Spectreoflasan​ // Zeb Orrelios

gcdlys​ // Ursa Wren

Sabine’s stillness slowed her slightly, gaze careful as she stopped a foot or so away from them. Clear shock, teary eyes, so much older - Ursa knew that the time she had missed must have held nothing good for her, for her family. A protective feeling rose up in her chest, fiercely defensive. Whatever had happened, she was here now. And she would not leave so quickly.

“Of course, ad’ika.” It was not an endearment she often used, reserved for when she thought her children needed most comfort. (And frankly, she had usually let Alrich handle the comforting. He was far better at it than she ever had been.) Her free hand flexed at her side, half reaching out to them and half reserved. “I’m alright, Sabine.”

It didn’t make sense. Mandalore, Krownest, they were in ruins. The only reason she hadn’t died in the Purge was because she’d been on the other end of the galaxy with another family. They’d long ago left hope for Clan Wren behind because it hurt too much. It hurt now, seeing the parent they’d given up on standing before her.

“Mom, I spent so much time running when I. I should have... I should have looked for you, and Dad, and Tristan’ika. I’m so sorry, I should have looked harder, should have--”

She couldn’t stop the words from tripping over their tongue, the tears from staining the careful paint of their mother’s armor as she accepted the outstretched arm, pulled themself into Ursa’s arms.

“D’you, er? Have you-- I mean.” A gasp of air between the tears, guilt consuming every fibre in her body.  “Have you found anyone else? Tristan, or Father?”

@cravked​ // Trilla Suduri

even if she no longer felt any kind of loyalty to the empire, or any dependency on the dark side of the force like she had for so long, it would have been a foolish mistake to label trilla as a nice, friendly person. there was still empathy that blossomed inside of her chest, a desire to help people that she did not like to admit existed, but she was all rough edges on the exterior, intense stares and snappy comments that weren’t necessarily underlain with some kind of care. many pieces of who she had been in the past had been recovered in the last two years of isolation and healing, but there were some aspects of her people skills that still needed work.

navigating their way back to the city is no particular challenge for her. although trilla was not particularly familiar with the area, her senses were especially sharp with the use of the living force around her, sensing problems long before they could arise and correcting appropriately. there’s not much of a nicer place to stop in front of, given where they were. but it was water and food, and a chance for the other to get some assistance better for their own long-term goals.

“no.” it wasn’t an interesting answer by any means as trilla stepped inside of the cantina, glancing back to make sure that they were still following. “i don’t like crowds,” she offered as some half-assed explanation, the truth infinitely more complicated than anything that she was willing to explain to a stranger. but despite the lack of interest that she’d displayed before, she did have some questions for them, waiting until they had seated in an otherwise empty corner. “so what’s someone with armor like that doing stuck in the middle of nowhere?” she knew their reputation, at least. “bounty gone wrong?”

At the mention of their armor, she froze. Once content to explain the significance of the metal, the pride that came with bearing its weight, Sabine now bit the inside of their cheek. After...after everything that had happened to Mandalore, the only strangers that asked questions were the ones who saw the metal she bore as a prize, a husk to be shucked and taken as spoils of war. So often these people thought her disposable, some sick challenge to defeat in order to stake their claim to the only piece of her family she had left. It was a move more than one piece of bantha shit had tried to pull on them before. Trilla didn’t seem like a person with ill intentions; they appeared to be a fatigued traveler, just as herself. But the Mandalorian had been wrong before, and the price for this kind of misjudgment was not forgiving.

“Something like that, yeah.” They exhaled thickly, glancing now across the restaurant, scanning for threats. For escape routes. Their breathing quickened as she remembered all of the times she’d been trapped in places like this. Was it safe here? Was someone after them? Who was this person at the table in front of her, to offer their help and accept no thanks? Muscles tensed, and Sabine forced their breathing to slow down. 

Think, chakaar. You can’t keep yourself safe if you’re not calm. The Empire isn’t here. Just talk.

“I came here on the good word of a friend, looking for information. But, all I got was a busted speeder bike and a waste of my ship’s fuel.” A hush fell as Sabine thought of the lightsaber hilt, lying in wait on Trilla’s waist. Flashbacks of the scarlet blades, of eyes filled with hatred and hearts without mercy. Being hunted ruthlessly as a child, guilty by association. Being hunted now. Fingers drummed anxiously on the table. Surely the person in front of her couldn’t be-- If they’d wanted to kill her, they would have done it by now.

“What about you? Can I ask how you found yourself in this backwater system?”

swishycapes​ // Lando Calrissian

that wasn’t quite the reaction that they expected out of them when he clapped her on the back, but it doesn’t stop the short chortle that escaped from his lips in response. sometimes, he forgot that they weren’t quite the kid that he had known them to be so many years ago –– that all of that was so far in the past, really. lando still viewed them that way, even if her current state of intoxication indicated some form of young adulthood. if anything, getting like that in an event like this was the classic sign of her age. he didn’t blame them, he’d never shied away from such a thing.

“oh, i’m sure you like to think that,” lando laughed easily in response. gambling had always been a problem for him, even if he didn’t admit to how serious it had been at some points in his life. he didn’t want it to be a problem, so he didn’t treat it like one.

it didn’t matter what the exact result was, he would have been content with either. “i’m not afraid of a little high. i’m quite content with it, actually, given i’d usually have to pay for this kind of thing.”

A wonderful luminescence filtered through the bubbles in their drink, and she lifted the glass up to the light to see it better. Someone jostled past, and a few delicate drops passed from cocktail glass to skin, blouse, lips. Another time, they could have been angry at the carefully crafted fabric so easily ruined, but not tonight. Worries could wait another rotation.

“H-here’s to a night of freedom, my friend!”

Sabine’s smile felt too warm and too wide, but she didn’t care! How could they, when everything was finally going so well?

“Clari-- Calrissian,” they stumbled, “you seem like someone who knows how to. How to bring a party wherever they go, huh? Tell me, know any good drinking games?”

 mvchinery​ // Depa Billaba

confusion colored her expression at the near instant recognition, because as much as she wanted to, depa couldn’t return it by face alone. still, she shook the stranger’s hand after returning their items, mustering a friendly smile.

at their name, though, she brightened far more genuinely, her smile broadening. “oh, sabine ! kanan mentioned you. it’s lovely to meet you too.” she didn’t know too much about the rest of the ghost crew, but she had been looking forward to meeting them. they were kanan’s family, & she was glad he had found such a good group to have his back. “i would love to get to know you.”

The warm reception was enough to give pause to the anxiety in the pit of her stomach. This woman was someone Kanan looked so highly up to. Surely it was important the Mandalorian make a good first impression, and bumping into the Jedi hadn’t exactly been the ideal start.

“Likewise! Sorry, I’m not, uh--” they readjusted the straps on her messenger bag and swept a stray piece of hair out of her face. “I’m usually more put together than this,” Sabine said with a light chuckle. “D’you, er...Do you have time to talk?”

“Do I look like the kind of man who dies?“ ( from poe )

“If your flying is really as good as half of the Base makes it out to be, then death shouldn’t even be a concern of ours. Besides-- this mission is supposed to be a piece of cake!”

Still, the shuddering of turbulence gave her reasonable pause. Surely everything would go smoothly on an operation as simple as this...right?

@galaxywon

cravked​ // Trilla Suduri

death was a mercy. that was the only reason that trilla was not bothered by the ancient lightsabers that were on display alongside the mandalorian armor, and other artifacts. anger radiated off of the person beside her, impossible to miss. it was the kind of thing that had been contagious at one point, but they did not struggle to keep their cool now. their gaze looked her up and down for a moment, pulling in a deep breath through their nose.

“thousands of years ago, the mandalorians colonized and the jedi slaughtered a part of their people. of course they want to put it on display now, to show how far they’ve come in spite of that.” trilla had never hd a problem with pointing out the fault of the jedi, that certainly wasn’t going to change now, even as they found theirself drifting closer and closer to the light. she gave a shrug of her shoulders at the apology. “your anger doesn’t bother me.”

.

The history of war, Sabine knew well. No winners came from war, only pain and death. War was a game of loss, for all parties involved. The trick was figuring out how to deal with it. A trick they still didn’t know how to pull off. Her people had done terrible things, she had done terrible things, but that didn’t stop the resentment from swelling in their gut.

“It’s hard to ignore the brutality of it all. My people, we... There’s pieces of Mandalorian history that I’m not proud of, pieces I would never condone, of course. But to invite us here only to take away our weapons, our sacred armor, and then parade a claim of peace? It’s...” They needed to change the subject, needed distraction from the fire coursing through her body. “But, anyways. You, uh. You look nice, Trilla.”

spectreoflasan​ // Zeb Orrelios

“Right. Better patch up anybody who made it through this kriffing mess.”  Zeb nodded at Sabine’s suggestion. Together they tracked down a cluster of survivors who’d gathered on the fringes of the area that had been scorched nauseatingly clean. There were a few wounded who could be helped by the first aid supplies they’d had on board, but Zeb saw immediately that Lothal was going to need a lot more than they had with them: more medical supplies, more food, more more. 

Though they could tell their reassurance had made some difference, and hells knew Sabine could keep it together when they had to, Zeb sensed the situation was still weighing on them as they worked. He muttered something vague about searching for other survivors to the huddled group around him and stepped aside to speak with her.  “Uh, we should probably round up anybody else who hasn’t made it over here, but….”  They faltered. He’d had more than a few anguished questions about who are these vong and why did they do this to us, questions he had no answers for.  “Karabast. People keep asking me what the hells happened, and who’s gonna protect them now if they come back. … I don’t know what to tell them. How, uh, how you holding up?”

_

The two worked in tandem, a steady silence of unease and anxiety. She could practically feel it in the air around them, in the breaths of each being that now adopted the same pain Zeb and Sabine had known all too well: the pain of losing a home. At least bandaging burns gave her hands something to do other than tremble. 

“Yeah, we should, er...” When her sibling’s demeanor dropped, so did the Mandalorian’s. “Fuck, Zeb, that’s--” Their words wavered. What was there to say? Of course these people were right to be scared- to want answers- but it’s not like she or Zeb knew any more than they did. 

“I’m living, y’know? I’m alive, and I’ve got my family,” (some of them) “which is more than most of these folks can say right now. You?”

for   @beskarbuir and @finitefm​  // din djarin and tarre vizsla

──   MANDALORE,  YOUR  SCENERY  IS  LIKE  FAMINE.   mandalore,  the most stagnated,  ravaged part of it,  is too lucid for him.   the landscape straddles between home and desolation,  thriving in that liminal space;  that is to say,  it welcomes him without communion.  but that is alright,  for his learnings were true.   this is a cursed planet,  far past death and onto lying in wait.   feverish and weak.   imperials looming over and gorging on the fruit of their lands,  gloating as its acidic juice drips into the corpse’s eyes.   mandalore bares it’s clenched teeth and hungers,  too.  for ichor,  for people,  for love.

din will not be the one to satiate it.   the love he offers is for his people beyond this soured heart,  reared in their ways in places far from here.   they are a nomadic people steeped in an idea.   they are more than mandalore alone.   still,  he stood close to his companion in these past days,  keeping an eye on their surroundings but mostly on them.  it almost seemed like she would choke on the prospect of coming here,  of walking into the maw of their once home.   since their arrival,  her grief was mute;  hemorrhage kept internal.   he hopes they know that if they dotter,  he will bear their weight. 

though there,  in the distance,  rises a haunting:  arriving in beskar adorned in gilded fractures, as if shattered and rebuilt.   his steps nearly stop there,  hand so willing to pull sabine back for her safety.   to din,  they are an unknown beauty and terror looming forth   ─   and though the feeling is transient,  he dallies the tiniest bit slower than sabine when she perseveres in the face of a phantom.   then,  she drops to her knee as if the very sight of them is sacrosanct,  bowing their head in reverence.   ‘ tarre vizsla ’ ,  they had said,  and all besides the clan name and shriek hawk garners no recognition. 

his next move is less calculated.   there is a bow of his head,  hand to the heart while the other still grips his spear like a walking stick.   a commingled greeting less pronounced as sabine’s,  but respectful to a title that eludes him.   ❝  su cuy’gar.  ❞  a fraction of an accent lilts his words,  obvious in comparison between him and them,  but there is no shame in it.   he lifts his head and glances to his companion,  then back,    ❝  as had we.  ❞   concern edges his voice,  ❝  how long have you been here ?  ❞   this is a dead land.  there will be no survival here.

the   reactions   tarre   has   faced   from   their   people   have   been   many,   in   this   time.   they   cannot   say   that   the   awe   is   their   least   favorite,   for   they   have   felt   the   brunt   outraged   violence   at   assumed   deception.   the   PAIN   that   lay   beneath   those   interactions   bests   the   creeping   discomfort   of   respect   for   a   mythos   larger   than   their   life.   they   were   mand’alor   in   their   time,   after   all   –   they   know   the   INTENSITY   of   mandalorian   devotion.   but   they   have   only   made   martyrs.   to   BE   one   ?   it   is   something   entirely   different.  

when   she   kneels,   they   are   surprised   by   the   instinct   to   kneel   as   well,   to   find   the   level   of   her   eyes   beneath   her   colorful   helmet   and   assure   her   that   deference   is   largely   unnecessary.   but   this   is   not   a   force   call,   only   human   LONGING,   and   they   have   spent   years   attempting   to   calm   their   gut   punches   of   emotion.   they   mirror   her   companion   instead,   a   hand   raised   to   their   heart.   these   two   are   sharply   different   in   more   than   their   armor.   their   knowledge   of   HISTORY,   they   can   assume,   yet   the   importance   lies   in   the   force.   she   is   fireworks.   he   is   something   more   unobtrusive.   they   find   both   intriguing   on   a   level   that   may   speak   only   to   their   own   desire   for   new   connection   with   their   people.

there   are   more   pressing   matters   than   any   slowly   sharpening   edge   of   desperation,   however.   their   voice   is   smooth   as   mandalore’s   hot   winds   as   they   reply,   ❛   i   am   them.   please,   RISE   –   i   am   no   mand’alor   in   this   time.   ❜   they   would   insist   that   ALL   mandalorians   are   clan   enough   to   do   away   with   such   formalities,   if   they   had   not   begun   to   grasp   that   these   descendants   of   theirs   are   not   nearly   so   united.   ❛   i   am   glad   to   find   others.   what   is   left   of   history   is   something   worth   revisiting,   i   believe.   ❜

the   bittersweetness   of   it   all   is   beginning   to   burn.   they   tuck   the   feeling   underneath   their   tongue   and   let   it   rest   there,   tangled   up   in   the   core   of   them.   ❛   only   briefly.   there   is   better   accommodation   not   too   far   from   here.   i   wanted   to   see   what   this   became.   ❜   their   words   come   freely,   yet   remain   careful   with   that   bittersweet,   that   knot   of   feeling.   their   head   tilts   slightly   as   they   look   back   to   the   ruins.   ❛   this   is   a   place   of   BLOOD.   it   is   good   that   it   is   no   home.   ❜   it   had   been   theirs,   once,   and   they   suppose   that   that   is   the   tragedy   of   it.   this   loss   will   not   leave   them.

So, it was them, Mand’alor be’ruyot. How or why the leader had returned during their peoples’ most desolate hour was far beyond her understanding. Despite years spent in the company of Jedi, this was perhaps the most impossible thing she’d ever witnessed. Tongue heavy, Sabine found that they had no words-- no amount of training could have ever prepared her for this. Still, at their ancestor’s command, she rose, glancing over at their brother-in-arms.

The younger Mandalorian knew that their companion was not as versed in the history of their people-- which was not something she faulted them for. It just was, a product of circumstance. They examined him-- a shared language of silence only the two knew, unreliant on the visages hidden beneath beskar. This was the nature of their friendship: an understanding that silence had its own place in the conversations they held. So much was shared with so little sound. Despite the unease and confusion that now plagued them both, Sabine understood.

Attention turned, shifting back to the words spoken by one who held so many stories from an age lifetimes before her own. Guilt seized their breath once again. This place was no home, not for anyone. Nor had it been for years, and there were few more to blame than she. Sabine felt their voice waver and crack in response to the bitterness of the haastal.

“No. It is not.” So many skeletons haunted this wasteland once called prosperous, once called beloved. “It belongs now only to the mercy of the Ka’ra above.”

Noticing how uncomfortable the formalities had made their ancestor, Sabine extended an unsteady arm, anticipation of the traditional salute for Mando’ade.

“I am Sabine of Clan Wren and House Vizsla.” There was a moment of pause, consideration. Her companion could share their name if he wanted. It was optional, as most words between the two were. “It is an honor to share your name. Gedet’ye, what may I call you if not ner Mand’alor?”

They couldn’t help but hope her friend wasn’t too lost right now. She gave them a glance as if to reassure him that she’d explain later.

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

If nothing else, Hux had to credit the photographer for so clearly capturing a moment he did not remember himself. The walk from the gala to Alton’s yacht was extremely fuzzy, but he’d hoped that — even inebriated — he’d had the decorum to keep his kriffing hands to himself until they were out of sight. Yet that was unmistakably Armitage Hux in the image, pulling a man into a yacht by his necktie. And that man was unmistakably Alton Kastle with his hand on Hux’s ass.

Hux knew better than to reach for the datapad. That didn’t stop his fingers from twitching when they stowed it out of sight.   (She’d won this round.)   No one who saw that image would have any doubt of what happened on Alton’s yacht afterwards. He narrowed his eyes. Their gown wasn’t so sheer that he could count out hidden armor or weapons. With a gaze every bit as sharp as the dagger up his sleeve, his eyes traced the skin above their neckline for vulnerable arteries. But that was only fantasy — he was not so keen to die today that he would take on a Mandalorian in hand-to-hand combat without backup. Especially not after he’d read Sabine Wren’s file.

“Yet you brought your concerns to me first. How courteous.”  Hux knew as well as she did — she was ex-Imperial — that countless cutthroat officers would love to get their hands on any ammunition that could be used against him. Not to mention that connecting a New Republic reporter to a man who’d tortured Padme Amidala would kill Alton’s career.  “What is it you want from me that you could not get from them?”

_

His eyes turned upon the image, and they smirked at his shift in tone. Like a glacier breaking into the ocean, he grew ever colder with the passing seconds. No doubt he wanted to react with some measure of calculated anger or violence, but he kept his composure all the same. The Mandalorian had to admit, given the brevity of the situation, that it was almost impressive.

“Hey, I’m a nice person, Hux. You ought to know this by now.”

They sipped the wine he’d ordered, looking at him over the rim of the glass the whole time. She took a breath before responding, took the conversation on their own time.

“I want you to owe me a favor.” They exaggerated the words, left them with weight unseen. “I won’t come calling today, or tomorrow, but I will come calling. And when I do, I just want to know that you’re willing to help. Nothing difficult, nothing incriminating. Just good old-fashioned reciprocity, one friend to another.”

Sabine folded their hands together in the space between them, leaning forward and never wavering from his steely gaze.

“What do you say, general?”

xspectre-1​ // Kanan Jarrus

as she warmed to his embrace he sighed some, holding her close. it had taken sometime for them to connect like this, but having her accept his comfort, having this relationship with her? he hadn’t realized how much he wanted sabine to feel like a part of his family until she finally had– he hadn’t expected to ever fill a father role– but how grateful he was of the opportunity. 

but unfortunately, that wasn’t at the front of his mind. it was hard to ignore the amount of confusion he was still feeling, despite his want to be able to be there for them. “it’s me sabine, it’s me, i’m here for you,” but he needed answers, and her response wasn’t the easiest to process. 

seven years. the thought of that loss of time– it hadn’t helped his jumbled mind. he blinked under his mask, having no words as they pulled his hand closer. until– “we won?” he questioned softly, as if not believing it. it was hard to– knowing how much they had lost. his hand met hers, squeezing it in his own, “kriff– we did?”

“Kanan, I-- I’m not sure how to ex-explain. I,” their breath caught in her throat, something in her lungs hitching and spiking. Pressure mounted in their chest and her hands trembled in anxiety. “Okay, uh,” her voice cracked. She didn’t have enough strength to do this...But the warmth of their father’s hand in her own was something to focus on. Something real.

“I-in my time, the Empire fell a few years ago, and...and something happened in the Force. I don’t--I don’t know how, exactly, but time got messed up. Some people were brought f-forward from the past, and some. Some back from the future. Some people that had died--” They shook their head violently, remembering every nightmare and flashback of--no! That wasn’t him! He was here. This wasn’t a dream. “Kanan, I thought you were... Hera, Zeb, Ezra, we...we thought you were gone.”