#oc exoch

[monoetr]

he isn't really a big fan of the hutts, you see

[monoetr]

oc sketch\studies dump 🤲

[monoetr]

at work doing questionable stuff

[monoetr]

They remember him differently, depending on what they came there for.

“Wine-red,” one patron insists, years later, as if it matters. “An unusual one for a Zabrak. Pretty little thing.”

Another disagrees. “Too thin for my taste,” she says. “He was so angular, almost emaciated. And the scars on him? Must’ve been feisty. No, not for me.”

But they all agree on one thing: he was impossible not to notice.

He moved differently. Not like the others, not like the performers who politely smiled and leaned too close, trying to sell the illusion of warmth. The Zabrak boy – because he was a boy then, no matter how they dressed him – held back. Even when the music swelled, even when the room demanded spectacle, there was this unusual restraint in him.

“He didn’t dance for you,” someone says, frowning as if the memory bothers them. “He danced… around you? If that makes sense. I mean, you could watch him for hours and never feel acknowledged.“

“And he never met your eyes,” another recalls. “Yeah, not once. I thought it was part of the act!”

The handlers noticed first, of course. They corrected his posture and adjusted routines. But this quiet refusal was harder to break. It didn’t disrupt the performance. If anything, it made him more desirable. More mysterious.

“People like what they can’t have,” one of them reportedly said. “Let him keep the trick.”

So he kept it.

[monoetr]

match made in uhhhh definitely somewhere 😁

[monoetr]

what if we were a corrupt senator, who is forced to vote for horrendous legislation in favor of megacorporation, and an agent of the techno union, tasked with protecting the interests of said megacorporation by any means, and we were also OLD and GAY and CRINGE

uh yeah some more OCs yay

Torri’nan Drass - half twi’lek/half togruta

Exoch Chaal - dathomirian zabrak

[monoetr]

Exoch’s teeth are filed down. It’s the first thing they do to him after the purchase, before the inventory marks are even finished drying on his skin. The little zabrak is too feral, too loud, too quick to bare his mouth when cornered and nobody wants to risk their fingers. They hold his head still with practiced efficiency. He fights anyway — twisting, snapping, drawing blood where he can — until exhaustion makes his limbs heavy and useless. He remembers the sound most clearly: the rasping grind against enamel, the vibration rattling straight into his skull. Pain so sharp it blurs into heat. The smell of scorched bone. A carnivore rendered safe. The message is simple and absolute: you don’t get to be dangerous unless permitted. But Exoch learns quickly that fury without leverage only earns more restraints and more pain. So he compresses it instead. For twenty years he carries that loss in his mouth. In every careful smile he never gives. In every instinct he has to hide his teeth, to keep his lips closed, to never bare himself first. Others mistake it for discipline. And he doesn’t get his revenge quickly. He survives instead, which is worse for them in the end. By the time he finally has the power to look his former handlers in the eye, they don’t even remember the boy they “fixed.” And that’s fine. Exoch remembers for them.

[monoetr]

bro’s █████

tried some photobashing for the background, turned out pretty cool