them have gotten past that decision. Rather, it’s more similar to a child who was given up for adoption looking for some sort of acknowledgement from his birth family -- it’s not love. It’s not approval. It’s.... complicated. Acknowledgement of existence. Acknowledgement that the decision had impact on Theron well beyond his first year of life. Acknowledgement that Satele hurt Jace.

I’ve interpreted Theron’s bristling at the use of the term “my agent” to be more directed at the possessiveness of the word, yet how far apart they still are, despite the biological connections. Technically, Yavin 4 was the first time they worked on an op together. This was their first professional collaboration. They haven’t seen each other socially, they can’t talk about their issues/relationship/whatever.....and they have to save the galaxy together.

Giving up Theron doesn’t mean Satele felt nothing. She privately struggles with what she did and how it turned out -- still does, based on 6.2. However, she, like Jace and Theron, believe in serving the cause at great personal cost. Seeing Theron beat to hell after Rishi bothered her -- it would bother anyone with any sense of compassion (which she does have). Theron got the beatdown he did because he was taken by the Revanites. Revan attempted to convince Theron to join him on Yavin 4 by invoking the idea that they are flesh and blood -- family.

Pretty sure Revan wasn’t talking about the Malcom side. Satele knew that. Was there a sense of protectiveness for Theron because of what happened immediately before Yavin 4? I think so, yes, but it’s not motherly.

Theron’s experience on Rishi probably made Satele hyperaware that if Theron was of interest to the Revanites, then the Empire would doubly interested in Theron if they knew that he was not only an heir of Revan, but that the Grand Master of the Jedi Order was his biological mother. Referring to him as “my agent” may be Satele’s way to avoid using any part of his name on Yavin 4.

I’m willing to bet, regardless of any efforts to ignore or conceal Theron’s name, that Marr quickly figured out that the agent who managed to outfox Revan, resist torture, get Marr’s attention, and unravel an intergalactic conspiracy was something special to the Republic. Odds were that this agent had acted against the Empire.

Marr would be interested.

The History of Darth Marr and Satele Shan

Prior to Yavin 4, Marr and Satele had most recently squabbled over Makeb in the Hutt Cartel expansion through their various operatives. When Marr saw Satele on the Imp side Battle of Rishi, he bowed. He respected her and she respected him. I didn’t get any other impression from their interactions. They saw each other as equals, though on rival sides; that creates tension, since a fight between them would be a draw or mutually assured destruction. It’s highly likely they fought against each other in the previous Galactic War (which I’ll talk about below).

Marr was born in 3702 BBY, Satele in 3699 BBY. They’re about the same age, and they ascended almost equally quickly when the Sith returned in 3681 -- Satele is 18, Marr is 21. I have spoken about how Satele and Jace (who seems to be somewhere between 16 and 20 in the trailer) were essentially just kids when the conflict started. So was Marr.

The big difference, in terms of how their characters are constructed, is that we have the end product of Marr. Period. We don’t know what his name was before he took on the name ‘Darth Marr.’ We know nothing about his family, his relationships, his struggles. As Marr said later to the player in KotFE, he wanted to be a symbol to the Empire. Marr did not let himself be just a man.

Darth Marr is not the singular leader of the Sith. Marr is the head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire for decades, and as of the Battle of Corellia and the death of Darth Decimus, he also becomes the head of the Sphere of Military Strategy. With 2 of Military Spheres in his grasp, Marr was the de facto leader of the armed forces of the Sith Empire. The Sphere of Military Offense passed from Baras to Arho and then to Arkous after Ilum. When Arkous is killed by the player’s character, there is no indication as to who was the next head; that Sphere is never spoken of again in-game. We may assume Marr took hold of that. Either way, he has become the de facto leader of the Sith Empire. His voice, his robes and mask -- immediately recognizable to the whole galaxy.

The creators of content for SWTOR took the opposite approach to Satele. We can read about how her mother Tasiele was forced into exile when Satele was still a child. We meet Satele at 18 in a SWTOR trailer during the first Sith incursion at Korriban. We see her in comics fighting against the Empire. We see her at the Battle of Alderaan against Malgus. In Annihilation,we see bits and pieces of her falling in love with Jace Malcom and hoping she doesn’t get too attached... until a pair of permanent complications occur in 3667 BBY: Jace was severely maimed in the Battle of Alderaan, and Satele got pregnant. Jace’s injuries made him a much harder person than the soldier Satele met in 3681 BBY; he scared her with his hatred of the Empire.

I’ll take a moment here to say that Satele wasn’t dumb or naive when she made the decision about Theron. Satele was at least 32 years old, possibly 33 by the time Theron was born in 3666 BBY. She wasn’t a teen having a knee-jerk “oh noes, he’s evil” moment. She had been in a constant state of war for 15 years when she got pregnant. It’s in that context that Satele was concerned that Jace’s hatred could drag their child to the Dark Side... but also, Satele’s love for her child would make it impossible for her to serve the Republic without a second thought. She couldn’t fight and die for the Republic if she was always preoccupied with coming home to her baby.

So she let Theron go. She had other adventures. She was at the Treaty of Coruscant. Satele founded Tython. She became the Grand Master of her order.

We don’t get any of that pathos or glory with Marr. Marr IS. Marr is the Empire. He is the best of them. He has been, is, and will be.

The odds are pretty good that Marr and Satele met each other in combat, directly or indirectly. The bow on Imp side Rishi is a big thing for me that points to that. Also, look at their responsibilities during the last war. Marr was responsible for not only defending Korriban and what would become the Imperial core, but also any gains the Sith made over time against the Republic. That’s the job of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire; taking planets was somebody else’s rodeo, not Marr’s. His job was to defend... something the Imperial people living on these planets would love him for. He was their protector against brutish Republic troops and their systemic corruption.

Satele was responsible for winning those territories back; we see her on counter-strikes against the Sith. Satele is cast as the liberator of people imperiled by the spreading Sith Empire, not a conqueror taking new territory. Marr probably had to defend against Satele at least once in their careers, possibly multiple times. If she was absent from the front lines for any period of time, Marr would have noticed; he had to anticipate the next move of Republic counterstrikes as part of his job.

And indeed, Satele was absent for an extended period. How long Satele was absent from the battlefield due to her pregnancy, we don’t know. Satele did continue her battlefield duties for “months” after she found out. The only information we have about post-partum Satele is that she stopped visiting Baby Theron at 6 months old, according to Lost Suns. I don’t think she could just skip off at random while in command, so I think she probably was off the battlefield at least 10 months (last 4 months of her pregnancy, 6 months post-partum), possibly as long as 18 months, since Gnost-Dural reports she was assigned to duty with the Republic Navy at some point in 3665 BBY. She did give birth on a random planet in a cave, so she didn’t exactly have the best medical care immediately. Maybe there were complications. Maybe she did show early. We don’t know.

Regardless of the timeline, Marr would have been paying attention. Marr would have noticed when Satele Shan stopped fighting for the Republic. Where was she? What was she doing? Was this part of a greater plot by the Republic? What were they planning? And when Satele did return, he may well have wondered what she had been up to. But no matter; she had returned. Marr had to be ready.

There’s no obvious indication in the game as to when Marr figures out Satele and Theron are mother and son. He makes no comment to indicate that he knew before Rishi. Based on Marr’s dialogue in game on the Imperial side, he heavily suggests that he knows who Theron is by the time Iven, the former commandant of the Imperial Guard, is taken into custody and it’s time to interrogate him. Satele objects to Marr’s plans to torture Iven. “And what do you think your agent has done in the Republic’s name?” is Marr’s response.

The delivery of ‘your agent’ is indicative that Marr knows.

Theron himself stated at the end of the Imp side romance that if he was indeed recruited by the player to join the Empire, people would be suspicious that he’d be working for his mother. That would have to include Darth Marr.

Personally, I would guess that the after-action reports from Lana and Theron would have some clues for Marr. However, once Theron had healed up from the Rishi events, Marr may well have taken one look at Theron standing next to Satele, and then had an epiphany so immense it gave him a headache that Lana felt across the compound. There’s the answer. That’s why she disappeared for almost two years, twenty-nine years ago. Theron Shan.

(According to Jace in Annihilation, Theron has some similar features to his mother. He doesn’t specify which ones.)

The Lie of Omission

A lie of omission is permitting an inaccuracy or a falsehood to continue to circulate without correction, even though the person knows the truth. (In contrast, a lie of commission is when you actively make something up or contribute to the lie -- you commit the act lying.) Marr signals he knows who Theron is by the time Iven is retrieved from the Imperial Guard training facility on Yavin, but he never says the name Theron Shan out loud. It’s simply “the agent” “your agent” or “Theron.” But not Agent Shan.

The use of “Theron” in the Pubside story is most eyebrow-raising.

Marr calls people by their titles. Marr always keeps professional distance. Underlings are uniformly referred to by their titles. Lana doesn’t like titles, so Marr doesn’t refer to her as Lord Beniko or Darth whatever; it’s just Beniko.

Calling someone by their first name is highly irregular. He does not refer to Satele as such until 6.2 (and that might be the Socratic Problem of Marr in the player’s memory rather than the real Marr). It’s always Grand Master or Grand Master Shan. In a unique instance in the game, Marr calls Theron by his given name when he finds the Imperial Guard’s buildings in ruins during the Pubside story: “But given the destruction Theron describes, it’s mostly likely a distress call.” This is before the Pub operative annoys Marr by going to the Imperial Guard facility by themselves; it’s not said in anger or in irritation. It’s said under ‘normal’ circumstances (if circumstances on Yavin are normal at all).

But why? Why not “Agent Shan”? That would differentiate him from Grand Master Shan. Just referring to the pair as Grand Master and Agent would work too; how many Grand Masters and SIS Agents are running around on Yavin 4? Why is Marr avoiding attention to the man’s last name?

And why doesn’t Marr hop on this and use it to the Empire’s advantage?

Pragmatism and Prioritization

Marr is not a Jedi. Marr doesn’t do things for the greater good. He does things for the Sith Empire and for the people of the Sith Empire. Offing Theron Shan? Definitely on the agenda. So is killing Satele, eventually.

But not now. Not on Yavin 4.

Marr is probably the person closest to knowing what Revan is going to try to do in order to make the Emperor take physical form again so he can kill him. It’s going to involve a lot of dead people. That can easily happen; up until this tiny fragile cease fire between Marr and Satele, the Empire and the Republic have been engaged in a hot war. When they first make camp on Yavin, there is a real possibility they’ll frag each other regularly. This is why players have to do daily quests, in theory -- to build good will between the factions.

My partner is a military nerd and a Star Wars nerd. He watched both version of the Battle of Rishi. His conclusion: based on the ships we see, Marr had more than twice the number of troops that Satele did (I put the numbers in my Yavin 4 fic). The Imperial troops, at Marr’s word, probably could wipe out the Republic forces on Yavin 4, pack up, and head back to Dromund Kaas in time for tea.

But they won’t. Marr wouldn’t permit it.

He knows how dangerous the Emperor is, and if he does let his troops kill the Pubs, they feed him. There also appears to be some sort of weird mystical thing going on with Revan’s bloodline. Revan knew highly personal information about Theron (and Theron says so when the player opens the temple later on); somehow, Theron was able to use that connection to get Revan to give up Yavin 4 and secure an invite there at the end of the Rishi op.

Marr knows about this. Marr doesn’t know what Revan would do if Marr did kill Theron or Satele, plus there’s the more predictable possibility that the Republic would respond to the death of Satele Shan thanks to the Jedi feeling it through the Force. Chancellor Saresh would not let that opportunity pass by, even if it did feed the Emperor; we saw that at Ziost.

Grand Master Shan is a public figure. Her name and her power is obvious to everyone in the Yavin camp. Theron, however, is everything his mother is not. He is a spy. His face is not known to the general public. His work is secret, his exact abilities unknown.

Sure, the last name is common enough....

But Theron and Satele have never worked together before. They’ve never operated in such close proximity before. Yavin 4 would be the first time all the pieces could fall into place to someone observant. Marr is many things, but one of the things he really gets annoyed about in regard to the Sith is their arrogance. They get such fat heads that they can’t see obvious danger or they overlook aliens and non-Force Sensitives to their own detriment.

Marr isn’t arrogant.

He doesn’t think he’s the only one who can see a family similarity or sense some connection between them. Saying someone’s name is a powerful thing; we get upset when someone screws up our name. It’s how our attention is attracted. Shared last names of interesting people attract attention. Attention leads to distraction away from the primary goal of stopping Revan and the Emperor.

That’s something Marr doesn’t want to deal with right now. Revan and Emperor now. The Shans later. He avoids referring to Theron as “Shan” so as to reduce any chance that some young Sith will attempt to make their bones killing Theron, since that would spell doom for the Empire, whether through Revan’s anger or the Republic’s revenge. It would also help empower the Sith Emperor to retake physical form, which is the last thing Marr wants him to do.

Exposing the Grand Master as having a secret son would remove an ally from the field for Marr; Marr doesn’t want to destroy his assets before he’s used them to their full ability. There’s no point in burning Satele Shan on Yavin 4 before Revan is dealt with.

...And Marr respects her. It’s a cheap way to win against a rival he knows to be his equal.

Marr wants to end Revan and the Emperor now, in that order, to defend the people of the Empire. He’ll worry about the Shans later. Marr will let Theron’s last name be overlooked and unmentioned, if only because it makes his job as Defender of the Empire less complicated for a few months.

Thanks again to @swtorpadawan and also @inyri @shabre-legacy @theniveanlegacy for discussing the original post about Satele and Theron and making me think about this.

Headcanon Postface:

This last bit is purely my headcanon ideas about Marr, so you can leave here if you so desire. I’m placing them here rather than making a separate post and having to link back to this one.

As I’ve described previously, we have the finished product of Darth Marr, with none of the personal insight that was provided for Satele Shan. Who’s under the mask? Nobody knows, really. His first comic book adventure takes place in 3678, when he’s about 24 years old. There’s nothing about his life beforehand that would let the player wonder how his past life affected his current decisions. Marr ultimately would do the best he could for the Empire, regardless, but knowing if he ever hesitated, ever had second thought, had a regret -- that would make him mortal.

And Marr is an icon, not a man, in the grander SWTOR universe, per the writers. That’s the point driven home to the player. So that leaves it to fan fic to take off the mask or not.

In “The Planter of Trees and Other Tales from Yavin 4,” Marr comes to this conclusion about the Shans’ relationship after observing two Shan chins. He then alludes to understanding Satele’s decision to conceal Theron’s existence.

After Marr had gained his seat on the Dark Council (late 3680s, early 3670s), a lot of Sith families wanted him to add to their prestige. The man needed a legacy; he needed heirs. Marr had already set himself on his path, however; he understood that it was better to be an icon. If Marr was a normal man, he would be weakened by family connections, love, protectiveness, concern for his personal future. Instead, Marr’s devotion to the Empire was unmatched and pure. In the public’s eye, he was the great defender. He was the perfect Sith.

Marr never did have a public wife or a political marriage. His private life -- better secured than Imperial state secrets -- produced a daughter that did not inherit her talents from her Force-Using parent. Marr had been relieved that his daughter was not like him. It meant she would never be pressured to come into public life. It meant she was free of the burden of his legacy.

Lately, I’ve considered that, regardless of having access to the Force or not, a child of Marr was always in danger of becoming a pawn. She was something Marr’s enemies could use against him, if they ever found out about her; being Force-Null simply meant that others could not detect her as easily. That may have also have been a concern of Satele in regard to Theron, especially as she rose through the ranks of the Jedi Order. As soon as Marr could let his daughter fly away from Dromund Kaas, he did. She was free.

She died shortly before the Sack of Coruscant. Marr did not go to her. The Empire had to matter more. That doesn’t mean he didn’t love her. He just never could prioritize her over the Empire.

In my fic universe, Marr understands Satele’s choices. He can keep his mouth shut. For now.

Theron is far more dangerous to the rival faction than Marr’s daughter ever was, however; he is an active player in the war, while she... just got caught in the middle, in the end....

Revan and Emperor now. Shans later.

#swtor #shadow of revan #darth marr #satele shan #revan #theron shan #lana beniko #swtor fan fiction #headcanon #pragmatic sith

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toastedclownery · 3 years

Text

Hey so uh, I finally finished the bit I wanted to write based on this scene by @mintyfrosty!! I changed some things according to my version of them but it’s basically the same Gonna put in under a Read More. TW for anxiety attack and passing out of exhaustion ovo”

He looked at the board in front of him. Hours of work put into it, papers full of notes and reminders, calculations, timetables and floor plans. And yet, he couldn't remember one thing he had written on it. He couldn't read, couldn't think clearly.

He had to get this heist right. Had to plan out every single detail, every possibility. That's what he was for. Think ahead, be prepared for anything that could go wrong, and create a way to avoid it. He was particularly good at that, it was easy for him to consider different scenarios where things could meet with disaster. However, it came at a cost.

Still staring at the bunch of papers pinned on his wall, he blinked slowly, unable to focus on anything. His mind was tired, and so was body, even if he himself didn't feel it. He took another sip of the cup of coffee he was holding, deciding to push his sleepiness away for one more night.

This one has to be perfect, they couldn't have any more mishaps. Terrence' last raid was the last straw. They had lost too many people to it. There had to be a stop to that de iure leader's wreckless nature. Reg thought if he proposed a calculated enough and totally safe plan, maybe the elites would listen to him. Maybe he could get a seat at their table. Maybe…

His head almost drooped and he quickly had to readjust himself, his eyes now wide open, heavy bags under them. His body was fighting against him. Why? He didn't feel tired. In fact, he wasn't feeling anything at all. He felt fine.

Rising his hand in order to reach for the cup again, he noticed the trembling waves inside the container. His hand was shaking. He frowned, shut his eyes in frustration and downed all the remaining coffee in one go. Two or three seconds later, he realized that might not have been the best idea.

No, it was okay. He didn't need to worry, he was fine. He looked at different points of the board rapidly, trying to take anything in. Nothing went through. His breathing became unsteady, and the corners of his vision were beginning to become blurry and dotted.

It has to be perfect, he thought.

Realizing he was getting dizzy, he had to remind himself to breathe. He felt like he was choking. Why wasn't he getting any air?

We've lost too many people already, were the repeating thoughts drumming in his mind.

He was too out of it to notice his hand had given out, dropping the ceramic cup and letting it shatter. Startled by the loud noise, he tried taking a step back, only to notice his legs had turned wobbly, barely keeping him on his feet.

With one last glance at the board, all the papers were now a mess of smears and black spots. The room started tilting… and tilting… He was out before he even hit the floor.

Night patrol. It had to be night patrol. He would have preferred to have some rest tonight, but he had to be chosen for taking a walk around the base at ungodly hours of the night. He would have complained, but knew he couldn't speak against the Chief. He went along with it, knowing nobody else would do it anyway. Right thought Terrence usually cut the other elites too short, himself included. He felt like he could do more than just night patrol, but on second thought, he was the one that fit best for the job.

He was passing through the corridors, reaching a series of doors that led to the Toppat members' rooms. Unlike his fellow elite's bedrooms, these were smaller and had thinner walls. He remembered the time he had to sleep in one of those rooms. It was nearly impossible, any noise was able to get through those walls made of cardboard.

Just thinking about it made him tired. He was about to let out a yawn, but was stopped by a loud noise coming from one of the dorms ahead. It sounded like a glass-shattering noise, followed by a light thud.

He saw a stream of light under one of the doors. Who in their right mind was still awake at this late hour of the night? He looked at the name on the door. "R. Copperbottom" It read. That name was familiar. He gave the door a couple of knocks.

"Oi, is everything alright in there?"

He waited about ten seconds, no response.

"Can I get in?"

Again, silence.

Right opened the door and stepped into the room. He didn't know what he was expecting to see, but it definitely wasn't a collapsed man in the middle of the floor. He cursed under his breath and went to check if he was okay.

He gently turned him to face upward. He drew a few hairs back and was able to see his face. And then he recognized him. The smooth mane of hair that was usually collected in a ponytail was now a frizzy mess of ties and knots. There was also his familiar curled mustache, which seemed to get the same treatment, and a pair of dark circles around his eyes.

He knew this one. He hadn’t spent that much time in the Clan, yet he had jumped up the ranks in no time. He ascended to his current position much faster than he had seen anyone do it in his time as an elite. There was a reason for that. The guy was a working machine.

Ever since the day he was recruited, he would show interest in what the Clan’s next big heist was going to be. Even if he wasn’t part of it. Right had started to see his face more often around the higher positions. He shone with curiosity and initiative when robbery plans were finally handed to him for the first time, adding thousands of tweaks and details that would stun the field operatives. He would go on his way to arrange every minute of a heist, and then proceed to explain each new bit to his superiors.

Needless to say they were surprised with this new guy appearing out of nowhere and before they knew it he was suddenly giving them lectures like a teacher rants to a bunch of toddlers. If he was met with any kind of criticism, he would come back the very next day with a new refined version of the plan. The team of elites were intrigued, they shared their recognition of his potential, whereas the Chief… Would usually butt heads with him.

"I think you worry too much, pipsqueak"

Right hated to agree on that, currently looking at said pipsqueak laying on the floor, most likely passed out from exhaustion. He doubted he got enough sleep when making all those schemes, and the scene before him proved his theory to be correct.

He examined the room. Next to the unconscious prodigy were broken pieces of a ceramic mug. He must have dropped it before falling along with it. His hat was still on his head but tipped to the side. In front of them was a wide corkboard, filled with papers and post-its hung on it left, right and center. Right blinked twice before regaining his focus on the other man.

"Hey, Reginald? Can you hear me?"

He shook him by the shoulders a little bit. Maybe he would be able to wake up momentarily so he could go to bed on his own. Seeing how that wasn't the case, he sighed, and decided to do it himself.

He drew the bed sheets back, scooped him up carefully and held him in some kind of bridal style, his head resting on his shoulder. He was light as a feather, so he was pretty easy to carry around. The smallest yelp came out of Reg’s mouth at the feeling of being picked up, but he relaxed again when leaning on Right's chest. Right slowly put him down on the bed and tucked him in.

It was weird, seeing him like this. The only times he would see him were quickly running through the corridors or giving his presentations on schemes. Always full of energy and enthusiasm. Right noticed a certain spark in his eyes when he talked. He noticed the way he would smile while telling his favorite parts of a plan. How he would sometimes motion rapidly while nervously rambling things under his breath. Now, he was laying limp on the bed, looking a mess, a strong fatigue visible on his features. Right chuckled. He would not want to be seen like this. Suddenly, he blinked, and found himself sitting on the side of the bed, hypnotized by the rhythmic breath of his sleep longer than he would have liked to admit.

He shook his head and got up. He had completely forgotten about the ceramic shards still on the floor. He picked the broken pieces one by one. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be a lot of small bits, just five big shapes that fit neatly like a puzzle. He chose not to throw them away, thinking of putting them back together if possible. He grabbed the dark gray fedora that had rolled off his head and left it on the bedside table.

He saw an alarm clock, set to chime three hours from now. He turned it off. There was no way he was gonna let him sleep so little. He would let him sleep in, have the day off. He could make up something not to make the others suspicious. He’d ask him about that jungle of papers another time. He needed rest now.

He turned off the lights and shut the door, the pieces of the coffee cup still in his right hand.

#not tagging as the main tag sorry #copperright #also not tagging my writing as art after last time-#tag #mintyfrosty #toasted texts #I GUESS

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prince-toffee · 3 years

Text

BumbleBee 2

Opening Scene

Same Cybertron panning shot as the one that opens the first movie, only reversed. This time we see the final battle for Cybertron from the Decepticons’ perspective.

We see Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave leading the battle, they’re our main villains, among the henchmen we see Thundercracker, Skywarp among all the other Seekers, maybe some Reflectors/Reflektors, of course Dropkick and Shatter, and Arachnid to parallel Arcee and because I really like Arachnid - Each has a one line introduction like the Autobots did.

We ride along with Starscream, with an over the wing view of him, Skywarp, and Acid Storm taking down the Escape-Pod Tower.

He lands on a high peak to admire his work, Starscream notices the last escape pod launching, that being Bee, and a rogue Blitzwing following it, he’s about to follow when he hears Skywarp come through on the comms.

“What is it, Skywarp?!”

“Prime didn’t take off! He took down Acid Storm, but he’s cornered! Get over here!”

“To all Seekers: Converge on Skywarp’s position, surround Prime!” He says as he flies down and we’re treated to the same scene of Prime being surrounded and piled on, it cuts at the same point.

Jump cut to a close-up of a silvery dirty stained floor, and Prime’s knees fall onto it.

Pull out to see Prime captured and cuffed, surrounded by Cons, Screamer looking down on him.

Screamer gloats, “The holy and mythic Optimus Prime, on his knees, bowing to me. Heh, oh and they said the day would never come. And yet here we are. I have done what even the great and almighty Megatron could never do! Now, where are your Autobots heading? What are you planning?”

Prime resists of course, “You are no Megatron, Starscream. I do not fear you. And none of us ever will. You have nothing to offer this fallen world, but empty words.”

“Oh?! Oh??!! Are these empty words?!!!: Dropkick! Persuade our guest to... open up a little.”

Dropkick on Optimus’ right extends his blade, his hand is shaking, he’s nervous, Prime notices, “Your hand’s shaking, son. You sure you want to do this?”

“Shut it old mech. I’m not scared of you.”

Starscream orders him to hurry up, “Dropkick, hurry it up!”

Dropkick raised the blade into the air.

Just then the door behind them turned to glass and exploded, Starscream took cover while all the other Cons open fire at the intruders, in the confusion Prime manages to knock out Dropkick with a single headbutt.

Shatter, on Prime’s left about to finish the job when the floor under her caved in.

The last Seeker fell offline, and out from the smoke came in running Cliffjumper, “Hey dad!”

“Cliffjumper what are you doing here!? I ordered Operation: Exodus, you sh-”

“You don’t really think I was going to leave you, did you?” Cliff takes the cuffs off, they duck as Starscream’s missiles whizzed past above them, they ran off, as they do Cliff mentions when he infiltrated the Con outpost he left some ‘parting-gifts’, with the press of a button on his arm the building shakes with explosions.

Shatter and Dropkick pursue.

Cliff and Prime think they’ve escaped, but don’t realise Shatter placed a tracker on Cliff.

Autobots say their farewells, “Just try not to be the hero this time, and just get your tailpipe outta here, okay Bossbot?”

“Same goes for you my friend, safe travels.”

The scene cuts from Prime’s perspective, looking through his eyes, as the stashed away pod seals around the camera, and blackness takes over as the pod shuts closed with a heavy ‘shunk’.

We jump cut to Mars, Prime’s pod crashes next to Cliff’s, we see him kneel down and hold Cliff’s corpse.

Cut to Earth, all the Bots are gathered around Cliff’s coffin, bright red Autobot insignia at the centre.

Each Autobot places a vile of inner-most energon on the coffin, all the Bots present include OP, Bee, Arcee, Jazz, Ratchet, Brawn, Ironhide, and Wheeljack.

An escape-pod seals around the coffin as a voiceover by Optimus begins, “When a spark comes online, there is great joy,” The pod launches and rockets towards the sun, “When a spark goes offline, there is great sadness.”

We cut to Cliff’s face in the coffin, it is bathed in warm yellow light of the sun, giving the feeling of Cliff ascending (to the Well of All Sparks).

Title - BumbleBee 2

The primary colours on the title screen are yellow and black, black takes over until the screen is all darkness.

Then some hexagonal circuitry detail zips around the screen, which expands into Bee’s visor display.

Bee opens his eyes.

Bee’s first sight he sees is of Ratchet and Wheeljack, Ratchet begins to check up with Bee, “Hey, buddy, how you feeling? Just finished the surgery, replaced your Voice-Box, thanks to Wheeljack’s apparent collection of spare organs that he seemingly brings with him everywhere.”

“What can I say, I’m a hoarder.” Jack said with a shrug, Ratchet rolled his eyes.

Bee tried to say something, “Woaw, easy there, your new faceplate needs to adjust to your new ‘Box.” Bee now has his G1-isk face with a nose and mouth.

Wheeljack reached for a piece of the bug alt-mode Charlie removed in the last film, “Hope you don’t mind, but we had to boot up your last save to re-synthesise your voice.”

Jack attached the part to Bee’s chest, “...No it’s okay, I like it.”

Ratchet’s hand extends to him, Bee takes it and pulls himself up.

#bumblebee #bumblebee movie #bumblebee 2 #transformers #travis knight #beeverse #knightverse #just popped into my head

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

I Do...I Guess? (Chapter 3)

Djose Temple

Ao3 | FF.net

In my mind, Zanarkand is just like...Los Angeles, or New York. Just a big city with modern day technology...with slightly questionable fashion statements?

And OMG I’m so happy to get reviews! I knew writing for FFX was like shouting into a void, but I got responses! And they were good! So I guess I’ll keep going??

—

In the morning, the team braved the Djose Highroad to the temple. Along the way they came across a smattering of survivors. They had endeavored to reach the temple but had succumbed to exhaustion from fiends.

Thankfully, they had yet to find any casualties.

Djose Temple was a magical marvel. Theme parks in the ancient Zanarkand had similar awe inspiring attractions, but nothing as amazing as the suspended rocks with lighting bolts.

“That happens when a summoner reaches and convenes with the fayth,” Lulu explained.

“So there’s a summoner here already?” Tidus asked aloud. He wondered if it was Dona, or heaven forbid Seymour.

Dona hadn’t seen the devastation of the failed operation. Her callous, holier-than-thou attitude would be anything but a balm to the wounded and dying.

And Seymour? Well, he was just creepy enough that Tidus just didn’t like him.

“Let’s see if we can help while we wait for them to finish,” Yuna suggested.

The others agreed, and they volunteered to help where they could.

Tidus watched Yuna rush into a room where there was much groaning. Her hand rested on the doorframe, and the ring he had given her glinted on her finger.

No one seemed to notice.

Even when they returned to camp last night, no one noticed. Lulu and Wakka were already asleep, while Kamahri and Auron took their first watch. Pleasant greetings were exchanged before Kamahri offered some of the cooked fish they had left over from dinner. Then they fell asleep shortly after.

Now it was the next day, and their engagement was official. Who did he talk to about that? They did say he had until Djose Temple to figure it out. And he did.

But it didn’t seem like a good time to bring it up. Would Yuna do so? It was her idea after all.

Tidus was directed to a cot with a wounded crusader on it. The man had a piece of shrapnel in his stomach, and Auron, one of the only others in the room with a strong stomach, was tasked to pull it out.

Tidus was to hold the poor bastard down by the shoulders, while Wakka had his legs.

And it continued like that for a few hours. The patients were different, but the job was the same. Some were being amputated, while others were just getting stitches.

But no matter what, it seemed like Operation Mi’ihen’s casualties were far from over.

By mid-afternoon, the summoner in the cloisters finally emerged. A man named Isaaru, and his brother-guardians.

Finally, a polite summoner. He did rib Yuna a little, but it felt like friendly rivalry compared to Dona’s outright harassment.

“The cloisters are empty, you two should go.” Auron urged Tidus and Yuna.

“But there’s more people to heal...”

“We can spare some potions. Now, go.”

Hard pressed to argue, Yuna simply turned to Tidus. “Will you come to the trials with me?”

“I did the first two on my own. I think I can handle another.”

“Oh, I’ll help too.” She smiled.

“Oh then, I have nothing to worry about. After you?”

They still didn’t speak of the impending wedding, but Tidus still tried to be the best fiancé/guardian he could be. He didn’t allow her to lift a finger, though she figured most of the puzzles out on her own. He moved the pedestals, he inserted the spheres, and when it came to leaping across a live electric pit, he gladly made the jump for her. They then reset the puzzle and activated the floor panel, which allowed them to go up to the next level. This time, Yuna helped him push all the pedestals into place and revealed the stairs to the Fayth.

He followed behind her as she ascended the stairs.

The door to the chamber opened for her, and she turned to look at him in question.

“I’ll wait right here for you,” he promised, sitting on the floor.

She offered a smile, and went inside.

And so he waited. Patiently, ankles crossed.

This would be the first time he waited the entirety of her prayer. The last two times, he came in at the end.

This time, he was alone in his waiting. The other guardians were busy helping downstairs.

Besaid had taken her two days, but Kilika was only about an hour. Was she getting better at whatever happened in there? Or was it based on the Fayth itself?

His ignorance to this whole situation was like a punch to the gut.

Wakka was right. Yuna needed someone that was more educated on Yevon, who could help her.

And yet, he could only believe she needed someone to remind her to be human more. Sure, if he knew more, it might help. Maybe he’d try a little harder to learn the religion. If only to stop embarrassing her with his ignorance.

Yuna emerged two hours later, sweaty and panting. He caught her before she could faint, and brought her back down into the temple.

He sat her on the stairs to the cloisters and retrieved a flask of water for her. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you for taking care of me.”

“As a fiancé should,” he smirked.

There was a loud gasp at that, and they both turned to see—Shindig? Shanda? The pious lady they had met on the Mi’ihen Highroad, standing not too far away. “Truly?! Is what I hear correct? You are to be married to Lady Yuna?”

The other guardians, who had not been informed that he had made his decision, all came closer to listen.

“That’s right.” Yuna smiled softly. “I asked, and he accepted.”

Auron gave a thumbs up, while Wakka shook his head. Kimahri and Lulu were unreadable, but didn’t look angry at least.

“This is wonderful news! The wedding of a summoner is always a blessed occasion! Will you be waiting until you reach the temple in Bevelle?”

“Well,” said Tidus, “we were going to do it here, but...”

“An even better idea! The survivors could really do with the hope!”

Yuna sputtered. “I don’t know if it’s an appropriate time—“

“Nonsense! I’ll take care of everything! Leave it to me!” And she hurried off to find the head priest, leaving Tidus and Yuna to face the other guardians alone.

“So, were you going to tell us you said yes?” Wakka asked, arms crossed.

Tidus sighed. “We made it official last night, after all the sendings. I wanted to give Yuna something to be happy about, but we weren’t going to push it. Especially with everything that happened.”

“We did give him until Djose to reach a decision,” Lulu reminded patiently. “There’s no reason for you to be angry.”

“I just wish he had the common sense to say no.”

Tidus frowned at Wakka, crossing his arms.

“So what made you change your mind, ah? Wanna get in on that post-sin glory?”

Tidus’s heart raced a little faster as he confessed. “I just wanted to say yes. I don’t want her to be lonely.”

Lulu smirked. “Sounds as altruistic as can be. If Yuna wants a companion that doesn’t interfere with her quest, I’m for it.”

Yuna blushed. “Well you didn’t have to say it like that.”

Before more teasing could ensue, the head priest arrived. “I hear there is a couple wishing to be wed?”

Yuna bowed to him. “Yes sir, my guardian and I. But if you’re busy with the operation, we don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense. Everyone is stable, and you have done so much to help us. It’s the least we can do for repayment.”

So it was happening. It was really happening. Marriage. At seventeen. And he hadn’t even gotten her pregnant first.

Were they going to have sex tonight? Yuna didn’t seem the type. Would she try for the sake of legitimacy? He certainly wasn’t going to force her into anything. He’d let her take the lead. This was her idea anyway.

A stone pillar, much like the ones in the cloister, raised out of the ground. It had a little dome with two holes on either side.

“Now reach inside and clasp hands, so the soul scryer may tell if your souls are compatible for the soul bonding ceremony.”

Tidus blinked several times, hearing things he was not prepared for. “The what what?”

“Isn’t a soul binding ceremony...a little antiquated?” Asked Auron.

Shalinda, who had returned with the priest gasped. “Oh no! It’s a beautiful and sacred ceremony!”

“Huh...just for some of us who are a little...out of practice...” Tidus mentioned sheepishly.

Lulu explained. “The soul binding ceremony is an ancient wedding practice, in which the souls are joined in life, so the beloved can find each other in death.”

“It’s not to be taken lightly.” Wakka urged.

“It’s just for show,” Yuna whispered. “They can’t actually bind our souls. But if the idea bothers you—“

“No no, it’s okay. It’s not going to, like, hurt or anything, right? Or change me as a person?”

“The more compatible you are, the less of an effect you should feel on yourself.” The priest explained. “Come, present yourselves to the soul scryer.”

No point in putting it off any longer. He put his hand in on one side, and Yuna put hers in the other. They met in the middle and entwined fingers.

Immediately, the scryer turned blue, then a blinding white.

Tidus spoke while covering his eyes, “is that a good thing?”

“Blessed be this day! A summoner is a perfect match for her beloved! This union will be wonderful and prosperous in love!”

Okay. So a good thing it was. He and Yuna a perfect match? What were the odds?

It seemed pretty low, considering the bright blush on Yuna’s face.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yes—just—“ she rested her free hand on her face. “Perfect matches are really rare. I didn’t know...”

He squeezed her hand. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m not upset. Actually, quite the opposite! No need to be embarrassed!”

She gave him a weak smile, obviously still embarrassed despite his reassurance.

“Let us begin the ceremony. Did you bring a change of vestments?” Asked the high priest.

“Ah, no. Please, we’d like to be as streamlined as possible. We don’t want to take up any more resources than necessary.” Yuna bowed again.

“Very well.”

Both of them removed their hands from the scryer, as it lowered back down into the floor. Then the head priest urged Yuna and Tidus to follow him to the door to the cloisters. They stood at the top of the stairs, while the other guardians and other witnesses gathered around to watch.

Yuna raised her hands for him to hold. And he did so daintily.

“O Fayth, O song of the Farplane. Hear as we call out to you in prayer. This couple has sought to be joined in the holiest of traditions. In soul, love, and flesh and bone. Knit them together in a tapestry of absolution. Bind their souls so that they may find each other in the end. May their love be pure and strong, and may they find peace and strength within each other.”

He looked at both. “Do you have the rings?”

Tidus took out his, and Yuna awkwardly took off the one she was wearing, then they traded.

“Tidus, please repeat after me: ‘I, Tidus,”

“I, Tidus,”

“Do take Lady Yuna, to have and hold, in sickness and in health, to the Farplane do we part.”

“Do take Lady Yuna, to have and hold, in sickness and health, to...not even the Farplane do we part.”

The wording change was not lost on those assembled. Especially Yuna, who smiled bashfully.

“You may place the ring on her finger.”

Tidus took off his gloves, and then very delicately slid the ring onto her finger.

“Lady Yuna, if you will repeat after me: I, Lady Yuna,”

“I, Lady Yuna,”

“Do take Tidus, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to the Farplane do we part.”

She smiled. “Do take Tidus, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to not even the Farplane do we part.”

“Non Traditional vows, but lovely nonetheless.” The priest praised. “You may place the ring on his finger.”

Just as he had done, Yuna slid the ring onto his finger. Then she squeezed his hands affectionately.

“I pronounce you, in the name of Yevon, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Yuna blushed again, then whispered, “I’ve never kissed before.”

“Well, do you want a normal first kiss? Or a traditional Zanarkand wedding kiss?”

“Hmm, I’ll try the Zanarkand wedding kiss.”

He winked at her, before holding her close. “Hang on to me.”

Yuna only had a minute to hold around his neck, before he lowered her into a dip, and pressed a deep and meaningful kiss to her lips.

Those gathered either gasped in shock or wolf-whistled. Either way, Tidus realized maybe these people weren’t used to such public displays of affection.

But still, her kiss felt incredible. She was warm and soft, she smelled of flowers and this unnamed spice that tingled his nose.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but when he righted her, she had a contented and gleeful smile on her face.

Then applause broke out, and they returned to reality.

Married. They were married. Officially. There was no going back now.

Not that he wanted to. Yuna was wonderful. She deserved as much support as she could get, and he was honored that she picked him.

“Presenting Lady Yuna, and her husband, Sir Tidus!”

The ‘Sir’ was a nice touch. Did he get to keep that name?

They descended down into the crowd, receiving heartfelt handshakes and pats on the back of congratulations. People were genuinely happy, and it was a relief to see people smiling. Maybe getting married now really wasn’t a bad idea.

“Many congratulations on your marriage, Lady Yuna.” Isaaru bowed. “I hope your husband aids you on your pilgrimage.”

“Of course I will!” Tidus exclaimed, like suggesting otherwise was ludicrous. “I’ll do anything to help Yuna.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, may the first to Zanarkand be the winner. We’ll be moving on to Macalania.”

“Oh, and a word of warning for you and your guardians,” his guardian added. “Rumor is that summoners have gone missing on the road to Zanarkand. Best keep sharp.”

“Well, thank you for the warning! We’ll be extra diligent!” Tidus saluted.

“Glad to hear it. Now, we’ll let you go. Heard you did a lot of sendings for these poor folks. You must be exhausted.”

“It’s always an honor to perform such a ceremony. Thank you for thinking of my well-being though.”

After marinating in the glad tidings of the crowd, the head priest approached the couple. “The ceremonial cleansing is ready for you both, if you desire it. I assume you’d like to get cleaned up after the ordeal you’ve been through.”

“Oh!” Yuna blushed. “Ah, yes, well, that would be nice...”

“What’s wrong?” Tidus asked softly.

“The ceremonial cleansing is basically a bath that the wedded couple share. The temples are almost all built on hot springs for this reason, and for summoners to take baths on their journeys. We really don’t have to...”

“I mean, I would like to get cleaned up. I wouldn’t want to offend my ladyship’s nostrils.”

Yuna giggled and then glanced at the priest, who was looking at them curiously, either concerned that Tidus didn’t know about the hot springs that everyone else knew about, or that this newly wedded couple wasn’t absolutely ecstatic to be bathing together.

“Alright. Let’s try it.” Said Yuna, with a little forced optimism. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing...a lot of each other, from now on. Might as well get used to it.”

Tidus held out his hand to her, and followed the priest outside the temple. He had remembered seeing a river when they had arrived here, and they weren’t too far from the ocean. The hot springs, however, were inside the rock on the back side of the temple. The priest led them into a little alcove in the mountains. There was a single, wide tub, where milky water was already steaming. There was a collection of soaps and perfumes near the edge, and a pair of towels and robes hanging nearby.

“If you leave your clothes in this basket, we will make sure they are cleaned and returned to you in the morning.”

Yuna bowed in gratitude. “Thank you for all of this. It is much appreciated.”

“You are most welcome, Lady Yuna, and Sir Tidus. If there’s anything else we can do, do not hesitate to ask.” He bowed at the waist, and exited the room.

“I could get used to being called ‘Sir’, that's very fun.” Tidus said with a laugh.

“I’m glad you enjoy it. I worried that the attention would make you uncomfortable.”

“There’s still time,” He chuckled. Then he glanced at the water. “How about I turn around so you can get undressed, and then once you’re in the water, I’ll join you?”

“Alright.” She agreed with a relaxed sigh.

Tidus turned around, and waited patiently for her to give the okay. Instead, she gave a series of frustrated grunts. “You good?”

“Lulu tied my Obi too tight, and I’m having a little trouble getting the knot out…”

“Can I help?”

She chuckled, “you can try.”

He turned around, seeing the problem immediately. She had pulled on the bow, but the knot remained.

“You’d think I’d know how to undo this stupid thing, but in my haste, and I pulled the wrong side.”

“No judgement from me.” He dug his fingers into the knot and slowly got it untangled, and then completely undone. With the obi gone, a lot more skin was visible, and he awkwardly tried to avert his gaze. “Is that good? Need help with anything else?” He cringed. “Not that I want to undress you, just if you were having any other wardrobe malfunctions…”

She giggled. “I understood. No, I got the rest of it.”

Glad that he hadn’t offended her, he turned back around and began to unbuckle his bracer.

Once he was down to his shorts, he heard Yuna get into the water.

“Okay, I’m decent.” She claimed.

She was just a head above the water. She was so cute that he let a giggle out.

“Why are you laughing?” She pouted.

“Nothing. I’m just surprised you’re letting me see your neck!”

“I’m modest!”

“And it’s very becoming.” He kicked off his boots and socks and went to remove his pants. But he glanced at her beforehand, and noticed she was completely turned away.

“Oh come on now, you don’t have to look away. We’re married after all.”

“I need to work my way up to that point.” She urged. “You may be my husband...but you’re still sort of a stranger.”

Now fully naked, Tidus splashed into the water, and scooted closer to her. “I think you’re the strange one. You proposed to me after all.”

“And you accepted.”

“Touché.”

“And maybe I did rush things. Maybe proposing was impulsive.”

“You’re not having cold feet now, are you?”

“What? No, my feet are very warm!”

“Is that not a phrase these days? Where I come from, ‘getting cold feet’ means that you’re regretting a wedding. Usually before the ceremony.”

“It’s a common thing?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Lots of people get married for all different reasons. And not all of them are good.”

“Do you think we got married for the right reasons?” She looked at him with big, sad eyes.

“Well, I hope so. You wanted a companion for your journey, right? A taste of romance?”

“If I hadn’t been a summoner, I would have just asked you to dinner, and see where things went. But...I’m on a bit of a tight schedule, you see. I don’t get to watch things unfold. If I want something, I have to take it.”

“So you wanted me?” He moved his leg, and his knee brushed against her bare thigh.

She blushed. “When you put it like that, it makes it sound like...like I was lusting after you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I know I’m irresistible.”

She smiled at him. “You are pretty cute.”

“Hey! I’ll take it!” He glanced over the shelf of soaps, and popped the caps to sample them. There was a really nice fruity one. “Would you mind if I washed your hair?”

At this point, Tidus was worried she was going to pass out from how red her face was. “I—if you want to? You don’t have to!”

“Think of it as a bonding activity.”

“...okay...”

She settled in front of him, arms wrapped around her chest (though he had no way of seeing). He took a pitcher and wetted her hair, then very carefully started to massage the shampoo in.

The sensation sent chills up her spine. “It’s...weird. But nice.”

“Just like me.”

She let out a very unladylike snort.

“Cute.”

“No it’s not! I used to get picked on for that all the time when I was younger. So embarrassing!”

“Well, I think it’s cute. And my opinion is the only one that matters.”

She just snorted again. “Quit making me laugh!”

“I can’t help it! It’s my natural charm!”

He scrubbed at her scalp, doing his best to get the sand out from the beach. Then he used the pitcher to rinse, before applying conditioner and rinsing again.

“There we go. Squeaky clean.”

“Then it’s only fair that I return the favor,” she announced.

Now it was his turn to blush. “Well...I guess that’s fair.”

“Are you afraid I’m going to find out you aren’t actually this tan? Just dirty?”

“I am tan! It’s from training in the sun. Even then, I have naturally darker skin.”

“Did I hit a sensitive topic?” She couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, I’m just usually very hygienic, so your world with no showers or deodorant is making me uncomfortable.”

“I truly am learning so much about you in just a little time.”

“I have nothing to hide from you,” except one major thing, “so feel free to ask whatever you want.”

It continued like that. Yuna washed his hair, and then he washed her back and shoulders while she returned the favor. They talked, they laughed, they teased and flirted, all until they turned pruney and Yuna yawned.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably exhausted, and I’m keeping you up. Let’s get ready for bed.” Again, he stayed turned away so that she could get out and get dressed in the silk robe provided by the temple. He followed along soon after, and they returned to the temple. They were then escorted to a private room reserved for summoners. It had one big bed, and a stone floor.

Tidus frowned, but got to work searching through the cabinets. They were mostly empty, as the supplies had gone to all the survivors in the other parts of the temple.

“What are you looking for?” Yuna asked.

“I was looking for another blanket and pillow. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Oh!” She sounded horrified at the idea. “You don’t need to do that! There’s plenty of room on this bed for both of us! We might not even touch!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! You were working just as hard as me today. You don’t need to sleep on the cold ground!” It was rather endearing how indignant she was. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “I can’t have my guardian having a poor night’s sleep.”

“Alright, alright.” He chuckled. “You get in first, and I’ll take the outside.”

She crawled in the bed, and tucked herself close to the wall to make sure he had plenty of space. Then he scooted under the blankets and turned his back to her, and then turned out the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, Yuna.”

“Goodnight.”

After a moment, she spoke up. “Tidus?”

He decided to mess with her a little and didn’t answer.

“I know you can’t already be asleep.”

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat.

“What?”

“My full title, please.”

She snorted. “Sir Tidus?”

He rolled over. “Yes, My dear Lady Yuna? What can I do for you?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m only kidding. You can call me whatever you like. I’ll make everyone else call me ‘Sir’.”

“What if I want to call you something cutesy? Like Snookie Wookums?”

“I love it, because everyone else will hate it.”

She giggled.

“What were you going to say earlier? When we said goodnight?”

“Oh…um. I was just wondering…if you would give me a goodnight kiss?”

He sat up a little on his arms. “Yuna, I would love to give you a goodnight kiss.” Since it was dark, he reached out for her, and cupped her cheek with his hand. Then he slowly leaned in and kissed her lips, oh so gently, oh so sweetly. “How was that?”

She hummed, and then answered. “Perfect. I’ll be able to sleep now. Thank you.”

“Anytime…Snookie Wookums.”

She snorted.

#Final Fantasy X #Final Fantasy #ffx #final fantasy tidus #tidus #tidus x yuna #yuna #fanfiction #I Do I guess

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heartsofbeskar · 3 years

Text

from the ashes

chapter 7 | read on AO3

din djarin x oc

WARNINGS: violence, blood, mild torture, swearing, mentions of gambling

WORDS: 5.2K

EXCERPT: Knives had always been his last choice, a last resort when his firearms failed him or were no longer an option. They were inefficient in his brutish hands, often requiring close contact and were never a guarantee to kill. But in hers … they were more than just knives, they were instruments, that she played effortlessly to sing a serenade of violence.

He wondered if the Force had anything to do with it, or if she just had that many years of practice.

“You and that casino operator seemed close,” he continued musing into the silent space between them. There were no indications she had heard him, but he knew she had. Maker knew why, Din decided to push his luck. “Did you fuck her?”

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

PREV | NEXT

Din’s mind whirled faster than light speed as they ran back to her ship.

I am not a Jedi.

The words echoed over and over again. But she had to be … right? Or at least some kind of trainee, like Grogu was. He let his mind dwell on the small foundling. How he’d been able to lift impossible weights for his tiny body, how he’d healed terminal injuries— how he’d choked Cara just as Ten had choked the security officer who’d held a blaster to her head.

But there was no pretending Ten was some helpless creature that just happened to be overloaded with this weird power. She was a grown woman, a trained fighter. She wielded it with precision. She had to have learned how to do that somewhere, somehow.

I am not a Jedi.

The Empire … they chased me too.

If she wasn’t a Jedi, why would the Empire pursue her?

I never knew why—I still don’t.

Had she just lied to him? His skin felt like it was on fire. He didn’t know why the prospect of that bothered him so much. Many people had lied to him before, and he in turn had told many lies. His whole identity was built around an air of secrecy, but … it had felt like an intimate capsule of time, back on that asteroid. Where a barrier had slipped, for the both of them. Din didn’t want to consider it had all been false.

I am not a Jedi.

The ship entered his view, the distance closing much faster than before. Ten didn’t look back at him as she opened the hold and headed directly into the cockpit. He didn’t follow her in.

He sat on the nearest crate, shedding his gloves. He pressed the palms of his hands into his helmet, as if it were skin. A part of him … hoped she was Jedi. That she could get in contact with the ones who had taken Grogu. That he could see him again. Maybe even…

Din shook his head forcefully as he felt the ship jump to hyperspace. It was stupid and wishful for him to dwell on those things.

Ten emerged from the cockpit, avoiding his eyes. She was still wearing her cloak as she hurried into the refresher, and then towards where he sat, holding a small metal box now. He straightened.

“You’re bleeding,” she pointed out. She sat down next to him and rifled through the box. Her thigh pressed against his, and Din had the inexplicable urge to jerk away, which he ignored. He furrowed his brow beneath his helmet, turning to examine himself and — ah. A blaster graze was indeed on his arm, the fabric torn away just below the pauldron. Blood slowly dripped down onto the sleeve.

Setting the box on the ground, she slowly brought her hands up to grip the edges of his pauldron. They stilled there, her eyes lifting to his. Asking for permission. He nodded.

She pried the metal off his arm, and he groaned. He could feel the sting now, the frayed nerves hit by blaster fire. She ripped the fabric further up his arm, exposing the burn and his tanned skin.

“It’s not too bad, just partially got past the beskar,” she muttered, running her fingers over the surrounding area. They were cold, Din noticed. She touched him with a gentleness that didn’t suit her face.

As she began to wipe grime off the area, she said quietly, “Aren’t you going to ask?”

Din turned his face to look in hers, but her eyes were down, staying focused on the burn. Her brows were furrowed. He didn’t even know what the question would be. He settled for silence as she finished cleaning his arm, then reached for a small can of bacta spray.

“This’ll sting.” She began to spray the area. It did sting, but Din registered it only in some far away portion of his mind. He wanted to take the opportunity she’d opened, but his mind was still grasping at the formulation of a thought that didn’t sound … well, stupid.

As she placed a patch on the now scarring burn, he gave up.

“How can you do that if you’re not a Jedi?”

Her eyes finally flickered back up to meet his. “The Jedi do not have nor have they ever had exclusive control over the Force.”

“The Force … that’s where those … powers come from, right?”

She straightened from where she’d been rearranging the first aid box and gave a small laugh. Din … wasn’t sure he’d heard that sound from her before. Not like this.

“Powers, that’s…” she shook her head. “That’s cute, Mandalorian. Yes, the Force is what enables me to do the things most can’t. But it’s all a matter of someone’s connection.”

Ten stood, heading back to the refresher. Din couldn’t help but follow. The questions seemed to be falling out of his mouth now. Grogu had never been able to tell him anything about his powers. It felt as if by learning more he could be closer to him, somehow. Understand his son and the extraordinary life he had lived.

“Connection? What does that mean?”

She half turned towards him, shrugging off her cloak and then her jacket. Wraps encased her forearms, as Din had always seen. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re more curious about this than I thought you would be,” she remarked. Facing the mirror, she turned on the tap.

“You just incapacitated someone without even touching them.”

“A blaster can do that as well,” she said, leaning down and splashing water onto her face. The edges of her hair brushed the sink ledge, the dark strands wetting slightly. Din scoffed.

“A blaster doesn’t—” he stopped. He rubbed a hand along the edge of his helmet, realizing his gloves were still off. “Why did you lie to me before? About the Empire?”

Ten spun quickly to face him, water droplets still dripping down the planes of her face. She narrowed her eyes. “I never lied to you. That armour, your helmet, that’s your Creed. This is mine. Hiding my connection from the Force is the only way I’ve lived all these years. If you were anyone else … I would’ve killed you already.”

Her eyes stayed locked on his helmet, not even blinking. He believed her. And he knew, he could tell, it was something she’d done before. He understood, so he nodded, slowly.

As she passed, he placed a hand on her arm. “I wouldn’t betray you to the Empire.”

She placed a hand on top of his. Din was acutely aware of their bare skin touching. He could feel the texture of her skin. It was softer than he had expected. Was everything about her softer than it appeared?

“People I’ve known for years have sold me out to the Empire. I’ve only known you for less than a month.”

—

Her vision was muddied with the blood that had erupted from her face. It clung to her lashes, falling into her eye, and she tried to rapidly blink it away. Ten spit it out when it accumulated into her mouth. She was afraid to touch her face, afraid of what she would find there.

Good morning, beautiful. Antilles had greeted her that way nearly every morning for as long as she’d known him. Beautiful. She supposed she probably wasn’t, not anymore. Quell had seen to that.

The troopers took turns shoving her with their rifles to move her along. Her ankle screamed its objections, and Ten couldn’t even tell through the blood and sweat if there were tears.

She cried out as she tripped over something hard, falling forward and landing on her forearms. A metal surface. This must be their ship, she realized. A shudder went through her. She tried desperately to reach out to the Force, to feel its steady rhythm beneath her own breathing, but it felt too far away. Pushed down by her own panic.

Someone grabbed her by the collar of her shirt now, pulling her along beside them. She felt them ascending a ramp and then she was unceremoniously thrown towards the floor. Panting, she rested the uncut half of her face on the cool surface under her. Voices filtered through the ship to her ears.

“The asset is secure. We should prepare to leave immediately. You—” A snapping noise. Quell’s voice. “Clean this up, dispose of this waste.”

A different voice responded. “Sir, if I may, it was specified that the asset be delivered unharmed.”

Quell barked a laugh. “The bitch is fine. Surface level, nothing more. It’ll heal and she’ll be just as useful to the Empire as before.”

Ten felt her eyes burning, and she knew now there were undoubtedly tears. She couldn’t muster the effort to be ashamed. Some of the blood cleared from her eye. She focused on the crate that sat directly in front of her, counting the letters of the logo stamped to the side. Footsteps echoed off the metal, louder as they drew closer to her.

“We’re about to have some fun.”

With a small gasp, Ten’s eyes flew open. The hammock she lay in was gently swaying with the movements of the ship. She slowly ran a hand over her cheek. Dry.

She was alone in the ship’s hold. The engines were humming softly. She flexed her hand in front of her; it was still a little sore. One of the wraps on her arm had slipped down as she’d slept. Ten absentmindedly rubbed the tattooed “10” on her forearm. Years ago, she used to rub the skin until it was raw, sometimes on the verge of bleeding. But the ink always remained buried beneath.

Swinging her legs over the side of the hammock, she signed, rubbing the back of her neck. She hadn’t had an outburst like that with the Force in … well, she didn’t like to dwell on the last time it had happened. At least this time hadn’t been disastrous. Maybe she really was in more control, had somehow mastered the connections with no guidance. Or she was just simply fooling herself. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Mando’s footsteps filtered to her as they came down the short hallway. Ten hurriedly rewrapped her arm as he came into view. He’d put his pauldron back on, but not bothered yet to change his shirt — she could still see some of the bare skin around where he’d been burned. The feeling of it under her fingers echoed in her mind.

As he walked towards her, she was hit with the sudden realization of him knowing … and being a Mandalorian, at that. She remembered laying under the stars, Silya’s warm arm wrapped around her. Telling her tales of the ancient days of Mandalore, of their clashes with the Jedi. The enemies of all Mandalorians. Is that how he would view her now? Did she care? She was annoyed that the first response in her mind wasn’t no, of course not.

It felt like she was being laid bare in front of him.

“I went over the communication logs we downloaded.” His helmet was downturned, looking at the holopad in front of him. “The Empire usually slingshots its transmissions around Corellia, Issiluu, and Shih, in specific patterns. I don’t see any of that in here.”

Ten rubbed a hand over her face. “That would make sense, given the levels of security. The Empire would never leave their conspirator without at least a few troopers on the property.”

“We should choose who to check out next so we can get going,” he said, fingers moving quickly over the holopad screen. She rose from the hammock, muscles protesting. He’d put his gloves back on, she noticed. She followed him into the cockpit.

Settling into the co-pilot seat, he pulled up the holographic display which began listing Karga’s associates. He tapped his finger in the corner and it began scrolling through their details.

“I still think we should focus on those who were known to deal in weapons or adjacent industries during the height of the Empire,” Mando’s voice hummed in the background as Ten watched the names go by, along with the imagery of their various business pursuits. They were beginning to blur together and Ten sighed when— she saw it.

“Stop,” she demanded harshly. The screen had already moved forward. Mando’s helmet jerked in her direction. “Go back one. Another one. There— stop it here.”

Ten leaned forward, examining the information. It was the profile of Doman Tosche. He looked mild mannered enough, round face slightly reddened in the display picture. He owned a myriad of businesses in the Core, primarily food and household goods, which he’d recently been exporting further out. The only known connection to the Empire, based on their combined records and knowledge, was a second cousin who’d enlisted decades prior.

None of that was what had grabbed her attention.

There, next to one of his agricultural businesses, Mal’s Production Incorporated. A logo. One she’d seen before.

Blood was dripping down her brow. Her body was wracked with shivers against the cold metal floor. Quell’s voice was in the background, arrogant and spiteful. The crate. The crate sat right in front of her. A logo painted onto the side. She counted the letters. Mal’s Production Incorporated.

She’d seen it before. On Quell’s ship. Years ago.

“He’s working with the Empire,” she said. She didn’t look at Mando. “He always has been.”

“You’re sure?” Ten looked at him now. He had leaned in, just slightly, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach. They didn’t. She nodded. “Okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she motioned to the display. “Looks like he has no centralized office, but he was in Canto Bight … two days ago, according to the shipyard logs. We should head there.”

Mando nodded, settling back in his seat, flexing his fingers. He seemed uneasy as she set in their new course. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is this … is this a Force thing?”

“No,” she said. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the controls. “It’s a memory thing.”

—

“We should try to be back before the sun rises, in case there’s any New Republic officers patrolling.” Ten had her back turned to him, adjusting her weapons. The muscles in her shoulders flexed, and a strangely linear burn scar covered her left shoulder blade. Din’s eyes followed the line of her arm down to where her wrappings covered her skin. He felt a pang of guilt thinking about the glimpse he’d accidentally stolen of the skin underneath earlier. Of the tattoo he guessed she was hiding, though he couldn’t even begin to understand why. But he knew what it was to feel safe in cover, to need to block off physical parts of one’s self. He wouldn’t tell her he’d seen. She continued speaking as she turned around to face him, fastening her cloak at her neck. “I can blend in a crowd, but the beskar’s not exactly … inconspicuous.”

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered. “But I agree, we should be careful. How much do you trust this contact you have here?”

She laughed at that. “Not at all, Mando.”

As they made their way past the bright casino lights, Din could tell the reflections off his armour made her uncomfortable as they moved amongst the city’s tourists. In his experience, the reflections often had the opposite effect she feared — he was like a mirror, where the surroundings drew all the attention, and he became nothing but a neutral piece of the structure.

Ten led him down a narrower side alley, offset from the main casino attractions, which seemed to help her relax a touch, despite its much seedier nature. A few shadowy figures lingered in doorways and Din’s hand came up to rest on his blaster, even though the woman in front of him seemed unbothered by their presence.

A dirty hand lunged out from an alcove as they passed by, grabbing tightly onto Ten’s arm and yanking. With the surprise leverage, the hand — attached to a man with a face equally dirty — pushed her down into the gravel. Din pulled his blaster from his belt but as he pointed it at the man, he had already his own blaster pressed into her temple.

“Go ahead Tin Can, shoot me,” he snarled. “By the time it reaches me I’ll have pulled the trigger on your friend here.”

As if to illustrate his point, he pushed the blaster harder into her temple. His other hand rested on the back of her head, and he pressed her face into the ground. Her hands were pinned beneath his knees. Din felt the blood rushing in his ears, his adrenaline spiking.

“You fucking idiot,” he heard Ten swear at him, her voice muffled.

“Oh, I’m the fucking idiot, eh?” he responded, turning his eyes down to her. Din dropped his free arm beneath his cloak. “You cost us a right lot of credits last time you were here, bitch. Fucked over our whole operation, ya did.”

“Your operation had the constitution of a burlap sack, you absolute—” The rest of her sentence was cut off as Din launched forward, propelled by the phoenix. He slammed his body into the other man, sending them into the opposite wall, and his body protested. The small space filled with smoke and Din pulled the vibroblade from his arm as it cleared. Bringing it down in a swift stroke, he plunged it into the direction of the man’s neck. As it sunk in and blood sprayed onto his chest plate he knew he’d hit the mark.

As the man slumped to the ground, he turned to where Ten had been. She was coughing lightly through the smoke, lifting herself on her elbows. He stepped towards her.

“Are you alright?” He extended a gloved hand down towards her. She ignored it.

“Shit,” she cursed again. Din watched as she slowly rose to her feet, brushing gravel off the front of her body. There was a red mark at her temple where the blaster had been, but he let out a breath when she seemed otherwise fine. Her eyes locked onto his. “I didn’t need your help.”

“Yeah, seemed like you had it all under control,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Some gravel still clung to the smooth skin of her face. Before he could stop himself, his hand reached up and began to gingerly wipe it away.

Her hand darted up to grab him by the wrist. It gripped him like a vice, and neither of them moved. It felt like there was some inflexible string tying them together in that moment, constricting each of them separately. The expression in her eyes was unreadable. It was as if she had her own beskar helmet to cover her outward expression. Din wasn’t even sure they were breathing.

He had no idea how long it had been — seconds? minutes? hours? — when the grip on his wrist finally released. His hand lowered.

“I didn’t need your help,” she said, tone softer than before. Ripping her eyes from him, she resumed their previous path down the alley.

—

Ten clenched her fists, tight enough to hurt, beneath her cloak. If she didn’t, she knew she would shake.

Not from the attempt on her life. No, that was a pretty standard day. And she’d met that man before, when he’d helped run a ring of backdoor casinos, scalping off the legitimate casino profits. The legitimate casinos had, unsurprisingly, hired her to flush out all the information on their counterparts.

No, Ten was shaking because … well, she couldn’t really say why. Was she humiliated? Maybe. Was she annoyed? Most definitely. She wanted to turn on her Mandalorian counterpart and give him the brunt of it, about how she was no damsel in distress for him to save and protect.

It wasn’t completely logical, she knew. They were partners, and someone had her on the ground with a blaster to her head. The second time in so many days. But she bristled all the same.

And the way his hand had brushed off the dirt from her face … what the fuck? Her nerves felt frayed, as if her very skin had been peeled open and set alight.

She didn’t look back at him again as they made their way to the end of the alley. A large metal door was inset in the wall that marked the end. There was no handle of any kind, but a small window at eye level which was shut.

Approaching, she motioned to Mando to stand back behind her. She banged one, two, three times exactly on the door. With a squeak, the metal cover on the small window slid open. It was just large enough to view the eyes of the person on the other side. Their brow was furrowed.

“You have a fathier for today’s race?” a gruff voice asked.

“Yes, he’s being tended to in the thirteenth stable.”

The metal window covering snapped shut abruptly. A moment later the entire door gave a low moan, opening just wide enough for a person to fit through. Ten entered, gesturing for the Mandalorian to follow.

The small room reeked of smoke, more sour and concentrated than the smoke in the alley had been. A large green Trandoshan sat on a stool and leaned against the dirty wall, picking at their teeth. The Devaronian who let them in gave them a short grunt, which she knew to interpret as wait here. He disappeared down another short hallway, which quickly faded to blackness.

Rather than make eye contact with the Trandoshan, Ten turned herself back towards Mando. The single bulb that lit the room reflected off the top corner of his breastplate. His helmet tilted down to look at her.

“A waiting room?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. Experimentally, she clenched and unclenched her fist beside her. The shaking had subsided.

“They don’t allow weapons inside their main casino.” She nodded down the hallway. “And I don’t allow myself anywhere without weapons.”

“I take it this isn’t the operation you fucked over, then,” he said, helmet turning to look back at the entrance. Ten swore she could hear a smirk in his voice.

“I was paid by the big boys to profile everything I could find on illegitimate operations in the city,” she shrugged. “Kirana paid me even more to remain … discrete.”

Before he could say anything in response, a human woman emerged from the hallway with the Devaronian hovering just over her shoulder. She was conspicuously dressed, a bright red gown draped over her body, with a significant dip into her cleavage, opening the expanse of skin. Her red lips turned up into a smile when she entered the room with them.

“My dear nameless friend,” she cooed, embracing Ten’s upper arms. She placed a kiss on each of her cheeks. “How lovely of you to grace us with your presence in Canto Bight!”

“Kirana, you’re looking lovely as ever,” Ten gestured beside her. “This is the Mandalorian, he’s helping me with a job.”

“A nameless associate, how very on brand,” Kirana flashed them a dazzling smile. “Tell me, what can I do for my favourite devious double agent, hmm?”

“Doman Tosche,” she spat the name out at no one in particular. “We tapped shipyard logs and apparently he was here just a few days ago. He runs some businesses from the Core, but we— I— think he’s been dealing with Imps since the Empire days.”

Kirana raised a delicate eyebrow. Ten struggled to read the expression in her eyes.

“Not many reputable Core businessmen visit my establishments, I’m afraid.”

“There’s also not many people at all who enter and leave this city that you don’t know about.” With this, the well dressed woman broke into a lilting laugh that echoed off the metal walls. She ran her hands higher up Tens arms, grasping her near her shoulders, and smiled at her.

“Now that you’re right about,” she sighed. “I do know a certain Mr. Tosche was here, he likes to frequent certain girls who work by the betting tracks. However, he left after one night on a passenger caravan. Obviously under a false name if it’s not in the logs.”

Ten gritted her teeth hearing that he was already gone. She turned her head ever so slightly, looking at the Mandalorian from the corner of her eye, before focusing back on Kirana.

“I don’t suppose there’s a chance you know where that ship was headed?”

Kirana shook her head, looking rueful. “Even if I did, they usually make a number of unlogged stops, especially if they’re well paid,” she muttered. Gently, she lifted a hand to cup Ten’s cheek— the same one the Mandalorian had touched, Ten registered, somewhere in a corner of her mind. She pushed it even further back. “But, I do know that he didn’t arrive here alone. A business associate, some sort of manager, perhaps. He stayed on world and has spent the last many hours inside my humble establishment.”

“He’s in there now?” Ten asked, eyes darting to the dark hallway. “Kirana, you have to let me in to get him.”

The Trandoshan stirred now, leaning in her direction, a low growl in its throat. Ten saw the glint of beskar moving beside her.

“Now, now, there’s no reason for any sort of violence here,” Kirana turned her eyes onto Mando, narrowing them. “But you know my rules, dear. No weapons inside my premises. That includes these lovely hands of yours. However, once someone leaves…”

Mando spoke up for the first time since Kirana had appeared. “We’ll be waiting then.”

—

For once, their timing seemed to work out favourably. The man Kirana said worked for Tosche — Hamal Hearns — took less than an hour to stumble out of the back alley casino, yawning and scratching at the stubble that had grown out on his face.

Subduing him was too easy to even be fun, Din lamented. He spent a large portion of the walk back to the Ursa, through the still dark streets of Canto Bight then the deserts of the surrounding area, grovelling and talking about ransoms, about the powerful men he worked for, how they would pay for him, however much they needed. Ten rewarded him with a sharp punch to the nose, after which he fell silent.

She threw him unceremoniously into the storage room Din had adopted as his sleeping quarters. Din could hear him softly crying through the door.

“He shouldn’t need much pushing,” he commented, leaning against the corner of the wall. Ten was in her weapons compartment, seemingly picking out her favourite. He once again found himself marvelling at the sheer number of blades. And the single blaster he knew she carried at her left hip.

Knives had always been his last choice, a last resort when his firearms failed him or were no longer an option. They were inefficient in his brutish hands, often requiring close contact and were never a guarantee to kill. But in hers … they were more than just knives, they were instruments, that she played effortlessly to sing a serenade of violence.

He wondered if the Force had anything to do with it, or if she just had that many years of practice.

That got her attention. Her hand snapped to his direction. She picked out a large knife, its blade slightly curved, and began walking slowly towards him. He wondered if she finally was going to stab him.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Mandalorian,” she came to a stop beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “But yes … I did.”

For another moment, neither of them moved, staring at the other. It seemed to stretch from that second into infinity, and then it ended as quickly as it began. Ten continued down the small hallway to the room where their guest was. Taking a deep breath, Din followed.

Hamal Hearns was on his knees, hands still cuffed behind his back. His face was covered in snot and sweat and tears and a small trickle of blood out of his nose from when Ten had hit him. His eyes brimmed with more tears as she held his chin in one of her hands.

“I have a very simple question for you, Mr. Hearns,” she murmured, her tone much gentler than Din expected. He crossed his arms over his chest, not missing the way the man’s eyes flitted back and forth between them. Ten’s hand on his face tightened.

“Is your boss working for the Empire?”

His eyes widened, tears spilling over, lips trembling.

“Please, please, miss, we wouldn’t do anything like that I promise—”

“Shhh,” Ten cooed. “I’m afraid you misunderstood. You see, I know the answer already, I was just hoping … you could be honest with me.”

She was kneeling in front of him now, and brought her other hand up to the cheek she hadn’t already been holding. He widened his eyes as they stayed locked on her face.

Din had expected some violence, perhaps Ten’s favourite flavour of physical torture, to get the skittish man to tell them what he knew.

But the silence only deepened, and as Ten and Hearns maintained eye contact, he watched the latter’s body begin to shake. He tried to shake his head back and forth, but she held it steady. Blood began to seep from his eyes, falling like tears, then out of his ears, and mouth.

“Please,” he whimpered. He coughed and gasped around the blood in his mouth. “I’ll—” Another cough. “I’ll tell you everything I know! He’s been selling to the Empire for years! P-please just stop!”

Ten leaned back, stretching her hands out. “Good. I knew you’d do the right thing. You’re going to tell my Mandalorian friend everything useful you know. Or I’ll be back.”

He nodded vigorously, not even attempting to cover the sobs that racked his body. Blood still covered his face, but no longer seemed to be freshly flowing.

What had she done to him?

She stood, and Din didn’t miss the shaking in her legs. As she turned, he saw the bags under her eyes that he swore weren’t there when they had entered the room. She laid a hand on his breastplate.

“Take it from here, please, Mando.”

#*writes a chapter twice as long as average*#ummm anyway im v happy w this i hope ppl like it #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x original character #the mandalorian #din djain #din djarin x oc #din djarin x original character #din djarin fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #mywriting

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libermachinae · 3 years

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Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part III: Watch - Chapter 8: Registered Purple

Also available on AO3 Chapter Summary: Drift thinks he has the situation on Vitrious handled when he receives unexpected support. Chapter Word Count: 3134

---

Wing had taught him a mantra.

Many mantras, in fact, a few glyphs composed to hold him to the path of redemption and humility, charity and strength. Most he had deleted moments after being taught, having witnessed by then the intangible, transient nature of words, but this one he’d kept. He had never recited Wing’s version in full, his bastardization of the lines one of the few acts of rebellion he could get away with, but like most of the training he had received in Crystal City, he had discarded the substance and retained the structure.

In the years since, he had modified it as his circumstances changed and his path wound out of sight. Its recitation had proven one successful method to ground himself, so he focused now on the words, the shape of the glyphs against his thoughts.

My name is Drift.

He dodged behind a pillar as the spot he had been standing on exploded, a hail of blasterfire igniting the organic soil in his wake. The shots followed him, peppering his defenses, and he knew he had only a moment before the porous material gave way.

I’m not an Autobot.

He ducked, rolled, and unfurled into a sprint out the other side. Grit’s crew hesitated, their aim swinging wide before locking onto their target, giving him enough time to dive behind a larger building, a step closer to the cliff wall the city backed into. A lucky shot clipped his shoulder pauldron, sending him stumbling, but he was back behind cover before they could follow it up with a more decisive blow.

I’m not a Decepticon, either.

He pressed his back to the wall and waited for the barrage to let up. Rogue Decepticons tended to go heavy on ammo and light on fuel and medical supplies, but even Deathsaurus’ storage capacity was limited, and these runaways had nothing on that mammoth. The shots eventually petered out, replaced by footsteps.

“That’s it? You think you can just sabotage my operation and run?”

Drift’s spark burned at the reminder of Grit’s business on this planet: non-aligned organic labor procurement. Slave trade. They did not deserve their Deceptibrands, to count themselves among a movement that had fought for freedom. It was an effort to remind himself that he had already been stripped of his badge and was no longer obligated to defend it, and further effort to convince himself, again, that the symbol no longer represented the ideals he had sworn himself to. The people of Vitrious, they were the ones who needed his anger right now. Not a long-dead dream.

He braced his hands against the ground.

What I am is in trouble.

Drift sprung as the muzzle of a pistol appeared around the corner. Pushing off, he lobbed himself over the wall, onto the roof. Two strides and he landed on the other side, crouching to absorb the impact. He was up and sprinting again before Grit could register which way he had gone.

He was looking for an opportunity to catch one on their own, but the trio stuck together and moved as a unit. Hoping he might force them to spread out, Drift jumped for a narrow ledge, sacrificing a moment of vulnerability for the sake of speed. From his new vantage point, he spotted the pier. He considered it, adjusting his plans.

I’m also—

His thoughts were cut short by the roar of a shuttle’s engine.

Drift leapt from the wall and landed back on the rubble strewn street. Not as maneuverable, but like Pit he was going to stay up top to be fried by Grit’s reinforcements. Or the Galactic Council executive force, come to cleanse this system of its Cybertronian problem. He kept moving with his head down, not wasting the seconds it would have taken to look up and confirm. Either presence meant things were about to get complicated.

He stole into an alley just as heavy artillery formed the percussion over the engine’s bass with the Decepticons on vocals, the onslaught driving them to panicked shouting. Galactic Council, then, Drift reasoned. Decepticons gave each other a chance to posture before they started blasting.

Drift’s opinion on the Galactic Council was complicated. He trusted their judiciary system, insofar as he doubted there was anything better. Certainly not where his own kind was concerned. Cybertronians had failed at holding each other accountable for their crimes, given that judge, jury, and prosecution tended to be guilty of actions one step removed from those of the defendant. Their shared history had resulted in societal biases, and while Bumblebee and his enemies might have been trying to reestablish their sense of justice to one another, there yet remained a galaxy of people who did not have the luxury to wait for Cybertronians to realize they were incapable of convicting themselves. The victims of their atrocities deserved control over their justice, and the Galactic Council courts had structures and precedent to provide it.

Galactic Council defense squads operated on a precedent of eliminating Cybertronian threats at any cost. Its structures included battle cruisers, drone swarms, and mobile tactical arrays. They were not lawless entities, but they had been granted all necessary privileges to apprehend those who were, and had, in Drift’s opinion, become that which they had been commissioned to destroy. A single recon squad versus a handful of desperate rogue Decepticons could level a minor metropolitan neighborhood, and most of their standoffs occurred in locations with significantly less infrastructure than that. Drift never called the Council before all combat capable Cybertronians were subdued and removed from vulnerable areas, because otherwise it almost always ended up like the nightmare scenario he was now racing toward.

His priority trees reoriented: he had to get the fight out of the city. He remapped his route and updated acrobatic and combat protocols, shifting stealth to standby. His plating flared out to catch the sun as his pauldrons relaxed, swaying with each step to create a blinking effect. He revved his engine and pushed it into a lower gear, opting for more power, and drew his swords, using them to add volume to his movements as he jumped and spun, landing mid-stride on a roof.

That his optics registered purple when he looked up did not disrupt his momentum and only barely adjusted his plans. A rival group, here for their share of the cube, would be less likely to kill potential merchandise but have no qualms about murdering Grit before the Retins could serve their own justice.

Drift charged forward, up onto a ledge and then across, rooftop to rooftop. The newcomers were staying high and playing cautious, likely because their ship was more transport shuttle than combat vehicle. Offensive capabilities amounted to a single turret lowered from the underside of the ship, but the rapid-fire machine gun was much more intimidating than Grit’s shotgun and his team’s pistols. They were returning fire, but their shots angled wide or fizzled out before they breached the hull, the few that left a pockmark of warped metal the only reason Drift’s acrobatic leaps had yet to gain him any attention.

He got a foothold in the battered outer wall of a tower and launched himself up, arm outstretched. He caught a ledge and propelled himself further, calculating his trajectory in the split seconds he spent with hand or pede on the wall. Up, higher, he flung himself, until he was brushing the sky with his fingertips, brought high by the weight of his frame.

With one final leap, he reached the peak.

From here, the shuttle was still above him, but close enough that he could have seen into the cockpit, had he the time to adjust his lenses that much. Instead, he bent to one knee and retrieved a throwing knife from his lower leg. He pulled his arm back, lining up a shot at the central forward end of the viewshield, approximately where he remembered the pilot’s seat to be. He doubted it would penetrate, but maybe the noise would—

His comm buzzed.

He startled, losing his aim, at the assault of static from a component that had gone too long without use. It was not white noise, though: it peaked and valleyed, following the pattern of speech, until the sound coalesced into recognizable syllables, spoken by a familiar voice.

“Drift, it’s us.”

He almost dropped his knife.

“Ratchet?!”

“And Rodimus,” Ratchet said. “He wants me to say hi. He’d do it himself, but he’s focused on those guys that were giving you trouble.”

“Stop shooting!” There would be explanations later; he had come up here with a purpose, and despite his brief shock, he had not forgotten it. “The Retins are still down there.”

“Got it.”

The turret stopped firing, though it remained engaged and ready, staring down at Grit where he and his crew had been backed into a corner. Their shouting turn to celebratory whoops, assuming their enemies had run out of ammo, and their own assault gained a new vigor as they pressed their assumed advantage.

“No guns,” Rodimus agreed as he joined the channel. “What do we do about them?”

“I’m taking care of it,.” Drift stooped to slot his knife back in, using the familiar motion to calm his scrambled thoughts.

“How do we help?” Ratchet asked.

“By staying out of the way.” He stood and jumped, scaling down the tower pede over hand a fraction faster than he had ascended it. He landed in a roll on the ground, stealth programs back online, and made his way in the direction of Grit’s shouting. There was more rubble the closer he came to the center of town, chunks of walls that had been blown out and shards of glass, and he focused on keeping his movements light and quick, hard to trace as he came closer to listening audials.

“Decepticon ship, fragging answer me,” Grit demanded from around a corner. Drift stilled; he stalled his fans and dropped his engine. “You have some nerve, showing up here without an ident. Who do you think you’re gonna fool, a colorblind Autobot?”

“50 shanix that jerk is dead,” one of the others said. They had stopped shooting.

“What’s the point?” the third asked. “You saw him jumping all over the place like a flashy piece of target practice. I could’ve blasted him myself with my aiming module offline.”

“Just not with your blaster fully loaded, huh?”

“Screw stripper, you weren’t any better.”

“Decepticon shuttle, this is Grit of Polyhex. You’d better answer, or we’ll blast you out of—”

Drift whipped around the corner with an elbow aimed at the back of Grit’s head, where he should have found the exposed juncture between spinal strut and helm. Instead, he hit solid armor, and though Grit stumbled forward a couple steps it was nowhere near the complete freeze Drift had been banking on. He started to reach for a gun, so Drift knocked it away, then danced back as the others realized what was happening and started shooting.

Drift was back where he had started, in close quarters and surrounded. He cursed himself for not realizing how thick Grit’s plating would be while he dodged the incoming fire. He leaned to the side as he hopped out of the way, then back twice and behind a wall. They were following fast, though, he only had a couple seconds to—

“Incoming,” Ratchet warned, before the gunshot.

Drift looked up and saw the shuttle had descended, its hatch lowered with a familiar, flame-like beacon spilling out. Rodimus kneeled at the edge, an oversized Earth rifle perched on his shoulder.

He fired again, the gunshot accompanied this time by the sound of a solid matter bullet hitting plating. Drift peeked around just in time to see one of Grit’s grunts topple over backward with a dent in the front of his helm. Rodimus’ weapon didn’t puncture armor, but it packed enough power to put a bot in stasis.

“Got ‘im!” Rodimus shouted.

It was also concentrated enough to minimize the risk of collateral.

Drift sprung over his cover to the other Decepticon, who had just enough time to shout, “Hey, that’s an Auto—” before a sharp blow with the heel of his hand knocked him back. The Con automatically reached up to his face and Drift took the opportunity to sweep his legs out from under him, ending with a firm kick to the helm that put him out as well.

Grit was alone, swinging his gun between two targets. Drift withdrew his sword as he stepped forward, mindful of the gun but not scared of it.

“Should I shoot him?” Rodimus asked. Drift held up his hand, wait.

“That was a scummy trick,” Grit growled, finger starting to squeeze around the trigger.

Drift moved. Grit fired and he felt the plasma burn the air past his audial, but then he was in front of his assailant, sword pressed to the fuel lines in his neck.

“This was barely a trick,” he said. “Now, enslaving people? That seems pretty ‘scummy’ to me.”

Grit glared at him, optics fritzing. He glanced at the sword, then the gun in his hand.

“You should drop it!” Rodimus called down. “Drift takes things like disarming literally!”

Grit glanced at Rodimus, realized his mistake, and looked back at Drift. Miraculously, his lapse in judgment did not result in getting his head cut off, and that realization seemed to be what forced him to stand down. His optics settled into a steady glow and he set the safety on his gun before dropping it. Drift waited for the clatter before he retrieved his cuffs and fastened them around Grit’s wrists.

“What’s the plan now?” Rodimus asked as Drift set to cuffing the other two. He was surprised the others had not dropped into the fray. Ratchet had the excuse of being confined to the cockpit, but it seemed exactly like the kind of dramatic entrance Rodimus preferred.

Something wasn’t right.

“Same as before,” Drift said. “I take these three to the authorities and we leave the citizens of Vitrious alone.”

“Want us to watch these three while you go get it?” Ratchet asked.

Drift paused snapping on the last pair of cuffs to swivel and side-eye the shuttle.

“Uh, no,” he said. “You do realize how sus that sounds, right? I've had no one but rogue Decepticons for company for," he realized he had no idea how long he'd been out here, "a while, and that’s still the second sketchiest offer I've been made.” He glanced at Rodimus, and this time zoomed in. His face was pinched, frame stiff with tension. “What’s going on?”

He was not looking for an answer, though, his processor already generating the scenario and inserting it into his queue like it was fact. It laid out the team: a back-alley medic could retune a vocalizer, a gifted outlier could copy a frame, and enough living people were owed vengeance against Deadlock to fund the venture. Well honed instincts had him standing up, hands moving to clasp the hilts of his swords.

“We’re here for you,” Rodimus said.

“Then get down here.”

Rodimus stared at Drift. He set the rifle down behind him, at the top of the hatch, but he made no move to disembark, nor did Ratchet lower them to the open street.

“Why are you here?” Drift demanded.

“It’s complicated,” Ratchet and Rodimus said simultaneously, and Drift bristled. He drew his swords and put himself in front of the prone Decepticons, senses cast outward in case this proved to be a distraction.

“Whatever business you have with me, fine, we can deal with,” he said, “but that’s personal. You’re going to leave these bots and this planet alone.”

“Fraggit, of all the lousy—we’re not here to hurt anyone, Drift,” the voice that sounded like Ratchet’s said. “Least of all you.”

The tips of Drift’s swords came up as his grip tightened.

“We need your help,” Rodimus said. “Have you ever heard of the Enigma of Combination?”

Drift’s guard did not waver, but he combed through his archives for anything relevant and was surprised when several files were flagged. Those were old memories, from well before he had joined Turmoil’s squad: a decade in which his service was turned over to Shockwave to act as a research assistant. Test subject might have been a more accurate term, but since he had been designated Subject A and assigned to pull the trigger, Deadlock had stuck around long enough to earn a more permanent title.

Shockwave never mentioned the Enigma outright. Deadlock discovered it while flipping through research materials, trying to pass the boring period between trials, a few entertaining horror stories hidden within the precise jargon. Long lost and, he had assumed, made up.

“Where did you hear about that?” Any potential impersonator could flip through a copy of the Lost Light Insider and gather he had history with Ratchet and Rodimus, but these details were top secret, and he doubted Shockwave cared enough about Subject A to send experienced hitmen after him.

“It’s an ancient artifact, from what we’ve heard,” Ratchet said. “It’s…”

“It’s weird,” Rodimus said, glancing toward the cockpit.

“We have it onboard.”

Drift sheathed his sword, though he kept his position in front of Grit.

“You didn’t—”

“It’s complicated,” they repeated.

“Frag,” Ratchet swore.

The story was outlandish and the circumstances suspect, and Drift’s logic centers were trying to work through his complex feelings even as he shoved them down. It meant something, that the latest reminder of his old life came in the form of these two bot specifically. There was a story here, and it seemed he was intended to hear it.

He glanced at the Decepticons, then back at the ship.

“There’s a clearing west of the city,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere else. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay,” Rodimus said. “Will you be alright with those guys?”

“Yes.” He turned his back on Rodimus and finished clamping on the last set of cuffs, focusing on keeping his hands gentle while he handled the unconscious prisoner. The other was starting to stir, and Drift debated whether it would be easier to let him wake up or put him back into stasis.

“We’ll see you there, then,” Ratchet said.

They waited to leave until Drift was standing again, one body lugged over his shoulder and the other supported with an arm around his back, Grit walking out in front of them. He heard the raise, then the engines fire, and the shuttle gently peeled away from the city. Drift watched it to confirm its direction before he grunted to Grit to start moving.

“Fraggin’ Autobots,” Grit muttered. Drift was inclined to agree.

#maccadam #transformers #ratchet #rodimus #drift #dratchrod #my writing #fault lines #longfic #ghhh it took a while but we MADE IT

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sepublic · 4 years

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Kikimora and King Parallels?

All right, so some discussions I’ve had with @50shades-of-blue have got me further thinking with the idea of Kikimora being King’s parallel. Honestly, I could just be projecting my speculation onto her… But with the smug way she passive-aggressively talks to Lilith in front of those kids, and how quick she is to cave into Luz’s threats while otherwise trying to be proper…

…She lowkey gives me vibes of King, if he like. Had access to ACTUAL power and authority, like he rode on the coattails of Luz or Eda as they ascended, and he KNOWS he’s above everybody else as a result of this! And he’s proud and smug of it, like, “Look at my friend, they’re so cool and powerful! And I’m THEIR friend, what’re you gonna do about it!?” There’s that subtle energy of being a little shit and a gremlin beneath it all… And Kiki comes across as more ‘mature’ because she’s had more experience, access to lessons on ‘proper manners and dignity’, and isn’t constantly frustrated by a lowly position in society and is thus less prone to temper tantrums, but.

By the end of the day, she’s still a gremlin, and like King, she can get in over her head; So at the first sight of a legitimate issue, she caves into Luz’s threats (though this could just be blamed on runtime issues), just as King quickly defaults to getting the help of someone like Hooty, or running from Half-Cursed Eda! But maybe like King (or not these characters are also contrasts as well), Kikimora is someone who WILL lay her life down whenever her friends are directly threatened… Hence her genuine concern at seeing what Luz did to Belos, and insisting she avenge him afterwards.

Then, there’s what @50shades-of-blue suggested about Kikimora having been with Belos since the very beginning… Like, the concept of her having been a lowly grifter/scavenger like King, a petty thief down-on-her-luck and with a napoleon complex because of how helpless she was… But she takes to Belos, and acts as a bad-idea friend and lowkey enabler, sort of like King with Luz… But there IS some tenderness and genuine sweetness, perhaps! Like maybe Kikimora DOES care for Belos as an actual friend and not just a vehicle for power (not to say she doesn’t enjoy those benefits either)…

And you know how King is an author and talks big of himself? If Kikimora is his parallel, then what if she was someone who helped Belos write propaganda and speeches, helped persuade the Boiling Isles to how GREAT this dude was, wrote history in his favor and basically acted as his hype-woman? Sort of like King, but he’s directing his hype-talk towards his friends, which is also something he’d totally do!

Alternatively, perhaps her relationship with Belos is a lot less warm… Again, as a contrast to Luz and King amidst the parallels, and like how Lilith and Amity are a lot colder and more professional towards one another! Perhaps as a dark reflection of Luz and King’s friendship, Belos and Kikimora only really value one another for what the other can provide; Belos lets Kiki around because she acts as his public face, hyping him up to young generations and spreading his lies to the news outlets. While Kiki supports Belos, because this means power and authority- Almost commensalistic, but Kikimora still has her own things to provide!

Maybe Kikimora’s relationship with Belos is like King, where she gets away with stuff because she can basically ‘hide behind Belos’ for protection, even if she’s also capable of magic as well! Can you imagine a younger Kiki acting like King, getting a younger Belos roped into her ludicrous schemes to get power or money or whatever, and like Luz, Belos goes along with it… But because he’s not exactly Luz, Belos keeps doing things without really considering the consequences? And he rises as Kikimora’s ‘top minion’ but eventually seizes control for himself… But at the same time he still keeps Kikimora around as a friend and a subordinate, you know?

And so it’s this idea of Kikimora having lowkey raised him/assisted in his rise to power, kind of like King was a reliable friend to Luz and treats her like as his ‘top minion’, but also as a real friend and makes sure to give her emotional support and love himself! And just as Luz is shaping up to be a powerful witch and likes to humor King’s fantasies, Kikimora helped Belos ‘ascend’ from common thief, as he began to take initiative and control once he got used to how things worked! Just as Luz makes the decision to challenge Belos in Eda’s absence, while King happily follows, even if he also sees himself as having to take care of and protect Luz, regardless of the fact that it’s likely to be the other way around!

Imagine Belos and Kiki having been like Luz and King, except there’s no Eda to keep them in line… Perhaps their relationship was also a bit more toxic, with Kikimora treating Belos more like an underling at times, but either way some fondness still existed, so when Belos DID rise and ‘overthrow’ Kiki, he still kept her around as a subordinate… Maybe in part to flex the reversal of roles, and because she has genuine use as his hype-woman and not somebody who’s a walking, melting body horror of a flesh-puppet.

But still; Imagine Dark Luz and King, except they’re just very selfish and enabling towards one another without stopping for self-reflection! Perhaps some issues will come into play about Kiki wanting Belos for himself or something alone those lines, or Belos forgetting about his friend in favor of other connections… Who knows? If Belos is Luz if she never learned her lessons, then perhaps Kikimora could be King sans character development!

What if when Belos and Kiki first met, she also threatened to eat him or whatever like King joked about, and for a while Belos was legit afraid of this… But he also still hung around her because she provided companionship and guidance! Like Luz and King, troublemakers with hearts of gold, but those hearts are only directed towards one another, mostly, and otherwise they do NOT care about how others are harmed! Basically just utter children by this point.

For all we know, Kiki’s own past immaturity (a mirror to King’s) lowkey influenced Belos into becoming the horrific, genocidal dictator he is today, a man with no regards for the lives of others he doesn’t care about or who don’t ‘fit in’ with this ideals! Like, perhaps like King during Really Small Problems, Kikimora didn’t want to lose Belos and was possessive of him…

But instead of maturing, Kikimora opted to isolate Belos from any other friends and positive influences, which contributed to Belos becoming so terrible! And if Belos realizes this, or does… Would he care? Would he care on the principle of how reliable Kiki is to him, or have they reached a point where she’d never betray him regardless because of what SHE has to lose? Not to mention how Belos may see his current path in life as the ‘proper’ one, so perhaps Kiki isolating him was for the best….

Maybe it’ll directly parallel King’s antics with the Trash Slug, or Sergeant New Guy; Maybe Kiki was even deliberately harsh towards Belos to keep her sense of power and control, but also to keep him dependent upon her… But in the end, Belos became stronger and rebelled! But at the same time, he still kept Kikimora around… Perhaps because there was still some fondness there? Because they still had uses for one another? Maybe Kikimora still has some level of control and manipulation over Belos, at least enough to convince him to keep her around, even if she’s no longer in charge like she used to be…

And just as Belos may be codependent and even parasitic to the Titan, perhaps Kikimora is the same to him as well? Or at the very least it’s a lot better… Could you imagine if Belos ‘realizes’ Kikimora’s power/manipulation over him? And Belos decides that he’s had enough of her ‘parasitically’ riding on his coattails, but not providing him anything that couldn’t easily be replaced… So he cuts ties by firing Kikimora and replacing her? And alone and dejected, Kiki has nowhere else to gobesides the Owl House?

Alternatively, Kikimora acts as the only person Belos will listen to that can actively act as a buffer between him and going completely all-out with no reservations or brakes… But then Belos decides to ‘discard’ her because he thinks Kikimora is limiting him, when in reality he’s actually keeping Belos from going too far? Maybe she’ll act as his Voice of Reason, as the only person Belos will listen to when it comes to criticisms and reconsidering his actions…

Only for that to abruptly end as the Day of Unity nears and Belos becomes more anxious? As Belos’ public face, Kikimora could function as someone who reins the Emperor in. because she’s most familiar with/concerned about the Emperor’s Coven appearing palatable to Belos’ subjects, given how that’s her entire job? So she’ll sometimes advise Belos NOT to utterly eradicate this small community off the face (not the actual skull) of the Boiling Isles, just beat them into submission?

Not out of a genuine concern for these people, mostly just to be pragmatic, and/or she IS concerned about Belos getting a little too nuts… Then again, we also see Kikimora suggest attacking the Owl House in retaliation for Belos’ damage, and it’s Belos who makes the decision on his own to ‘sate’ the public by pretending to spare Eda’s life, and doesn’t bother trying to actively arrest/suppress them –even if they’re in the middle of the Conformatorium- because that’s just not necessary, and he has better things to do?

So perhaps instead, Kikimora will operate from an inferiority complex and be the hotheaded one, like King, vouching for Belos to utterly annihilate his opponents, just as King tells Luz to ‘beat up the man and steal his things’, while Belos/Luz offer a more calm, pragmatic approach that doesn’t require violence because they’re more practical like that? Or alternatively…

It’s BOTH options, just like how King will sometimes encourage Luz to decimate their opponents, but when the time calls for it, he can act as a voice of reason and tell Luz NOT to challenge the Emperor himself! Sometimes Belos wants to commit genocide and Kiki has to rein him in, because what of his reputation…? And sometimes Kikimora will want to go for the nuclear option while Belos calmly suggests just reasoning with people and keeping them satisfied!

Kikimora suggests making petrifications hidden from the public to prevent them from turning on Belos… But then the Season Finale happens, she feels power slipping away and panics in-part because of her inferiority complex, so she suggests petrifying the ENTIRE crowd as an example! And of course, Belos calmly reminds Kikimora that this isn’t necessary, that believe it or not, people won’t rebel if they’re given what they want!

Kikimora advises revenge against the Owl House because her pride has been hurt, because she’s felt threatened and vulnerable for the first time in a LONG while, which means she has to utterly eradicate the opposition to leave no room for doubt who’s in charge, to leave no chance of more threats? But Belos is calm, and has control of the situation, he’s not as insecure as Kikimora and is thus less liable to acting rashly when he feels threatened. In essence, they both take turns sharing the brain cell… Just like Luz and King!

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house kikimora #the owl house king #the owl house belos #emperor belos #the owl house luz #luz noceda #speculation #theory

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shintorikhazumi · 3 years

Text

Yet (13): Truth

A/N: damn world-building, explaining chapter. Longest :(( I’m sorry.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

What is this light... it’s warm... all encompassing. Familiar.

She's known it all her life; the touch of that hand, the body embracing her own.

She knows. She knows.

This is...

"Akko."

Tears and the Years that must have passed were all on her face, yet they did nothing to mar the Strength, Passion, Grace and Beauty she owned. Owned alongside Kagari Atsuko's heart. Yes, she knew who this was. This was...

"Diana..."

//-//-//-//-//

This was not the sight she'd expected upon arriving at the opposite end of Arcturus, well into another region of the country with how vast the forest spread. It was almost a completely different, unknown place to her, this Arcturus. Or well, this section concealed and rejecting entrance from everyone else but one who had borne the shiny rod. Chariot being able to see it and reach her hand into the barrier was a given, but to know that even having used it but once, Croix and Diana could faintly sense it and pass through as well- it helped dissolve some of Diana's worries, knowing she wouldn't have to enter alone, or not at all, and would miss finding Akko for herself.

Before entering this place, Diana had realized that in all her far-and-wide searching, she had somehow managed to miss this barrier that loomed over all of them at present; Diana, the new Nine, along with Chariot, Croix, and a few well-known witches of their generation. Diana had gathered them after having Chariot take her to Woodward, and realizing many things; one of them being the fact that this problem could have sooner been settled had more people banded together to handle the issue.

Interrogating the entity with all the intimidation her mortal soul could force upon the immortal, Diana gleaned all the information she believed would be necessary to this operation- even if that meant forceful measures such as the threat to perform taboo magic that would erase even a spirit's existence from off the damned planet. She would not stand for Woodward's secrecy. She did not have time for her vague riddles, and answer-less clues. She wanted Akko back, and she wanted her, now. To hell with curses and prophesies and unforeseen consequences that she had no interest in giving ear to.

There, however, was one thing she'd caught onto. Something in the intricate weave of cryptic excuses the Spirit had concocted for all she'd possibly fooled into doing her bidding.

Diana was no fool.

"You'll disappear."

She would have been worried for Chariot who had whipped her head about at such an absurd speed, now blinking owlishly at Diana.

"That's what this is about. Why it had to be Akko, why the person to do this had to be someone who's wielded the Claiomh Solais." Diana stepped ever closer to the spirit, sure of it now. "You've said it yourself. The rod amplifies the magical aptitude of the chosen user. It allows them great feats unlike anything regular witches can perform. Yet, you said it was a curse. Why would something that supposedly strengthens and aides you, be a curse?”

Woodward got no other word in as Diana turned on her heel, mind now aware of everything. So this was it. This was the truth behind the Nine Olde Witches, their tree-like appearances, and their ability to still exist between the mortal and ascended realm; this was the truth behind the Shiny Rod, the ones who held it, and why magic potential had been stunted then, and regained after the missile. It all made sense, the truth behind....

“Wagandea.”

//-//-//-//-//

She couldn't understand why, before, but maybe it was due to the immense magical pressure she could feel seeping through from the other side, possibly weakening the one thing keeping tragedy at bay, that the once invisible barrier was now even more visible. Anyone who could see it now could tell that the wall of magic in front of them was about to give in and break. They had to hurry. All of them; each assigned to do a task to aid in this mission, something that should have been handled by more people than just one sacrificial lamb.

Together. There were things that she could only take on together with everyone else, with the people who had always supported her; family, friends, Akko, who was also struggling inside. Diana knew this. She believed in her and her believing heart that had called for her, reached for her.

She was coming for Akko.

//-//-//-//-//

Wagandea.

They had all believed that it was only a tree. A tree with the ability to take a way one’s magical potential. What had been hidden from common knowledge, however, was that it wasn’t one tree. It was a network. A network connected to a source of magic; that source being the one who possessed the rod. They would be the control point, the center that would collect magic from the world, just as Chariot had done before.

Then it would be stored within the custodian of the rod, giving them a large reserve of magic to use up, to allow them to perform those amazing spells. Again, Chariot was the perfect representation of this.

Then why did the Claiomh Solais have to change owners every now and then?

The answer lay within Woodward. Woodward, the witch she had accused of taking the rod, and the comparison to Chariot du Nord. Woodward had also become a witch greedy of its power, and thus she had turned into something that resembled a tree.

She was now part of Wagandea.

Of course, initially, Diana had believed that this was all speculation on her part; but after meeting Croix who had long since been researching a way to cure Chariot, she had an answer.

Wagandea was initially not supposed to be something that absorbed magic from unsuspecting victims. It was designed to keep the balance of magic in place. Whenever there was an area with too high a concentration in magic, the tree’s far-reaching roots would suck in the excess magic and collect it to be recycled back into the lines.

And Woodward knew this. Yet she wanted to be in ownership of such a massive amount of raw power. But the mortal body could only host so much magic. And Wagandea had a specific function: balance.

Thus, it had no longer identified the woman, known as Woodward, as human. She was now simply an abundance of magical energy to be absorbed and dispersed to the world, to prevent an overflow- an explosion- of magic that could lead to strange, endangering, possibly life-threatening, phenomena.

Woodward now became a part of the Wagandea.

Yet she refused to go down without a fight. Before the rod disappeared from her grasp, she cast a spell on it- to move from one person to another, to continue its function. Now, however, it would not only serve to be a vessel to bring in magic for its user. It would also redirect its collection to the system of the Wagandea trees. This would then serve to sustain their, “life”. Woodward intended for this until she could find some way to separate herself, and take on humanity once more.

-Or that had been the plan at the start, at least. Until she realized that being connected to Wagandea allowed her to tap into all the magical energy she’d ever desired. She would never be mortal again, but she’d achieved her goal. There was no need to fix the aftereffects of greed then. Should someone else have the thirst for limitless magic like her, they’d simply join the Wagandea.

This was the curse she spoke of.

The greed of the keeper of the Claiomh Solais.

//-//-//-//-//

Akko did not deserve this curse, then. This is what Diana believed.

Rather than greed, she had pushed her mortality’s limits and the rod out of the selflessness of her heart to save everyone and everything she loved.

She did not deserve this.

Therefore, Diana would save her and give her what she did deserve. The normalcy of a life she’d missed eighteen years of.

Starting now.

But Diana would be lying if she said she held no resentment towards Akko. The pain and suffering she’d decided to undertake, to inflict on not only herself, but her whole family... Diana thought Akko was better than this. Better than this.

Better than the unrecognizable monstrosity she was shaping into, right before Diana’s eyes.

She saw what she assumed was a large scar running from the top of the left side of her head to the base of her chin, almost covering her entire cheek. Her skin had already taken on a green, glowing hue, limbs still visible, the shiny rod clutched in one of her hands, but with vines and branches wrapping around her, trying to break into her body and skin; some plant appendages entering a large opening in Akko’s abdomen. Despite the color change, large blotches of red were still apparent, an awful stench wafting into her nose. Blood and... something else. Diana felt repulsed, feeling the intense need to regurgitate.

A hand patted her back, and only then had she realized that she was now hunched over, dry-heaving. No, she could not be this weak. Akko was right here in front of her, she was so close to having her back in her arms. So close. Right there. She could simply reach her hand out and she’d feel the softness of her skin, the silk of her hair, and the warmth of her love.

‘Be strong, Diana. Be strong.’

With a spell protecting their hands, the three witches began pulling root and branches that were attempting to consume Akko, away. Diana had been tempted to use Murowa to move things along quicker, but she feared that the tree Akko was embedded in was now so deeply fused with her that she might hurt the woman she loved instead of help her. It was a pain-staking process, but it would be worth it. It would be worth the years.

She’d waited eighteen. What would five more minutes matter?

//-//-//-//-//

It hurt. It all hurt. She was running out of blood. She couldn’t see herself, and yet she just knew she was.

She couldn’t feel her stomach. Did she still have one? Didn’t that... whoever... did she just-

Her breaths were shallow. She knew she wouldn’t last long. She could feel her consciousness slipping from her desperate fingers, along with the Shiny Rod in her grasp.

‘Diana... Kotone...’

She wanted to apologize for her selfishness. She wanted hold them one last time... She had wanted to raise and see her daughter grow up. But how could she even dare do such a thing? She couldn’t even tell them she loved them. This... was this the end for her?

...

NO!

It couldn’t be. She’d make it back. Kagari Atsuko had a heart that believed she’d make it back to them in one piece.

Then she could apologize, and hold them, and love them for all eternity and beyond.

She felt the shiny rod begin to glow in her hand, telling her to cast the spell, aiming it at the enemy before her.

It’s not too late yet.

It wasn’t time to give up yet.

It wasn’t her time yet.

“Diana... I’m coming home now.”

//-//-//-//-//

“Diana...”

She blinked her eyes barely open, drinking in the visage of the woman who was her wife. She felt her touch, could smell her scent. She was real. She was real. And she was here. With Akko.

“Akko.

We’re going home now.

Because it isn’t your time to say goodbye, yet.”

#yet #lwa #Little Witch Academia #kagari atsuko #diana cavendish #chariot du nord #woodward #croix meridies #miniseries #fanfic

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thedinanshiral · 4 years

Text

On Solas

Decided to try to organise some of my thoughts on Solas, so here it goes.

What we first know of Solas is that he’s an elf and a mage, the elven hobo apostate. From the game we can learn he’s an electromancer (in autolevel he prioritises the Storm tree abilities), and later on a Rift Mage, one could assume because he’s the “Fade expert” but further on we learn is because he’s the one responsible for the creation of the Veil.

There have always been elements linking him to Fen’Harel and then to the Fade and the Veil, as seen in the Fade Wall Shield dropped by Gaxkang (one of the Forbiden Ones) in DAO, a shield with a name that basically means Veil (what’s the wall in the Fade?) and has a wolf head design on it, design that somewhat resembles the Mask of Fen’Harel as seen in DA:Redemption. That Mask of Fen’Harel can be used to open portals on the Veil and into the Fade, and is activated in Redemption through an ritual that includes blood ( in the miniseries it turns out to be an elven girl’s blood).

Considering his stance on blood magic (remarkably similar to Merrill’s, by the way), I think it’s safe to say he has used it before. That’s possibly why the Mask of Fen’Harel is activated with blood, and that’s why in order to break the Veil open time and time again we’ve seen big bloody sacrifices must be made. First record of this is the Magisters Sidereal using blood magic and almost all lyrium available in Tevinter to rip the Veil open (lyrium also being blood, and elven slaves prefered for sacrifice for their special elven blood, this means a lot of blood with magical properties of one or other nature is required to break through the Veil), second instance of some form of blood offering meant to grant one physical access to the Fade is when Corypheus kills Divine Justinia during a ritual we only saw a glimpse of and was never explained. Thridly, we have repeated mentions of how spirits feel drawn to the Veil there where there’s been bloodshed, particularly battlefields. So it’s safe to assume blood in enough quantities weakens the Veil enough to make an opening.

The red lyrium idol is his. In Tevinter Nights he claimed it so, and i’ve already discussed this idol at length in a previous post. In TN however we get other bits of information, like how the idol seems to have a self-regenerating property (when it’s found intact inside Meredith’s red lyrium statue after she had used the idol to craft a sword), and most curiously, how it seems to be hollow and have some liquid inside that makes it feel like when one holds a bottle. We also learn in the Mortalitasi account that the idol may have a hidden blade and become a ritual knife. Perhaps the value of the red lyrium idol is not in it being made of red lyrium, but on its content. Say the idol we see is a hilt, it can produce a blade, and it’s filled with ...blood. I think it’s possible its content is blood.

As per Cole’s comment in Trespasser, “the wolf chewed its leg off to escape the trap”, that sounds more like he sacrificed a big part of himself, most likely his power, that he may have concentrated and stored in the very same idol used for the Veil ritual. It would also explain why the one who created the Veil would wake up from Uthenera so weakened. There’s his foci as well, but I think that one mainly held memories, and in those memories there was knowledge that could grant great power (rather than containing actual power). Why he’d be after the foci first and not the idol could be because the foci was the safest option, or the one he already knew the location of. Clearly, the Anchor was plan A, and the red lyrium idol seems to be plan B.

Then I suspect Solas has what I call Word power, a form of influence or manifestation magic. I’ve found two distinct instances where Solas seems to use this, the first being when at Skyhold he tells the Inquisitor to “wake up”, revealing their conversation was taking place in a dream in the Fade. Upon realising “this isn’t real” the Inquisitor doesn’t wake up, they only do it after Solas gives the command. The other instance is after Solas leaves the Inquisition, when the Inquisitor can talk to Cole and he speaks Solas’ words, a message Solas delivers through him.

Solas is also a Dreamer, possibly why the Inquisitor walks in on him while dreaming at Skyhold, and surely how Solas can manage to kill people in their sleep in TN (granted, those were dwarves and dwarves allegedly don’t dream, but as far as we know they may still have a presence in the Fade while asleep, just have no memory of dreaming, no awareness of it). In fact the first appearance of Solas in DA media was in TME where he meets Felassan in the Fade, while he dreams to contact him. It’s widely believed that Solas killed Felassan then and there.

Then he is clearly an artist. Seems murals are his primary medium for storytelling. He adorns the rotunda in Skyhold with murals depicting the story of the Inquisition as it unfolds. Trespasser has several more murals telling stories of what happened, and I think it’s safe to assume there’s more than one self-portrait in them.

He’s a shapeshifter, as pointed by some codex entries that imply the Evanuris took dragon forms on ocassion, and in the Evanuris propaganda against him found at the Vir Dirthara. He is twice the shapeshifter or perhaps not a good one, depends on your perspective, if we consider his chosen form, the Dread wolf, is described as either a giant wolf with dragon-like scales, or a dragon of some lupine features. Is the Dread Wolf a wolf that looks like a dragon, or a dragon that looks like a wolf? I found it kind of funny how in TN his appearance description includes spirits forming as wings of fire to fly him around. Personally I don’t consider Regret’s description here because that was a particular demon feeding off what he had left behind, not his actual image.

He is, in a way, the Maker. Of present Thedas, shaped by his creating the Veil. The implications of this interpretation brings forth many more questions i’m not currently dwelling on.Let’s ignore this for now and possibly forever, it gives me a headache.

He was a warrior, as expressed in his banter with Blackwall. Considering how in post-Arlathan wolves were guardians to the Emerald Knights, and how in Trespasser’s Deep Roads his statues are described as guarding alongside Mythal’s, it’s possible he was once one of Mythal’s soldiers, perhaps part of her personal Guard, becoming a friend -or more - favoured enough, maybe rewarded for his service reaching to a point where he became almost an equal? From this analysis it could be that Solas ascended to Evanuris status after his contribution in the war against the Titans. He was rebel fighter too, as evidenced in his banter with Sera, he possibly started as part of a large army but then started a revolution that operated in much smaller cells.

He was Skyhold’s former master. That fortress belonged to him. The very name of the place, elven in origin, hints at it being the location from where the Veil was placed, or at the very least where the ritual for it was initially performed. I suspect he also had a significant presence in the Exalted Plains, something about it reminds me of the landscape from the Elven Ruins at Trespasser, also because it’s the one and only place so far where we see a shrine dedicated to Fen’Harel. In an area with an electric dragon ( yet another hint at his electromancy). More importantly, while the shrine’s codex leads us to believe the reason why elves would make the Dread Wolf any offering would be to appease him and be spared his evil doings, this shrine depicts a black wolf figure and a white wolf figure, which are reminiscing of Solas’ tarot cards, The Tower (big menaching shadow wolf figure) and The Hierophant ( fluffy white companion wolf figure). Whatever the reasons for the Dalish to erect a shrine to the Dread Wolf it seems somehow in some way a certain knowledge of his dual nature is not entirely lost. Also, there’s the gigantic wolf statue atop a mountain in the distance, biggest one i’ve seen so far:

Which brings me to the main point of this ramble, his latest symbol depincting three wolf heads on a brooch he’s wearing in DA4 concept art.

It may be symbolic in a couple of ways. First in regards to his identity as in the elf, the creator (Evanuris), and the betrayer. Secondly as in the man, the spirit, and the “god”. As well as the three different realms he is connected to: the physical world, the Void, and the Fade. Personally I doubt this is the strange symbol used by some self-identifying Agents of Fen’Harel in TN, I think what they may be wearing could be an elven rune or ancient symbol we haven’t seen yet, hence why it was described as “strange”. I mean, if I see three wolf heads, I say it’s three wolf heads. Interestingly enough, he still wears the wolf jawbone (in this new concept art, it has some new circular designs on it as well, if you zoom in on a better quality picture) and i’m forever curious why he even has that in the first place. Did he just pick it up to use as a subtle hint of his true identity, or did the bone belong to a wolf he cared about? Why has its design changed?

So far this is what i have in mind about him.

#Solas #Dragon Age #Dragon Age 4 #what a mess of a post this is

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bubmyg · 5 years

Text

trophy - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: lawyer!au, established relationship, fluff, angst but it’s not really related to the couple, implications of misogyny/sexism, angry yoongi is a warning right?, ft intern jeongguk, also ft yoongi’s ass in dress pants

word count: 2,440

summary: in which you hold your own against yoongi’s clients or i won’t ask again. leave.

Somewhere between shoving earrings through weeping, pierced skin, swiping the wrong color to your lips, and centering the chain of a necklace, a disconnected pair of hands worked at the cool zipper fitting to your spine with each ascending link, lips connected to those hands pressing to your shoulder while a soft voice told the cusp of your ear you’re beautiful.

You shared the sentiment when you routinely looped a tie, classic black, around Yoongi’s neck, letting him knot it but taking the extra step to straighten it on his throat (a step you normally avoided in the mornings when the people he’d be interacting with were limited to Jeongguk and an elderly landlord with a difficult tenant in his apartment complex), lips landing on the heated apple of his cheek to profess, “Handsome.”

And when he turned in the bathroom mirror, your eyes traveled to the generous stretch of fabric on his ass, “Is this how you woo all your clients?”

He had to lift on his toes to peer closer in the mirror anyway, a teasing lift of his eyebrows at your reflection as delicate index fingers continued to fiddle with styled fringe, “I don’t know. You can ask them tonight, if you like.”

“I’d rather not find out that Janet from accounting that you helped with divorce papers last week thinks your ass is nice,” You leaned into the doorframe, easy smile laced on your lips.

Yoongi mirrored your expression as he brushed past you in route to snatch his suit jacket where it was meticulously sprawled across the edge of the bed, making a point to pause, dramatically swing his arm backward, and get a handful of his own ass.

“It’s all yours, anyway.”

And somewhere between realizing this party wasn’t filled with Janet’s from accounting but rather assholes from Yoongi’s various corporate partners, the jewelry swaying off your ears seemed to pick up a five pound dumbbell on each side, lipstick flaking it sizable chunks onto your tongue, and necklace drowning in the clamminess that sprung underneath the collar of your dress.

The rectangle of cheese delicately clutched in your fingertips tasted sour next to the clump of toothpaste still clinging to your back molars and the visible wince on your features and the half eaten block of sharp cheddar made you long for pained dinner parties with business sharks who had Yoongi at their every beck and call if trouble ever were to arise within their companies where you could simply excuse yourself to your kitchen and feed Holly the disgusting hunk of fucking cheese.

Your closest thing to Holly was a one Jeon Jeongguk, irises rounded like the cheap chandeliers barely emitting any light into the banquet room of some building placed just inches away from a golf course. You flaked away the parts your teeth had touched with a delicate fingernail, uncaring as you smashed the bits into the velvet, forest green carpet below the sole of your shoe as your path became purposeful for the lanky intern clutching a champagne glass in white knuckles.

You nudged his arm once you reached him. “Alright?”

Jeongguk barely confirmed it was you and half considered the object you stretched out to him, stressed mind registering food! and snatching it to push between puffed cheeks, mumbling a fine and thanks all the same as he chewed. He swallowed, seeming to calm at the amused and comforting smile you offered when he glanced at you. “Sorry…” He tried this time, sheepish as the smallest sliver of his teeth appeared. You followed his gaze as it flitted away from you, slow in pivoting a short distance across the room to the small group of men gathered just beyond a table full of empty chairs.

You noticed Yoongi first, the other faces vaguely familiar, but Yoongi’s easy stance, sat into his hip with one knee slightly bent, glass of water clutched in loose fingertips almost empty, wrist swirling the last of it at the bottom as he nodded along to the dialog of one of the other men, cracking an easy smile paired with something, a joke apparently, that earned an audible melody of chuckles. You couldn’t help but smile too, some sort of proud fond swelling your heart into your throat but you tended to Jeongguk first.

“You can go over there, you know.”

Jeongguk peered at you like you’d grown a second nose on your forehead, covering the feigned shock with a cough and he shook his head, “No...it’s okay. Maybe later.”

“He’s proud of you, you know,” You patted the younger man’s arm, “I’m sure he’d love to brag on you. What’s that called? Networking? And with your reference in person!”

Jeongguk laughed, shoving his free hand deep in the pocket of his dress pants and one curly hair escaped from where he’d styled it over his ears, “Maybe...have you met them yet?”

“Not them specifically. I’ve met some people here.”

Another laugh, this one more tender and Jeongguk nudged you back this time, eyes soft under a lidded gaze, “You should go over there. He’s probably talking about you, anyway.”

Something burned at your skin, paired to your oversized heart still throbbing in your throat and you coughed when your chin dropped, shy at Jeongguk’s admission. You recovered with a shrug, scuffing your foot into the carpet floor and more cheese trailed in its wake. “Eh, probably not.”

Stupid cliche’ timing called your name in the form of Yoongi’s voice and you found three pairs of eyes resting on you, the one of home negating the scrutiny of the other two. Your joints seemed to lock you in place and it was only Jeongguk’s teasing told you so in your ear that had you shuffling a step forward at the beckon of Yoongi’s encouraging smile and outstretched hand.

“Come with me,” You managed to corral at the last second and you twisted your fingers in the cuffed fabric at Jeongguk’s wrist to yank him the first few steps after you, releasing him with an easy smile directed only at your husband as you took his hand when you came close enough.

Yoongi pulled you against his side, dropping a kiss to your temple as he murmured, “How are you?” against your skin. You squeezed his hand in response, opposite hand stretching for the man closest to you, customer service smile happily in disguise.

“Chang Jung,” The first informed, tight lipped and tight gripped.

“Park Heechul,” The second lingered, eyes cast across your face as he gripped your hand in two palms for longer than necessary, “and you must be the wife Mr. Min speaks so highly of.”

You subconsciously shuffled closer to Yoongi’s side, the soft bump of your presence making him defer to the swaying figure beyond your shoulder, “And this is my intern, Jeon Jeongguk. Very talented, probably did the bulk of the paperwork you all have received in the past few months.”

Another few easy chuckles. Mr. Chang, the more soft spoken of the two elicited the quieting of the laughter by speaking between the two of you.

“So, you two attended the same universities?”

Yoongi nodded, “Undergrad and beyond.”

“A great masters program in business goes in tandem with a university that has an excellent law school, I suppose,” You agreed and another discreet squeeze to your hand had your shoulders setting when you were addressed for the first time by Mr. Park.

“We understand you work with...animals?” His gaze shifted to Yoongi who was already nodding. The snort that came from deep within his nasal cavity didn’t settle right with you as he continued, “...what exactly does that entail?”

“I don’t directly handle the animals. I make it so the great individuals at all the shelters in the area have the means and funds and paychecks to be able to handle animals,” The ease that came with talking about your passions helped you along, “I work in finance but my specialty is nonprofit. The vast majority of my clientele are the animal shelters in the region. I attract and manage funds for them. Essentially.”

“Ah,” You glared at the bob of the man’s throat as he took a disinterested gulp of his wine, “Charity.”

“Animal shelter employees are paid?” Mr. Chang spoke, “I thought that was on a volunteer basis?”

“Some are, some aren’t. Each is different in what they receive as far as tax dollars, city funding, the like,” You frowned, “Running a successful animal shelter is a full time operation, sir.”

“I guess I need to check where my tax dollars are going,” Mr. Park laughed as if it were a joke and as if he had a choice or say in the matter. “And you, dear, I can almost assure would make more by simply becoming his secretary.”

Yoongi tensed next to you but you spoke before he could, bristling on the verge of your patience, “I help when he needs me to. Doesn’t require me being on the payroll.”

“Speaking of help, I hear you’re a fantastic cook,” Mr. Park considered the empty table beyond him, a nearby plate clean aside from a few crumbs decorating the lipped edges, “Was the pork your recipe?”

You shouldered the insinuation, knowing Yoongi certainly didn’t sell you as a housewife with a knack for a stack of untouched cookbooks displayed on some rack in the middle of an expensive kitchen island.

“I’m not on the payroll but I’m informed enough to know we have enough of a budget to hire a caterer for that,” You nodded, smile on your lips a line of cordiality.

“Feisty too,” Mr. Park’s eyebrows lifted as Mr. Chang began to chortle along with him, “We could use someone like you at my company, answering phone calls, filtering out the particularly difficult patrons…”

You didn’t realize you’d let go of Yoongi’s hand until you hit his elbow in route to cross your arms over your chest.

“With absolutely no respect at all, Mr. Park—” You bristled into the widest smile you’d cracked the entire interaction, “—I believe I’m overqualified to work at any position at your company. Particularly yours.” A curt wave of the top hand folded over your chest and you quipped, “Have a good evening.” before fleeing off into the dim room.

Yoongi barely glanced at Jeongguk, an unspoken request to go after you while he tended to the mess before him. The decision was easy, and he approached it with the powerful aura that encompassed his previously relaxed state, seeping into the way a veined appendage was pointed in placing his glass of water down on the table, fingers folding at his belt buckle as he sucked air in and out through his nose.

“As my wife put it,” Yoongi started, smile not quite reaching his teeth like yours had but similar in meaning all the same, “With absolutely zero respect, sirs, I think it’s unspoken that our contract is terminated. I suggest you seek out another attorney to handle your affairs.”

“Mr. Min, there was no offense meant by—”

Yoongi held up a steady palm the other fishing for the chair Mr. Park had previously been seated in, easily sliding it until it touched the table cloth fluttering off the table. “I also suggest that you leave. Immediately.”

Another laugh, cocky at best, slipped into the two hands Mr. Park held up now. “Can’t we speak about this as men?”

The smile met Yoongi’s teeth now, leaning a fraction closer to the older man.

“I won’t ask again.”

Jeongguk was stationed in front of the bathroom door like a coondog who’d just treed a frightened animal except the roles were reversed. He was the frightened animal, eyes growing wider as Yoongi’s purposeful stride approached and when he pointed to the door, Yoongi broke into a jog, shrugging past his younger friend to shoulder his way through the swinging door.

The singular stall door was closed, your earrings abandoned on the lip of the sink bowl, phone and purse on the tiny couch with unidentified stains dotting the blue velvet.

“It’s me,” He breathed after a moment, knuckles gentle on the locked door.

“Can’t come to the phone right now,” He would have smiled if he wouldn’t have heard the clear sniffle in your voice. “Try again later.”

So he paused, knocked after a dozen heartbeats, and then, “This is later. Hello? Is anyone home?”

The door opened to your red eyes and defeated stature, shoulders slumped as you tried to smile through the tracks of liquid still slipping down the slope of your cheeks. It barely twitched high enough to be considered a smirk until it broke again, directly preceding the step you took to get to Yoongi.

“Did you kick their asses?”

Yoongi laughed, genuine as his palm cradled the back of your head against his rumbling chest, “No. But I wanted to.”

“You should have,” You clutched the lapels of his jacket as he walked your statures backward, falling gently to the tiny couch, “I would have bailed you out of jail.”

He shifted you in his embrace, hugging you against his side as you kicked your shoes off to curl completely into him. Lips found your forehead this time, “Violence is never the answer but...I would have enjoyed seeing you sock one of them in the face. Both, preferably, but one good punch would have sufficed me for at least a couple years.”

A tiny laugh emitted from your lips, but it sobered when your voice broke in a whisper, simple in your obvious feelings but it broke Yoongi’s heart all the same.

“I didn’t like that.”

“I’m always proud of you, you know that, right? I’m continuously awed and inspired by you,” Yoongi took your face in his hands, swiping at fresh tears that angrily curled into your skin to look directly into your eyes, “I love you.”

You sniffled unattractively and you were partially kidding but the largest part of you in that moment helped you inquire, “I’m not just your trophy wife, huh?”

His chaste kiss lingered on the softness of your lips, mumbling between the seam of your mouth, “Absolutely not. Don’t let two dumbasses belittle the high regard I hold you in but especially not your opinion of yourself.”

“You’re badass, angel,” Yoongi’s lips pressed against your cheek, rubbing your nose with his as he grinned, gums and all, “If anything, I’m the trophy husband.”

You buried yourself in his neck, smile hidden against his shoulder, “Flattering ourselves, are we?”

“...but frankly, your ass doesn’t disagree with that label—”

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts x reader #yoongi imagines #min yoongi imagines #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #fic: lawyer yoongi #i've had this planned since like the beginning of the au owo #also!!! we know oc's occupation!!!!!!

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cabalrive · 4 years

Text

Varosh’ati’ruon: Backstory

The halls of the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera were brightly lit, the harsh white lights embedded in the walls gleaming off the polished black floors. Varosh’ati’roun, otherwise known as Shatir, walked at a brisk pace, jackbooted feet moving lightly across the deck as he left the hanger bay where his shuttle was docked. His brilliant white uniform jacket was a stark contrast to his blue skin and mildly tousled black hair, which was only mostly contained by his black cap. He had plenty of time. In fact, he’d likely be waiting around for a while when he arrived but much safer to be early. Reflecting on this, he almost barreled into the figure stepping out from an adjoining hallway.

“Excuse me,” Shatir said, barely glancing back.

“One might consider that gross insubordination, Lieutenant” intoned a voice behind him. Shatir stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around.

“Taeg’edor’enokai?” Shatir exclaimed, staring at the black-clad individual. “What are you doing here?” Taeg’edor’enokai, usually going by Gedore, smiled. He wore the uniform of the Imperial Special Forces, his plaque declaring him a Captain.

“Is it so astounding to run into another Chiss here, of all places?”

“It is good to see you. Are you available later?” inquired Shatir “I’m afraid I have a meeting to get to at the moment.”

“Do you really? What a coincidence. So do I.”

“He wants to see both of us?”

“Apparently.”

“I don’t think there have been more than two of us together at any given time since we got off the ship from Csilla…” Shatir wondered aloud. Gedore broke in, speaking quietly in Cheunh.

“Maybe it’s time for us to overthrow our false leaders and once more rejoin our illustrious Ascendency.” Shatir glared at Gedore and replied in the same language.

“That’s hardly a joking matter. If it were anyone but me you would be reported and executed.”

“Luckily I am quite certain that it is, in point of fact, you to whom I made this particularly egregious jest.”

“Perhaps I won’t turn you in. This time.” Shatir shot back.

“My thanks” replied Gedore in Basic, briefly bowing his head to his oldest friend.

They strode off together, an imposing duo in the lightly trafficked corridors. The few personnel they did encounter quickly stood aside to let them pass, poorly hiding their efforts to stare at the two Chiss officers. Most had only ever seen the one, from a distance at that. Now there were three of them on one ship.

Six Chiss had arrived from Csilla as part of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s program to study the suitability of incorporating the Chiss in other branches of the Imperial Military. Each recruit had gone into different departments. Shatir was placed in Naval Intelligence, Gedore the Special Forces and the others in the Army, Department of Military Research, Imperial Intelligence, and ISB. The position in the Navy proper was, of course, already filled. They were fully immersed in Imperial culture, each working their way through the Academy, rarely seeing one another. They all suspected they were deliberately kept apart, but logically could not see fault in such a course of action. To both be summoned by the Grand Admiral was hitherto unheard of.

They arrived at the entrance to the Grand Admiral’s command suite. Shatir nodded and Gedore punched the call controls. A moment later the door slid silently open and they stepped through. Both had been independently summoned before and knew what to expect. The arrangements of sculptures and artwork, both real and holographic, claimed much of the space in the office. At the moment though the Grand Admiral was studying a datapad. Shatir and Gedore stood stiffly at attention, saying nothing.

“At ease, gentlemen.” Thrawn said, putting down the datapad and fixing his gaze upon them. “Congratulations on your promotion, Taeg’edor’enokai. Your commanding officer speaks highly of your skills.”

“Thank you, sir.” replied Gedore.

“And you, Varosh’ati’roun. It has been some time since you were last aboard. Your mission was a success?”

“Yes, sir. I have successfully traced the targets.”

“Excellent. Then you have your next destination.” Shatir and Gedore exchanged the briefest of glances. Thrawn continued. “Lieutenant Shatir has been tracing several Rebel sympathizers. The hope is to insinuate him into their company, and then, once contact with the Rebellion has been established, he will become a double-agent.

Your role in this, Gedore, is extraction. In the event that Shatir secures a valuable asset, or is captured, you will retrieve him. You may assemble a team if you so choose. I need not remind either of you that the level of duplicity required for such an assignment is extreme and I trust you will use the full breadth of your abilities to maintain cover. Gedore, until such time as your services are required you will be assigned as Special Forces Liaison to the Chimaera.

Shatir, you may brief him further with any information you believe to be relevant, and proceed with your preparations. Dismissed.” Shatir and Gedore saluted, turned smartly on their heels and left the Grand Admiral to his studies.

They did not speak again until they had reached an open conference room. Shatir shut the door, engaged his personal comm jammer and pulled up his files on the holo-display.

“Rebel activity on Kashyyyk is quite common,” began Shatir, gesturing to a log of decrypted comms records, “a predictable side effect of the Empire favouring the Wookies as slave labour. Therefore it is a good starting point to find a sympathetic group. There is a slave auction in three days, and based on the communications I intercepted and data from the garrison, there is likely to be a rescue attempt. I hope to assist with that attempt and go with the group to a Rebel base. After that I’ll be on my own.”

Gedore nodded, scanning the text.

“Do you require assistance on Kashyyyk?” he inquired.

“Perhaps you could run interference on the local stormtrooper garrison? I would prefer to reduce Imperial casualties without arousing suspicion.”

“Of course”

“That’s about it. I have the advantage that most people have never encountered a Chiss before. We are one of the only races in the Galaxy who are more known to the Empire than anyone else, but even then it’s mostly restricted to the Navy and the Intelligence branches.”

“You can always say you’re a Pantoran with an eye condition.” joked Gedore, smiling slightly at the old adage.

“Indeed.” Shatir replied, distracted. “I suppose I must leave immediately. At maximum speed it will take at least two days to get to Kashyyyk from here. I need to assemble my kit.”

“I will fly you there. It will be easier to distract the garrison from local orbit rather than blasting orders across the galaxy from a not particularly inconspicuous Star Destroyer. If Rebel activity is so common I should be able to send them off on a raid with relatively little information. Of course, my holo transmitter will be malfunctioning and audio only. Does Captain Kovars sound like a convincing pseudonym to you?”

“As good as any. Increased Imperial activity should mask my activities nicely.” mused Shatir, rolling the plan over in his mind. “I’m sure the garrison will be thrilled to have a mystery officer hijacking their operations.”

“What can I say, Special Forces are special.” Gedore smirked. “No authorization required.”

A few hours later they were aboard a requisitioned Lambda class T-4a shuttle, discussing the upcoming mission, stories from the academy, any missions they could share without breaching security clearances and their lives in general. Both enjoyed the chance to talk as friends rather than as professionals. While there was now mutual respect between many Imperials and their Chiss colleagues, friendship was a difficult thing to come by. The Chiss officers had the advantage of full exposure to Imperial and human culture, but there was no reciprocation whatsoever. The Grand Admiral didn’t count, of course. Both Human and Chiss alike held him in awe, and his rank held him above all

The two day hyperspace flight went by in a flash, the two comrades finding themselves saying farewell once more. Shatir had changed out of his uniform into civilian clothing appropriate to the weather. He rolled his sleeves up in anticipation of the muggy jungle climate, and shrugged on a vest over the shoulder-holsters for his vibroknives.

“I have two gifts for you, before you leave. The first I had originally planned to leave on the Chimaera for you, but events have made this much more convenient.” Gedore pulled a chrono out of his pocket and presented it to Shatir.

“My thanks, Gedore. Had I but known I would be seeing you…” he trailed off, inspecting the chrono.

“Never mind that. It has one excellent feature, besides being waterproof up to 100m,” he reached over and grasped a tiny tab, pulling out a length of carbon nanofiber wire. “May your enemies never see you coming.”

“Charming, and incredibly useful. I thank you.” Shatir said, inclining his head graciously, and proceeding to fasten the chrono to his wrist.

“Anything for my oldest, most duplicitous friend,” grinned Gedore, slapping his shoulder. “The second gift, I fear you will enjoy less.” he said, grabbing Shatir’s forearm and stabbing an injector into his flesh. Gedore pushed the button with his thumb to activate it. Shatir hissed at the unexpected pain and looked quizzically at his friend, red eyes flashing.

“This implant has two uses,” explained Gedore. “First off, it carries your Imperial credentials. It is undetectable until activated. In the event you need to prove you are, in fact, a commissioned Imperial operative, tap your arm near the implant twice. It will read on most ident-chip scanners. You can deactivate it again the same way. The second use is as an SOS tracking chip. It will piggyback an SOS on any local Imperial channels directly to the Chimaera, and to me. To call for aid, break the shielding capsule by pressing down on it. It takes a bit of force as it is designed not to break under normal combat conditions. If you are successful you should feel it burn slightly as it draws power from your body’s natural electrical currents. Then you just have to wait for the cavalry to arrive.”

“Unless, of course, I am not near any Imperial outposts.” commented Shatir drily, massaging his arm.

“That is true, but the options for undetectable beacons are rather limited, I’m afraid.” Gedore said cheerfully. “Now away with you. I must return to orbit and practice my lounging skills so I fit in with you Navy types once I return to the Chimaera.”

“Could be worse, could be assigned to the ISB,” smirked Shatir, and, with a small Chiss salute, departed.

#shatir #gedore #thrawn #swrpg #star wars #chiss

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