and the voices of the millions and the hopes of a whole lot more
there’s a change in the wind and a split in the road (you can do what’s right or you can do what you are told): chapter 7
read on ao3 along with the rest of my ikio'yth au clone wars collection
tumblr masterlist | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven
cw: discussions of slavery; implied/referenced canon-typical violence, death, & injury; canon-typical dehumanisation; playing fast and loose with canon in ways i have yet to explain; canon-typical corruption & references to the imminent decline into fascism
🌊 30004 AF | Jedai Temple, Coruscant
The Jedai Temple hangar has always seemed a cavernous space, never containing more than a dozen small ships and a handful of Master mechanics and curious youths at once. Tavi’s never quite understood why it was so big. To see it now, teeming with armoured men squashed in amongst the massive troop carriers they are temporarily calling home, xie hardly recognises the space.
“Generals!” Both men hovering by the door salute as the Council and their reluctant tag-along enter and it sets off a chain reaction: the hangar falls silent, thousands of eyes turning their way. Tavi ducks instinctively behind Kit, slipping beneath his cloak until only her head is visible, peaking out around the massive Nautolan.
“At ease, men.” Obi-Wan is the one among them with the most familiarity with war leadership, and the troops respond well to it, dropping into what Tavi recognises as Galactic standard parade rest. “I’m Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and these are my colleagues: Jedi Knight Tavi and the Jedi High Council. We were hoping to speak with some of your representatives regarding our next steps.”
“Oh! You’ll be wanting the Commanders then, sir,” one of the troopers assures, glancing back over his shoulder. “Hey! They’re looking for the Command reps!” The crowd parts for the five men that emerge at that – four of them identical to the others, while the fifth stands a couple of inches taller, about the same height as Plo.
“Generals.” They speak and salute eerily as one, though their Force essences are each so very different. All of them are wary, but the tallest one’s Dai’ania is positively jagged with distrust. The one closest beside him is cool and steadfast, despite the bitter tang of anxiety mingling with the unerring love that reaches for each of his brothers. The third is protective, fiercely, in the same way Tyvokka is of the younglings. He would make a fine crèchemaster, Tavi thinks. The fourth… well, his Dai’ania is eerily similar to Qui-Gon’s. Serene, but unpredictable. A little more grounded than the maverick Master’s, less arrogant and assured, but a close match nonetheless. The last is warm, but dry, like desert sands. Dangerous to those who do not learn his paths.
“And accompanying us is Jedi Knight Tavi,” Mace is saying, as Kit lifts his arm to offer xem an amused look where xie huddles within his cloak. She offers a meek bow to the blank visors that fall on her, then squeezes back into Kit’s side as he drops his arm. “She accompanied Master Kenobi on his mission to Geonosis and was able to gather some intel while Master Kenobi, Guardian Skywalker, and Padawan Tano provided their… unique distraction.” Obi-Wan shuffles, awkwardly.
“Daisha, xie is. Close to the Force,” Yoda adds, from his perch on Shaak’s shoulder. “Valuable insight xie may offer.” Skepticism radiates around the five troopers, but none of them speak it, even as the tallest continues to study what little he can see of her outside Kit’s cloak.
“Please forgive her reticence,” Plo offers, drawing their attention to him. “Geonosis was difficult for us all, but Tavi felt it more than most.”
“If you are comfortable, perhaps we could move this meeting to the Council chambers?” Shaak suggests, folding her hands together beneath her sleeves. “We can all sit there, and avoid disrupting your men?”
There’s a small break, then, as Tyvokka leads a few curious Initiates into the chambers with extra chairs and then has to herd them out again while they stare at the troopers. Master N’tira repeats the performance, moments later, shooing their little kitchen assistants out so the meeting can resume, but the delay is worth it, Tavi thinks, for the bewildered warmth chipping away at the carefully calculated caution clouding around the troopers.
“Now, Commanders, we understand that the Kaminoans viewed you all as… property ,” Mace spits the last word like it’s poisonous, and now that the commanders have removed their helmets, it’s far easier to see when they exchange a look. “But I want to assure you that will not continue here. If you would be willing, we’d prefer to address you by your names. After all, as representatives of your men, you are of equal standing to us, as representatives of the Jedi.” There’s a long, stretching silence and the largest of the men narrows his eyes.
“Cody,” the cool-steadfast one says, finally. His voice is quiet, like he’s almost ashamed to say it. The tall one snaps his head around to glare at him. “But my brothers sometimes call me Kote.” He’s still looking at the floor, head bowed as though sure if he raises his eyes he’ll realise this is some kind of sick trick.
“Jate urcir gar, Cody.” His head snaps up to find Obi-Wan smiling softly. “Olarom bah yaim be jetii.”
“Master Kenobi and I spent a good deal of time on Mandalore when he was a student,” Plo explains, as the clones gape. “Along with Master Yoda and his Padawan at the time. Obi-Wan and Nova both picked up quite a fluency in Mando’a, which Obi-Wan has also passed on to his own Padawan.”
“Ni gan gai,” Tavi gripes, from where xie is curled in Kit’s lap, still half-hidden by his cloak. “Su’cuy, Cody. Tion’kar’tayl mhi gai’e be gar vod’e?”
“I’m Fluke,” Jinn-vibes adds, with a shrug. “This is Iron.” Dry-Dai’ania jabs his brother in the side, scowling. The tallest one folds his arms, studying the room.
“Call me 17,” he grumbles, finally.
“We are honoured to meet you all,” Shaak smiles, closed-lipped, because far too many humans find Togruta fangs intimidating. “Now, may I ask if any of you watched the Senate session last night?”
As it turns out, all five of them watched the Senate session, which certainly makes things simpler, despite their lingering disbelief.
“The Senate certainly seemed displeased with you all,” Fluke observes, with the same bewildering bluntness that so often got Qui-Gon in trouble during negotiations, despite all of Dooku’s best efforts to train it out of him. Cody and Colt, on either side of him, jab armoured elbows into his side.
“They sure were,” Eeth agrees, brimming with amusement. “Fortunately, however, they have no legal avenue through which to exercise this displeasure.”
“Yet.” The word is out of Tavi’s mouth before xie can think better of it, and all eyes turn to xem. “It will take time for the wheels of the Senate to turn, Padhenan. But not so long that we should not prepare ourselves.”
“You think the Senate will come after you?” Colt sounds concerned, now, dark eyes wide. “They can do that?”
“With enough time and intention, there is little the Senate cannot do, Commander,” Depa admits, grimly. “But I believe we have enough allies therein to remain one step ahead.”
“So, what, you want us to fight for you? How does that make us any less slaves than–?” Cody and Colt hiss something that sounds suspiciously like ori’vod!, jostling to shut 17 up. He blocks the attack swiftly, but when Iron kicks his knee out from behind him, he goes down with a thump, still growling.
“Now, please, it’s a reasonable question!” Shaak protests, halfway out of her seat. “There’s no need for this.” All five of them pause to blink up at her.
“While I perhaps wouldn’t have worded it quite that way,” Saesee agrees, though he does nothing to hide the laughter in his voice, “It is more than understandable that you would be suspicious, given the circumstances.” 17 snorts, derisively, but none of them bother to rise to it.
“That isss why we’re here,” Oppo adds, tail swishing as he leans forward. “We wisshh to give you choicccessss.”
“Unfortunately,” Adi sighs, “The position of the Senate, at present, does limit your options somewhat.”
“So, our options are stay with you as free people with equal rights to everyone in your Order, allowing us to train in any of the occupations Jedi take on, not just as soldiers; or serve as the Senate’s slave army?” Iron summarises, flatly, the first full sentence he’s actually spoken in their presence. “That feels like an obvious choice.”
“Mand’alor Mereel would also like to offer the clones Mandalorian citizenship, but the current state of Mandalore’s biosphere is not capable of housing all of you. While we are working on a partnership between the AgriCorps and Mandalore to help alleviate this, it will likely be quite some time before that comes about,” Obi-Wan adds and Force, what Tavi wouldn’t give to have been a fly on the wall in the conversation between the Fetts, Jaster, and the Kryze sisters when this revelation came out.
“You know the Mand’alor?” Cody almost-squeaks, then looks extremely embarrassed about it, ducking his head like it will hide the sudden burning in his cheeks. Obi-Wan coughs to hide his chuckle.
“Kaysh cuyi ner ba’vodu.” Tavi has a lot of uncles. The clones all blink at her.
“In Basic, for those of us not quite so linguistically gifted, if you please, little blue,” Kit teases, ahwey tangling with Tavi’s to tug, chidingly. Xie rolls xir eyes at him.
“Jaster is like my uncle. Jango and his sister, Arla, are his foundlings,” she reiterates, for the rest of the Council. “I expect, whatever happens, we’ll be visited by the three of them.” A light-hearted groan runs through the collected Council. Mandalorian delegations are welcome fun, and a sign of unity that the Galaxy hasn’t seen since Yoda’s youth, if not before. They are, however, also harbingers of chaos. Very popular with the crèche and even more among the Padawans. Introducing them to the young Togruta who is the newest member of their ru’kir’mani rahkadai will surely be trouble enough, let alone introducing them to thousands of clones of the Mand’alor’s heir.
“You think Prime will visit?” 17 sounds suspiciously choked up at that idea.
“We cannot promise it,” Obi-Wan admits, apologetically. “But he knows our doors are open to him.” And he knows he’ll be getting an(other) earful if he doesn’t. 17 nods, steeling himself again.
“We’d also like to apologise for not finding better accommodations for you, as yet,” Ki-Adi adds, dragging them all back onto topic. “Given the… circumstances of the Reformations, we will be making arrangements to house our younglings in some of our older Temples to ensure their safety. This will mean the crèche and Initiate dormitories will be made available for all your men remaining on Coruscant. Likewise, we’ll send word to our Corps outposts to arrange additional accommodation for those of you who wish to join them. From here on, for as long as you wish to be, the– what was the word you used?” The circumstances of the Reformations is certainly a uniquely Mundi way to describe that the Jedi Order will be abandoning their millennia-old service to the Republic.
“The vod’e,” Tavi clarifies, when the five clones just blink at him, confusedly. “The vod’e will be our rah kat widen’yth. Our family in this fight.”
“All of you who wish to be will be as much members of this Order as any Jedai,” Mace finishes, firmly. The clones’ eyes gleam in the smoggy Coruscanti light seeping through the windows, glossy with tears.
DAI BENDU:
Dai’ania = Force signature/presence; lit. Force song/melody
Daisha = Force-Born
Padhenan = Councillor(s)
rahkadai = lineage
rah kat widen’yth = family of the fight
MANDO’A:
jate urcir gar = good to meet you
olarom bah yaim be jetii = welcome to the home of the Jedi
ni gan gai = I have a name
su’cuy = hi (friendly)
tion’kar’tayl mhi gai’e be gar vod’e = may we know the names of your brothers?
“I’m telling you, Jango, Ord Mantell is gonna take Alderaan in the semi-finals like they did last year-”
“Last year Ord Mantell had J’nee Wilks, and he’s moved to Kubindi. There’s no way they’ll take the Cup this year-”
“Well Alderaan won’t beat Kubindi then-”
The bell attached to the front door jingled softly, and the boy’s mouths snapped shut as they were suddenly on high alert. In the door was a familiar figure in Protector green.
A Year late, we have an update!!! Trying to get back on track after some very stressful couple months. As usual @glimjack has been a wonderful help both writing and editing.
Alpha/Beta/Omega DynamicsNon-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega DynamicsStewjoni Biology (Star Wars)Dualsex Stewjoni | Stewjoni Produce Both Ova and Sperm (Star Wars)Fuck Or Diebecause of Stewjoni biologyBut there’s time to talk consentThreesome - M/M/MBlow JobsVaginal FingeringAnal FingeringCunnilingusDouble PenetrationDouble Penetration in Two HolesEventual RomanceLight AngstHurt/ComfortEstablished RelationshipDeveloping RelationshipEventual Happy EndingAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceBattle of Korda Six Didn't Happen (Star Wars)Battle of Galidraan Didn't Happen (Star Wars)Mandalorian Civil War | Death Watch vs Jaster Mereel's True MandaloriansMandalorian Civil War | Death Watch vs Satine Kryze's New MandaloriansCanon-Typical ViolencePolyamoryPolyamory NegotiationsBad Parent Qui-Gon JinnNo Beta We Die Like Clones
Summary: Separated from his master and charge during the Mandalorian Civil War, an injured Obi-Wan Kenobi is rescued by Mandalorians. Circumstances conspire for them to spend a heat together, plus a little more.
Afterwards, Obi-Wan thinks he’ll never see them again. He’s in for a surprise.
(ONE SHOT) he says he wants to as well, but he is a liar STAR WARS
Jangobi Week Day 3 - Undercover
A03
Jango sweeps through the halls like a violent summer storm, all but spitting in anger, teeth bared in a furious snarl under his buy’ce. They had been betrayed. He had been betrayed.
Ben had betrayed him.
Almost a year ago, they had found a scrawny, underfed redhead barely out of his teen years wandering Manda’yaim , just another victim of Kyr’tsad and the Kalevalan pretenders. His story had been one that they’d all heard, orphaned by Kyr’tsad as a child and raised among the New Mandalorians’ sickening idea of foster care. They’d all considered him one of so many unlucky children, but he’d proven that he was Mandokarla despite the dar’manda way the Kalevalans had raised him, without a connection of aliit or a proper education as a Mando’ad. He hadn’t allowed himself to be brainwashed by their propaganda, had seen past it, and he hadn’t let Kryze and his ilk destroy his connection to the Manda.
They’d taken him into their homes, had welcomed him as one of them, and taught him what it had truly meant to be Mando’ad. Jango’s own vod Myles had adopted Ben Naasad into his Clan, had made him Ben Rau of House Mereel. He had given him the name and soul that had been denied to him his entire life, had helped him forge his beskar’gam and complete the verd’goten that the dar’manda New Mandalorians had never allowed.
Jango had fallen in love with him, had asked him to exchange the riduurok with him, and now he can’t help but wonder how much of it was a lie. Ben - if that even was his name - had been a spy. He had been spying on them all along, passing on everything he learned to Kryze, the Republic dog that he is.
Had it all been a lie? Had the love Ben had felt for him, for all of them, been just a ruse? All that time together, all those times they’d fallen into bed together and given over pieces of themselves to the other. The warmth in blue eyes, the sweet lingering kisses and the teasing drag of graceful hands across Jango’s skin; had it really been just a mission to Ben?
Jango had nearly torn the compound apart looking for his ven’riduur after the Republic-New Mandalorian attack that had shaken his home, when he’d learned that Ben was missing. He had figured then that they’d purposely captured the intended of the Mand’alor, had taken his captive; Ben had been sick recently, could barely get out of bed in the mornings with throwing up everything he had eaten the night before. He had been clammy and feverish, and Jango had been trying to convince his cyare to go see a baar’ur because he didn’t know how to help him. When the attack had happened, Ben should have been in the Mand’alor’s suite, resting surrounded by verde who would protect him, but Jango had returned to his rooms, victorious in repelling the attackers, to find the guards he had assigned to his ill ven’riduur unconscious on the floors.
The beskar doors that should have been protecting him had been cut away at the walls, by a lightsaber. Jango had nearly been overcome with protective terror, seeing the melted, warped stone and his missing ven’riduur who had been too sick to even get out of bed that morning, who definitely wouldn’t have been able to defend himself against a Jetii, no matter how skilled of a fighter he had grown to become over the year with the Haat’ade.
It hadn’t taken long to organize an attack group; Jango’s people loved his intended. Ben was easy to like, spunky and feisty, but gentle and kind at the same time, a vicious fighter who cared so much for ade that he spent most of his free time with the Clan children and Foundlings. He and his people had rarely ever attacked the New Mandalorians, saw it as dishonourable to fight those who wouldn’t even pick up a weapon to defend their own children, and kept most of their battles solely in negotiations - Jaster was especially good at cowing Kryze and his ilk, who took one look at the crippled former Mand’alor and thought themselves above him, who seemed to forget that it was Jaster who had made the Haat’ade who they are - but in working with Jetiise, who had nearly killed Jango and his super-commandos on Galidraan, to take Jango’s ven’riduur, they had given the Haat’ade an open invitation for war.
It had been criminally easy to take over Sundari, to steal the city out from under Duke Kryze and his Kalevalan pretenders, and retake it for Mandalore. It had been far too easy for the enraged Haat’ade to take the palace, to take custody of the children of House Kryze, to take the Duke’s youngest daughter and grandson as wards. Neither Bo-Katan or little Korkie would come to harm among the Haat’ade, instead they’d be adopted into a different Clan while House and Clan Kryze were dissolved and declared dar’manda, and the New Mandalorians and noncombatants that surrendered and swore to Jango as the Mand’alor would be given leniency and a chance to achieve cin vhetin.
It had been far too easy for all the trouble they had been giving him, but Jango had ensured his hold of Manda’yaim.
While his verde had been taking the capital, Jango had gone hunting, intent on finding where his ven’riduur had been hidden, and trusting his connection to the Manda to lead him to where he needed to go. He hadn’t been led towards the cell block like he had been expecting, instead, Jango had found himself marching through the guest wing of the palace, where the Duke’s most important visitors were to be housed. He had found his ven’riduur laying in a plush bed, looking a little green, wearing the distinctive robes of the Jetiise, the shaggy red hair that Jango had so loved running his hands through shaved down to the cut of a hibir. He’d jerked when Jango had burst into the room, staring at him with shock and fear as he’d fumbled with the hilt of a jetii’kad, and for a moment, they’d only stared at each other as Jango tried to understand what he was looking at.
He had still been processing it when the Jetii had attacked. The large Human had come out of nowhere, but Manda’s warning and the widening of Ben’s eyes had given him the time he needed to dodge the green kad’au the could have taken his off of otherwise. The fight that had followed had been a blur; his anger and fury had given him the strength he needed to win though, but the moment the Jetii’s body had dropped, Ben had screamed .
Jango had known then, what it was that his ven’riduur was.
A Jetii and a spy; but still, this was the man Jango had loved. He had ordered the baar’ur to treat him, when they’d brought him back to Keldabe, but instead of being moved to their room, like he should have been if he hadn’t betrayed them, Ben had been locked away in a cell, to await his fate while Jango finished up meeting with his council and setting up a loyal governor to take over Sundari. He’d taken longer than he usually would, trying to work his way through the tangled knot of hurt betrayal in his heart, had tried to ignore the ache in his chest.
He’d only had one heart to give, after all, and he’d given it willingly to a man who had been lying about everything.
Jango meets Myles outside of the cell block. His vod’s hurt is a palpable thing in the air around him; Myles had loved Ben too, just as much as Jango did, and his vod’ika’s betrayal had hurt him just as much as it had the young Mand’alor.
Wordlessly, Jango claps his battle-bonded brother’s shoulder in support, and Myles’ buy’ce dips. They’re both silent for a long moment, taking strength from each other just as they would on the battlefield, before Myles speaks.
“It couldn’t have all been a lie.” He says slowly, and the vocoder in his buy’ce may hide a lot of things, but Jango knows his vod just as well as he knows himself, he can hear the shakiness of unshed tears, the cracking of a broken heart, and Jango squeezes the other man’s shoulder. “Right?”
Jango thinks of the man he had fallen in love with; thinks of the genuine kindness and delight in blue eyes, and fiery spirit of a fighter that couldn’t be faked - the way he had flourished learning the ways of a Haat’ad. Ben had kneeled at his feet and sworn to the resol’nare, had declared his desire to follow the path for cin vhetin. He had kissed Jango with such gentle passion, had let Jango show him how to make love, and had accepted Jango’s proposal to become one.
Not all of it could have been a lie. No one could have faked all that for over a year; not even a Jetii.
A memory rises above his distress, of ancient texts and listening to his Buir late at night as they’d gone over the history of Mandalore. There were ways, old ones, to truly seek cin vhetin, Jango remembers, and once the idea is there, it takes root and flowers. Ben had sworn to cin vhetin, had sworn to a fresh start, and there were ways Jango could lead him on that path. Ways that not even the Jetiise could poison.
But he wants to hear what Ben has to say first.
“We won’t let it be a lie.” He swears to Myles, watching the way he perks up, despite his confusion. “Ben is one of us - whatever he was before doesn’t matter anymore. He swore cin vhetin, and that’s what he’ll do.” With that, Jango steps past his second, feeling the other man fall in step behind him more than he sees him, and they sweep deeper into the cell block.
In front of him and just outside of the only occupied cell on this level, Baar’ur Nawara straightens. Helmetless, the Twi’Lek salutes, “Mand’alor!” Xe greets, and Jango nods to the older Mando’ad.
Beyond the red laser shield, Ben sits huddled on his cot, back to them and eyes on the wall, and Jango can’t force his eyes away from his ven’riduur despite his words being for his baar’ur. “Anything to report, Nawara?” A flinch travels up his ven’riduur’s spine.
“'Lek , alor.” A gesture of a hand signals for the doctor to speak, and Nawara only hesitates momentarily. “I ran some tests, to see what could be making him so ill, and I received some positive results.” Xe swallows nervously, “He’s pregnant, Mand’alor, just past eleven weeks. The fetal DNA is a fifty-percent match to yours.”
Jango stills, and he watches Ben - his pregnant ven’riduur - shiver. The joy of learning that he’s going to be a Buir is undercut by his anger at his cyare for leaving, but now, he can’t help but wonder how willing Ben had been to leave. He could have easily let the Jetii into their suite if he was really running, could have left, but instead the Jetii that Jango had killed had forced his way in, had cut down the blast doors and taken him. Ben could have interfered in their battle at any time, could have leapt to the Jetii’s defense, but instead he’d watched. He hadn’t even fought when Jango had sedated him for transfer back to Keldabe, and the Mand’alor knows that he could have.
Perhaps Ben had come to them as a spy - but it seems likely that he’d grown to genuinely want to be among the Haat’ade.
“Why?” Jango’s voice pierces the silence that had followed the doctor’s words, but they’re not aimed at Nawara.
“I was given a mission.” Ben’s voice is quiet, thick with tears, but he doesn’t look at Jango, and he’s no longer using the Kalevalan accent he must have appropriated for his deception, it’s High Coruscanti instead, but Jango can hear the underlining burr of the Concord Dawn accent his knows his ven’riduur had picked up from him. “I was to infiltrate the Haat’ade and report back to my Master. To ensure you didn’t get more of a foothold on Manda’yaim, and to support Duke Kryze and his Heiress’ claim to the system.” His head droops lower, “The Senate wants access to the beskar mines, but can’t move openly because of the treaties, not without looking like the aggressor to the other systems. I’m young enough that it was decided that I was the best option to complete this half of our mission; an orphan of the Clan Wars looking to join you would be more believable than a man nearing his fifties.” Ben’s voice breaks, and Jango wants desperately to hold him, to comfort him and wipe away his tears.
“But it wasn’t about the mission anymore.” Jango says slowly, “Was it? If it was just a mission, you wouldn’t have accepted my courtship, wouldn’t have let me fuck you -” Ben twitches, “- because you’re not that kind of person, are you, Ben?”
“It’s Obi-Wan.” Ben whispers, voice cracking, “Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“No, it’s not.” Jango states, voice confident, “You swore cin vhetin. Obi-Wan Kenobi no longer exists.” Slowly, the Mand’alor steps forward, keying himself into the cell and pulling off his buy’ce as he moves. “A fresh start - who you were before no longer matters.” He comes to a stop next to the cell cot, and slowly reaches out a hand. His fingers move through short, prickly strands of copper hair that lack the waves that he had grown to associate with his ven’riduur, and his nose crinkles at the sight of the ugly nerftail and braid he wore. Neither would be comfortable under his buy’ce . Ben melts into the touch like he always does, hiccuping faintly on a sob. “You’re Ben Rau, of House Mereel, soon to be of Clan Fett.”
“This wasn’t part of the mission.” Ben sobs, one hand pressing against his stomach as he lifts his head so that Jango could meet his ven’riduur’s bloodshot eyes and see the tears trailing across freckled cheeks. His gaze is pleading. “Master Qui-Gon said I was getting too attached, and ordered my extraction. You were never part of the mission.” He shakes like a newborn striil, “I didn’t want to leave.”
Jango steps forward again, gathering his cyare into his arms and letting the younger man collapse against him. “K’uur.” The Mand’alor soothes, “I know, Ben. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”
In his arms, Ben breaks, but Jango is confident in his ability to help him put himself back together.
Jaster was interrupted from his musing by the flashing light on his HUD that indicated an incoming private comm. Eyes flicking to it, he answered the call.
“Alor?”
“Here, Myles. Me’vaar ti gar?”
There was a moment of silence, as Myles hesitated - out of character for him.
Jango felt a spike of frustration heat up his cheeks. “-They just finished! This is the perfect time, you can tell me now!”
“-Don’t take that tone with me, Jango,” Jaster’s eyes narrowed in Jango’s direction, but Jango was uncowed.
“You’re hiding something. You’d tell me if you weren’t hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything, I just-”Jaster sighed more deeply, crossing his arms over his chestplate and his eyes following the Protectors as their figures trotted off the field.
Notes:
The longest chapter yet! Hence the delay in posting. Hope everyone enjoys anyway!
Jaster helped himself to some of the food, a little more of the drink -a lot more important to have in his hand to blend in than he had been expecting- and circled for anyone that looked promising. Most of the crowd was occupied with the duke, or with debriefing companions about having met him.
The fuzzy form of Truuk Ulikur, leader of a clan of farmers on one of Concord Dawn’s moons, appeared - he was broad shouldered with a tuft of short pale hair over a remarkably scarred face, but thankfully he appeared mostly unarmored as well. He’d never met the man before, but he was familiar with the clan.
“S-Su cuy’gar, Mand’alor Mereel, ” Ulikur started, hologram stuttering slightly and distorted by static.
Mand’alor, huh.
Notes:
As usual, Bee’s home cooking makes an appearance, as the plot thickens around them all.
