@lcstpadawan​ // Cal Kestis

“It’s got a wonderful attack mechanism.”

They raised a brow, feigning the confidence needed of a Rebellion leader. Ears and eyes were on her, always. Time to put on a show.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we have the wits to outmaneuver whatever you bucketheads throw our way, huh?” Sabine took in a few readings on the console, adjusting the ship’s thrusters for takeoff. “You sure you want to do this, Imp? I don’t want you to start a firefight you can’t finish.”

kryzeofmandalore​ // korkie kryze

   Having awoken on Mandalore, Korke wasn’t sure when he was, clearly time had passed as Mandalore had looked far worse than the last time he’d been there. Korkie wasted no time finding a ship that besides a few repairs was still flyable. Korkie now was planning on finding other Mandalorians, they would have to rebuild their world, and their people together. First things first, he had to find his Aunt Bo-Katan. She would know what to do. Much to Korkie’s relief many cantina workers did not want issues with someone in a full suit of Beskar and so were quick to give him the information he asked of them, although he imagined his being polite about his inquiries had added to to their compliance.  

Korkie had received word that there was a Mandalorian sighted at Coronet City on Corellia, and so Korkie quickly made his way there not wanting to lose the lead he now had. Arriving on the planet, it didn’t take long before Korkie finally found the Mandalorian he as looking for approaching them, he removed his helmet, smile on his face.  “It is so nice to finally see another Mandalorian, from what I understand we’ve become a rarer and rarer sight. I am Korkie Kryze of House Kryze, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” 

@call-me-spectre-five​

Hesitation rolled over their skin like a wave of static. It was electric, the surprise. This wasn’t exactly how she’d planned the day’s events to map themselves out, but it wasn’t by any means a negative. This newcomer seemed friendly enough, and there was something in his armor that she had seen before. The patterns, the linework, it was familiar. The hues were reminiscent of Bo-Katan Kryze’s followers. And at the admission of his name, the younger Mandalorian was granted some semblance of clarity. Following his gestures, she removed their helm, too, and offered an extended hand.

“Su cuy’gar! Forgive me, but...you’re Duchess Satine and Bo-Katan’s nephew, right? I think we’ve met before. I am Sabine of Clan Wren, House Vizsla.” A pregnant pause filled the air before they continued with a question long-anticipated (just one of many). It was one they’d held on to for years, waiting for the right pair of ears to receive. “Perhaps you knew my mother, Ursa?”

She hoped the figure before her harbored no ill will at her alliance shaped by birth. It’s not like there was much family left to be loyal to, anyways.

❛  what  are  you  talking  about ?  ❜ / from trilla

“I’m saying that there’s no way you can win a game of Sabacc against that Ithorian over there. I mean, I’ve never seen them lose a match. You beat ‘em, and I owe you a bottle of real Mon Cala champagne.”

They offered a cheeky smile, readying the credits she was confident would be owed.

@cravked

@cptfulcrum​ // Alexsandr Kallus

Everyone  was  struggling  with  Ezra’s  untimely  death.  So  many  unanswered  questions,  so  much  pain.  He  knew  that  Zeb  felt  it,  which  is  another  reason  why  Kallus  had  been  keeping  his  distance  from  Lira  San  as  of  late.  He  wanted  to  allow  his  friend  to  grieve  in  the  way  he  saw  fit.    That’s  what  he  was  telling  himself  at  least.  Watching  Zeb  and  Hera  grieve  Ezra  once  was  excruciating.  He  didn’t  think  he  could  do  it  again,  not  when  he  was  still  reeling  from  getting  the  kid  (  man  really  )  back  and  losing  him  again.  Allowing  himself  to  work  again,  for  the  New  Republic,  had  given  him  purpose.  When  he  had  heard  from  Zeb  that  Sabine  hadn’t  been  in  contact  for  a  while,  he  knew  that  he  had  to  check  in  on  her.

Tracking  a  Mandalorian  was  no  easy  task,  even  for  ex-ISB.  Whispers  of  the  warrior  in  the  painted  armor  had  finally  lead  him  someplace.  He  had  landed  his  ship  a  few  clicks  north  and  had  been  on  a  speeder.  When  he  saw  the  lone  speeder  that  he  hoped  belong  to  them,  he  slowed  down  before  getting  off  of  the  bike.  He  left  it  idling,  not  sure  if  Sabine  even  wanted  to  see  him.  He  wouldn’t  be  particularly  surprised  if  they  preferred  their  alone  time  right  now.  But  he  had  to  try,  at  the  very  least.  

He  approached  slowly,  a  hand  on  his  blaster,  just  in  case  it  was  not  their  friend  that  he  found,  but  a  potential  foe  instead.  One  could  never  be  too  careful,  especially  when  he  had  been  attempting  to  track  Grand  Admiral  Thrawn.  “  Sabine  ??  “  he  called,  finally  passing  the  clearing  and  seeing  them.  “  It’s  Kallus.  Garazeb  was….  Well,  we  were  worried.  “  he  admitted,  “  I  told  him  I’d  come  and  check  up  on  you.  “  

Sabine looked up at the sound of a speeder bike in the distance, all mechanical hum and rattle. They froze, hoping it was just another passerby and not anyone she knew. Working quickly, they stowed tools in exchange for a blaster, aiming it at the thicket before them. 

Something that sounded like her name carried across the wind, and they planted their feet sternly, breathing deepening in preparation for battle.

Who had the will to track her down all the way to this remote planet on the edges of the Outer Rim? What did they want with her? The stranger’s words were muffled and distorted from crossing through wind and distance, though she could see the shape of their body winding towards her in the foliage. Her heart jumped to their throat. After all this time fighting, after the wars she was raised in, still they felt a twinge of anxiety at the prospect of confrontation. Stalks of foreign plants rustled with movement, and a figure emerged into the clearing with a hand on their gun. Sabine stood, still as a stone.

Kallus? 

Was it really him, that old Imperial-turned-Rebel, after all? Last she had heard, he was on Lira San, helping to rebuild the Lasat species on their homeworld, (and spending a lot of time with Zeb, too). Could it be him, this man whose story mirrored their own in too many ways? Yet, here he stood in front of her, eyes wide as their own. 

“Dank farrik,” they finally murmured. They lowered their blaster, but the tension did not leave the muscles in her arm (or in the air between the two figures).

“Kallus. If I’m being honest, you are the last person I expected to see here. Wh-” they holstered their gun. “What are you doing here?”

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

Interesting, the way they lingered over their disdain for Brendol. But if she had plans to remove him from the picture, that was not why she had come. Sabine’s question put ice in Hux’s stomach. He had been so careful — no one knew, not even his closest associates — he had been certain never to leave a trace of Alton’s name on any calendar or message, always labeling their trysts as public relations consultations. Hux willed himself to remain stoic. The accusation was harmless without proof, he reminded himself, trying to drown out the rising anxiety.

“You’re joking. Kastle? The one on Holonet News, with the hair?”  Hux kept every muscle in his face on strict lockdown, willing his expressionless mask to remain intact.  “I’m flattered that you think I have the time to court glamorous holonet personalities, but I’m simply too busy for that sort of thing. And you cannot prove otherwise.”

Suddenly aware that his grip on his wine glass had become unnaturally tight, Hux relaxed his hand and took a sip. He’d ended on a needlessly defensive note — one which he hoped Sabine would pick up on to spill exactly what they were threatening him with. Once he knew that, Hux could decide whether this was a fire which could be controlled, or one which needed to be extinguished.

_

His face was cold and calculated, down to the flutter of eyelashes and upturn of a brow. Nothing less than what she’d expected.  An attempt to brush off the accusation, almost delivered with an air of defensiveness. Almost. She knew that he wouldn’t panic unless the Mandalorian had proof, and that was more than fair. Slowly enough to almost taunt, they withdrew their datapad from the folds of her dress and laid it in the middle of the table, screen still blank. If the target on her back was going to be enlarged, they might as well take their time.

“Oh, but you should be flattered. It’s not every day that I decide someone’s important enough to investigate. After all, a few flights to Coruscant aren’t cheap. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Now, Sabine sat upright, leaning forward the slightest degree. In honesty, they weren’t sure what to expect. A blaster bolt to the beskar? A defensive peal of laughter? Whatever it was, they sat ready.

“Tell me, Hux. If, hypothetically, I did have proof-- if it was sitting on the very table before us, what would you do to keep it from prying eyes? Are you willing to bet your honorable standing as a general of the First Order?”

@xspectre-1​ // Kanan Jarrus

closed starter // @call-me-spectre-five​ // sabine wren

finding himself on lothal wasn’t the surprise, flashes of memories would have brought him there regardless. the surprise was rooted in something far more confusing. things were different from what kanan last remembered, he couldn’t place it but– well, he was certainly lost here. 

not that it was much of a concern to the blind knight. his focus was on hera– knowing she had been captured, knowing she had been captured and that he wasn’t on that lothal– the distress associated was perhaps somewhat overwhelming. 

but with, admittedly directionless, wandering, he had been surprised to sense– sabine??

it was enough to pull his attention, and enough of a feeling to drag the jedi aimlessly in a new direction, further from the city but perhaps closer to an answer. 

as he neared, he could feel she had noticed him– not that the force was needed for as much, their relationship based in more than that– “sabine?” he questioned, a hand reaching to feel at her head as if it wasn’t the young mandalorian he was acutely familiar with, “what’s– what’s happening?”

The rotations had been unforgiving of late. Lothal’s single sun burned bright, with little precipitation to relieve the plains near Capital City. It had been a short stay, but long enough for silent reflection. Ezra’s tower had been restored after Imperial presence was wiped out, and the Mandalorian often found themself returning for a few days at a time, watching over the small planet from above. It was secluded, out of the way, and by all means, a perfect resting spot for someone who wanted to be alone. But today, as a dark cloud rolled over the city, Sabine spotted something-- someone-- walking the field toward her makeshift encampment. 

Could that be--?

The turbolift couldn’t take her to ground level fast enough, but when it did, she could do little but gasp in surprise. Removing their helmet in a hurry, Sabine met his hand with her own, then raised it a few inches to their cheek, where tears were starting to blossom in her eyes.

“Kanan?”

It had been years, but here he was, the man who had for so long acted like a buir to them. Here he was, back where it had all changed, but this time, she had found him.

“I-it’s me, Sabine.” They longed to reassure him that everything was okay, that he was okay, but neither would have believed it. She wanted to wrap their arms around him in an embrace, to never let go, but stopped in an attempt to avoid overwhelming the already flummoxed man. “I’m here, Kanan. You’re on Lothal. What do you remember?” 

@spectreoflasan​ // Zeb Orrelios

Zeb pushed their way through the crowd of overdressed and obviously high partygoers. It would be funny – karabast, it was funny – but it would be funnier if it weren’t so surreal. He recognized plenty of faces in the crowd, but the last time he saw most of them they were back at Rebel headquarters wearing fatigues and anxious looks. If the war really was over, every one of them deserved a celebration; Zeb was the last person who’d deny them that. But Zeb was still having the damndest time shaking that ‘if.’ It had kept them away from the spiked desserts – if anyone decided to make trouble for the fledgling New Republic, they’d need their wits about them – but between Zeb’s general sense of displacement and their unexpectedly complicated conversation with Kallus, they found themself on the way to the bar. Zeb could handle a drink.

As he arrived at the bar, though, he came across someone who clearly could not. Or had chosen not to. Their slurred speech made his ears perk up. Karabast. Zeb intercepted a drink on its way into their hands and threw the bartender a dirty look.

“Right, I’ll say you’ve had enough. I’m cutting you off.”

​

“Wh-hoa! Zeb!” They let out a squeal reminiscent of a little kid (or a broken tea kettle), throwing her hands up in the air in excitement. “Ho-ly Kriff, it’s been so loooooong!” They started to stand from the barstool but stumbled, tripping over the metal and landing in a heap in his arms. She let out an elongated giggle. When was the last time that happened? She reached for the drink in her older brother’s hands, but they moved it away too quickly.

“c’mon, Zeb! I thought you were cool,” they pouted. “Wha-- What? Did yer stupid b-boyfriend put you up to this?” She tried to stand on her own but everything rocked around her. She leaned against Zeb begrudgingly. “Hmph. Dumb Kallus.” 

@lcstpadawan​ // Cal Kestis

mini plot starter for @call-me-spectre-five -

okay, so this isn’t ideal. it actually really kind of sucks, if cal’s honest. but - but, okay, he’s definitely faced worse. he can definitely deal with this. he’d spent years working through scrap piles and ruined ships and managed to find something useful, he can do it again. besides, he did all that without bd1 - he’s got the droid’s company and help now. they should be fine.

“hey - are you good with mechanics?” he asks vaguely as he kneels down at a heap of scrap from their now blown up ship, glancing over at his company. he knows bits and pieces about mandalorians, knows they love their weapons but he’s not sure how used to working with scrap and ruined equipment they are. hopefully if he can find enough stuff for them to work with, the two of them will be able to make something decent out of it. “i mean - i’m not half-bad, and this little guy here is a genius, but i’m pretty sure we’re gonna have to get.. kind of creative to get out of this.”

Fuck, it never got old. The running and hiding, the ducking from shrapnel and gritting teeth through the ringing in your ears. Sabine’s partner on this mission was more calm than she felt, spoke with more clarity than they ever could. How could he hold his breath more steady? Shit, they had seen explosions, had caused them for years, but it was something else entirely to be the victim of one. Something else that made her hands taut, made their armor feel heavier on the chest. No ship. No way to tell for sure who the enemies here were. And no backup. 

It’s okay, Sabine. You can handle this. You’ve dealt with worse odds before.

There was a task at hand, an investigation to pursue, and that was something to focus on. Something to control. Steady the breathing. Feel the tips of your fingers, count the scratches on your armor. Smile (even if it doesn’t feel quite right), and let it drip into your voice, another mask behind the visor.

“Creative? I can do creative.”

And with that, they got to work. The two pulled from scraps and fragments of ruined engines and broken motivators, making light their labor. Sabine could specialize in mechanics when they felt like it, but damn did this guy and his droid understand how to work with the least. It was impressive. 

“Osi’kyr! Cal, look at this. I think I found something.”

l  closed starter  l  @mvchinery​

The library was more expansive than they’d imagined. Shelves towering high with data, information to borrow and return. Most things were stored electronically, but others were actual physical copies. There were whole sections devoted to the Clone Wars, the rise and fall of the Empire. Another just on the history of the Old Republic. It was a wonder to wander; a feat that almost rivaled the archives of Sundari on their home planet of Mandalore. So enthralled in the grand design of this house of knowledge was Sabine that they felt the collision before they saw it.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” She scrambled to pick up any fallen materials before meeting the stranger’s gaze. Something in her demeanor caught their attention, but they couldn’t quite place what. It was just recognizable to prompt the question, but not enough to draw a name. “I’m sorry, but you look familiar. Do I know you?”