Chaotickylia​ // Kylia Horne

@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?”

galaxywon​ // Hera Syndulla

Where  are  they  ??  Hera’s  heart  is  racing,  the  adrenaline  pumping  through  their  veins.  It’s  the  only  way  she’s  ignoring  the  pain  all  over  her  body,  the  fresh  burns  that  had  been  from  the  explosions  just  minutes  after  midnight.  Lekku  damaged,  tattoos  previously  there  now  scattered  with  marred  skin.  Had  it  been  minutes  ??  she  can’t  tell,  can’t  think  straight.  A  flash  of  purple  fabric  has  them  looking  closer,  voice  horse,  “  Sabine  ?!  “  Were  the  others  with  them?  

.

The voice rang clear and familiar even through the erupted chaos around them. They’d heard that voice in firefights and stealth operations alike, from late night confessions to hurried commands of battle. It sent a renewed wave of strength through her bones, pushed her forward, past the bodies and rubble. 

“Buir! Thank fuck you’re alive!” A pause, measuring the damage done to Hera’s lekku, no doubt a result of the flames. “Have you seen anyone else?” The question was vague, but she knew they’d understand. Both needed to know if their family was alive.

beroyafett​ // Jango Fett

Jango sighed and pulled his helmet off before he noticed the Mando coming his way. If they had spotted the darksaber, he wasn’t about to fight in a crowded bar, so he hoped they were reasonable. 

He sipped at his drink as he watched the other approach and raised a brow at her, gesturing to the empty seat across from himself “Not business. But I suppose that depends on if you’re looking for a drink or a fight, burc’ya.” he said with a chuckle.

He hadn’t been challenged yet, but he was sure it wouldn’t be long. He’d do all he could to retain the saber and his pride. He’d even finally repainted Jaster’s symbol on his pauldron. 

_

The reveal of the warrior’s face was disorienting, to say the least. She’d seen that countenance a few times before, had shared meals and battlefield and laughter with someone who held the same lines of worry and laughter. Was this man a clone? But, then, why did he have the armor of a Mandalorian? For now, they resolved, all she could do was listen.

“Oh, I think you misunderstand me, friend. I don’t-- Er, I really don’t want that saber. I’m no leader, trust me. I’m just interested in how it’s traded hands since I last held it.”

They motioned for the bartender to bring another of whatever he was drinking, taking the seat across from him with a smile and an extended hand.

“I‘m Sabine. Sabine Wren. And I’d love a good story if you have the time.”

@beskarbuir​ // din djarin

──   GAZES  BEAR  DOWN  UPON  THE  PAIR,  and he wonders exactly how much better he would fare in his old,  heavily worn armor.   perhaps the attention wouldn’t have lessened with such an acquaintance at his side,  but here the unmarked chrome reflectes her colors in such a way,  it makes them a most obvious pair.  the stressor is felt on both fronts,  kept secret between the two as rolling anxiety feeds from each other in a cycle.   they move closely  ─  but not too close,  rendering a strange pack formation where there’s equal safety and danger in their numbers.   one protecting the other. 

the ‘t’ of his visor is kept leveled,  knowing that an air of aloofness and the history behind tinted transparisteel deterred stares.   ❝  a little bit.  ❞   the words are coupled with one shoulder’s shrug.   this was a place he only passed through,  leaving just a brief sighting for children to whisper amongst each other.   yet one sweep through the village is enough to know that there’s little for the agent to hide in;  an odd choice for someone of moderate renown.

canting their head to the side,  they lead them to a couple vendors with pre-empire scraps to sell.   with a step forward they flick through dialects until common ground is found,  evident in how the seller lilts her head in recognition and leans forward.   between them a few probing questions flitter, a few credits discreetly traded  ( he scowls to himself for how little he can bribe with ),  until he finally turns to his kind with a breath.   ❝  there’s some rumor of a mechanic shop acting as a front,  toward the south.  ❞  plenty of supplies for makeshift weapons,  maybe some workers in on their dealings,  or it could be just that:  a rumor.   thoughts the other were filtering through too,  no doubt.   ❝  think it’s a lead ?  ❞

“I think it’s worth checking out before we run out of sunslight.” Or before someone tips off the bounty, they thought to themself. She could tell the other was thinking it, too. This kind of risk always posed itself, the concern of some low-life selling out someone they knew then warning them of impending capture. It had happened with the Ghost crew more than once, with friends and enemies alike. 

The walk carried a weight of silence. There was no hum of twin engines to separate them anymore, no rushing terrain to interrupt their stillness. It settled itself neatly over the pair (something Sabine suspected the other Mandalorian was quite used to). She could be, too, when the time arose. But, it was always easier for them to fill the void of quiet with sound. A song or a conversation soothed their nerves more than the absence of ever could. 

“Your beskar’gam and spear are...quite striking. For all the years it’s been since I re-forged my armor, there’s been little time it hasn’t seen color. Some days I could almost forget the grooves of pure metal. Mesh’la.” 

They put the comment out there, open for commentary, or just to be held by the two. If this warrior wanted to speak, the invitation was there. If not, that was just as well. Her companion seemed the type to enjoy silence, so their nonresponse would be just as accepted as conversation. Besides, the two were nearing the workshop, which now stood visible on the horizon through a shimmer of heat.

@cptfulcrum​ // Alexsandr Kallus

Kallus  wouldn’t  pull  his  own  weapon  on  them,  just  a  small  blaster,  something  that  he  felt  more  comforted  when  he  had  on  his  hip.  Just  another  Imperial  regulation  that  he  had  never  quite  slipped  out  of.  He  didn’t  carry  on  Lira  San.  But  now  that  he  had  slowly  been  working  outside  of  the  planet,  he  felt  the  need  to.  Especially  now  that  he  had  actively  started  tracking  Grand  Admiral  Thrawn.  But  he  knew  the  Mandalorian  understood  the  need  for  a  weapon.  He  watched  closely,  waiting  for  a  moment  where  Sabine’s  dominant  arm  would  aim  to  fire.  Thankfully,  it  never  happened.  His  shoulders  relaxed  slightly,  though  their  question  had  him  pause.  

His  own  justification  was  that  Zeb  was  worried  about  Sabine  but  trusted  her  too  much  to  actually  do  anything  about  his  worry.  He  didn’t  want  to  admit  that  he  was  worried  too,  worried  about  all  of  the  Spectres.  The  loss  of  Ezra  had  hit  them  all  hard,  just  after  getting  him  back.  “  Like  I  said,  we  were  concerned.  “  he  replied,  stepping  closer  now  that  their  weapon  was  holstered.  “  I  was  in  the  area.  Zeb  was  not.  “  the  area  was  a  very  vague  statement,  vague  enough  that  he  didn’t  have  to  explain  that  he  wasn’t  on  Lira  San  and  that’s  why  it  was  easier  for  him  than  her  fellow  Spectre.  “  I  thought  it  would  assuage  his  worries  if  he  knew  I  saw  you.  “  it  would  lessen  his  own,  certainly.  

Sabine  could,  without  a  doubt,  take  care  of  any  situation  that  arrived.  But  this  wasn’t  something  able  to  be  handled.  It  was  the  death  of  someone  very  close  to  them  all.  It  wasn’t  as  simple  as  planting  a  bomb  or  shooting  a  blaster.  He  wished  it  was.  “  You  should  come  visit.  I  know  Zeb  misses  you.  “  

She stood still, rooted to the spot by the mention of her friend’s name. It was a punch to the gut, an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Sabine had left Zeb (and so many others) in the dark for weeks, months now. They didn’t mean to cause any pain. She just needed time, distance away from everyone. It had always been easier to figure things out alone.

When situations started to tense and sour at home, Sabine had joined the Imperial Academy. When she realized just what they were using her for, they had defected into the Rebellion. Even after the Ghost crew had given them a home, a real family, she had left. And, here she was, running again.

At last they shifted their weight uneasily, heavy with guilt and shame.

“Thank you. I-I should have reached out sooner, I just...” needed to do this on my own, she wanted to say. But instead, they let the words hang in the air, taking up the uneasy space between the two. 

“I’m fine, Kallus. I appreciate you coming out here and all, but really, I’m good.” She stepped forward, stance relaxed now that they knew they were in the presence of a friend, not an enemy. Instead of expressing the emotions gnawing at her inside, they attempted to make light of the conversation.

“What are you and Zeb up to these days, anyways?”

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.

Words started to stick together and bottles seemed more empty than before. Something in the room had shifted, and everything seemed a few degrees too thin. The world was stretched, but at least it was still funny...right? 

“’scuse me--” The less-than-noble warrior asked of the blurred figure on their left. “but d’ya know--”

--where the closest fresher is? Or, that’s what she meant to ask. But, when the stranger turned to face her, what came out instead was a faint squeak and...

“kriff, you’re beautiful!”

Ah, fuck. Did she really just say that out loud? 

@hopejedi​

@generalspectre​ // Hera Syndulla

The  thought  of  having  Sabine  under  their  roof  for  any  amount  of  time  was  enough  to  make  Hera  smile.  “  Don’t  worry,  he’ll  be  just  as  happy  to  see  you  tomorrow.  “  The  pilot  was  sure  that  her  child  had  so  much  going  on.  She  knew  that  the  Mandalorian  felt  very  deeply,  especially  with  the  death  of  Ezra.  “  You  know  you  always  have  a  home  here.  “  they  replied,  smiling  down  at  the  loth  cat  as  she  answered.  “  I  don’t  know  how  Chopwill  feel  about  you  though.  “  she  informed  the  cat,  watching  the  cat  nip  at  their  heels.  “  We’ll  just  have  to  be  careful.  “  Dark  brows  raise  as  they  recognize  the  pale  pink  drink  in  their  hands.  Her  own  move  to  her  hips  and  she  grins,  “  I  don’t  remember  the  last  time  I  had  an  adult  drink.  “  the  emphasis  on  adult  is  intentional.  They  step  forward,  wrapping  one  arm  around  their  shoulders,  the  cold  armor  pressing  against  her  sleeves.  “  Now  we  just  need  to  get  Zeb  back  here.  “  the  murmured,  leading  the  pair  up  the  ramp.  They  could  never  fault  their  friend  for  being  happy  with  their  people,  but  she  still  missed  him.  

Sabine’s smile broke a little at the mention of Zeb’s name. Although glad to hear from Kallus that he was doing well, it still stung a little, knowing the reunion was incomplete. Still, the Mandalorian had one of their parents here, had their little brother, Jacen (they even had Chopper), and that was enough for now.

Sabine handed Hera the drink and followed the twi’lek into the cabin of the ship. As soon as she stepped inside, the little astromech raced to greet her, chittering away. They lowered themself to his level, raising one hand to the little droid’s dome in affection.

“Okay, okay, Chop! Yeah, I missed you too, buddy.” They glanced over at Blueberry, who stood behind Hera with raised ears and bristled tail. “No, you will not, Chopper. Don’t joke about that.” Sabine met their cat’s eyes, holding his gaze. “You two play nice. And don’t you wake Jacen.”

They turned with a slight sigh, wondering how long it would take for either to pick a fight. Hera stood a few feet away, watching with amusement and crossed arms.

“I think you have a point about these guys. We’ll have to keep an eye on them. But hopefully Jacen will be glad to meet Blue.”

They followed Hera through the familiar passages of the ship until both were seated across from each other, their bags stowed messily on the floor. Sabine sighed, stretching out, reaching for a glass. Finally, she could relax.

galaxywon​ // Alexsandr Kallus

Sabine  had  been  Imperial,  even  though  their  time  had  ended  much  before  his  own.  They  knew  what  it  felt  like  to  be  forced  to  adhere  to  something  that  took    away  any  case  of  individuality.  But  she  didn’t  know  what  it  felt  like  to  believe  it  with  your  whole  being.  He  would  have  died  for  The  Empire,  almost  had  on  multiple  occasions.  He  thought  his  life  was  worth  something  with  them,  didn’t  know  true  value  until  he  had  been  challenged  to  question  things.  Being  an  Imperial  had  been  his  entire  life.  It  was  still  his  deepest  shame.  He  could  tell  by  the  way  they  analyzed  the  images  that  they  understood  what  it  meant.  “  I  fear  if  I  don’t  do  it  soon,  I  never  will.  “  he  admitted,  turning  away  from  them  to  try  to  hide  some  of  the  emotions  passing  through  his  face.  

“  I  can  sit  with  you  while  you  draw  if  you’d  like.  “  It  was  more  for  him  than  it  was  for  Sabine,  of  course.  He  wasn’t  sure  he  could  sit  around  and  wait  for  her  to  be  done.  “  I  have  some  mission  reports  I  could  fill  out.  “  He  knew  without  trying  that  he  wouldn’t  get  a  thing  done  while  he  was  waiting  for  them,  but  he  could  pretend.  “  Just…..  Don’t  tell  Garazeb  about  this.  Please.  “  

.

“ I understand.” She replied, though they both knew she couldn’t fully comprehend all he was feeling. Still, they felt the weight that sat on his shoulders. They understood its significance. None of the Spectres blamed Kallus for what he’d done, but Sabine knew that hearing something and believing it were two different things. Gods, did they know that...

“Please, make yourself at home,” she nodded, motioning to the cluttered interior of the ship. Sure, the cabin was a bit of a mess, but they got the feeling her friend wouldn’t mind. Well...maybe he’d mind a little, but the Ghost crew had always been so lovably chaotic. At their’s friend’s next request, though, her smile weakened, and they nodded solemnly.

“Speaking of Zeb,” they asked, already opening the digital art application on her datapad, “can I ask how you two are? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” they added with a rush, careful to give him the chance to say no if he wanted. “I just know that with the whole time skip shit, everything’s been so...different.” A pause, as she rested stylus on screen. “Have you talked to them since?”

sacreficied​ // Kanan Jarrus

“thank the force for that,” kanan agreed with an easy smile. it was overwhelming, the kind of pride that jacen brought him. it was also difficult to balance his drive and desire to protect both him and hera along with his commitment to the force, the rebuilding jedi order. it was a precarious balance, one that he was hesitant to speak to any of the older, more experienced masters about. ahsoka would understand, he was certain of that much, but she was not the only approval that he would have liked to have.

a deep breath pulled in through his nose, nodding his head. “it’s good to be back. i never thought i’d live to see a day like this. i mean, i guess i didn’t, but…” beyond his own sacrifice, the beginning of a new republic and new jedi order was monumental. “we’re lucky nonetheless.”

.

Two stood in quite repose as she listened to Kanan’s words soft-spoken. They nodded at his notion of gratitude. A few years ago, there was no way she could have hoped for any of this. There was a time when the pain felt like it would never subside, and it had driven them away from the people that cared about her most. 

“We are. When I-- when we lost you, Kanan, and then Ezra...well, everyone took it pretty hard. Then when the Empire came for Mandalore? Fuck, I thought I’d lost everything. I lost sight of the fact that I still had Hera, Zeb, Kallus, Jacen, and Chopper. And now,” they sighed, uncomfortable with the wellspring of emotions in her chest. “You’re here. Ezra’s here. And that’s more than I could ever ask for.”

She settled back into silence, realizing that this was a lot to put on him. That wasn’t the intent, and they hoped Kanan knew he didn’t have to carry her grief and guilt.

“But, uh. That’s enough about me. How are you holding up?”