I’m going to make this a pinned post as I’ve received several tentative requests over the years of “Where the hell do I start?!?!” while gesturing vaguely at the chaos on my Ao3 account. Fear not, this will hopefully bring light to the method to my madness. (Okay, there isn’t any, but we here are blessed with bountiful imagination.)
You can also find me on Ao3
NEWEST THING:
The Weight of Beskar:
A look into the meaning of the armour for four (five) very different characters and how they came to wear it.
Main Characters: All OCs
Fynta Wolfe: Born Mandalorian
Caldus Bruun: Cathar - adopted
Altan Dhorro: Togruta - adopted
Berek Payne: Zabrak - affiliated smuggler
Khalu Val: Nautolan - currently the resident murder baby…
Pairings: These will be all over the place, but possible triad waaaay down the road.
Beloved NPC and Companion cameos expected:
I’ll be crossing this over a couple of my other stories and those of friends. Nahir and Jorgan from Our Own will show up eventually, as well as Lyesh and Quinn from Generations of War. Solish and Andronikos will also make an appearance along the way…I’m sure I’ll add more as I go. And Cormac, we can’t forget him. Of course, Verin and Cinlat will pop in and out as needed.
Series: Meet Me on the Battlefield (Main Labor of Hate Love)
All Rated M unless otherwise specified. My pride and joys and the bane of my fanfic existence more often than not. These are the stories that I’ve been writing since 2015 that tie together to make an epic tale of reckless idiocy. These will all be focused (mostly but not exclusively) around my main OC Fynta Wolfe (Mandalorian Trooper) as she stumbles through the galaxy on blind luck and plenty of swear words. Minor Character Deaths in all main fics.
Focal Pairing: F!Trooper/Aric Jorgan
Secondary Pairings: M!Trooper (Balic Cormac)/Elara Dorne | OT3: Theron Shan/F!Imp Agent/Vector Hyllus (With the possible addition of Malavai Quinn waaaay down the road) | Lana Beniko/F!Barsen’thor | Koth Vortena/F!Smuggler | Emperor’s Wrath/Hero of Tython | F!Bounty Hunter/M!Bounty Hunter
Wolfe Pups: The Prologue, if you will
The Art of Being Invisible: Secondary Prologue? The Prequel? A collections of stories from Fynta’s time in the Republic SIS (WIP) Rated E
Family is more than Blood: Havoc Squad through Shadow of Revan
Heart on a Trigger: Kotfe
Blood in the Breeze: Kotet (WIP)
SWtOR AU Fics:
Whiskey and Tihaar: Sith Fynta and Jedi Jorgan forced to work together to deal with a common threat. (WIP)
FFXIV Fics:
Echo of Evil: A Final Fantasy XIV fic that follows the Red Mage job class. (I fell in love with X’rhun Tia, not going to lie.)
The Versatility of War: A collection of prompts and challenges featuring my Au Ra Warrior of Light, Isashi Tosho. And probably some shenanigans by side characters that I’ve made along the way.
Parts one and two of this series linked.
Read every chapter on Ao3.
Summary: This is the final chapter. Choices are made and life goes on…
Beautiful art by Chaos
Chapter Word Count: 2,504
Chapter Rating: M5
Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.
Odessen
Commander’s Quarters
Two Weeks After Vaylin’s Attack
22:00 Hours
Fynta locked the door, then padded up the stairs to where Jorgan waited. She’d been avoiding this all day, doing her best to drag out the hours before she had to face what would happen tomorrow.
You need me.
Time froze, this time, locking Fynta in place with it. Her foot hovered above the first step, Aric’s naked back just visible from above. Valkorion manifested, solid and scowling. “This is a fool's plan,” he sighed, like a father chastising a wayward child. “You only survived Vaylin with my power. Do not think that Arcann will stand aside so easily now that his sister is out of the way.”
Fynta tried to snipe back, but Valkorion had frozen her tongue. She was helpless and cold, like all those years in carbonite when he was her only companion. Shoving the panic down, Fynta poured all of her hatred into the glare she pinned on him.
Valkorion didn’t react. “The only way to secure Zakuul’s future is to seize the throne. You cannot do that without my help.”
Fynta mentally rolled her eyes. Valkorion was in her head; he had to have felt it. She didn’t care about liberating Zakuul. She just wanted the rest of the galaxy to go back to the normal brand of stupidity. The Empire and Republic were already finding reasons to shoot at each other again, and Fynta was content to let them.
“The creature in that box is half mad with isolation,” Valkorion continued. A laugh tried to bubble up her throat, but it was stuck like everything else, subject to the whim of the ghost in her head. “He will offer only a painful death, or worse.”
Finally, Valkorion stopped his pacing to look at Fynta. “Are you listening?” She hadn’t been, and something in her gaze must have shown because the old Sith growled. “I will not be caged.” Then time snapped back into place, and Fynta stumbled onto the stairs.
Aric hurried down to where Fynta knelt, still in the PT shorts he’d worn on his run with Felix. His hands were warm under Fynta’s arms as he helped her up. “Leg still giving you trouble?” She’d seen Felix’s girlfriend about it, the feisty mechanic that kept the base running. She’d had a few choice murmurs about the state of the prosthetic, but eventually got it sorted. With Elara’s help, Fynta had regained full use of her left leg.
“Just a temper tantrum,” Fynta groused. “He’s getting nervous.” Pain stabbed through the back of Fynta’s mind and she hissed.
“This will work,” Aric answered, though Fynta wasn’t sure who he was reassuring. Thanks to some strategic maneuvering, Fynta, and therefore Valkorion, only knew the basics. He’d be trapped in her mind forever, unable to influence the galaxy unless she allowed it. Whether or not he could stop time and appear at will to her remained to be seen.
“This will work,” Fynta agreed, if only to see the tight smile that lightened his face. “I trust you.” For the briefest moment, he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Clearing his throat, Aric kept one hand on Fynta’s elbow until they reached the top of the stairs. “We need to go over a couple of things before tomorrow.” He moved to the desk where his datapad waited, screen already bright.
Fynta sighed and shucked her boot, then pants. She had her shirt halfway over her head when Aric turned, his next words halting before they began. Fynta grinned, an idea forming to end this day on a high note. She stretched as she pulled her shirt off, then turned her back to the Cathar as she did the same with her bra.
The weight of Aric’s gaze felt like a physical touch. She knew he’d trace the scars down her back. His eyes would settle on her ass, Aric’s favorite attribute. She might have wiggled her hips a little while stepping out of her underwear.
“Shouldn’t we wait until after the ceremony?” When Fynta looked at her husband, he was leaning against the desk, arms crossed but datapad nowhere to be seen. At least that much had gone to plan.
“Afraid I might tarnish your virtue?” Fynta gave another wiggle, and Jorgan actually laughed.
Aric pushed off the desk, picking each step between them carefully until he stood toe to toe with Fynta. She expected some witty retort or a challenge thrown back. Instead, Aric lifted his hand to brush a strand of hair out of her face. The tenderness with which he touched her, coupled with the intensity in his gaze, reminded Fynta why she had agreed to this stupid plan to begin with.
Slowly, Aric leaned down to trace the shell of Fynta’s ear with his lips. “Always.”
They made love in all their favorite ways—wild and sweaty at first, then slow enough to memorize. There was laughter and teasing, tender kisses and unuttered fears.
Afterward, Fynta lay across Aric’s body, her muscles loose and languid, while she listened to the gentle rumble that had become so much a part of her. Aric’s fingers trailed through Fynta’s hair, having worked the tangles out long ago. Neither had spoken. There was nothing left to be said.
“I love you,” Aric whispered into the darkness. Fynta’s arm tightened around his torso. She could parrot the words back to him, but that felt cheap. He was better at voicing his feelings now, having had five more years of practice than her.
While Fynta worked out an appropriate response, Aric kissed her hair. “I know,” he said, lips moving against her scalp and warm breath washing over the newly darkened strands.
After another beat, his chest expanded. “I don’t know if I can do this.” One hand lifted to rub the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed tight.
Fynta propped her chin on his chest, eventually pulling away the barrier he tried to put between them. They’d been through ten long years of osik. Even separated, he’d been in that hell Valkorion created with her. Fynta brushed her own fingers across his lips until those icy eyes found hers. “You’re the only one who can.”
Aric’s arms tightened, pulling her closer to bury his face in her hair. “Whatever happens, come back to me, okay?”
Fynta closed her eyes and leaned into his embrace. “Always.”
Odessen
Meeting Room F
“Stop fussing.” Elara slapped Jorgan’s hands away from the stiff collar of a borrowed uniform jacket. A shiver traced along his spine, the memory of another time Elara scolded him about his attire. Jorgan reminded himself that this wasn’t a funeral, but the next step in the rest of his life.
”The dress looks nice,” Jorgan commented to distract himself from the nerves. There were more than vows on the line today. He needed to get the chemicals into Fynta’s system, and the wording right to make sure it took.
Jorgan’s stomach cramped at what lay ahead. He’d have to bind his wife. The woman was freedom incarnate, and he might have to take that away.
You’re the only one who can.
Fynta’s words had kept him up all night. This would only work because of her unwavering trust in him. Jorgan glanced at the leather band around his wrist, her original wedding present to him. He knew the words to say, the phrase that would bind her will to his. He just prayed it never came to that.
”Sir?” Jorgan blinked to find Elara’s concerned expression. He gave a tight nod to indicate he was paying attention again. Elara pressed her lips together. “You’re really retiring?”
“We are.” Jorgan turned to the mirror, grimaced at his reflection, then looked back at his old friend. “It’s time. Have you considered it?”
Elara patted her hair and joined Jorgan at the mirror. He looked old and tired, greying features and a haggard gaze. Elara had aged more gracefully, her face still stern but kind. Motherhood and wisdom versus washed out sniper.
Jorgan adjusted the strap that held his eyepiece in place. “We’ve discussed it,” Elara finally answered. “It’s hard to think about what comes next.”
Before Jorgan could answer, the door opened to reveal the grinning best man. Cormac clapped Jorgan on the shoulder, then kissed his wife’s cheek. “The bride is about to open the bar early if you two don’t hurry.”
Chuckling, Jorgan left Cormac to collect Elara and stepped into the hallway. He hadn’t been kidding about the bar. Fynta already stood behind it, mixing cocktails for their closest friends and allies. This wouldn’t be a grand spectacle for the entire base, just a simple gathering to fulfill a promise years in the making.
Jorgan leaned against the bar, taking in the intricate pants suit that Fynta had opted for. He’d only seen her in a dress once, when she and Elara used the disguise to get into a fancy club on Nar Shaddaa. She’d been breathtaking then, but this suited her. The jacket formed a long train, and Fynta wore her combat boot beneath.
Rapping his knuckles on the table, Jorgan smiled at his wife. “What are you drinking?”
Fynta sauntered down the bar with a grin that made his heart race. Not only because he knew what she was thinking, but because they both knew what he had to do next. “Tii’har is the only correct answer.” From behind the bar, Fynta produced a shot glass and a bottle. “And a Corellian Whiskey for the handsome soldier.”
Jorgan wrapped his hand around Fynta’s, the one holding her drink, and looked into her eyes. He wanted her to see what was about to happen, but he couldn’t explain without risking the entire operation. Fynta didn’t look down when the vial clinked against the lip of her glass. Her eyes softened, and he saw the understanding.
”To us,” Jorgan rasped, releasing her to lift his tumbler.
Fynta tapped hers against it with a smile that made Jorgan hope he deserved her trust. “To us.”
Odessen
Meeting Room F
One Hour Later
Weddings were a waste of everyone’s time, but this one intrigued Zolah. She watched the couple at the front of the room while Verin did an abominable job at officiating.
Having been through the process twice, Zolah understood the implications more than anyone. Kozen and Kaeto had been their best chance at caging Valkorion. There was no way in hell anyone was letting Fynta near Zakuul’s throne, and it was only a matter of time before he realized it.
Jorgan’s plan with the prison box had been half-baked and ridiculous, but it provided a good smoke screen. They weren’t destroying the Sith Emperor on a battlefield. They were doing it at a fucking wedding—a custom Mandalorians didn’t even partake in.
The vows had been carefully crafted to use the correct phrases needed to activate the mind-altering drugs. Verin had assisted with sprinkling in Mando’a so that no one would be able to pick out the exact moment that Jorgan said the activation key. Still, Zolah listened. Not because she wanted to control Fynta, but because having that option made one more weapon in her arsenal.
They’d done well. In the end, the couple kissed and those present cheered. Zolah didn’t know the passkey, which meant no one else had probably picked it out either.
“That was surprisingly refreshing,” Vector hummed while they waited for the buffet to open. He almost hadn’t come to this either. The man still hadn’t forgiven Theron and Zolah for their parts in initiating something so barbaric, but Quinn seemed to have smoothed it over with logic.
”Yeah, not bad for a weird wedding,” Theron added, tapping his beer against Vector’s champagne. The spy cleared his throat, then looked around. “You think they’ll really retire?”
Quinn had his hands folded behind his back, no drink. “Fynta signed the papers this morning. Lana and I bore witness.”
The Sith in question leaned closer to her Jedi lover, both hiding smiles behind hands as they whispered to one another. Zolah nodded. “I have been named the new commander of the Alliance.”
”You were already doing the job.” Theron shifted again, and Zolah lifted an eyebrow at him. The spy raised his hands. “Look, I’m the only former Republic in the group now. And I’m just—“
”Be at ease.” Vector offered a soft smile that immediately disarmed his lover. For all the history she and Theron shared, Zolah had never managed to put him at ease the way Vector did. “We hold no alliances apart from the whole.”
Quinn cleared his throat. Being the most recent to their group, he hadn’t had as much time away from the Empire and their expectations. Still, he didn’t seem keen to return, not while Vector lingered with the Alliance. “Indeed,” he added. “There are greater objectives ahead than the squabbles of two governments, don’t you think?”
Zolah took in the room. Quinn was right, of course. There were more important things to worry about than the political posturing of government heads, but maybe not in the way he intended.
The Alliance was on the precipice of change. With Zakuul forming a new government and offering treaties, another superpower had entered a galaxy already crowded with them. Zolah didn’t want to think of herself as filling Fynta’s shoes. The woman had been a catalyst to unite the people against a common threat, and she’d done her job well.
Fynta and Jorgan might be leaving the Alliance, but Zolah knew they would return if needed. The important part was that the whole thing didn’t fracture in their absence.
The Cormacs hadn’t put in a request to be relieved. Across the room, Tayl and Shillet had commandeered the dessert table while Elara, with patient resignation, attempted to enforce portion control. Balic swept his wife into his arms and herded her to where Verin and Fynta traded ever-evolving insults. Even Torian, the chief of Clan Cadera, had made no move to leave Odessen, though Zolah assumed the Jedi at his side had more to do with that than his promise to the Alliance.
Zula’s boisterous laughter made Quinn take a steadying breath. Vector and Theron might be immune to the chaos Mandalorians triggered everywhere they went, but Quinn and Zolah were not. A quiet agreement passed between them to retreat to the command center at the soonest opportunity.
The room vibrated with energy—too-loud conversations, overlapping laughter, shouted challenges, and the occasional explosion of sound when Fynta and Verin teamed up against his son and Koth’s irritating Twi’lek girlfriend.
At least Zolah had her boys. No matter what, they remained the calm in any storm.
Zolah had been named the commander of the Alliance, but she wouldn’t carry it alone. All around them loyalties shifted and old wars surfaced again. Yet somehow this ridiculous collection of soldiers, spies, Sith, Jedi, smugglers, and idiots kept surviving.
Maybe that was the real legacy.
Author's Note: This has been a long time coming. I've struggled with the best way to end this story. Then, I decided that it doesn't end in the traditional sense. Fynta and Jorgan get their retirement, but the story grew way past them and not everyone is ready to turn in the towel. So, they won't.
Thank you all for going on this journey with me. For you comments, support, and patience. This series started in more than ten years ago, and it's been one hell of a ride.
i love prince eric. from the little mermaid. he’s hilarious. because he seems like one of the most mild-mannered and unassuming princes in the disney canon, but he is also one of the few to actively kill the bad guy. most disney villains die by consequence of the final battle but are not directly killed by the hero/heroine. most of them fall to their deaths or cause their own demise, and sometimes the hero is indirectly responsible because they’ll launch them into that direction or something, but they still don’t bring knife to heart directly.
but then a couple do. and prince eric is my fave out of those few because up until the final act, he is the most chill motherfucker u ever seen. like he is quick to spring to action during the storm scene n stuff, but otherwise? he’s really quiet n sensitive and runs along the beach playing the flute for his big shaggy dog n he smiles like a lil nerd and gets all cute around ariel and he’s so sweet n everything.
AND THEN IN THE FINAL BATTLE THAT MOTHERFUCKER STRAIGHT UP DRIVES A SHIP THROUGH URSULA LIKE WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!! NO WONDER NO ONE IS TRYIN TO LAY SIEGE TO HIS KINGDOM!! ALL THE NEIGHBOURS ARE LIKE “HOLY SHIT DON’T GO THERE! PRINCE ERIC IS A BEAST! HE’LL STRAIGHT UP DRIVE A BOAT THROUGH YOUR BITCH!”
At the beginning of the movie Prince Eric, without hesitation, jumps into the ocean, in the middle of a storm, and climbs onto a ship that’s on fire, all to rescue his dog.
Then when he’s convinced some mystery woman saved him, he starts looking for her just to thank her. On his way, he meets some mute naked teenage girl who can’t even walk or dress herself, confirms that she’s not the girl he’s looking for, then brings her to stay at his castle anyway, for no particular reason.
No one questions this, just like they don’t question when he shows up three days later with a mysterious woman one morning and says he’s getting married that same day. At said wedding, several witnesses see his fiance turn into a sea monster, which he then murders by piloting a submerged ship pulled up from the bottom of the ocean straight into her.
A week later, he marries the mute girl and the god of the sea himself rises from the ocean to give his blessings. Again, no one questions this.
I’m convinced that Eric had to have done some crazy insane stunts on a regular basis, cause despite him being so chill and relaxed normally, no one bats an eyelash at any of his ridiculous decisions or incredible feats during the course of the film. Clearly they’re all used to it, and rumours of him marrying an ocean princess would only dissuade potential enemies of his country even further.
Summary: Hutta is behind them, death and destruction ahead. So why not visit the shooting range?
Chapter Word Count: 3,267
Chapter Rating: T
Mando'a:
Megin utreekov… What moron...
Jate haa'taylir gar, Akalenedat: Good to see you, Hard Contact
Ge’tal’ika: Little Red
Cameos from @kunoichi-ume story: Cloak and Blaster
Torian Cadera
Jurr Fett
Ao3 Link
“For the last time,” Caldus growled. “No.”
Altan fell into a charged silence that meant Caldus had won. They’d been arguing about transportation for the last hour. After landing on Dromund Kaas, Cinlat and Verin had gone off to see what they could find, while Fynta vanished with promises to meet later. Jos had welcomed his sons back, then been pulled off to the cantina by old drinking buddies. That gave Altan plenty of time to create new arguments.
The room still smelled faintly of the spicy liquor Jos favored. Rain rattled against the narrow window, masking the distant sounds of the enclave. If Caldus didn’t think about it, this could easily be a normal day during hurricane season on Rishi.
They weren’t on Rishi. That jungle beneath the window wasn't his and there was nothing normal about their circumstances. Caldus ran a hand down his face, beating back the guilt he felt any time he told his little brother no. “Our ship isn’t ready. Jumping from planet to planet in short distances is fine, but we’ve never tested her on a long run.”
The junker Altan wanted to use for this mission was mostly gutted with only a couple of cots bolted to the floor. They’d barely pieced together the navigation system before being hauled away to Dromund Kaas to enjoy the Melee. Not a prime candidate for the sort of travel facing them.
“Fine.” Altan slumped into the chair in Jos’s suite, and that damned defeated expression crushed Caldus. He grumbled about needing some air and grabbed his helmet and blaster belt.
Unlike his brother, Caldus didn’t shed his armour like moulting skin every chance he got. He hated the unprotected sensation of wind against his fur, his body primed for defense. Caldus knew in theory that the Mandalorian enclave was safe, but this was a Sith world, and nothing was off limits to them. His beskar’gam might mean the difference between enslavement and escape.
Caldus stopped at the door to look back at his brother. Altan’s long frame was tucked into his robe, hood secured low enough to hide him from the world. Caldus palmed his helmet, then turned back. “Make sure to pack your meds, okay?” He didn’t wait for Altan’s response.
Sliding his helmet into place, Caldus meandered through the enclave. He left his filters open, appreciating the heady fragrances drifting from kitchens. Laughter spilled through open doors, and the familiar thump of heavy boots against metal gangplanks loosened the tension in his shoulders.
Outside, the grey sky hung low over the jungle, shedding a constant veil of rain. Storms didn’t often rage on Dromund Kass. The lightning and violence were reserved for the people who lived there. Still, dark clouds rolled across the jungle canopy and the distant horizon flickered with atmospheric displays that never seemed to end.
Caldus stopped at the railing overlooking a vast jungle. The tops of trees swayed with the wind while pinpricks of shadow moved through their gaps. With the light patter against his beskar, Caldus didn’t register that someone had joined him until she sighed.
Fynta stood with face bared to the sky, eyes closed while rain slicked her skin. She wore faded, grey beskar with no embellishment apart from the dents and dings from battle. It was a neutral color that set her apart from the stylized traditions of their people. Altan had chosen reds and yellows in honor of his birth parents and his new beginning with Jos and Valk. Caldus was pure vengeance.
When Caldus grunted to get the woman’s attention, her lips pulled into an annoying smirk. “It’s refreshing out here.” Fynta opened one eye to glance up at Caldus. “Like I can finally take a full breath.”
That was fair. Hutta had reeked and the pit cages must have been worse. Since they were both standing in the rain, Caldus leaned against the railing to put himself closer to Fynta’s height so that he could be heard over the leaf slapping deluge. “Why were you there?”
Fynta blinked, her blue eyes flashing in the near constant lightning from above. “I hear what you’re asking, but I’m not tracking the meaning.”
”What made you choose to go into those pits?” Caldus gestured at her smaller form. Even in heavy armour, she seemed breakable.
Fynta had been impressive on the sands, but Caldus also hadn’t missed the cuts and bruises that marred her body when she came upstairs in a pair of too small shorts on the Mantis. Nor the scars. “I know Cinlat was a slave there, but you weren’t. Why is it your place to free them?”
The question sounded shallow, but part of Caldus needed to know what drove her, and why no one had done something similar for him. Not until Altan and Jos, at least. He owed them more than he could ever repay.
Fynta shrugged and propped her forearms on the railing beside his. The act felt oddly familiar, and Caldus resisted the urge to jerk away. Fynta didn’t seem to notice. “No one else was going to. Who gives a wamp rat’s shebs about some dirty little alien kids on a backwater planet, right?”
Caldus bristled, but Fynta kept talking, her arm sweeping out over the jungle. “This was never meant to be us, vod. We are a free people, so why do we bow to the Empire? We are supposed to be better than this.” Fynta’s tone took on a bitter note, the words half laughed while lacking amusement.
“Mandalorians are a historically violent and volatile society.” Caldus countered; after all, his species had been pushed to near extinction because of them. Then it occurred to him. “You weren’t born into Clan Ordo were you?”
This time, Fynta snorted. Caldus wondered if it sounded as painful when he did it. “No. My clan was on the losing side. Only a few of us made it out; I only did because of Verin. I’d just passed my verd’goten the day before. We were celebrating. But I was useless in the fight.”
Fynta tilted her head up again. “We were all those little kids that needed rescuing. Me, Cin and Verin.” Again, a single blue eyes opened to pin Caldus with its speculation. “You too, I think. We can’t save them all, but we can save some.”
While Fynta went back to enjoying the rain, Caldus pondered an alternate path where he had been rescued. What would his life have looked like without the shit they’d dragged his soul through? Maybe he’d be halfway decent. Someone who didn’t snarl when people got too close.
“What really happens to the ones who have nowhere to go?” He knew what Cinlat told Altan, but Caldus also knew where the profit margin for marginally healthy kids registered.
Tilting her head, Fynta brought her brows together as she looked up at Caldus. Though he was still safely ensconced in his helmet, he felt like she was staring directly into his soul. He saw the recognition then, the way those brows sprung apart as she pieced together bits of his story that he wasn’t ready to share. “Forget I asked.”
Caldus shoved from the railing, but Fynta stopped him with her answer. “Cin didn’t lie to you, the organization we work for places those kids with vetted families who know how to deal with traumatized children.”
Instead of stomping away, Caldus returned to the railing. He didn’t lean against it this time, but let his palm rest on the slick metal. Maybe he was crazy, but Caldus desperately wanted to know that there was still good in this galaxy. He needed Fynta and Cinlat, even Verin, to be the real heroes he’d always looked for.
The rain grew heavier and Fynta blinked at the roiling sky. “This place sucks. Want to have some fun?”
Fynta was already walking backwards towards the enclave entrance. Caldus followed, but he kept his guard up. “Depends on what your idea of fun is.” Her answering grin made his fur stand on end. At least, until she patted the blaster attached to her thigh. “Shooting range?”
“What else?” Fynta chuckled and spun on her booted toe, the cybernetic landing with a loud clang. “Give your brother a call, I’d love to see if the rumors about his aim are true.”
Caldus hesitated, then rang Altan. His brother didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, there was a grogginess to his speech that suggested an impromptu nap. “Want to meet Fynta and me at the range?”
”Really?” Caldus heard the rustling of his brother scrambling. “Yeah, what should I bring?”
Caldus glanced at the black hair leading him deeper into the Mandalorian Enclave. “Bring the rifle, let’s put on a show.”
“Awesome.” Altan disconnected the call. He’d gone from half asleep to fully alert in seconds. Normally, it took Caldus’s constant nagging to get the younger Togruta moving.
As he followed Fynta, Caldus allowed himself a satisfied smile. The excitement in Altan’s voice eased something tight in his chest. Altan wanted space to grow, but Caldus was having trouble giving it to him. He’d only had this life for seven years, and he wasn’t ready to let go of the few people who meant so much to him.
Caldus lengthened his steps to catch up with Fynta. The deeper they traversed into the enclave, the fewer helmets were within view. Caldus’s fingers twitched, but he eventually reached up and pulled it from his head. A few passers by took a second look at him, but most nodded and moved on.
Fynta palmed open the door and practically hopped down the familiar steps. The smell of burnt ozone and scorched duracrete hit immediately. He snagged a pair of frequency blockers from the table at the bottom and let the crack of blaster fire fade into a low thump that he felt more than heard.
As Caldus turned to offer a pair to Fynta, she went still, then stooped lower and began to creep forward. Caldus leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching with muted interest as she drew closer to a specific Mandalorian on the firing line.
The blond human had his elbows propped on a stand, eye pressed to the sight of a rifle. The redhead beside him mirrored Fynta’s grin, nodding encouragement. The smaller woman looked familiar; the mismatched eyes and cybernetics wrapping the side of her face tugged at a memory.
Caldus watched Fynta take up position directly behind the unsuspecting man. The cacophony of an active shooting range disguised any noise she might have made. Not to mention the redhead’s laughter.
Caldus wasn’t sure of Fynta’s intention until he saw the tell-tale deep breath of a man about to pull the trigger. She saw it too and jabbed her fingers into the section between his chestplate and pauldrons. The blond human jerked back with a curse as the shot went wide, and the two women howled in laughter.
“Megin utreekov…” The man’s ire morphed into a wide grin when he found Fynta standing behind him. He had Fynta by a few inches, sweeping her into his arms and spinning her around. “Jate haa'taylir gar, Akalenedat.”
Caldus snorted at the nickname he’d heard attributed to Fynta before. Hard Contact. Obviously the Pits weren’t the only place Fynta liked to fight.
Ruffling the blond’s already disheveled hair, Fynta bumped fists with the redhead once her feet were back on the ground. At last, the woman remembered that Caldus waited by the door and waved him over. “This is my partner for a while, Caldus Bruun. Caldus, this is Torian Cadera, and Jurr—”
“Fett,” Caldus realized. When the redhead tilted her head, eyes squinted as if trying to place him, he clarified. “We haven’t met, but you grew up with my brother.”
“Oh.” Jurr squinted harder, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember ever meeting a Cathar. But, my memory isn’t what it should be.” A little of the light left her eyes, but the smile remained friendly.
Caldus opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard the distant footsteps of a lanky Togruta on the stairs. He smiled politely and stepped to the side so that Altan would have an unobstructed view of his childhood friend. He knew that Jurr sent updated images of her cybernetics when they changed so that his brother wouldn’t forget her face. It also amused him that in all the things the two talked about through texting, it never occurred to either to mention they might be on the same planet.
As expected, the footsteps stumbled at the bottom. No doubt Altan saw his old friend immediately, but it took Jurr a few seconds to pry her attention from Caldus. When she did, those formally dull eyes lit with excitement and an ear piercing squeal of glee ripped from the small woman as she took off in Altan’s direction.
Caldus watched Jurr sprint towards his brother and resisted the urge to intervene. She stopped directly in front of Altan’s wide eyed and frozen form, but she didn’t hug him. Caldus could see the girl vibrating with the desire to do so. Instead, she stretched her hand between them and grinned. “Hey, Altan.”
Finally, his brother broke into a wide smile. To Caldus’s surprise, the Togruta wrapped one hand around his small friend and tugged her in for a stiff embrace. Caldus hoped the girl appreciated the effort that took his brother.
“Childhood friends, huh?” Torian asked, thumbs hooked in his belt while he smiled at the two. “You must be the one she’s always texting. Can’t pry the damn datapad out of her hands.” Caldus grunted in understanding.
Fynta clapped her hands, calling everyone’s attention to her. “This is even better since I’m terrible at introductions. Altan, this is Torian. Since you already know Jurr, let’s have some fun, yeah?”
The next two hours disappeared beneath friendly competition and a mountain of spent practice ammo. Altan and Jurr, also trained with a sniper rifle, were currently trying to see who could shoot further. She had the advantage with her cybernetic hookup to the scope, but Altan didn’t seem to care. Caldus hadn’t seen his brother so relaxed since they left Rishi.
The smell of cleaning solvent and hot metal hung thick around the work bench while half-disassembled weapons littered the surface. “So, how do you all know each other?” Caldus asked while scrubbing the firing pin in his blaster. He’d taken his turn, but spent most of his time watching Altan dial in his rifle.
Everyone knew the name Cadera. The family’s patriarch had started the rebellion that Fynta lost her family to. The stain of that failure still clung to his son. Jurr was a Fett, another prestigious and old family name. Caldus was more interested in how far back they went as a group. Fynta mentioned being on the losing side of that brief war too. Had she been a part of the Cadera Clan?
“Fynta and Verin joined Clan Ordo after my verd’goten. They were older than the rest of us, but that just meant they had better imaginations when it came to getting into trouble.” Torian chuckled at Fynta’s agreeable nod. “They taught a whole generation a lot of bad habits.”
“I honestly don’t remember how I met Jurr,” Fynta added.
Before she could continue, Torian coughed into his fist. “You were drunk.”
“Probably.” Fynta tapped the tattoo surrounding her right eye. “Jurr is a hell of an artist; even as a kid. She liked to take advantage of inebriated vod for practice.”
“Still does,” Torian interrupted again. Caldus felt like he was watching a verbal sparring match as much as the two went back and forth.
Fynta huffed a laugh full of unhealthy pride before continuing. “She offers a bet, usually something involving coordination, then gets to use a piece of their flesh for practice when they inevitably fail. I think she was practicing lines and curves that night. I don’t remember exactly what I agreed to, but I woke up with this and a headache from the Void the next morning.”
Torian cleared his throat. “You told her that you believed in her dreams and to make sure her art would be displayed for everyone to see. Then you passed out.”
“So, no drinking for you on the mission,” Caldus concluded.
Torian barked a laugh while Fynta pulled an affronted expression that reminded Caldus too much of Verin. “I’ll have you know, my alcohol tolerance is much better now.”
When Caldus didn’t respond, Torian smirked. Movement caught his attention just as Jurr and Altan returned to the table they had claimed. “That is amazing tech. And your aim is insane,” Altan said while breaking down his rifle. He didn’t so much as glance at the rest of them, but Caldus was used to that.
“I guess our Ge’tal’ika won?” Torian smiled fondly at the girl who beamed in response. Altan merely nodded, having no problem being beaten by superior technology.
It wasn’t until the conversation had progressed without input from Fynta that Caldus realized she was gone. Her blasters had been dismantled and halfway cleaned, the rod and cloth still jammed down the barrel. Caldus glanced around the room, finally spotting the woman against the back wall with one hand covering her ear. Their eyes met, and she nodded at the mess before him. Caldus got the message, and set about finishing the task of cleaning her weapons while Altan started on his.
When Fynta rejoined them, Torian was mid-story about some trouble she and Jurr had found in a cave on Corellia. The woman in question clapped a hand on his shoulder. “As much as I’m sure these two would love to hear more disastrous stories from our childhood, we have to go.”
Caldus handed Fynta her reassembled blasters and watched her check them before sliding each one into the holsters on her hips. “Cinlat and Verin have information for us?”
“We need to get back too,” Torian added, nudging Jurr while she and Altan had their heads together in quiet conversation. Both looked up like they’d forgotten about everyone else, then Jurr rolled her mismatched eyes.
Caldus waited for the group to move, replacing the frequency blockers in a long line with the others. Torian took the lead, Fynta squeezing in behind him while they chatted about who would win the Melee. Now that his ears were uncovered, he heard the uneven clang of each step Fynta’s cybernetic struck.
The datapad on Fynta’s belt vibrated, catching Caldus’s attention. Even on the step behind her, he could still see the screen as she thumbed it on. “Tonight?”
If Fynta was annoyed that Caldus had read over her shoulder, she didn’t show it. “Yeah, looks like Imp Intel has run out of patience.” Torian asked about the contract she’d accepted, and she shrugged before hooking the device back to her belt.
Behind them, Jurr and Altan still murmured to one another. Caldus caught the odd word echoing up the tunnel and smiled. Blaster sights. Tech upgrades. And—Bantha farms? He must have missed something as someone had chosen that moment to activate a weapon that resulted in a floor rattling boom below them.
As Torian activated the doors at the top of the stairs and held it for everyone to go through, an uncomfortable sense of normality settled over Caldus. Like this could be his life if he let it. That unnerved him more than the mission ahead.
Summary: Noara delivers a head, almost kills a Mandalorian and continues finding loopholes to Nem'ro's requests. Special appearances by the cast of @cinlat's new story The Weigh of Beskar.
Word Count: 4,247
Walking through Nem’ro’s sad excuse for a palace holding a musty, and slightly damp, bag and not showing her disgust at its contents was one of the hardest things Noara had done up to this point in her life. There was a head, an actual decapitated head, in the burlap bag clenched in her fist.
She wanted nothing more than to drop it, find the nearest sonic shower and stand under it until her skin turned pink.
Instead she was being ushered into Nem’ro’s throne room with the grimey bag still in hand.
“My little bounty hunter returns!” Nem’ro exclaimed when he caught sight of her.
Carnus laughed, “she smell like dead savage!”
That was unfortunately true, hence the burning desire for a sonic shower.
“Then it's true. You killed the famed Huttsbane. Tell me of your hunt.” Nem’ro demanded.
Noara held out the bag and to her immense relief Carnus took it off her hands. “You asked for a savage’s head. I went and got it.” She felt a twinge of guilt calling another sentient being a savage, especially since she found the Evocaii she had spoken with to be as intelligent and civilized as any other species, but technically she hadn’t lied.
She did bring him a head.
Just not the head he had requested.
Using her ability with the Force to get an audience with Huttsbane and one of their spiritual leaders, Noara had laid out her dilemma and plan. The freedom fighter had hated the idea, threatened to just kill her himself and be done with it, but the Elder had seen the wisdom in it. The head in the bag belonged to a young Evocaii male who had died the day before from swamp fever. The Elder had promised her it wouldn’t be infectious anymore but she was still very glad to have it out of her hands.
As expected, the Houk didn’t even open the bag to inspect the contents.
“Who's more savage? The savage or the savage-killer?” Nem’ro asked.
“Uh... wait, I know this one....”
“Shut up, Carnus.” Nem’ro said, sounding irritated before turning his attention back to Noara. “One time might be luck. Your next target will not be so easy to reach, though he shouldn't put up much of a fight when you find him.”
Internally Noara wanted to groan. Of course he wasn’t done making her prove herself.
Nem’ro continued, unaware of her annoyance. “How much do you know of what is happening here on Hutta?”
“Some kind of turf war between you and another Hutt.” Make had told her a little about the unrest in Jigunna when they arrived but she hadn’t been too concerned with the finer details at the time.
“The upstart Fa'athra lays claim to things that are mine. He moves against my factories, sends his scum to make trouble in Jiguuna. Some fools think Fa'athra is becoming a stronger Hutt than Nem'ro. One is Yalt, my ex-accountant. Yalt now works for Fa'athra at the factory in the Rust Yards. The accountant must die for his betrayal.”
“You're kind of a one-solution Hutt, aren’t you?”
“I like things simple,” Nem’ro said with a deep laugh.
Noara forced a smile, “anything else I should know before I head out?” She hoped not but needed to make sure she had all the relevant information to get that sponsorship.
“After the accountant Yalt is dead, take his head to the cantina. Yalt's wife works there. She encouraged his disloyalty to me. Give Yalt's head to her.”
It took all of Noara’s self control not to show her dismay at his instructions. Another head? What was his fixation on heads? Taking the man’s head to his wife just seemed unnecessarily cruel. “Harassing people isn't exactly my line of work.” she said, not feeling much hope she could work around that part.
“If you're going to the Great Hunt, you must be willing to do anything, little girl.”
For once she couldn’t even argue internally with the Hutt and it left a very sour feeling in her gut.
Noara wasn’t sure she could keep the disgust off of her face as she left Nem’ro’s palace and headed directly back to the Poison Pit. She knew she should head out on his errand directly, but she wanted to check in with Mako and see if she was okay. They had talked over their comms when Noara was finishing up with Huttsbane and she had sounded very freaked out about the “bone face” guy. She also wanted to see if she was okay after taking care of the others, burying Braden and Jory wouldn’t be easy. She was struggling with their sudden deaths and she had barely known them, Mako was far more attached.
She found the slicer right where she expected, leaning over the computer terminal with her fingers going a mile a minute. “Hey Mako,” she said, hopping up to sit on the edge of the table and digging around in her bag looking for an energy bar to eat.
Mako turned around and smiled, “how did it go with Nem’ro?”
“He made me deliver a head to him.” Noara frowned, that was a memory she didn’t want to have. “Now he wants me to go kill his accountant, who defected to work for Fa'athra, cut off his head and deliver it to the man’s wife.”
Mako’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then her whole body shuddered in revulsion. “Are you going to do that?”
Grimacing, Noara huffed out a breath. “I don’t know, maybe? I don’t want to but if it’s that or the mission… and catching up with Tarro Blood.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out how far I am willing to go today.” Really that had been the theme of her day, pushing her line in the sand back farther and farther than she ever imagined. And she wasn’t even in the hunt yet.
“I appreciate you wanting to help me avenge Braden and Jory,” Mako said, “but I'd understand if this is too much.”
“Thanks, it’s not too much yet. I can manage,” Noara said, looking again for her energy bar and giving up when she realised it wasn’t there. “I should get something to eat then head out.”
“You stay here and relax for a minute, I’ll go grab us some grub.” Mako said, heading for the door when Noara nodded gratefully.
It had been a long day and she could use a moment to turn her brain off. Reaching into her bag she pulled out her datapad and opened the holonovel program. She had only read for a few minutes when she sensed four people heading toward their room. Dropping her datapad she grabbed the nearest weapon, her shoto saber, and pressed herself against the wall just to the side of the doorway.
It was only a moment later that four figures crossed the threshold, three in what she recognized as Mandalorian armor and one wearing a dark red hood over his montrals.
“We plan,” the one closest to her, in armor painted brown and orange, said as he stepped into the room and Noara moved before they could spot her.
Using just enough of Force to make sure she could move him, she pushed the armored man against the wall and held her now-ignited and glowing blade near his throat. He yelped when she grabbed him but otherwise didn’t react. The three others drew their weapons and Noara prepared to grab her main saber if she needed it.
“Who are you? More of his lackeys?” Noara hissed, resisting the urge to Force compel him to answer. She was already uncomfortable with how often she had considered manipulating those around her to satisfy her own ends.
The man raised his empty hands slowly, “We might be in the wrong room.”
”Release him, or I’ll add a new hole to that pretty face, girl,” the only female Mandalorian, who was even more petite than Noara was, in the group snarled. Noara didn’t need to know anything about her to hear the possessiveness in her voice. Good. Hopefully his life being on the line would keep her from shooting until Noara got an answer. Shooting her now would no doubt make her hand twitch and it would be yet another decapitated head on Hutta. It was becoming a morbid theme to her day.
”Whoa, what the—“ Mako ran into the room, shoving the Torgruta’s arm away when he tried to bar her path. “Easy, these are friendly. Sheesh, I leave for five minutes and you’re all ready to kill each other.”
Relief washed over Noara as she lowered her blade, but she kept her other hand on the man’s chestplate, pinning him with just the slightest touch of Force. “you know these Mandalorians, Mako?”
”Yeah, well, mostly.” Her brown eyes widened. “No way, you’re Cinlat. I’ve read all about your tactics. Do you mind if I pick your brain a little? This is our champion for the Great Hunt and I’d love to get a professional’s opinion.”
”Only if she lets my husband go.” The woman’s voice was now emotionless and lacking the possessive undertones. Interesting. She also found it interesting that Cinlat was Force sensitive. It was just a whisper, so faint Noara doubted she could do anything active with it, but definitely noticeable.
Satasafied these were not more of Tarro Blood’s lackeys, Noara deactivated her saber and stepped away from the man she had threatened. Truthfully she was glad she hadn’t had to kill him. This mission would contain enough death already without her adding to it unnecessarily.
“Sorry, we’ve run into some bad luck with Mandalorians lately.”
Mako’s shoulder slumped at her words and she wanted to kick herself for reminding the other woman of her loss. “Are you okay with them? I need to—do something.”
”I’m good. Be careful out there.” Mako said, passing her the wrap of questionable meat she had been holding and waiving her away before turning back to the Mandalorians. “Sorry. Like Noara said, we’ve hit a rough patch. I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
Noara didn’t stick around long enough to hear what the Mandalorians wanted. If Mako wanted to share her business she would later. Right now Noara needed to get some calories into her body and go see a man about a head.
Maybe.
Noara needed to send Leena Oran a fruit basket or something. Anything to show her deep appreciation for the stealth generator the other Jedi had given her. It was literally a life saver, keeping her from having to kill Fa'athra’s gangsters and opening herself to potential injury. The time it saved was also a major bonus. As Noara slipped her way past yet another patrol at the edge of the Rust Yards, she could only imagine how long it would have taken to fight her way inside and back out again.
Instead of a long grueling series of back to back battles she was in and out of Fa'athra’s place in about an hour. It had taken her longer to locate Yalt than it had to get into the compound.
To her horror the man she had been sent to kill was an elderly man. One stuck between two bickering Hutts threatening him and his family. It had been easier to arrange the farce with Yalt than with Huttsbane, the man was more than willing to disappear. He even offered to crash Fa'athra’s financial accounts to make Nem’ro happy.
He had even offered her some of the credits, taking some for himself to get him and his wife safely off world. In any other situation Noara would have refused any sort of payment, especially when it felt like she was being paid not to kill him, but Mako had mentioned earlier that most of Braden’s credits had already been tied up in their preparation for the Hunt. The funds would ease the burden of accomplishing their goals.
With the influx in credits Noara didn’t even think twice about scanning her credit chip to pay for a taxi to take her all the way back to Nem’ro’s place. Watching the trees pass by as the taxi flew, Noara was hit with a deep sense of homesickness. This was by far the longest she had spent away from Naboo since she arrived there as a child. She didn’t remember anything about Ord Mantell, she only knew it was where she was born because it was listed on her personal files in the Jedi Order’s computer system.
Part of being a Jedi was knowing she wouldn’t live on Naboo all her life, that a more nomadic lifestyle awaited her, but it didn’t stop her longing for the familiarity of the world she knew. She wondered if it would ache less if she was on a planet that wasn’t so obviously sick from the industrial pollution that was slowly choking the life out of Hutta or devoid of natural elements like Nar Shaddaa.
With the taxi ride it took far less time to arrive at Nem’ro’s ‘palace’ than it had taken to trek through the swamp to Fa'athra’s factory. Yalt had said he would contact his wife and pass on the details of their plan. She only hoped he had, or what she was about to do wasn’t going to work.
Once again she was walking into the Hutt’s premises with a head sized bag in her fist, though this time it was filled with a wadded up bit of fabric to give it the shape and size of a head. After entering the building she headed for the small cocktail bar set off to the side of the main cantina floor, where Yalt said his wife would be.
Sure enough an older human female was working the bar that matched his description.
The woman looked up at her approach and Noara saw a flash of recognition before she smoothed the expression away. Mistress Yalt seemed to be quite the actress, sounding polite but completely casual as she spoke.
“Hello, can I help you?”
“I bought you something,” Noara said as she tossed the bag, which the woman caught and then recoiled in horror.
“... what is that? Yalt!” Mistress Yalt screeched her husband’s name, cradling the ‘dead’ to her chest and pushing past Noara to flee the room. Noara watched her go, along with everyone else in the cantina. They wanted a scene no one would miss and the woman had certainly achieved that.
Now to find out if she had impressed Nem’ro enough to earn that sponsorship. She suspected the Hutt was not done making her jump through hoops.
Noara had just entered the long hallway leading to Nem’ro’s throne room when she became aware of a presence lurking in the shadows. She turned toward it as a Rodain female stepped forward.
“Here is the fraud I’ve been looking for. The one pretending to be a bounty hunter.”
Noara had no idea what the Rodain wanted, or why she was being accused of pretending to be a bounty hunter. She was of course, but no one other than Mako knew that for sure. Hoping to goad the Rodain into giving her more information, Noara decided to play dumb. “Hello yourself. How are you doing on this fine day?”
Her tactic proved effective quickly. One of the things Braden had told her while they were preparing for the Hunt on Nar Shaddaa was that some people just could not help but monologue, and if someone started, to let them. You never knew what could be learned, people rarely watched what they said when they assumed they were going to win the impending fight.
The Rodian glared at her, “don't be high-and-mighty! Not with me! Tarro Blood doesn't want you in Great Hunt. Smart person would take the hint. You're not smart. I hear all about how your weak master is butchered! Now you have no team, no support. Tarro Blood tells me I take you out, he makes sure I get in Great Hunt. Even if I have to let Blood win, just being in Great Hunt is big honor. I think after I go in Great Hunt, I come back and have statue made of me stepping on your head.”
There it was, all Noara needed to know. Tarro Blood wasn’t finished trying to prevent her from entering the hunt, but this was a new tactic. Bribing other hunters to join and then throw it wasn’t much more honorable than killing Braden and Jory but at least no one would need to die this time.
“You're going to join the Great Hunt to throw it?” Noara asked, raising her hand and reaching out to the Rodian’s mind with the Force. “That's a terrible plan. You want to leave this place and rethink your life choices.”
The Rodian’s expression smoothed out and she spoke in a monotone voice, “I want to leave this place and rethink my life choices.” With that the woman turned around and walked away from Noara.
Glad she was able to avoid unnecessary violence, Noara continued on her way back to the throne room.
Nem'ro was once again pleased to see her, calling out as soon as she entered the room. “There she is! My people say Yalt's wife left town as if all the akk dogs on Hutta were after her. I also saw that you crashed Fa'athra's accounts. Above and beyond, bounty hunter. Truly powerful.”
“I aim to please,” Noara said, putting her hands on her hips and fixing him with a serious look. “Now you can see how capable I am. Put me in the Great Hunt, Nem'ro.”
“Soon, soon, my impatient bounty hunter.” Nem’ro gestured for her to come closer. Noara obliged but she wasn’t happy to be standing closer than necessary to the hutt. Speaking quieter than she thought him capable of, he continued speaking. “I have one more simple task for you. Something I need an outsider for. There is a traitor in my house, someone who works for Fa'athra’s interests over mine. My own beastmaster, he plots against me and thinks I do not know. He is down in the beast pits below us, go and pull the alarm switch to draw him out. Kill him and rid my house of traitorous scum.”
He gestured to the large retractable doors built into the floor below him as he spoke and Noara understood his meaning. The pits were made for Nem’ro and his guests to watch the fights, he would no doubt be watching his next assignment he had given her.
There would be no trick or sight of hand she could pull this time to avoid violence.
“Will this truly be the last thing you will ask of me? I want that sponsorship.” Noara wanted to hear him confirm it before she agreed to what would obviously be entertainment for him and his guests.
“You don't trust me, little bounty hunter?” Noara gave him a pointed look and he laughed again. “Smart. Fight for me and will get what you deserve.”
Somehow Noara doubted it would be that simple but, like in many things, it did not appear she had a choice.
Carnus led her to the lifts on the other side of the palace and told her the bottom floor was where the entrance to the Beast Pits was.
“Try not to lose fast,” he said with a grin, “make fight fun to watch little girl.”
Scowling at his back, Noara stepped into the lift and selected the right floor. As the car began to move she pulled out her blaster. It had been in an underarm holster for the entirety of her time on Hutta. So far she had not felt the need to use it since Vexx’s hideout. Really the last time she had used a weapon that day was to threaten that Mandalorian she mistook for one of Blood’s minions.
However she suspected the Beastmaster would not face her in a fair fight and the animal fighting pits of the Hutts were common knowledge, even to her. She didn’t know what they would have to throw at her, she needed to be ready for anything.
Stepping off the lift Noara followed a short hallway and then a large cavernous space opened before her. The ground was covered in sand and rocks and along the walls were multiple animal enclosures. She could see the animals pacing behind their bars and did not think for a moment they would hesitate to attack if unleashed.
Blaster still in hand, Noara crossed the space and approached the alarm Nem’ro had spoken of. It was set next to another space blocked off by a set of barred doors, but on the other side was not an animal enclosure. It looked like the Beastmaster’s living quarters.
Since there was nothing else to do, Noara hit the alarm. Three things happened at once, and none of them were a surprise. An alarm rang out, the Beastmaster, a human male with an impressive beer gut appeared behind the bars in front of her, and the ceiling started to retract. Noara could already hear the voices of Nem’ro’s guests and the loud rubble of his laughter.
Beastmaster laughed as he appeared, “you call me just like Nem'ro said you would. So stupid. Now I kill you and Nem'ro give me big reward.”
“At least one of us is being played here.” Noara said, and she had a feeling it was her. There was no sense of deception in the man’s words. The Hutt had no intention of giving her the sponsorship, he just wanted a show.
One she wasn’t sure she wanted to star in.
The Beastmaster was reaching for a control panel on the wall and she only had a split second to act. With the blaster already in her hand it was easy to lift and shoot before he reached the bottom that would release the beasts.
The Beastmaster went down with a cry and she could hear the people above her reacting. Apparently they were not entertained.
Turning she looked at where Nem’ro was seated and glared at the Hutt. It was clear from his expression he had not expected her actions. Shaking her head she holstered her blaster and stride back across the sand toward the lift.
“Clever hunter!” Nem’ro said when she entered the throne room. “You killed the beastmaster and kept him from unleashing his terrible beasts on you. I confess I wanted to see how you would fare against them. See how you’d do in the Hunt firsthand.”
Noara stopped several feet away from the Hutt and placed her hands on her hips, looking up at him and for once letting her true feelings show. “Am I meant to believe that? I know you told the beastmaster he would be rewarded for killing me.”
“Now, now don’t be angry little hunter. Deception was the only way I could eliminate my beastmaster without upsetting things here. Carnus here did not think you would survive but I had a feeling you would surprise us all.”
Carnus didn’t look apologetic at all when he shrugged at her. That wasn’t unexpected.
“I’m good at surprising people but this is enough games Nem’ro, are you going to sponsor me or not?” Patience was something Jedi were known for, and Noara was no exception, but she was running short on it now.
Nem’ro did that little bob that passed for a head nod. “A representative of the Great Hunt will be here shortly. When he arrives, you would merely have to hand him my sponsorship token to enter the Great Hunt. Unfortunately... I already gave the Great Hunt sponsorship token to someone else.”
Noara closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, reaching out her senses to center herself in the Force. Needing the calming effect it would give her. “Are you telling me you’ve had me running around collecting heads for you for something you can’t even give me?”
“I didn’t expect you to live out the day.” Nem’ro said with a weird shrug and for once Noara thought he was actually being honest. “The sponsorship is just a token, a small holo with my authorization given to its bearer. Someone fierce and deadly on Hutta has the sponsorship token. If you want it so badly, find him and take it! Ha!”
“Really, just like that? No more run around?”
“Yes, yes. If you succeed, I win. If you fail, I still win. Either way, the toughest hunter on Hutta goes to the Great Hunt with my name!”
Noara wanted to call him a cheat. She wanted to point out how insane this was. But she knew neither reaction would help her and really, she wanted to be away from him.“I don’t suppose you are going to tell me who has your sponsorship token, are you Nem'ro?” she asked with a sigh.
The Hutt laughed, “oh, now, that would make it too easy, wouldn't it? This is a better test, the Hunt won’t give you targets on a platter.”
Annoying as that was, she had a feeling it was true. “Alright, I’ll find your hunter and get that token,” she said, shooting Nem’ro and Carnus a glare each. “Don’t be too surprised when I return with it.”
Summary: Hutta is behind them, death and destruction ahead. So why not visit the shooting range?
Chapter Word Count: 3,267
Chapter Rating: T
Mando'a:
Megin utreekov… What moron...
Jate haa'taylir gar, Akalenedat: Good to see you, Hard Contact
Ge’tal’ika: Little Red
Cameos from @kunoichi-ume story: Cloak and Blaster
Torian Cadera
Jurr Fett
Ao3 Link
“For the last time,” Caldus growled. “No.”
Altan fell into a charged silence that meant Caldus had won. They’d been arguing about transportation for the last hour. After landing on Dromund Kaas, Cinlat and Verin had gone off to see what they could find, while Fynta vanished with promises to meet later. Jos had welcomed his sons back, then been pulled off to the cantina by old drinking buddies. That gave Altan plenty of time to create new arguments.
The room still smelled faintly of the spicy liquor Jos favored. Rain rattled against the narrow window, masking the distant sounds of the enclave. If Caldus didn’t think about it, this could easily be a normal day during hurricane season on Rishi.
They weren’t on Rishi. That jungle beneath the window wasn't his and there was nothing normal about their circumstances. Caldus ran a hand down his face, beating back the guilt he felt any time he told his little brother no. “Our ship isn’t ready. Jumping from planet to planet in short distances is fine, but we’ve never tested her on a long run.”
The junker Altan wanted to use for this mission was mostly gutted with only a couple of cots bolted to the floor. They’d barely pieced together the navigation system before being hauled away to Dromund Kaas to enjoy the Melee. Not a prime candidate for the sort of travel facing them.
“Fine.” Altan slumped into the chair in Jos’s suite, and that damned defeated expression crushed Caldus. He grumbled about needing some air and grabbed his helmet and blaster belt.
Unlike his brother, Caldus didn’t shed his armour like moulting skin every chance he got. He hated the unprotected sensation of wind against his fur, his body primed for defense. Caldus knew in theory that the Mandalorian enclave was safe, but this was a Sith world, and nothing was off limits to them. His beskar’gam might mean the difference between enslavement and escape.
Caldus stopped at the door to look back at his brother. Altan’s long frame was tucked into his robe, hood secured low enough to hide him from the world. Caldus palmed his helmet, then turned back. “Make sure to pack your meds, okay?” He didn’t wait for Altan’s response.
Sliding his helmet into place, Caldus meandered through the enclave. He left his filters open, appreciating the heady fragrances drifting from kitchens. Laughter spilled through open doors, and the familiar thump of heavy boots against metal gangplanks loosened the tension in his shoulders.
Outside, the grey sky hung low over the jungle, shedding a constant veil of rain. Storms didn’t often rage on Dromund Kass. The lightning and violence were reserved for the people who lived there. Still, dark clouds rolled across the jungle canopy and the distant horizon flickered with atmospheric displays that never seemed to end.
Caldus stopped at the railing overlooking a vast jungle. The tops of trees swayed with the wind while pinpricks of shadow moved through their gaps. With the light patter against his beskar, Caldus didn’t register that someone had joined him until she sighed.
Fynta stood with face bared to the sky, eyes closed while rain slicked her skin. She wore faded, grey beskar with no embellishment apart from the dents and dings from battle. It was a neutral color that set her apart from the stylized traditions of their people. Altan had chosen reds and yellows in honor of his birth parents and his new beginning with Jos and Valk. Caldus was pure vengeance.
When Caldus grunted to get the woman’s attention, her lips pulled into an annoying smirk. “It’s refreshing out here.” Fynta opened one eye to glance up at Caldus. “Like I can finally take a full breath.”
That was fair. Hutta had reeked and the pit cages must have been worse. Since they were both standing in the rain, Caldus leaned against the railing to put himself closer to Fynta’s height so that he could be heard over the leaf slapping deluge. “Why were you there?”
Fynta blinked, her blue eyes flashing in the near constant lightning from above. “I hear what you’re asking, but I’m not tracking the meaning.”
”What made you choose to go into those pits?” Caldus gestured at her smaller form. Even in heavy armour, she seemed breakable.
Fynta had been impressive on the sands, but Caldus also hadn’t missed the cuts and bruises that marred her body when she came upstairs in a pair of too small shorts on the Mantis. Nor the scars. “I know Cinlat was a slave there, but you weren’t. Why is it your place to free them?”
The question sounded shallow, but part of Caldus needed to know what drove her, and why no one had done something similar for him. Not until Altan and Jos, at least. He owed them more than he could ever repay.
Fynta shrugged and propped her forearms on the railing beside his. The act felt oddly familiar, and Caldus resisted the urge to jerk away. Fynta didn’t seem to notice. “No one else was going to. Who gives a wamp rat’s shebs about some dirty little alien kids on a backwater planet, right?”
Caldus bristled, but Fynta kept talking, her arm sweeping out over the jungle. “This was never meant to be us, vod. We are a free people, so why do we bow to the Empire? We are supposed to be better than this.” Fynta’s tone took on a bitter note, the words half laughed while lacking amusement.
“Mandalorians are a historically violent and volatile society.” Caldus countered; after all, his species had been pushed to near extinction because of them. Then it occurred to him. “You weren’t born into Clan Ordo were you?”
This time, Fynta snorted. Caldus wondered if it sounded as painful when he did it. “No. My clan was on the losing side. Only a few of us made it out; I only did because of Verin. I’d just passed my verd’goten the day before. We were celebrating. But I was useless in the fight.”
Fynta tilted her head up again. “We were all those little kids that needed rescuing. Me, Cin and Verin.” Again, a single blue eyes opened to pin Caldus with its speculation. “You too, I think. We can’t save them all, but we can save some.”
While Fynta went back to enjoying the rain, Caldus pondered an alternate path where he had been rescued. What would his life have looked like without the shit they’d dragged his soul through? Maybe he’d be halfway decent. Someone who didn’t snarl when people got too close.
“What really happens to the ones who have nowhere to go?” He knew what Cinlat told Altan, but Caldus also knew where the profit margin for marginally healthy kids registered.
Tilting her head, Fynta brought her brows together as she looked up at Caldus. Though he was still safely ensconced in his helmet, he felt like she was staring directly into his soul. He saw the recognition then, the way those brows sprung apart as she pieced together bits of his story that he wasn’t ready to share. “Forget I asked.”
Caldus shoved from the railing, but Fynta stopped him with her answer. “Cin didn’t lie to you, the organization we work for places those kids with vetted families who know how to deal with traumatized children.”
Instead of stomping away, Caldus returned to the railing. He didn’t lean against it this time, but let his palm rest on the slick metal. Maybe he was crazy, but Caldus desperately wanted to know that there was still good in this galaxy. He needed Fynta and Cinlat, even Verin, to be the real heroes he’d always looked for.
The rain grew heavier and Fynta blinked at the roiling sky. “This place sucks. Want to have some fun?”
Fynta was already walking backwards towards the enclave entrance. Caldus followed, but he kept his guard up. “Depends on what your idea of fun is.” Her answering grin made his fur stand on end. At least, until she patted the blaster attached to her thigh. “Shooting range?”
“What else?” Fynta chuckled and spun on her booted toe, the cybernetic landing with a loud clang. “Give your brother a call, I’d love to see if the rumors about his aim are true.”
Caldus hesitated, then rang Altan. His brother didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, there was a grogginess to his speech that suggested an impromptu nap. “Want to meet Fynta and me at the range?”
”Really?” Caldus heard the rustling of his brother scrambling. “Yeah, what should I bring?”
Caldus glanced at the black hair leading him deeper into the Mandalorian Enclave. “Bring the rifle, let’s put on a show.”
“Awesome.” Altan disconnected the call. He’d gone from half asleep to fully alert in seconds. Normally, it took Caldus’s constant nagging to get the younger Togruta moving.
As he followed Fynta, Caldus allowed himself a satisfied smile. The excitement in Altan’s voice eased something tight in his chest. Altan wanted space to grow, but Caldus was having trouble giving it to him. He’d only had this life for seven years, and he wasn’t ready to let go of the few people who meant so much to him.
Caldus lengthened his steps to catch up with Fynta. The deeper they traversed into the enclave, the fewer helmets were within view. Caldus’s fingers twitched, but he eventually reached up and pulled it from his head. A few passers by took a second look at him, but most nodded and moved on.
Fynta palmed open the door and practically hopped down the familiar steps. The smell of burnt ozone and scorched duracrete hit immediately. He snagged a pair of frequency blockers from the table at the bottom and let the crack of blaster fire fade into a low thump that he felt more than heard.
As Caldus turned to offer a pair to Fynta, she went still, then stooped lower and began to creep forward. Caldus leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching with muted interest as she drew closer to a specific Mandalorian on the firing line.
The blond human had his elbows propped on a stand, eye pressed to the sight of a rifle. The redhead beside him mirrored Fynta’s grin, nodding encouragement. The smaller woman looked familiar; the mismatched eyes and cybernetics wrapping the side of her face tugged at a memory.
Caldus watched Fynta take up position directly behind the unsuspecting man. The cacophony of an active shooting range disguised any noise she might have made. Not to mention the redhead’s laughter.
Caldus wasn’t sure of Fynta’s intention until he saw the tell-tale deep breath of a man about to pull the trigger. She saw it too and jabbed her fingers into the section between his chestplate and pauldrons. The blond human jerked back with a curse as the shot went wide, and the two women howled in laughter.
“Megin utreekov…” The man’s ire morphed into a wide grin when he found Fynta standing behind him. He had Fynta by a few inches, sweeping her into his arms and spinning her around. “Jate haa'taylir gar, Akalenedat.”
Caldus snorted at the nickname he’d heard attributed to Fynta before. Hard Contact. Obviously the Pits weren’t the only place Fynta liked to fight.
Ruffling the blond’s already disheveled hair, Fynta bumped fists with the redhead once her feet were back on the ground. At last, the woman remembered that Caldus waited by the door and waved him over. “This is my partner for a while, Caldus Bruun. Caldus, this is Torian Cadera, and Jurr—”
“Fett,” Caldus realized. When the redhead tilted her head, eyes squinted as if trying to place him, he clarified. “We haven’t met, but you grew up with my brother.”
“Oh.” Jurr squinted harder, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember ever meeting a Cathar. But, my memory isn’t what it should be.” A little of the light left her eyes, but the smile remained friendly.
Caldus opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard the distant footsteps of a lanky Togruta on the stairs. He smiled politely and stepped to the side so that Altan would have an unobstructed view of his childhood friend. He knew that Jurr sent updated images of her cybernetics when they changed so that his brother wouldn’t forget her face. It also amused him that in all the things the two talked about through texting, it never occurred to either to mention they might be on the same planet.
As expected, the footsteps stumbled at the bottom. No doubt Altan saw his old friend immediately, but it took Jurr a few seconds to pry her attention from Caldus. When she did, those formally dull eyes lit with excitement and an ear piercing squeal of glee ripped from the small woman as she took off in Altan’s direction.
Caldus watched Jurr sprint towards his brother and resisted the urge to intervene. She stopped directly in front of Altan’s wide eyed and frozen form, but she didn’t hug him. Caldus could see the girl vibrating with the desire to do so. Instead, she stretched her hand between them and grinned. “Hey, Altan.”
Finally, his brother broke into a wide smile. To Caldus’s surprise, the Togruta wrapped one hand around his small friend and tugged her in for a stiff embrace. Caldus hoped the girl appreciated the effort that took his brother.
“Childhood friends, huh?” Torian asked, thumbs hooked in his belt while he smiled at the two. “You must be the one she’s always texting. Can’t pry the damn datapad out of her hands.” Caldus grunted in understanding.
Fynta clapped her hands, calling everyone’s attention to her. “This is even better since I’m terrible at introductions. Altan, this is Torian. Since you already know Jurr, let’s have some fun, yeah?”
The next two hours disappeared beneath friendly competition and a mountain of spent practice ammo. Altan and Jurr, also trained with a sniper rifle, were currently trying to see who could shoot further. She had the advantage with her cybernetic hookup to the scope, but Altan didn’t seem to care. Caldus hadn’t seen his brother so relaxed since they left Rishi.
The smell of cleaning solvent and hot metal hung thick around the work bench while half-disassembled weapons littered the surface. “So, how do you all know each other?” Caldus asked while scrubbing the firing pin in his blaster. He’d taken his turn, but spent most of his time watching Altan dial in his rifle.
Everyone knew the name Cadera. The family’s patriarch had started the rebellion that Fynta lost her family to. The stain of that failure still clung to his son. Jurr was a Fett, another prestigious and old family name. Caldus was more interested in how far back they went as a group. Fynta mentioned being on the losing side of that brief war too. Had she been a part of the Cadera Clan?
“Fynta and Verin joined Clan Ordo after my verd’goten. They were older than the rest of us, but that just meant they had better imaginations when it came to getting into trouble.” Torian chuckled at Fynta’s agreeable nod. “They taught a whole generation a lot of bad habits.”
“I honestly don’t remember how I met Jurr,” Fynta added.
Before she could continue, Torian coughed into his fist. “You were drunk.”
“Probably.” Fynta tapped the tattoo surrounding her right eye. “Jurr is a hell of an artist; even as a kid. She liked to take advantage of inebriated vod for practice.”
“Still does,” Torian interrupted again. Caldus felt like he was watching a verbal sparring match as much as the two went back and forth.
Fynta huffed a laugh full of unhealthy pride before continuing. “She offers a bet, usually something involving coordination, then gets to use a piece of their flesh for practice when they inevitably fail. I think she was practicing lines and curves that night. I don’t remember exactly what I agreed to, but I woke up with this and a headache from the Void the next morning.”
Torian cleared his throat. “You told her that you believed in her dreams and to make sure her art would be displayed for everyone to see. Then you passed out.”
“So, no drinking for you on the mission,” Caldus concluded.
Torian barked a laugh while Fynta pulled an affronted expression that reminded Caldus too much of Verin. “I’ll have you know, my alcohol tolerance is much better now.”
When Caldus didn’t respond, Torian smirked. Movement caught his attention just as Jurr and Altan returned to the table they had claimed. “That is amazing tech. And your aim is insane,” Altan said while breaking down his rifle. He didn’t so much as glance at the rest of them, but Caldus was used to that.
“I guess our Ge’tal’ika won?” Torian smiled fondly at the girl who beamed in response. Altan merely nodded, having no problem being beaten by superior technology.
It wasn’t until the conversation had progressed without input from Fynta that Caldus realized she was gone. Her blasters had been dismantled and halfway cleaned, the rod and cloth still jammed down the barrel. Caldus glanced around the room, finally spotting the woman against the back wall with one hand covering her ear. Their eyes met, and she nodded at the mess before him. Caldus got the message, and set about finishing the task of cleaning her weapons while Altan started on his.
When Fynta rejoined them, Torian was mid-story about some trouble she and Jurr had found in a cave on Corellia. The woman in question clapped a hand on his shoulder. “As much as I’m sure these two would love to hear more disastrous stories from our childhood, we have to go.”
Caldus handed Fynta her reassembled blasters and watched her check them before sliding each one into the holsters on her hips. “Cinlat and Verin have information for us?”
“We need to get back too,” Torian added, nudging Jurr while she and Altan had their heads together in quiet conversation. Both looked up like they’d forgotten about everyone else, then Jurr rolled her mismatched eyes.
Caldus waited for the group to move, replacing the frequency blockers in a long line with the others. Torian took the lead, Fynta squeezing in behind him while they chatted about who would win the Melee. Now that his ears were uncovered, he heard the uneven clang of each step Fynta’s cybernetic struck.
The datapad on Fynta’s belt vibrated, catching Caldus’s attention. Even on the step behind her, he could still see the screen as she thumbed it on. “Tonight?”
If Fynta was annoyed that Caldus had read over her shoulder, she didn’t show it. “Yeah, looks like Imp Intel has run out of patience.” Torian asked about the contract she’d accepted, and she shrugged before hooking the device back to her belt.
Behind them, Jurr and Altan still murmured to one another. Caldus caught the odd word echoing up the tunnel and smiled. Blaster sights. Tech upgrades. And—Bantha farms? He must have missed something as someone had chosen that moment to activate a weapon that resulted in a floor rattling boom below them.
As Torian activated the doors at the top of the stairs and held it for everyone to go through, an uncomfortable sense of normality settled over Caldus. Like this could be his life if he let it. That unnerved him more than the mission ahead.
getting lost in boston is fun because I turned around on a street corner three times and some guy yelled "hey stupid! the bus is that way!" very helpful interaction and accurate insult, 10/10 no notes
one time I walked around a building a couple times looking for a bathroom and this guy went "this bitch thinks she's on a merrygoround, where the fuck are you tryna go? bathroom? one floor down to the right behind the door that says bathroom."
My very first time in Boston. I was absolutely miserable, trying to drag my giant suitcase up a lengthy set of stairs in the pouring rain. This guy who had already reached the top looked back at me with the most pure expression of disgust I’ve ever seen in anyone’s eyes, marched back down the stairs, grabbed my suitcase, carried it to the top, left it there for me, and walked away without ever saying a word. I think about him often.
For the people in the notes going "why is Boston like this": a) the insults are a way to show you have no ulterior motives when helping someone (and don't need to be thanked or repaid), and b) Boston was settled by the Irish
also the Italians. mixing Irish and Italian sociocultural attitudes had the effect of multiplying the Sass Levels by the power of infinity, in the sense that you get all of the clever dry wit of the Irish and all of the bitchy gossipy condensation of the Italians rolled into one very stereotypically overly-friendly American package.
also worth noting that who you are to them doesn’t matter. they’ll talk to strangers like that and will also talk to their best friends like that. they’re just Like That.
Looking at this food decoration in swtor, is the vibe you get more like-
Cheesecake with berry coulis in layers, OR
Chocolate fountain?
VIBE CHECK
Cheesecake
Fountain
Voting ended onMay 31
Choose one or the other. Feel free to offer other ideas in the tages but for the purposes of the poll I'm not asking what the thing IS, I'm asking which one of the two options feels like a better fit!
David from Accounting had to know. He was like "this is my chance, and I am going to take it", didn't reply, and then showed up to make friends. Intergenerational friends are really important! For reasons both practical and...spiritual. David from Accounting is your gift, Anthony. Cherish him.
Aliit ori'shya tal'din @cinlat - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
