#spacedblue

[manonthewalll-blog]

She points dramatically at his arm. "So what happened to /you/?" B^)

He looks down at his arm and then back up with an innocuous shrug. “Werewolves.”

[lookbuirnohands-blog]

(¬‿¬)(¬‿¬)

[send my muse a (¬‿¬) and he will take off an item of clothing]

Corr holds up a finger.

He is still wearing a chrono, which he removes and carefully sets aside.

“Demala,” he grumbles, unzipping and peeling away the fabric for the rest of his undersuit.

It was not common practice to wear anything beneath the undersuit, but nevertheless, Corr stands rather proudly in a very small pair of pink briefs.

“They’re comfy.”

[controlledrage-blog1]

@spacedblue

It had taken some talking to Yain and Fixer but Sev had finally been able to procure a ship and his blue sibling to tag along on the trip. A teaching experience for both of them is what he billed it as but it was mainly so that they could both get away from their troubles on Mandalore. Not that he’d admit to that, of course.

The first planet on the list was Carlac but that was crossed off before the jump was even made when Demala just muttered “Death Watch.” The second? Lothal. That, however, had a higher Imperial occupation than normal and something they both wanted to avoid. Also crossed off.

He knew the opportunity that Concord Dawn presented but it was too close for his tastes. A fallback, if anything.

So their first official scouting would be a moon of Bogden. Something of legend amongst the clone ranks.

“Ever been there?” Sev asked to his copilot, swiveling to face her once the stars stretched and swirled as they went through hyperspace.

[controlledrage-blog1]

Gently drops down from ' upstairs ' to sit on his shoulders. "Sev."

He doesn’t even bother to look up, knowing practically from the way the form sat on his shoulders, the weight of the person, and then the voice. He just tightens his pose up so that the sudden addition doesn’t send them both tumbling down.

“Demala.”

[thehurtvector-blog]

✁ Cael or Demala?

Send me a ✁ with two names and I’ll tell you whom my muse would save.

She stares blankly forward, eyes locked upon the far wall as she considers the options in silence.

The seconds tick by, dragging in the low light of the closed cantina–a rare night where they’re not open, not entertaining, not filling the air with noise and with life.

It’s a long consideration, but finally, finally, she comes to her conclusion.

“Cael,” she says, voice low–but just as sure as if she had proclaimed it to a tapcaf full of people. “Cael is entirely incapable of taking care of himself.”

[deluxemodel-archived]

" Where's my breakfast? "

“In your mind.”

...

“In other words, you have to make it yourself.”

[deluxemodel-archived]

A first time for everything.

It's one morning at Yain's place that Demala comes down from the living area to find a body slumped over at the bar. It looks oddly familiar--Fixer? No, couldn't be. He's upstairs sleeping, right? That's what happened the last time she saw him. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a bit cautious about approaching the man but knew that Yain wouldn't have let any straggler stay in the bar.

She walks behind the counter, quietly observing the man. She notes the dark black hair on top with fleks of gray speckled throughout, the sign of stress. To be a bit of...well, Demala, she sets a glass of water next to the man but just out of reach that should his arms flail out, it wouldn't spill it.

No, instead, he raises his head. She's taken aback by how similar his face is to Fixer's. Is this a trick that Yain is playing on her? Can't be... Not with how the man's wrinkles are deep, the sleep weighing extra heavy on his face. Some sort of conflict had come over him... War, she supposes.

The Clone Wars.

Of course.

"Hey," the man asks in a quiet yet deep and commanding tone, words spoken differently than the man who had spent so much time with her. His eyes slide over to the glass of water and dart back to the girl behind the counter, as if to ask her if that's for him. She nods and the man takes it and downs it quickly, staving off whatever part of the hangover that hadn't hit him already. Cotton mouth, she assumed, as he smacked his lips, asking for more in a whisper.

"Vor'e," he says, straightening up a bit more. Joints pop and the noises almost echo in the room, empty of bodies except for them. "My name's Boss."

She doesn't say her name. Not just yet. There's an unspoken trust she wants to make sure she can confide in before he can get access to such...confidential information. A series of questions are peppered at him and while the hangover makes him want to just leave the barrage, he accepts them one after the other. His life, who he was, why he was here. Anything that wasn't off topic for him, he answered.

"Demala," she says, eyes up at him as she watched a small smile form across his face and maybe, just maybe one form on him as well. "Don't expect this sort of treatment every day."

[puresoldier-blog]

She hangs out of the vents above him, her lethorns swinging freely as she curiously stares down at the dome of his green marked helmet.

He continues to work on his datapad, pointedly ignoring her existence for a few precious moments.“You’re not a particularly subtle youngling, are you?”