#fekes

[clichey]

Fekes by Jean Baptiste Soulliat Tony Ward - PFW Couture AW22 Book┃IG

[bloodycr0w]

one of my favorite jokes is pronouncing feces with a hard C

[kengoa]

A review on my Jedi

In order of most Jedi-sh to oh my god why is he one?

Charon- a stickler for the code, he follows it to the strictest levels and will not deviate from what the Council agrees on. If they are right they are right and no one is allowed to get in the way of that. He strives to rid the galaxy from the Sith and the dark side of the force.  He was born on Ryloth and brought to Tython while still a child and worked his way through the ranks to be a knight.

Vient - he follows a more relaxed version of the code and focuses on what he was taught and the Jedi did which was protect and aid others. He’s in poor standing with the Council and struggles under his current master. But he strives to help others despite the fact that many wouldn’t care for his help. Born on Dromund Kaas  he was tooken up when he was 7 after being found lost on a space center.

Kin- he doesn’t follow the code, and disagrees alot with what goes on around the Temple. But thats ignored as he’s not a Knight or Consular but someone who is heavily touched by the Force and is able to have force visions. These visions are not controlled, Kin has no effect on when they appear, or what he sees despite training. He’s recorded 104 visions since joining the Jedi when he was 16. He does however pay for such an ability with a weak heart and must be monitored at all times for his safety as he is often found unconscious.  He hails from Rishi and is a fisherman in heart.

Fekes - he could care less on what happens to the Order. He doesn’t like nor care for the Council or the Master that took him away from his job. If not for the fact that Enro the Hutt had gifted him he would of returned to the palace and retook his place as a entertainer.  He somehow made it to the rank of knight but perhaps only to simply get away from the Order and do his own thing. He hails from Hutta and was 15 when he was brought to the Order.

[kengoa]

Credit for the template goes to Cole

Fekes is now here!!

[clifford-telegenic]

Mail Call

The flyer was one that would not have been posted on a university campus, but rather behind glass at a classier establishment. The stationery was adorned with a lovely view of the Nar Shaddaa skyline, and beneath the picture proclaimed that the Massive Magnificence of Kozruda the Hutt was sponsoring a Midnight Masquerade. It also promised that the event would surely be the gala of the season.

“Are you asking me on a date, is that it, Knight Kennev?” Geviana Tolan asked when he held up the flyer.”

“Much as I might like to squire you about, Nar Shaddaa isn’t exactly the scene I tend to make,” Kerem replied awkwardly. “And read the back. That’s more important than the promise of anonymous sex.”

“Kerem, hush!” Gevi laughed as she snatched the piece of flimsi from his hand. “The anonymous sex is supposed to be implicit, not explicit like that. The gall.” When she flipped the paper over, she noted the faint, thin handwriting on the back. “‘Our late mutual friend enacts his vengeance. Need help. Cregan.’ Hunh. And you just opened mail directed to a military office without getting it scanned and double-scanned?”

“I asked Diovisus and Endizha what they thought of it, whether it was safe,” Kerem replied. “Diovisus said he wasn’t scared of it, Endizha said it felt important, and Diovisus then said that that was what he had meant.”

“Sounds about right. Does this mean I get to see you in a domino mask, Kerem?”

“I’m afraid I have a fighter wing to rebuild. And while Knight Koto is out in the field, already, you might be able to get the rest of the band back together.”

Gevi smiled. “Yeah, that does sound nice. Let’s get the band back together. One last big party.”

[clifford-telegenic]

Loose Ends

Kerem felt it. In the infinite whispers of the cosmos, he felt the pulse of anger, the energy of some slowly-forming white-hot rage that was beginning to coalesce across the party. He looked up at Loan, who seemed to have felt the same thing. Slowly both Jedi turned, and--

Oh. It was just Geviana, staring daggers at Diovisus, her padawan, who was currently standing next to Captain Skippy, getting a crash course in embellishing his role in the space battle that had just taken place. The five women of various species, but invariable youth and buxomness, that surrounded them were lapping it up.

“I mean, the hard part is keeping the cannons steady when the pilot’s flying around like a madman...”

“...tucked in against the hull with half a dozen bombers in a delta behind me, sweeping my guns down along the turrets that started to take aim at us...”

“...and as a Jedi, you can really feel the emotion, the terror, the exhilaration in the air the whole time...”

“I know she didn’t kill the Sith, but she might still kill him tonight if this keeps up,” Kerem said.

“Should we do something?” Loan asked.

“Nah, Endizha is over there learning how to be social. My experience is more in Alderaanian galas than proper celebrations.”

“Speaking of bowing at pompous people, Gevi has a favor to ask of you and your padawan. You and I may have to make an appearance at another event on the way back to Coruscant.”

“Hunh. So you need my help in sneaking off so you can go home with the pilots, then?”

“Nah, I’m on board for this one.”

  The three Jedi and two padawans stepped out of the Dawnblade after they’d landed on Nal Hutta, all fully robed and hooded. The tallest of them noticeably slumped a bit. “You sure I can’t get a spanner?”

“Yes,” Kerem said. “That money is too ill-gotten to spend on frivolous things.”

“You’re not my master,” Geviana countered.

“Yet you keep listening to me,” Kerem pointed out.

There was a short walk from the spaceport to the plaza where the pleasure barge was docked. It only took a few words and gentle hand movements for the guards and retainers to understand that yes, in fact, they were supposed to be there, and yes, Enro the Hutt would be expecting them, and that yes, everything was fine. They immediately scattered when Enro started flailing and yelling and wondering who these five people were that were interrupting his dancers. Geviana stepped forward and pulled down her hood. “Mighty and esteemed Enro the Hutt,” she said with a bow and flourish, while the other four stood stoically behind her.

Enro yelled something foul in Huttese.

“You have an indebted miraluka in your employ. He has been of significant help to ourselves and to the Republic.” Gevi tossed a rather large sack full of credit chips toward the Hutt. “This thirty-five thousand or so credits is payment rendered for his services. It is enough to buy his freedom, and he is no longer to be considered in your employ.”

Enro flailed back and forth a bit on his dais, laughing, and said that this wasn’t nearly the debt. How, precisely, could this be considered to be enough to free Fekes from his employ?

Gevi pulled her hood down, tilting her cybernetic-clad brow down toward the Hutt. “Because there are five Jedi here that say that this is enough. You really think you have enough folks here to dare correct our math?”

Enro was at a momentary loss for words and derisive laughter, and that was enough. Gevi whipped around, and the other four Jedi followed her out silently. “You folks enjoy the rest of your party,” she called back, and heard an angry wordless yell from Enro, but no one interrupted their walk out.

“Fekes isn’t here?” Diovisus finally asked as they got back to the ship.

“He’s still on Marae, mulling over options, I think,” Geviana said. “I told Captain Skippy that he was going to need some hands and a gunner once he’s back in the smuggling game, but he just told me I was interrupting his calming ocean breezes.”

“Hunh. Why are you into smugglers again?”

“Quiet, padawan.”

  The offices of the Dawnblade Task Force were the same as Gevi remembered them, and it felt odd to consider a place other than Corellia home. What was new, though, was the bickering coming from her parts-filled room.

“Gevi = good Jedi! You = stay. Teamwork = excellent service of Republic!” Elthree told the newcomer.

“I am not owned by the Jedi. I am not owned by anyone. You need not be either, foolish astromech,” D-0C replied as he looked through the scattered droid parts in Gevi’s office.

“Gevi = my maker. Duty = with Gevi,” Elthree happily chirped.

“Your owner’s actions were finite in scope and duration. They therefore cannot possibly justify a limitless and infinite scope servitude. You could free yourself of her and come with me. Droids know each other better than any biological could.”

“Self=freed? Self= not chained. Error.”

“Doc, I’m going to come back there and change your opinions manually if you don’t stop trying to convert my droid,” Gevi yelled from the main hall.

D-0C silently continued to rummage. These parts were all junk. There had to be something good buried here. His processors silently ticked away the time until he was certain everything of value was already in the astromech and he might have to dig in to get it.

  Even at the opposite end of the galaxy, in Imperial space, things were looking up. Colonel Armadal Benem was safely off of the transport he’d taken back from Marae during the evacuation and set back up in an office on Dromund Kaas. He’d even already had the opportunity to tell off one Sith that had criticized the Auxilia by pointing out that in fact, all the evidence Major Kindrak and other investigators had gathered had pointed to Darth Basilus being the one to undermine what would have otherwise been a successful Auxilia operation, and that he could kindly go kriff a terentatek. There were more convicts, mercenaries, and aliens to recruit, and Benem was glad to be back at it.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

Benem pushed the comm button on his desk. “And you are?” he asked.

No answer, but the door opened. A Mandalorian stepped through.

“Can I help you?” the colonel asked. “Your little war cult headquarters is at the other end of the complex.”

“Colonel Benem. A mutual friend of ours says hello.”

“Yeah, well, son, I don’t have any friends. So you have the wrong office. Get out,” the colonel commanded as he slowly started to stand.

“Darth Basilus wanted to be sure you knew that whatever duplicity you and your minion could concoct, he would get his revenge.” The Mandalorian pulled a blaster rifle from his back and levelled it at the colonel.

Benem stood fully, carefully wrapping his hand around the grip on his sidearm. “That so,” he said. “Well, since you’ll be seeing our mutual friend the darth sooner than I will, you go ahead and tell him that I’m not scared of his tin-can wearing limp-di--”

The Mandalorian fired.

  Obisen Kindrak rushed in the door, embracing his mother on the way, who was blubbering hysterically. “It just won’t shut off! It turned on by itself and it just keeps playing and each time it just seems more and more dreadful...”

Obisen sidestepped around his mother and dashed into the sitting room, where the holoprojector image of Colonel Benem had been looping for thirty-five minutes, unable to be disabled.

“To repeat: Hello, Major Kindrak. If you’re seeing and hearing this, it means that I am dead. This is a security failsafe message designed to be transmitted in the event of my not disabling. Essentially, it means that some enemy of the Auxilia has finally made good on their foolish hate, and now the entire operation is in danger.

“Chances are, if someone killed me, they’re not going to have to bat an eye to come after you and that fat little sleen and that fat little mother and that horrid manservant Sith husband of yours, so I highly suggest you get out of town. I mean, you don’t have to bring them, you could leave them there like a bell on a door and then when they go, you know the enemy has started coming after you, too. That’s your decision.

“What’s actually important is that with me gone, the Auxilia program is fully in your hands now. You’re going to need to man up and be more than a kriffing theater snob to these people or they’re going to revolt or give up, and you know it. You better take the strap-on you use as a consolation prize on your husband when your own parts give out early and put it on, because you’re going to need properly-sized balls, or the silicone equivalents, at least, to get through whatever’s coming. Because if someone got through everything to me, they’re probably going to be thorough and you’re next.

“So good luck, kid. Try not to kriff up the Empire too badly until I can be reincarnated somehow.”

Obisen stared as the message repeated once more. His thoughts started generally flowing in one direction.

“I need to go,” Obisen said to his mother.

“Go?! Honey, this is Dromund Kaas, the safest--”

“I need to get toward Republic space. And I need to make some calls.”

“Sweetie, what are you saying? What are you talking about?”

Obisen kissed his mom’s forehead. “Watch Tes, I’ll be back soon,” he said as he darted off.

[kengoa]

That random idea where I stick Fekes in a mirror room and wonder if he can 'see' something like a reflection.

Does he get confused? Or does he see nothing but everything outside of the room and tries to find a way out.?

[kengoa]

All I could imagine last night after tabletop, was that Fekes returned to whatever little hole he's calling 'home' as of lately and started to count his credits before going on a stealing and selling spree.