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eyayah-oya · 3 years

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Soar Through the Sky

Waxer/Boil plus Numa and a surprise OC (who apparently shares a name with a character in the Original Trilogy)

For @clonehavensotm

The field was filled with dazzling colors in every shade. Everywhere they looked, there were more banners with beautiful designs, bright tents selling wares and tantalizing food, and dazzling clothes draped over every being in attendance. Songs wove through the crowds from instruments played by old and young, while others danced and sang along. Children ran between the stalls, flags and ribbons and sashes trailing after them like colorful feathers or tails. Laughter, enthusiastic shouts to neighbors and friends, and above all else, the sound of the wind whistling across the field and through the tents filled the entire space with magic and comradery.

Waxer inhaled deeply as he took it all in. From the scent of the Rylothian spices to the colorful flags flapping in the wind to the way Numa danced eagerly between him and Boil, it all combined to give Waxer a feeling of magic. The Rylothian Summer Festival was in full swing, and Waxer could hardly believe that he had an opportunity to experience everything with his two favorite people.

“Nerra! Look!” Numa cried as she tugged on their hands. With a giggle and a high-pitched shriek of joy, she pulled Waxer and Boil into the crowds of the Festival.

Waxer couldn’t help but laugh in return, thoroughly delighted by everything he saw. Friends and acquaintances from Nabat shouted greetings to the trio, inviting them to their stalls or to participate in various games and dances. Numa’s enthusiasm made everything they did even better, and they were pulled along in her wake to enjoy the many delights of the Summer Festival. Waxer loved every second of it, and whenever he glanced over at his riduur, Boil had a smile softening his face.

For two clones who were created to die in a war, this kind of freedom and joy had never occurred to them. Every second they spent among the freed people of Ryloth, Waxer and Boil were reminded that they were free, too. Free to enjoy their lives. Free to live in peace and to build a life on any planet they wanted. And above all, they were free to build a family. To adopt Numa and start a farm with numerous pets. Waxer and Boil were free to be people, and the Twi’leks they had made their home with welcomed them warmly into their homes and lives. After the bigotry of the Core, living with people that recognized that clones were individuals with unique and separate personalities was the most exquisite feeling in the whole galaxy.

“Nerra! Nerra! Oola is here! Oola!” Numa pulled Waxer and Boil over to their neighbor’s stall, where the wizened old Twi’lek was selling beautiful scarves, dyed in the most stunning colors.

“Good day, Oola,” Boil said with a nod and smile. “I hope today has been profitable for you.”

Oola waved them behind the tables and returned their grins. “Business has been good, but the company is even better. You three look like you’ve enjoyed the festivities. Did Numa take you dancing?”

“Yes, I did!” Numa proudly declared. She gave a little twirl, her red and purple dress swirling around her ankles as she did. “Nerra Waxer even danced with Nerra Boil!”

“Did they now?” Oola grinned. “Did they enjoy the dance?” “Yes! At least, I think so. Nerra Boil wouldn’t stop staring at Nerra Waxer, but I didn’t see anything wrong with Nerra Waxer’s face. They both had goopy smiles, too.”

Waxer couldn’t help but laugh as he leaned against Boil. “Goopy smiles” was a pretty accurate description of the way he looked at his riduur and vice versa.

Oola picked Numa up and placed her on their lap. “That is because your Nerra love each other very much and are very happy on this Festival Day. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Numa thought about it for a second before she nodded. “It is.” Then she leaned in and whispered loudly to Oola. “Can we give my nerra scarves? I think they need scarves.”

With a loud, boisterous laugh, Oola stood, their joints creaking with age as they settled Numa on their hip. “I think that is an excellent idea, dear one. Why don’t you pick one out for both and we’ll give it to them?”

Waxer leaned against Boil, and his riduur automatically adjusted his stance to brace their combined weight easily. He watched their neighbor and their little girl walk around the tables of Oola’s booth, stopping every once in a while, to pick up a scarf for inspection.

There wasn’t a single word in any language he knew that came close to describing what Waxer felt as he watched his little girl with their neighbor, happy and bright in her enthusiasm, while Boil kept an arm wrapped around his waist. Shereshoy—a lust for life.

“Nerra! Look! This one matches your armor!” Numa held up a golden scarf the exact same shade as the markings on their armor and had tiny designs that reminded Waxer of Cody’s symbol. Oola walks over and Numa puts the scarf up next to Boil’s face and then Waxer’s, a tiny frown of concentration on her face. It’s absolutely adorable. Numa shakes her head. “No, not this one. Oola, Oola, what about that one?”

Waxer reached out and plucked the scarf from Numa’s hand. “We’ll get this one for the General. I’m sure he’d like it,” he said with a wink.

Numa giggled and Waxer felt Boil melt against him.

“I think I have the perfect scarves for your Nerra,” Oola said and tapped Numa on the nose. “Come little one. They’re in the back along with a few of my sweet cakes.”

The pure joy and excitement on Numa’s face brought a rumbling laugh from deep within Waxer’s chest. Whatever he had done in his short life to deserve this happiness, he didn’t know, but he was going to embrace every second of it with all his heart. “Come on, Boil. Let’s go steal some of Oola’s cakes. I know they’re your weakness.”

Mumbled grumbles and threats did nothing to hide the same happiness and peace within Boil’s eyes and Waxer couldn’t help but tug him into a kiss right there in the middle of Oola’s stall. Warmth curled in his heart as Waxer carded his fingers through Boil’s thick curls. Boil tugged him even closer by the waist and smirked against his lips.

“I thought you wanted cake?” he said between kisses.

“This is better,” Waxer responded and he pulled back enough to press a soft peck to the tip of Boil’s nose. “Numa will be fine for a few minutes, and Oola will keep her occupied and mostly out of trouble.”

“You do realize this is Numa, you’re talking about? She’s probably going to drop cake into a crate full of scarves.”

Waxer snickered and gave his riduur one final, lingering kiss before he laced their fingers together. “You’re not wrong. Besides, we need to get to the open field for her surprise.”

“Nerra!” Numa called from behind the curtain and Boil snorted.

“Duty calls,” he said with a fond smile.

Behind the curtain, Oola and Numa were standing side by side, both with their hands behind their backs and wide grins on their faces.

“Nerra, Oola was right! These scarves are the most perfectest scarves!” Numa enthused with a bounce. “But you have to close your eyes!”

“But what if we trip and fall?” Waxer teased. “We have to keep our eyes open!”

Numa shook her head ferociously. “No, you have to! You won’t fall, I promise!”

“Alright Numa,” Boil cut in before Waxer could do something like swoon and fake fall. “We trust you.” He closed his eyes and Waxer followed suit, refraining from peeking even a little, though he was desperately curious about the scarves Numa had discovered.

He felt Numa’s small hands wrap a cool, silken scarf around his neck and then press their foreheads together in a soft keldabe. Waxer almost melted on the spot, just like he did every time she did that. He squeezed Boil’s hand instead, knowing that his riduur would understand completely. A gentle squeeze was the only response he got before Numa pulled back and presumably gave Boil the same treatment.

Outside the tents, the crowds shouted and laughed and sang with the easy happiness and freedom that had fallen over Ryloth after the war had ended. The Twi’lek people had been hit hard by the Separatists and were almost constantly being invaded by greedy generals and hoards of droids. Once the war was over, the 212th volunteered to help push the last of the invaders out of the system, and Waxer and Boil had eagerly reunited with Numa. Their lives were all so much better now, and not just for the two clones. The Summer Festival was a celebration of the lives that were spared and the rich history that would keep living on in the hearts of the people.

After a couple more seconds, Waxer felt Numa and Oola back away and he couldn’t help the way he shifted impatiently, despite Boil’s mocking snort. He was curious to see these scarves that Numa had picked out for them.

“Okay, open your eyes!” Numa cried and clapped her hands.

Waxer opened them immediately and looked down. The scarf was painted like the sunsets on Ryloth, with vivid reds and oranges and pinks. On the edge, a small homestead with three figures stood watching the sunset. Looking closer, Waxer realized that the two taller figures were wearing clone armor and the little one had the exact same shade of skin as Numa. Tears pricked Waxer’s eyes as he gently ran his fingers over the warm design, his heart beating with the strength of his love for his family.

With a soft sniffle, he swallowed back the tears and turned to look at Boil’s scarf. It was indigo and deep blue, stars painted across the expanse of the material along with the words, written in Mando’a, “Aliit ori’shya taldin”. Family is more than blood. It was a fitting scarf for Boil.

Letting go of Boil’s hand, Waxer practically leapt forward to pull both Oola and Numa into his arms in a tight hug. He pressed a soft kiss to Numa’s forehead. Two seconds later, he felt Boil wrap them in a hug as well.

“Thank you both so much,” Waxer managed to say through the tightness of his throat. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re my Nerra,” Numa said simply as though that explained everything. Maybe it did.

Boil didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. They could all see how much he appreciated the scarf and his family.

“Oh, get off,” Oola laughed. They patted Waxer’s cheek and he reluctantly let go, sliding Numa from their arms and into his own. “You boys better get going if you want to make it in time.”

“Make what in time?” Numa asked curiously.

“Well,” Boil began as he put an arm around Waxer’s waist and placed a hand on Numa’s back. “We decided to make you a surprise and we have to go now before it’s too late.”

“A surprise! Like a cake?!” Numa exclaimed. She wriggled excitedly, her eyes shining brightly up at both Waxer and Boil.

“Not a cake,” Waxer laughed. “Though we will definitely have cake later. If you want to see the surprise, we have to go now, though.”

“Yes. Go now, Nerra! We should go now!”

Boil snorted, but stepped back to lead the way through the crowds. They were pulled into dances as they walked past various performers and families, and the trio stopped to share a few moments with each one. They passed a stall selling the most delicious smelling fruit dessert that Waxer had to stop and get one for each of them, much to Boil’s and Numa’s obvious delight. Boil paused and bought a little trinket for Numa from a family that sold beautiful blown glass creatures. Several people commented on the scarves the two clones were wearing, and they gladly pointed them in the direction of Oola’s stall before continuing on through the crowd.

Finally, they arrived at the enormous open field, set aside for the main event of the Summer Festival. There were hundreds of people across the waving, golden grass, lounging on blankets or rough-housing in the dirt or inspecting various poles and fabrics.

Waxer shifted Numa slightly so he could get a good look at her face. Her eyes darted around the field, taking in all the bright colors. It was a stunning sight, though Waxer wasn’t sure she quite understood what her surprise was yet.

“This way,” Boil grunted and led the way to the far side of the field where he’d stashed their surprise earlier that day. A blanket was spread out on the ground alongside a picnic basket and a neat bundle of cloth and sticks. Numa’s heavily pregnant aunt was nearby, watching over their things for them while they enjoyed the stalls and wares sold during the Festival.

“Nerra Boil? What is that?” Numa asked curiously.

“That, ad’ika, is your surprise.”

Numa wiggled until Waxer put her down on the ground and she immediately darted to the bundle, looking it over with great interest. It was obvious that she wasn’t quite sure what it was, nor why it was so special it had to be a surprise, and she was looking at Waxer and Boil expectantly.

“Numa,” Waxer began, “do you remember what happens here during the afternoon?”

With an adorable tilt to her head, Numa answered, “A sack race?”

“They’ll have a few of those later,” Boil agreed. “But that’s not what Waxer is talking about. Do you remember when we came here a few weeks ago? And your blanket was blown away by the wind?”

She perked up. “I do! Nerra Waxer chased it all the way home!”

“That’s right,” Waxer smiled. “Today is going to be just as windy. And during the Festival, everyone brings a kite to fly in the wind.”

If possible, Numa’s eyes grew rounder, darting between Waxer and the bundle on the blanket. “Is that a—a kite?” she asked, her feet dancing in place while she clapped. “Is my surprise a kite?” “You’re really smart,” Boil said. “Waxer and I decided to make a kite, just for you. It’s got a tail, too, to help it fly better in the wind. We figured you’d like to join in when everyone else flies their kites this afternoon.”

“I get my own kite!” Numa whooped. She fell to her knees and started tugging at the string holding it all together, and Waxer quickly knelt down next to her.

“Here, we need to be careful with the string otherwise the kite might get lost in the wind. We need to be gentle.” He showed her how to put the kite together and the bits of fabric they’d tied to the tail of the kite, each with one of their names painted on it. The kite itself was 212th gold, Numa’s favorite color.

Together, Waxer and Boil showed Numa how to launch the kite into the air and how to control the kite to keep it from falling back down to the earth. They let her practice with the light breeze and Waxer gladly worked off all of the extra calories by giving her a running launch. Numa was enthralled by the kite, thoroughly excited and eager to try it out in a real wind.

Eventually, the Senator for Ryloth stood on the makeshift podium and gave a short speech to begin the final activity of the Festival. The wind picked up then, whipping around the stage and through the crowd. The background noise of excited shouts filled the entire field while hundreds of kites were tossed into the air. The wind caught them and coaxed each colorful kite higher.

It was a sea of color, a sight more beautiful than nearly anything Waxer had ever seen. Tails and flags flapped gaily in time with the ebbs and flows of song and music. Numa watched it all with an eagerness that filled Waxer’s heart up with joy. She giggled and bounced, watching as some people made their kites divebomb their friends, while others coaxed theirs higher into the sky.

Boil knelt down beside Numa and put an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to join them?” he asked.

Numa eagerly nodded and together, their little family carried their kite into an open spot and sent it soaring high into the sky, right beside the rest of the kites. Numa’s enthusiastic shouts of joy and peals of laughter only added to the experience.

Waxer watched their colors dance in the wind and leaned against Boil, tucking his head below his riduur’s chin. “We made it,” he whispered softly.

“Made what?” Boil hummed.

“We wanted a family with Numa. We wanted a life of peace after the war. We wanted all of this. And now we have it. We made it, Boil.”

Boil turned and captured Waxer’s lips in an enthusiastic kiss. It was the kind of kiss shared after a battle to celebrate the fact that their loved ones were alive. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of fulfilled dreams and secret wishes. The kind that never failed to take Waxer’s breath away, no matter how many of those kisses he received in his lifetime. Each one felt like the first, sparking with explosions under his skin and burning through his heart in an all-consuming inferno. Waxer could live forever in those kisses and be perfectly content.

The need for air eventually pulled them apart, just far enough for their noses to nudge each other and their foreheads to press solidly together.

“We made it,” Boil breathed, tone reverent and exuberant.

And really, what more could they ask for?

#clone/clone #waxer/boil #numa #lieutenant waxer #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #boxer #waxyboil #post war au #tcw #star wars: the clone wars #clone haven sotm #cloneshipping

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