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I am SO delighted with this picture that @captainderyn did of my OC Reanden, and @andveryginger 's OC Mairen! These two dorks look SO good -- CaptainDeryn did an AMAZING job with them! Go commission them -- they're such a great artist!
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go back to staring at this and squeeing incessantly. 😉
7. Is there something that could cause your oc to question their identity? What?
An excellent question! Hmmm, how to best answer this...
Xaja -- thought she was straight for years, then got hit on by a couple of women on Carrick and realized she liked it. She still tends toward men, but she can definitely appreciate women as partners -- she's openly bisexual. As far as her gender identity goes, she's pretty solidly a cis woman -- I'm not sure what would get her to consider another identity! She's a bit of a tomboy, but is definitely in touch with her feminine side.
Korin -- I don't know that he's ever questioned being a cis male, but he's definitely been down for sexual experimentation since he was a teenager with a vivid imagination and an insatiable curiosity. He found out pretty quick that he's bisexual. He did not like the situations where he had to try and embrace his feminine side though -- he appreciates and admires women, but definitely does not consider himself to be one.
Sorand -- He's had the most questions, I think! Gender-wise, he's mostly male with a bit of a squiggle. He self-identifies as male, but I think he's had some questions, since he's more in-tune with traditionally feminine things, like sporting long hair and being more soft-spoken and diplomatic. Sexuality, I assumed he was straight when I rolled him up 10 years ago -- when the idea of flirting back with Shara's original writer felt super squicky, I wondered if he was gay and so far in the closet he's in space!Narnia. But, the idea of flirting with a guy felt super wrong with him too -- so, he's ace! I think he's pretty comfortable with that identity now.
Reanden -- Honestly, I'm still not sure about him. He's definitely a cis male, that's never been in question! I think he's played around with his identity over the course of his career with the SIS and Imperial/Sith Intelligence, but he's come out of that pretty confident he's a straight man. Could he be swayed over for the right guy? Probably. But is he very content being married to Mairen and not inclined to look anywhere else? Definitely.
Fictober 2022: Day 7
Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Warnings: none.
Prompt: "Check that again, are you sure?"
Zakuul was rapidly cementing itself in Theron's mind as the worst planet in the known galaxy. And he was even including Quesh and Taris on that list. Being holed up in a small, one-bedroom 'apartment' (who was Theron kidding? It was a damned hovel.) with Reanden Taerich and T7-01 made for some intense claustrophobia.
Yet, part of him was grateful for the presence of both Cipher Nine and Xaja's faithful astromech droid. It made him feel far less alone on this hellish world while they searched for any sign of Xaja's survival.
He sighed and stared out the window at Zakuul's capital city, or rather, at the underlevels of it. The Old World, he'd heard it called – to him, it was even more proof that Zakuul was far from the utopia it styled itself as. There was a desperation here that felt too similar to the lower levels of Coruscant or Nar Shaddaa. He stretched his back and sipped his lukewarm caf, thinking. If Xaja was a prisoner on Zakuul, she had to be in the upper levels of the Spire, close to Arcann's throne room, and that would make a rescue attempt that much more difficult –
At the computer console, Reanden made a triumphant sounding noise. "Think I got a trace on her," he announced. "Found a record of two Core Worlds prisoners being taken before Valkorion before his assassination. The timing matches up."
Theron looked over. "That's hopeful," he agreed with a yawn. "Any holo footage?"
"Nothing. But the descriptions of the prisoners match both Xaja and Darth Marr. Give me a minute, I'll see what else I can find." Reanden bent his head over the console, typing away, gaze fixed on the screen. "Come on, give me something good to work with here…"
Theron turned back to the window, knowing better than to hover over Cipher Nine's shoulder while the older man worked. He hadn't thought about Darth Marr since his flagship had been destroyed almost three years ago – he'd assumed the Sith Lord had died aboard the vessel. But if Marr was a prisoner too, maybe the two spies could use that. Freeing both Xaja and Marr would be incredibly beneficial to–
"Marr was executed. Dammit." Reanden sounded more annoyed than anything.
Well, so much for that plan. "And Xaja?" Theron asked, his heart in his throat.
"Still looking."
Theron sighed and looked down into his caf mug. If Marr had been executed by the Zakuulans, what chance did Xaja have of being alive? He grimly looked out the window again, as though he could find Xaja if he just stared hard enough.
"... She's a prisoner," Reanden finally announced. Theron felt a rush of wild, delighted hope until he heard the older spy's next words. "And she's dying."
Theron's caf mug fell to shatter on the floor by his boots. He whirled around. "Check that again. Are you sure?"
Reanden finally looked up from the console to grimly nod. "They put her into carbonite freezing. But they botched it. I can track down where she's being held, but if we were to saunter up there and grab her now, she'll be dead within a week of being pulled out of carbonite."
Despair flooded back in where the hope had been. Theron sat down hard and swore out loud. They were so close to getting Xaja free, only to have this happen! "Is there nothing we can do?"
"... I don't know." Reanden sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair, then straightened up again, nodding firmly. "But I know a guy. If there's a cure out there for carbonite poisoning like what Xaja's being put through, he'll know it. We'll find a way to save her yet – I'm not letting my daughter die like this." He whirled around and snatched his leatheris jacket up. "I gotta go make some calls. I'll be back later."
Theron nodded, watching Reanden take his leave of the hovel, then sighed and let his shoulders slump. "We'll find a way to save you, Xaja," he whispered to the empty room. "I promise."
for the cute shippy starters, #42 “I swear it was an accident.”
(So it's not "shippy", and it is a million years late, but!)
Some days, being a parent was more stressful than it needed to be. This was definitely one of those days.
Reanden sighed and paced back and forth in front of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What in the blazes were you thinking, again?"
"... I wasn't?" Korin cautiously looked up from his seat on the couch, fingers nervously fidgeting with the computer spike he'd lifted from the caf table. "I swear it was an accident."
"You don't 'accidentally' have sex, Korin. That's not how it works and you know it. And especially not with a Jedi."
"It wasn't exactly a planned event, either," Korin protested. "Besides, didn't you do the exact same thing with Mum?"
"We're not talking about your mother and I from almost four decades ago. We're talking about you and your sister's Padawan from apparently the last few years."
Esseles Aftermath
Wise Imperials (or at least Imperials with good self-preservation instincts) stepped very lightly when Grand Moff Kilran was in a bad mood. The Emperor’s Glory had been a very quiet ship for the past week, ever since the Esseles debacle. Unaccustomed to failure as he was, Kilran was in a foul temper, and taking it out on anyone who dared to even breathe wrong.
Even a week after filing the report of his failure with Imperial High Command, and feeling the blow to his pride, Kilran couldn’t stop analyzing the entire incident, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong. It was Isirc’s fault, for not grabbing Asara and dragging her kicking and screaming back through the airlock when he’d had the chance. It was Ironfist’s fault, for taking his time in securing the Essele’s bridge and not tearing the ship apart to look for that damned Twi’lek. It was Vokk’s fault, for letting himself be killed by a bloody Jedi, who looked young enough to have worn a Padawan braid recently.
It was perhaps a little bit Kilran’s fault as well, for not taking a Jedi into his calculations. But she had been a last-minute addition to the passenger manifest, and one that his agents had almost missed themselves.
He stormed into his office near the bridge of the Emperor’s Glory, and almost had an aneurysm when he saw somebody sitting at his desk. “Who the blazes–?” he bellowed out as he reached for his blaster pistol. “How did you get in here without my access keys? And get your bloody boots off my desk!”
The stranger, an older human man in the garb of an Imperial officer, didn’t so much as budge his shiny black boots from Kilran’s meticulously-organized desk. He didn’t even take his gaze from the datapad in his hand.
“Did you hear me, soldier?” Kilran snarled. “I said–!”
“Oh, I heard you the first time, Rycus,” the man finally said with a smirk. “I daresay half the sector did.” He still didn’t take his gaze from the datapad. “But it’s such a terribly comfortable position.”
“You’ll find it far less comfortable with a blaster bolt in your skull,” Kilran growled, drawing his blaster. “I daresay even the brig is too good for you.”
The man tsked. “I wouldn’t go that far, Rycus.”
“It’s Grand Moff Kilran to you, soldier.”
“Yes, I heard. The Butcher of Coruscant, Grand Moff, that smug bastard… although I’m sure your mother would still call you Rycus if she were alive. You don’t mind that I know your name, do you?”
“I do mind it! I have a title and you will use it.”
“You also have two sisters, and an assortment of alien slaves, and some truly abysmal HoloNet passwords, and you had a pet flutterplume as a child. And you currently have two toxin darts and a blaster trained on you, and a security detail who regretfully is more afraid of me than they are of you.” The man finally looked up from the datapad and gave him a cold smirk that offered no apology. “As for me… you may call me Cipher Nine.” The smirk widened. “Ahh, good, you know where my title is from.”
Indeed, Kilran did know where the title ‘Cipher Nine’ came from. Even the Sith lived in fear of Imperial Intelligence. He would never admit to being afraid of the Empire’s spies, but he decided a little bit of caution would not go amiss. “... Please remove your boots from my desk, Cipher Nine.”
“And the man has manners. I’m impressed.” Cipher Nine lazily sat up, removing his booted feet from the desk. Even that motion seemed to radiate a deadly grace that made Kilran think of a Jedi. For a moment, Kilran could see the blaster pistol that had rested across the agent’s lap, before the weapon was holstered on the other man’s leg. “Do take a seat – this conversation may take some time. I expect you know why I’m here?”
Quietly fuming, Kilran dropped himself into a seat on the wrong side of his desk, facing the intruder from Imperial Intelligence, who seemed to be quite at home in his seat. The only way this day could get worse would be if the next person to walk into his office was an angry Sith. “Yes, and I have redoubled my efforts to capture Ambassador Asara. Rest assured, she will be neutralized.”
“Asara?” Cipher Nine snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Dissidents and rebels are never in short supply. Even if Asara is neutralized, another will rise to take her place. It’s a never-ending struggle. I’m here on a different matter connected to the Esseles.” He set the datapad down on the desk, showing the still frame from the Emperor’s Glory’s security camera footage – the face belonging to the young woman, or perhaps still a girl, who had so neatly foiled Kilran’s plans. “Tell me about this Jedi.”
“The Jedi,” Kilran spat out, letting his composure slip for a moment of getting across his anger with the little brat. “She was a late addition to the passengers on the Esseles. I wasn’t even aware of a Jedi presence until my ship was coming out in hyperspace on top of the other vessel–”
“I’m not interested in excuses, Rycus,” Cipher Nine interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me how this Jedi managed to hold off a boarding party, override a security lockdown, kill half a clan’s worth of Mandalorian commandos, and sabotage your own ship in the space of less than two hours.”
“... She must have gotten very lucky,” Kilran finally said. “It’s the only possible explanation.”
“Luck? In my experience, there’s no such thing as ‘luck’. The Jedi certainly don’t believe in it.” Cipher Nine leaned back in his seat, eyebrow still up to his hairline. “What do you know about the Jedi?”
“... My agents identified her as one Xaja Taerich,” Kilran said, gracing the innocent datapad with a glare. “Freshly Knighted less than a week before she boarded the Esseles.”
“And so full of potential already,” Cipher Nine mused. “She is a new Knight, new enough that Intelligence doesn’t know a great deal about her yet. But I can confirm that she was Padawan to one of the Jedi Council, her homeworld is Lavisar, and she will have additional reason to come after you, when she does more research on you.” He smirked at Kilran’s questioning look. “She was a Sacking survivor. She escaped the Jedi Temple on Coruscant while it burned. When she hears that you were one of the commanders of that force that decimated her home as a child…”
“A Sacking survivor…” Kilran mused as he looked down at the datapad again. “She doesn’t look old enough to have memories of that.”
“Our sources say that she’s only seventeen standard years of age.” Cipher Nine leaned back in his – Kilran’s – seat, smirking in amusement. “You were outwitted by a teenager who isn’t even old enough to legally drink in the Republic for another year yet. How does that make you feel?”
Kilran scowled before he could master his reactions. "She's an impertinent, cocky, smart-mouthed brat of a Jedi. I'm sure it won't be long before she crosses a Sith Lord and gets put in her place… in an unmarked grave."
"A snarky little Jedi, but still a Jedi. And the Sith who had been stationed on this ship didn't fare well against her." Cipher Nine seemed highly entertained. "I'd almost like to meet her, just to say I met the seventeen-year-old who bested Grand Moff Kilran. Intelligence is making bets as to how long she lasts before slipping up and getting herself killed."
That made Kilran frown. "What did you bet?"
"I'm afraid if I told you that, I'd have to kill you." Cipher Nine’s smile was cold. "But the general range of the betting pool gives her anywhere from a week to a few years."
"I hope your bet was on the lower end of the spectrum," Kilran said. "Rest assured, I will turn my extensive resources to apprehending this Jedi before she can become even more of a nuisance."
"Capture her alive," Cipher Nine directed as he lazily got to his feet. "I would like to meet this kid before she mouths off to some Sith and gets herself killed."
"I can't make any promises as to her status when she's eventually apprehended," Kilran warned. "She doesn't seem to be wise enough to accept capture without a fight."
Cipher Nine smirked and gestured to the datapad. "And she's smart enough to make you work for it, whether you want her taken alive or dead. Still, if you can, take her alive. There is a list of people who want to meet her, the teenager who managed to outwit you."
"She managed it once and got lucky in doing so," Kilran muttered. "I can assure you, it won't happen again."
"We'll see." Cipher Nine chuckled and started strolling out of the office. "My money is on at least one more incident of public humiliation for you before she gets taken down."
Kilran seriously debated shooting the agent in the back, before thinking better of it. Best not to earn Imperial Intelligence’s ire for executing one of their best agents… even if this bastard deserved it. "Whose side are you on? You sound very sympathetic toward this Jedi brat."
Cipher Nine just looked back and smirked. "Just because I'm a loyal servant of the Empire doesn't mean that I can't be amused by a plucky little Jedi." He turned his gaze forward and resumed his leisurely stroll from the office. "For the Empire, Rycus."
"It's Grand Moff Kilran to you!" Kilran snapped at his back, and only got a chuckle for his trouble.
--------------------------------------
One day, Reanden would learn to not irritate every high ranking Imperial officer that came across his path. But it was just too easy, and such fun, to get under their skins and drive them mental. Kilran had been a particularly fun target.
And the subject of their little chat… Reanden had another datapad securely on his ship with the entire incident report in minute detail. The captured security camera footage gave him the first look at his little girl that he had been given for years. Xaja had successfully finished her Padawan training and become a full-fledged Knight of the Jedi Order, and at such a young age… Airna would be so proud of their daughter's achievement.
Hell, Reanden was proud to bursting of his baby girl. But he couldn't exactly strut around the Empire and radiate his pride in his hidden daughter's accomplishment.
That said, he could definitely stroll about with a little smirk on his face for a few paces. An Imperial Intelligence asset with a pleased smirk was a sight to make most Imps go scurrying as far away as they could get.
But, now he had other things to do beyond tormenting Kilran for his own amusement. Balmorra was his next stop; he started angling toward the hangar where he'd left the Shadow, and Kaliyo. He had an Empire to sabotage from within, and a Republic to bolster. And he still had two sons he needed to find, if he could. At least Xaja is safe for now, until Kilran gets her in his sights again. Worry about your boys and your job. Your daughter at least is safe on Coruscant. You can't do anything for her here.
But he was definitely going to keep himself apprised of her actions in the future. The betting pool at Intelligence was a real thing, and he'd secretly made a bet for several years in the future, refusing to consider any alternatives for his daughter. And the pool was only going to get higher, the longer that Xaja lived to be a nuisance to the Empire. Reanden fully expected to be able to fund his retirement off his winnings from that betting pool.
Fictober 2021 -- Day 19
The first things Sorand became aware of were a dizzy, loopy feeling in his head, and the realization that the floors of the Citadel were surprisingly less uncomfortable than he’d previously imagined. Not that he’d ever entertained thoughts on how comfortable the Citadel floors were, of course.
He groaned and gingerly cracked an eye open, trying to make sense of what he saw. There were the bright overhead lights of his personal library, and a couple of faces over his head -- Ashara’s violet montrals and orange skin were recognizable anywhere, and he knew his father’s face by heart. But why did they look so worried?
“There,” Reanden’s voice sounded over Sorand’s head as he closed his eye again. “Told you that antidote would work quickly.”
“He isn’t exactly bright-eyed and awake either,” Ashara pointed out, sounding as close to “fretful” as a former Jedi could get. “My lord? Can you hear us?”
Sorand grunted something that he was sure sounded affirmative. “I feel strange,” he mumbled, having to think hard about the words before he could properly say them. A tongue that felt like it was made of lead and numb lips did not help his ability to speak. What the hells -- this wasn’t normal for him!
“I’ll bet you feel strange,” he heard his father’s voice over his head. “You were just slipped enough poison to down a rancor, kiddo.”
“... Poison?” Sorand forced his eye open again, frowning. Part of him supposed he should feel outraged -- who would dare poison a Dark Lord of the Sith?
“Yes, poison.” Ashara still sounded worried. “You’re very lucky Cipher Ni-- your father was coming to see you anyway and had an antidote to give you. This is my fault, I should have seen this coming…”
“There’s likely nothing you could have done, Ashara.” Reanden sounded far more calm than his Force-presence let on -- Sorand could sense tightly-controlled anxiety in his father’s Force-signature as he felt a worn, gentle hand on his cheek. “Talk to me, kid. How do you feel?”
“... Weird,” Sorand finally answered. “I… ‘s this what ‘high’ feels like?”
Reanden snorted, the anxiety mingling with amusement. “Yeah, it does -- don’t ask me how I know that. How’s your head? You hit that on the way down, according to your panicky apprentice here.”
“... I did?”
“You did,” Ashara confirmed. “You passed out and went down hard.”
“... Oh.”
“Probable concussion,” Reanden muttered. “If I help you, can you sit up?”
“... Yeah?” Sorand was a little disappointed to realize that he did in fact need his father’s help to sit upright, when the room insisted on swimming around him and his head kept up with the dizzy feeling. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime. Although don’t get yourself poisoned again, for my sake as much as yours.” Reanden hummed in thought, frowning. “You got a list of any particular enemies who’d want you dead, son?”
Sorand frowned, trying to think through his brain continuing to float in a loopy haze. “... Harkun?”
“If Overseer Harkun wanted you dead, he would have killed you a long time ago,” Ashara pointed out. “Is there anyone on the Dark Council you’ve angered recently? Enough who would want to kill you for it?”
“... No.” Sorand rested his head on his hands and groaned. “None that’d get anything from me dead. Ugh, my head…”
“Yeah, you’re gonna feel dizzy for a while. It’s the antidote doing its thing.” Reanden squeezed Sorand’s shoulder reassuringly. “And I think we can rule your apprentices out -- Ashara’s panicking too much for it to be her --” He ignored Ashara’s squawk of protest, although Sorand couldn’t tell if the protest was at her being freaked out, or at the implication that she’d want to eventually kill her master. “-- and this isn’t Xalek’s style. He’d just kill you upfront, yes?”
Sorand nodded, and immediately regretted it when the room kept moving after his head was still. “Ugh. Ummm…” He suddenly froze. “... Revanites. Arkous could’ve… had followers he sent after me.”
“Revanites… or Arkous’ goons.” Reanden sounded disturbed. “Either one could be bad news. But I have this feeling you’re probably right.” He sighed heavily. “Hopefully, wherever they are, Lana and the Shan kid are having better luck than we are.”
The Revanites had been very good at staying out of Cipher Nine’s range, Sorand knew -- his father had been hunting for the cultists ever since they’d parted ways with Lana on Manaan, months ago, and hadn’t come up with any solid intel yet. But if they were close enough on Dromund Kaas to attempt assassinating him, a Dark Lord of the Sith… were they after Korin and Xaja as well? Did they have Cipher Nine in their sights? When would the next assassination attempt on his own life be, when they realized they’d failed here with the poison? “I have a bad feeling about this,” he glumly muttered.
Fictober 2021 -- Day Three
Spies were typically not the types of people to be family oriented. Indeed, few spies ever had families, or would admit to having them.
Even fewer spies ever lived to reach normal retirement age. The few who made it to being senior citizens were either more clever than they had a right to be, or luckier than the entire rest of the galaxy.
Reanden had been the exception to both rules for almost his entire career and he knew it. It was something he didn't take for granted, as he paced through the waiting room. He'd waited for this, dreamed of it for years -- yet half of him had expected this day to never become reality.
The door hissed open, and Reanden spun around to see his youngest son stepping into the room. "How did it go?" he asked, hurrying over to the former Sith. Sorand looked fatigued, but he was smiling, and holding a bundle of blankets in his arms…
"Perfectly, Grandpa." Sorand proudly grinned and carefully held out his precious burden. "I’d like to introduce you to Cuyan."
His heart in his throat, Reanden gingerly accepted the bundle, nudging the blankets aside until he could see his new grandson's face, all scrunched up in sleep. "Hi, squirt," the old spy breathed out as the newborn squirmed, blinking away the sudden blurriness in his vision. Grandpa… a title he'd never thought he'd have, and yet one that was now every bit as dear to him as "Dad" was.
He tore his gaze away from little Cuyan to smile at his proudly beaming son. "He's beautiful. He looks so much like you."
Sorand smiled, although the gesture was touched with old sadness. "I wish Mum could have seen this," he quietly said. "She would have loved him."
"She would have," Reanden agreed. "Hells, by this point she would have already stolen him and refused to give him back." He smiled as Sorand laughed, then looked back down as Cuyan squirmed again, one little fist flexing as it escaped the blankets. "She would be so proud… so it falls to me to be proud on her behalf." He fondly smiled down at the baby, tracing the perfectly formed little nose with his fingertip. "Which, Force knows I'm proud enough for both of us."
That got another smile from Sorand, this one a little wobbly. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered, leaning in to gently tuck Cuyan's wayward hand back into the wrappings. "Is… is being terrified normal?"
Reanden chuckled, carefully adjusting his hold on his grandson. "Oh, you have no idea, kiddo. But I have every confidence that you're going to do just fine with him. And you know I'll be here to help. Always."
Fictober 2021 -- Day 4
None of Reanden’s children, it seemed, could handle mornings well. To be entirely fair, their genes weren’t in their favour for that, on either side -- both Reanden and Airna had needed copious amounts of caf to be anywhere near sociable. And to judge by his own caf addiction, and his memories of how cranky Airna had gotten when deprived of her morning caf, a caffeine addiction for all three was to be expected.
That didn’t mean he didn’t sigh when Sorand zombie-lurched through the Odessen base, blearily staring at the world in front of him and acknowledging all comments with an unintelligible grunt. The lurching itself didn’t deserve the sigh, the old spy supposed; but his youngest son swiping his half-finished mug of caf and draining it without so much as a by-your-leave definitely did.
