@cravked​ // Trilla Suduri

@versios​ // Iden Versio

although most of her time on new republic business was spent with the comfort of inferno squad and those that she knew best, iden still kept in communication with several other members of the rebellion. she was good at what she did, after all, and the rebellion’s strength came from its ability to work together. she happened to be rather fond of sabine –– she thought that the young woman was fiercely capable of quite a bit, and had a rather creative brain when it came to looking for solutions. if she were going to be truly self-aware, then she would have realized part of the reason that she liked sabine so much was the fact that she reminded iden of herself when she had been younger. reckless, but only in the most brilliant way.

“good to see you too, wren,” she remarked with a wry smile in response to the holo-recording. she grabbed her transmitter to get the other on the line, waiting for her to pick up before she spoke again. “it’s good to hear from you again, wren. what part of the galaxy are you in these days?”

The steady hum of the transceiver broke into a crackle, and Sabine’s eyes fluttered open sleepily. They hadn’t meant to doze off in the cockpit (that was risky business), but it had kind of just happened. Luckily, her little R-series droid had kept the flight path relatively consistent, and she gave the droid a pat on its dome before adjusting the frequency to match that of the incoming transmission. Finally, out came the familiar voice of their friend. So it seemed she had received their message.

“Commander, I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me,” they joked in between yawns. How long had it been since she had eaten something? Or had a proper sleep cycle, for that matter? Ah, that was a problem for another rotation. She turned their attention back to coming up with an answer to the question they had been asked.

“You know me, I love nothing more than enjoying all of the luxuries the Outer Rim has to offer. I mean, it just  doesn’t really get any better than the endless sandy wastes of Savareen or Tattooine, does it?” They pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, then glanced over their shoulder into the next room. It wasn’t like her to be distracted, but it seemed to be more and more commonplace over the last few days. 

“Sorry, uh, just looking for the cat. Blue seems to always be getting into trouble these days.” Where could he be hiding this time? “But, er, how have things been on your end, Commander? Anything I can help with? I...I heard about Hosk.” 

A heavy silence took its place on Sabine’s tongue then, until, with a deep sigh, they continued.

“If I’m being honest, commander, it’s not as easy as I imagined, this whole recovering-from-the-Empire thing.”

beskarbuir​ // din djarin

──   THE  CANTEEN  IS  EASILY  CAUGHT,  its coolness permeating past leather.   it’ll be another while before they drink from it,  at least until they can find another retreat from eyes,  though they raise it up with a slight shake to signal thanks.   they swallow down the lingering iron.

as anxiety passes through her,  nicks at her speech,  din lifts themself from against the ship’s side and approaches her with a languid stride.   there’s not much else to indicate that there shouldn’t be so much worry around questioning them   ─   though when they finally reach them,  a hand grips their upper arm as reassurance before falling back to their side.   the touch is as brief as a breath.   in truth,  they’re surprised she had waited this long to ask.   her patience is wholly appreciated,  of course,  but they do not open themself from within.   they could hide themself infinitely.   a being encased in shell upon shell,  they must be pried with anything but a knife.   ❝  yeah.   ❞   their tone is open,  paired with a nod.   wariness lies there,  too.  ❝  go ahead.  ❞  

in turn,  nerves do not bind them but an old weight pulls at their spine,  pooling at their feet and the ends of their fingers.   they’re not sure what to expect,  what vital differentiations will contrast the both of them.   one of their tenets already invites perplexed looks   ─   sometimes it leads others to cruelty,  like it was a challenge to break it for them.    ❝  i’d like to know more about yours,  too  ─    ❞   really,  they already know the response before it leaves them.   but if their companion sought permission for their history,  they will give the same courtesy.  ❝  ─   if you’re willing.  ❞

The trepidation, though never malignant, was always present. It was a dance Sabine had practiced with every sibling by creed, but none more so than this one. There was no resentment or exhaustion or shame in it-- this was just the cost of their relationship. And Sabine was more than content to measure their words, to weigh their steps, to share meals in separate rooms, to avoid painful questions-- if it meant spending time with her friend. For them, it was worth it. 

Their touch was as gentle as it was brief, and it returned her to the present. Sabine greeted his gentility with a waning smile from unmasked lips. Their answer was relief, another brick to the altar of trust built by them both. Of course, he knew her reply. Though nothing in the steel countenance conceded it, the fact made itself known. She would share with him whatever was asked. (They appreciated the formality nonetheless.)

“Yeah. Um. I think that would be...Yeah, I would like that.”

There was no telling where to start. Certain things were known, yes, but others? How were they to tread the trauma they’d experienced in the last few years alone? And how much of it did they really share? Amid the torrent of questions, a quiet reassurance chimed from the back of their mind: let’s start here. 

“Did you-- er, do you have a family?”

@beskarbuir​ // din djarin

──   UNEASE  ABIDES  IN  THE  AIR,  so gently thawing but not dispelled,  and there is hesitation toward the outstretched palm.  however,  when the first word is shared between a common  (  yet scarce to many  )  tongue,  he finds himself already gripping theirs in a firm greeting.  he couldn’t help but echo their words,  ❝  su cuy’gar,  vod  …  as do i.  ❞   there is solace in their native salutation,  like water trickling a parched throat.  a beat passes as he stands and observes,  still puzzled by the other’s presence and speculating their origins.   decoration and individualization is frequent within their numbers,  though he hadn’t seen this particular motif.   nor do they follow the markings of bo-katan’s faction,  intricate in their cobalt hues.   the only solid conclusion that arrives is that they are not of the tribe,  not of nevarro  ─  and now only the unexpected is awaited. 

gaze keeps steady on the other’s visor.  ❝  you’re after the bounty,  right ?  ❞   an obvious question,  one intending to draw both a ‘yes’ and an elaboration,  if willing.   he wants to ask,  how long have you been here ?  though it borders on too personal.  do you follow the creed ?  the stories taught to me ?  i know you don’t,  but i had hoped  ─  even if i knew better,  i hoped.  lips purse,  and none of this is spoken.  it never is. 

instead,  he treads forwards with a truth.   ❝  i hadn’t heard of any other within the guild. not for a very long time.  ❞   he would of known,  or heard of remnants at the very least   ─   so why does one stand before him ?

The handshake is firm, and words returned in earnest. Sabine is...attuned to this person’s pain, can feel what hurt lingers in unspoken words. This is an ache she knows all too well. The ghosts of their people haunt every last Mandalorian that lives. While there is a flicker of hope, it sits heavy in the loss. 

There are questions, so many of them, pooling on their tongue, waiting to break the conversation. What clan do you belong to? Who were your people? How did you survive? Do you know anyone else in the faith? They push the inquiries aside, sure the person in front of them wants to ask, too. There is a time and place for that. Those things can be learned later. For now, there are introductions to be made and a bounty secured.

“The bounty, yes. One of the only reasons I’d visit this sandhole, I think,” they joke, and hope it is received well. Of all the weapons in her arsenal, perhaps the most used is humor. “I guess the reason you haven’t heard from the Guild is because I don’t really do my dealings with them.” Sabine weighs what they want to say, careful of where the other Mandalorian’s allegiances lie. “I mean, I follow the code, when I do decide to take a job. But I’m not strictly a hunter by profession. Just something to keep the ship flying and stomach full, you know?”

They pause, watching their acquaintance's body language for any signs of aggression. They notice that this warrior’s armor is pure, practically untarnished by paint and wear. She allows herself to wonder where they got it, and how recently. Was it new, or did they just take meticulous care of it?

“But, I gather this is your profession. Look, I don’t mean to step on any toes-- I can go if you’d like-- but perhaps we could work the job together?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Another ostentatious gala. Hux had no choice but to attend now that the Hapes Consortium’s alliance with the New Republic posed a threat. This time Hux kept to the shadows at the edge of the party, only listening — and certainly not eating or drinking anything he was offered. As Hux checked the time, his shoulders tensed. He’d heard of the preposterous New Republic tradition of kissing as the clock struck midnight, and he knew Alton Kastle was at this party. He hoped the reporter would not be foolish enough to try something so incriminating in public. Sure enough, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Hux mentally prepared his ‘we mustn’t, not here, we can’t be seen,’ but as soon as he turned he stopped dead.

“Not you.”

.

Sabine should have expected he’d be at a party like this. Nothing like a gala to bring out both the best and worst in the galaxy. They shouldn’t have been surprised when she noticed the general standing on the edges of the party, no doubt sulking too much to enjoy a drink or two. Pity.

“What’s wrong, Armitage? Expecting someone else?”

She took a short sip from the drink poised delicately in their hand. Something light and fruity, and nothing too alcoholic; there was work to be done, after all. But that plot wouldn’t be set in motion for another hour or two. For now, they had time to mill around, to act as though she wasn’t standing on the bones of her people.

“That’s, what, two dates now? And still no first kiss. I’m starting to feel like you don’t like me, Armitage.”

@lcstpadawan​ // Cal Kestis

nothing substitutes good working parts at the end of the day, but there’s usually enough of that to be found in scraps if you know where to look. and cal did it for years, threw himself into it for so long he almost forgot who he was meant to be. between sabine and bd1, it should be easy enough to figure out a way to communicate with someone in the new republic to come and pick them up, he just needs to be patient, pick out the workable equipment from this mess.

“well then we should be fine.” he says with a smile as they get to work. he doesn’t know sabine but so far she’s been more than helpful, comfortable company to have on a mission - something he’s not necessarily used to, but he’s more than happy for it. he picks apart enough to get some workable equipment, melding some of it together himself and passing others over to sabine when he’s not sure where they could come in handy, chipping away until -

“huh? what’d you find?” he asks, pushing himself up to head over to her. there’s plenty to find here if you actually look for it so he’s not all that surprised. “something that’s gonna help us get home?”

.

Paint was more than familiar to Sabine, something that ran in their family’s history. It could animate narratives and express what words never could, capturing a single moment in time for as long as the paint stood dry. It was functional, a protective layer for any precious metal hidden beneath its touch. The Mandalorian prized themself in recognizing hues and guessing the origin of art supplies just by their appearance, their texture. The markings on this scrap heap, however, were nothing if not foreign to her.

“I’m not sure.” She studied the metal, the scratches on what seemed to once be the hull of a small transport, perhaps a bomber? Or stealth fighter? Whatever it was, it was confusing, an insignia hastily scrawled then abandoned.

"This transport...I’ve never seen any markings like this before. I-I don’t know where they’re from,” she mumbled, searching for any remains of the ship among the wreckage. Not twenty yards away, there it sat, torn to pieces and half-buried. How had the two missed that? Sabine hastily captured images on their datapad, then turned to her new acquaintance. 

“Cal, d’you think this subspace transceiver is salvageable?”

@pilotheart​ // Zay Versio

Zay Versio was… at loss with what she was supposed to say, now. She had people flirt with her, before, but it was often on missions, and often strangers, and she had no remorse in telling them off. There, she knew she was messing things up. And did not like even the idea of it. “Uh, it’s probably my fault,” Zay said. “I’m barely on base, so maybe you didn’t have time to actually ask.” To be honest, that wasn’t even a suggestion. Zay was always out flying, partly because she loved it and felt better on a ship than on ground, and because it helped in avoiding to be on the same base than her parents. Until now. “Will you teach me some mando'a, one day? It always sounds pretty.” Wow, that was stupid. But she’d always been interested in learning it, having inherited her father’s curiosity. Sabine’s next question made her freeze, though. Zay wasn’t on Onderon to have fun, but there was so many people that she probably wouldn’t be noticed leaving. And half of them didn’t have their senses, just like her friend. “If you’re ready to get your feet crushed, because I’ve never learned.” This was a mistake… but then again, Sabine was visibly drunk, so they weren’t going to remember it.

.

Though the room was spinning and shifting around them (was it more to do with the high or the nerves?), there was one thing Sabine could count on remaining steady. Those eyes. Zay’s eyes reflected the light above and around in a brilliance, a gaze of whiskey filtering sunlight. Sabine’s breath caught in their throat, and the Mandalorian took her friend’s hand gently in their own. 

“Zay, I would tell you anything you wanted to know,” they found themself breathing as the two adjusted their weight, an awkward movement of hands on shoulders, hips. They were unsure, both toeing gently around each other. Still, it wasn’t about the music or timing or even the missteps. It was more than that.

“I don’t think I can dance either,” they blushed, pulling her friend as close as she dared. Sure, she had learned once upon a time (there was a rhythm to war just as a there was to dance), but now... The music spun itself between them, filling the pauses with a prompt of movement and rhythm. The two rocked, slowly, and a little out of time, but the gesture was just as sweet. “Not like this, I mean.” Inebriated. Shitfaced. Fuck, what was she doing? Zay probably thought they were only acting on liquor and high. Did she think Sabine wasn’t sincere? It hurt to wonder. They cursed the stutter that burdened her lips, cursed the alcohol and the drugs and the fluttering fear at the thought of her friend’s hand in her own.

“Zay, I-I know you think it’s. That it’s because I’m drunk, and that’s partly true, but I— I feel like this when I’m sober, too. Okay. Like, even though there’s a million stars out there, all I can look at,” she exhaled softly, two pairs of war-marked eyes meeting and glancing away, “is you.”

There it was. And nothing could take it back now (not that they would if they could). Because Zay was worth the risk.

“You find me tomorrow and I’ll tell you the same thing.” And it was true. It had been true for weeks, months now. All she could do was hope their friend felt the same.

@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.

Their senses felt so dull yet so full of fire, and she couldn’t help but s m i l e at the heat running through her veins. They could take on the world if it was asked of them. She didn’t need the armor or the darksaber or anything else!! She was at the top of the world, swirling voices gilding themselves into a crown, flashing lights a mantle of pride. She couldn’t tell what was so funny about the party (only that it was!), and so laughter escaped from them like the bubbles in her latest beverage. They drifted through the temple, looking up at the carved stone in awe (...when she wasn’t looking down the end of a bottle.)

“The Jedi may have been kinda stuffy, but boy do they know architecture, huh?,” she sighed to the person closest, downing another shot in the process.

@chaotickylia​

generally-scheming​ // armitage hux

“You should be so lucky.” Hux bristled, his pitch creeping higher. The foreign words unsettled him. There was little he hated more than not knowing things. He turned to a communications officer seated at a nearby console, his voice crisp as an icicle. “What language is that? What does it mean?”

“Mando’a, sir.” The officer’s mouth twitched. Was that a laugh he was stifling?

“Look at me when I am talking to you, officer.” The officer’s amusement was highly inappropriate. “What did she say?”

“She said…” The comms officer’s face went pale as he met Hux’s gaze. Looking as if he were in real, physical pain, he squeaked out, “ ‘Cheers, sweetheart.’ ” He cleared his throat. “Sir.”

Silence descended on the bridge. These officers were well-trained; they knew better than to laugh audibly. But Hux could feel the held breaths, the shoulders shaking with the struggle to contain their amusement   (his shame).   His jaw clenched. He would maintain professionalism, even if these classless rebels did not. “Thank you, Officer Norton,” he said quietly. He pivoted to address the entire bridge, the very picture of control until he opened his mouth.

“Divert power from deflector shields to boosters! GET them IN RANGE and FIRE TURBOLASERS! NOW !!” Officers scrambled around him. Face burning, he lowered his voice to a stiff sneer as he spoke into the comms. “I hope you like it hot, Mandalorian. Shame that the rest of your planet didn’t.”

. 

A crew member indicated that the larger vessel was shifting power to thrusters, and she nodded without much concern. These ex-Imperials may have more firepower, but Sabine knew this ship, knew its people. The Rebels were faster and knew the less-traveled hyperspace lanes like home. They had to if they wanted to survive.

At the response on the com, Sabine smirked. So, it was that easy. Though the comment should have stung, the Mandalorian shrugged it off for now. This wasn’t the first time someone had said such things to them in the heat of battle. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. Were it another bound by Creed, they might have panicked, have spiraled into anxiety or fear or guilt-- but to this hut’uun, all they heard were words, devoid of knowledge or feeling.

“Oh, low blow, general. You kiss your superiors with that mouth?”

She asked, but had little doubt about it. From what they heard, some Imps were willing to do just about anything for a promotion. It wasn’t her business, but it was amusing. They gave their attention back to the focus at hand: the jump to New Republic space just a few parsecs away was calculated, and the only thing left was to give the command.

“Oh, and translator? Why don’t you tell the general-- te’habi bevik gar’shebs! I’m sure you’d all be better for it!”

As she gave the signal for the jump, they smiled lightly under their palm. Secretly, they hoped to run into him again-- this was the most fun she’d had all week.

❛  do  you  think  i’m  stupid ?  ❜ (From Alton)

“Not necessarily.” She spoke was clarity and precision, every word punctuated with a sharpened edge. They held no love for the man who had smeared her family’s names and painted them as traitors during the birth of the Rebellion.

“Quite the opposite, in fact. Someone who profits on the suffering of others needs to have some level of intelligence to survive as long as you have.”

Their voice remained steady. She would not give him the satisfaction of emotion.

“You’re cruel, and you’re cowardly, but you’re not stupid. If you really want to know what I think of you--” they smiled, though it was empty and devoid of emotion, “--just know, it’s not fear or anger. I pity you, Alton.”