Clones with scars specifically in the space between their armour plates. A vibro-knife cut on the elbow. A burn scar on the back of the knee. A shard of shrapnel in the hip.
Clones in awe at the beauty of the wider galaxy but lacking the vocabulary to describe it. “It’s… it’s beautiful. It’s like… beautiful. Just so beautiful. It’s pretty. Um. It’s beautiful.”
Clones trying on civilian clothes and hating it because they’re so used to the armour being heavy and stiff. Soft stuff almost makes them feel naked, like they’re in their blacks.
Clones who chose to grow out their hair but have no idea how to look after it so it’s a complete frizzy mess that HAS to be tied back lest it go everywhere.
Clones with intensely scathing internal dialogues who are always super polite and compliant because mentally disintegrating their authority figures was the only way they could stave off the urge to go completely off the rails on Kamino.
Clones who have never figured out how to verbalise feelings (worsened by working with Jedi who can just… FEEL their feelings) making up their own terminologies. “I feel like… wet.” “What?” “On the inside.” “ew.” “No! Ok listen, not like that.”
Clones with lingering sun damage from the first time they took their helmets off on a desert world (nobody told them about sunscreen).
Clones having to learn what familial terms mean because what the kriff is an “aunt”?
Newly deployed clones being really awkward in any conversation that isn’t related to war because they’ve never spoken casually with anyone that doesn’t share their exact life experience.
An extension to the previous: clones mirroring the energy of whoever they’re talking to, to an unnerving extent, because they’re trying to learn how to socialise.
Clones in phase 1 armour with rough skin in the spots where it rubs really bad (This is canon btw. It’s not enough they’re at war, the Kaminoans also apparently can’t be arsed to tailor their gear)
Clones after the war being identifiable by the way they walk, because they still move like they have the armour on.
Ugh, Clones. I love them so much. Weird little tortured guys.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
titsay
amandla
