@chaotickylia​ // Kylia Horne​

spectreoflasan​ // Zeb Orrelios

“Karabast, Sabine, I….” Zeb raised their glass, heaved a sigh, and set it down. Seeing Sabine cry was excruciating. They got each other, Zeb and Sabine, but it had always remained unspoken – their true vulnerability hidden behind walls that both knew damn well the other could see right through, but they’d allowed each other the pretense of those safeguards, of… strength? Was that really what it was? But the impulse Zeb felt to lighten the gravity of this moment with some stupid joke or deflection… that wasn’t what Sabine needed. It wasn’t strength, that’s for sure. “I… I’m sorry. I hate hearing you had such a bad year. I wish I’d been there.” Had they been? Zeb had no idea what Sabine had been through in the last year, but it didn’t take a hyperspace scientist to tell it had been shit.

Sabine’s last question – their lapse into Mando’a – it hit Zeb right in the gut, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Sounds like the Empire got both our families.” Zeb’s hand clenched around their glass until it began to shake. They forced themself to relax before they broke any more glassware tonight.   ‘What happened on Lasan, it’s over for me,’   Zeb had said to Kallus once, and he had meant it. Recognizing their own ache in Sabine’s voice, though, it ripped the scab off and left them as raw as ever. So… Zeb said the only thing that had gotten them through it in the first place. It wasn’t like Sabine hadn’t seen them bleed before. “Maybe they can come back, maybe they can’t. Maybe they will. I don’t know. Wish I did. But I do know that right now, we have each other, and that counts for something. Voddy…” Karabast, he had to get this right. “Vod’ika.”

Her sibling’s words were a calm wave, something to grip onto among the onslaught of emotions she was facing. Manda, did they really feel that way? There was a twist in their stomach as her older sibling’s voice contorted in pain. In honesty. Even through the swimming vision and the burn in her throat, she knew what he was trying to say. It was familiar, the way they quietly shared each other’s struggles, the silent language of siblinghood. The grief and assurances were nonverbal more often than not, but just as prominently spoken. This time, though...Zeb surprised her. Their attempt at her first language-- it pushed her out of the chair and into his embrace. Before either could register the movement, Sabine threw their arms around his wide frame, buried her face in their fur.

“Ni k-kar’tayl gar darasuum, ori’vod.” It was familiar, the embrace. It was safe. “I missed you, big brother. I mean, I really missed you.” 

The Mandalorian let go, but held his piercing green gaze. And she gave as much of a grin as she could muster.

“I missed you, and your shit Mando’a.” 

generally-scheming​ // armitage hux

“Buckethead?” Hux turned to the petty officer stationed nearby. “They do know that officers don’t wear…” A pilot glanced back at Hux from under a rounded helmet that flared dramatically at the base. Hux cleared his throat.

“Bold talk, rebel scum. If you’re so confident, why don’t you come a bit closer?” He gazed out from the bridge of the light command cruiser he’d acquired for what was meant to be a stealth patrol. The rebel ship hailing them was just beyond range of their turbolasers.

“Oya, cyar’ika, at least buy me dinner before you start the sweet-talking, okay?” Sabine teased with an amusement that was only half nerves. Their Rebel ship was still out of range. She just needed time to calculate the hyperspace route. “The again, you’re not really my type. And, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess I’m not really yours, huh?”

The speaker had some sort of pride, they figured. Something to prove. Probably has a shit-ton of people under their ranks, but was still starving for blood, for a chance to be the best. Sabine had seen this type before. It was all too easy to piss them off, and it brought a genuine smile to their face.

“Listen, I’d love to stick around for that date, general,” she emphasized the title for effect (hopefully the other officers were listening). “But I think I’m gonna take a rain check.” Silently, they diverted power to the hyperdrive, but didn’t yet signal for the jump. She wanted to hear first if there were any parting remarks. Much as they hated what little remains of the Empire were left, she did enjoy this kind of banter. And who knows? Maybe they’d run into each other again.

generalspectre​ // hera syndulla

“  You  know,  it’s  starting  to  get  lonely  on  this  ship.  “  Hera  teases  as  they  stand,  arms  already  wrapping  around  the  colorful  armor  of  their  child.  While  neither  Hera  nor  Jacen  had  much  interest  in  him  becoming  a  jedi,  Luke  would  come  sometimes  and  work  on  control  with  her  son.  Small  things  to  help  him  get  by  in  the  galaxy.  This  was  one  of  those  times.  It  was  hard  to  trust  anyone  but  their  family  with  him,  but  they  knew  that  Jacen  would  be  in  good  hands.  “  But  I’m  proud  of  you.  What  you’re  doing  is  important.  “  

@call-me-spectre-five​​

.

Their praise and embrace brought a smile to Sabine’s lips. The two shared a language outside of the spoken word. When you’ve been to hell and back with your family at your side, there are some things better expressed in the pauses between words, the silence before speech.

“Thank you, Hera. You know I’m always happy to see you.” They dropped their bags in the old cargo room, happy to see her artwork still adorning the walls of the Ghost. “If you ever want to get the little womp rat out of your lekku for a weekend, give me a call.” 

Looking closer, they noticed colorful scribbles on the wall beside her own. Huh. The kiddo wasn’t too old but his control of line, his use of color...it was already well-developed. The thought of her vod’ika taking after them at all made Sabine swell with pride.

“Jacen’s works, I assume?”

spectrcsix​ // Ezra Bridger

ezra knows this is kind of a big deal. from what kanan’s told him everyone’s kind of running under the impression that he’s been dead for a little while which - is a little disheartening, but he’s dealt with worse. he thinks. besides, it’s nice to give them the surprise that he’s not, right??

he’s lucky he was kind of expecting her to leap at him and thankfully he’s ready for it, staggering for a moment as they collide but managing to catch himself and stay upright as he holds sabine in a tight hug. maybe a little tighter than it should be but - it’s sabine. after all this time, everything he’s been through - everything they’ve both been through, he figures she’ll understand. besides, she doesn’t seem to mind it given the way she’s holding onto him too. he goes to say something when she pulls back, only to get hit over the head anyway “hey! i said not to hit me!” he exclaims, but there’s no heat behind his words, no anger. he knows it’s coming from a place of care and fondness as it always has with sabine. it’s just how they are.

it’s hard to be completely sure what she’s saying, ezra never got the chance to learn her language, but he spent enough time around mandalorians to pick up the intention. “uh - i dunno what you just said, but please do not hit me again.” he smiles and rubs the back of his head. “wild space which is - really vague i know, but it’s kinda hard to explain when i didn’t know for sure where i was. why do you think it took me so long to figure out how to get back?” pausing, ezra drops his hand by his side and looks at sabine for a moment - really looks at her. “what’s been going on? i mean - i missed a heap, i know, so. catch me up.” there’s an unasked question there in his quieter, more serious tone. are you okay?

Their little brother stands tall now, but examines them over with some concern. There is hesitancy in his stance, an unspoken anxiety. Sabine reaches for his hand, and holds his calloused fingers between her own. 

“Vod’ika...you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

That was painful to admit, but at least he was back. His loss was...well, it had taken its toll on her. It had rocked them to the core, pushed them away from family and towards isolation. After what had happened to Kanan, Ezra’s disappearance and (apparent) death had forced them into retreat. But they had to remind herself that it was no doubt hard on him too. Whatever he had been through-- whatever means he lived by in order to survive-- must have been hell. She was proud of him, even if it remained unspoken. They squeeze his hand once, and look down at their mud-caked boots. 

“You talk when you’re ready. Whatever it is, I know you fought your way back to us. You came when you could...and that’s. That’s enough, Ezra.”

She dropped his hand and instead shouldered the pack they had dropped in surprise. He had to be old enough for a drink, right?

“C’mon, Ezra. I’ve still got that bottle of Tepasi wine we stole when we were kids.” They smiled in fondness, starting to throw an arm around his shoulders but hesitating. What if he was uncomfortable with their touch? She didn’t want to overwhelm him. Instead, they just bit the inside of their lip and then gave him a sad smile. 

“Looks like we can finally have that toast to the Empire’s defeat, after all.”

@swishycapes​ // Lando Calrissian

sabine was a lot of things, that much had been immediately certain upon meeting them –– he liked that kind of person, really, even if they weren’t so precisely aligned with his motives, like they had been at the time. but the way that she stuttered over her words, struggled to get through a sentence, that didn’t seem like her. so the little mandalorian wasn’t the best at holding her alcohol. that was cute, in the kid kind of way.

“i do like to gamble,” he clapped them on the back. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say that you’ve already been gambling with something. or is that just the alcohol?” he grinned, his smile all friendly teeth. he took the pastry from her without hesitation, taking a bite out of it. “alright, your turn. why don’t you go for… this one?” he picked up one of the purple cupcakes on the table, handing it to them.

A hearty slap on her back, and she nearly choked on the drink they were holding. They hid the growing smile behind her hand as giggles racked their way up her throat. Maybe this scoundrel wasn’t so...scoundrel-ey after all! Force, the music was so loud in their ears! She bobbed up and down on their feet, body pulsing with the rhythm of the performers. Is this what f r e e dom felt like? Hell, not even the Empire could catch up to them now! Her friend’s face was blurry when they turned to face him, almost everything moving too slowly. With a snort, she mouthed a laugh, but no sound came out. Well, none she heard.

“Wha-what you don’t get,” they hiccuped, then reached haphazardly for the dessert they were extending so temptingly towards her. 

“Is that I don’t gamble, Lando” She stressed the last syllable, almost as if singing a song. “I win!”

It wasn’t true, but they didn’t need to worry about that just right now. Ignoring it was just too much fun.

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.

@cravked​ // trilla suduri

an eyebrow arched at the other’s clarification about the biker situation. it only made her wonder all the more how she had managed to get herself stuck out here with it again, but she supposed that if she didn’t have any other options, it made sense. trilla had gone from everything that she could have ever needed with the resources of the empire to fending almost entirely by herself. at least then, there hadn’t been so much of a need for technology or transport. sometimes, living like that really didn’t seem so bad. at least it had been easy, even if she had been somewhat crippled with loneliness.

a cough erupted from her lips as the bike burst out with some smoke, waving it away from their face. “get a better transport, perhaps,” she remarked dryly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she straightened up and wiped some off the dirt off her hands and onto her dark pants.

“where are you trying to go?” trilla questioned, gaze shifting back toward the human. they examined her armor closer for just a moment, refraining from commenting on it just yet. she was very familiar with what it was, even if the paint job was not what she would have considered predictable. “i might be able to help get you there. or at least get you to someone with the right parts to fix it.” 

Sabine let out a sigh of frustration then wiped their brow with the back of their hand. They never should have come all the way out to this desolate planet. They had been chasing one dead lead after another for weeks now, and she didn’t understand why she thought this one would be any different. All it got them was a busted bike and a raging headache. She hastily stuffed the tools into their pack, then pulled out a datapad, sitting on an outcropping of rock while typing. 

“Ya know, I sure would have gotten a better transport if there had been one available.” 

She grimaced as the screen displayed a glowing map, showing their destination at about 200 klicks northwest from their current location.

“I need to get here,” they said, while pointing at the outpost on the tablet. “I knew it would be too far a ride for this junker. I don’t know why I even bothered with this damned planet...” She muttered, then looked up at Trilla, just now processing the offer she had been given. “You would help me? But you don’t even know me. What if I’m some kind of...assassin or something?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Hux narrowed his eyes at this outrageous Mandalorian covered in bright purple from her dress to her hair. He did not dignify her insinuation with a reply.   (They couldn’t have proof ! Kastle’s reputation would be in tatters, and therefore useless to him.)   Hux’s nails dug into his palms as she continued her absurd pretense of flirtation. Midnight loomed, his agitation compounding as the seconds ticked away.

“I don’t like you,” he hissed, striding forward to confront them quietly. “A feeling which is obviously mutual, so let’s put an end to this farce. I would sooner walk directly into enemy fire than kiss you, Wren.” He flushed hearing the words out loud. “Mandalorian.”

.

This was something they were good at, something she prided herself in. Bending his composure under the weight of flattery and thinly-veiled threats. They had every reason no specific reason to harm him now (and especially not in a place so public), but it was fun to watch him squirm.

“That hurts, Hux. I happen to actually enjoy our chats.” And, that was partly true. Who else could they have this much fun toying with without it becoming something truly dangerous? “Oh, come on, Armitage. Would it kill you to at least play along? It’s not like it would be the end of the world.” 

With those words, the clock struck midnight. And all hell broke loose.

Investigation at Hosk

Location: Kalarba, the ruins of Hosk Station

From orbit, the planet seemed scarred. Every plants’ branches had snapped, and every leaf was coated in a film of ash. Rolling pits littered the surface where life had once teemed in abundance. Grey mist hung in the air, a bitter mixture of smoke and ash from the searing flames of debris. Some fires, still lit, pulsed hungrily around them like a gundark in desperate search of its prey. 

Iden had sent Sabine a brief manifesto detailing everything the Rebellion knew about the crash-- which was, unfortunately, not much. What had piqued their interest, however, was the apparent villain behind this new act of terrorism. Supposedly, those who had witnessed the damage firsthand seemed to have reason to suspect Imperials-- or, at least, their technologies. The simple thought of this was enough to make Sabine’s stomach churn in unease. If it was true, if that broken system of oppression had returned to take the lives of so many people...well, it wouldn’t help them sleep at night.

When she had read the name written on Iden’s message and quickly realized it was unfamiliar to her, the mission seemed suddenly less solemn.They liked to stay relatively connected within the social network of the Rebellion (though it was always possible to miss a few people along the way). Sabine knew next to nothing about this person-- and that’s exactly what compelled her to greet his arrival with a smile and an outstretched hand.

“Cal Kestis, I assume? Nice to meet you. The name’s Sabine Wren.”

@lcstpadawan​ // cal kestis

l  closed starter  l  @inspiringgreatness​

Sabine’s fingers trembled with the ship’s communication system, struggling to find the right frequency for their old friend. The last thing she wanted to do was bother such an important and busy figure with something as trivial as this, but they didn’t know who else to turn to. Finally, the hum of static softened into a dull purr, and she sat down with a sigh. The light on the holo camera blinked blue to let them know it had begun recording.

“H-hey. Hey, Ahsoka. It’s Sabine.”

Idiot. As if she couldn’t already tell. 

“Look, I really don’t want to bother you, and you don’t have to answer this message. But, I--” they sighed, hugging her knees to their chest.

“I just didn’t really know who else to talk to, I guess? I mean, I just don’t feel ready to talk to Hera or Kanan, or...well, anyone, about it.” 

(Or about anything, really.)

“ Look, I’ve just been thinking about Ezra a lot lately, and, I don’t know, I thought maybe you had too, and, maybe we could talk about it together? O-or not. That’s okay, too.”

Sabine paused, breath catching in her throat and stomach swelling with regret. Ahsoka didn’t need to be concerned with this. She was a Jedi once, and she had probably dealt with scenarios worse than this in the Clone Wars. What was Sabine even doing?

“On second thought, I’m sorry. I-I don’t mean to. To, uh. To take up your time.  you’re probably really busy. I really hope you’re doing well. Stay safe.”

Sabine hastily reached forward and switched the channel off then stifled the racking sob clawing its way up her throat.