#v:imperial

[stubborn-amphibian]

@gurlpilot started following you!

A tall and slender nautolan approached the human woman at the bar. Bright blue beads shimmered against her pink skin and a form fitting dress ended just below her thighs. “Welcome to The Zillo Beast, beautiful,” she smiled. “Can I get you anything?”

[niner1309]

This song is such a vibe for the Imperial Era- For Niner and every other character just trying to SURVIVE during this time.

[niner1309]

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Niner had attended physiotherapy everyday, and his broken back was recovering. He could walk now, albeit with a cane, though he supposed it was better than lying in a bed all day. Still, his injury required him to rest, and instead of going stir crazy, he had discovered a passion for reading.

He acquired a recent interest in the ancient relics of Mandalore. He had heard names and stories from Kal’buir’s lessons, though Niner found it fascinating to connect the dots within historical sources and scholarly texts. It made the unbearable mission of sitting still a little more tolerable.

He hobbled through the halls of the archive, and his cane made a rhythmic ‘thnk,’ ‘thnk,’ ‘thnk’, against the floor. He raised his head, looking up at the massive ceiling, when he bumped into the shelf and knocked a holopad to the floor.

Oh, kriff.

He had never been clumsy before he got this shabla injury. He bent over to try and grab the holopad, but pain shot through his back and he winced. He was a genetically grown super soldier and he couldn’t even bend over. Pathetic.

Before the shame could set in further, a woman appeared, picked up the holopad, and slid it back into its place.

Niner nodded in gratitude before he turned away. Then she spoke. “Oh,” he cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma’am. Do you work here?”

[niner1309]

[ EYES ]: sender notices receiver looking at them. OR [ BLOOD ]: sender walks into receiver's room covered in blood.

[ BLOOD ]: sender walks into receiver's room covered in blood | ACCEPTING

Niner’s brows furrowed as he watched the holonews on his data pad. He sat on his bunk in his black fatigues, nursing a caf as he flipped through the headlines. This had become his evening ritual in the barracks.

Darman had gone to the ‘fresher, the others to the mess hall, which meant Niner had a moment to himself in the otherwise crowded quarters. He opened a headline, “Jedi Traitor Arrested by Emperor Palpatine’s Forces.” The image of a man, beaten and bruised, popped up on the screen. He was being carried between two officers, head downcast as blood dribbled from his mouth. Niner exhaled. It was nobody he knew.

Niner’s family was out there somewhere, likely being hunted by soldiers like him. A family made up of skilled clone deserters, mercenaries, and an ex-Jedi- a group of people that were high on the Empire’s hit list.

And so, every night Niner checked the news, hoping he wouldn’t see a vod’s face on screen.

Doors hissed, and Niner lifted his eyes. He had expected one of his squad mates to walk through, not a woman covered in blood.

“Ma’am,” he acknowledged as he stood to attention. He didn’t recognize her, but she wore an Imperial patch.

He wasn’t sure if the blood was hers or someone else’s.

[niner1309]

CONTINUED FROM [X] with @nulluse “I’m fine;” he shoves at the arm encircling him. Weak, shaking, unable to make his hands firm enough to push Niner away. Does his voice sound as hollow as it does inside his head? He tries to pull away, and only stumbles. “Don’t- I’m fine.”

He’s not. The black undersuit has soaked through, the red blood starting to rub onto the white plates. The bandages (hastily applied before armour was slapped back on top) have lost the fight. Blood runs down his leg, hot and sticky. He ignores it, puts weight on the leg, tries to move forward.

“Where’s Darman?”

He steps forward as he asks; the leg gives out. And he falls.

Kriff, these nulls are stubborn. It’s hard enough to care for an injured brother, much less one who is actively fighting against you.

“Udesii, ner vod,” Niner grunts as he catches Jaing. He braces his weight, hand slipping on Jaing’s blood before he can get a solid hold around the other clone's body. “Don’t worry about Dar right now. We’re worrying about you.”

Helmet and pack clatter as he lowers Jaing to the ground, then he holds the ARC down with a solid palm on the chest. Niner flexes his fingers on his free hand, and the vibroblade darts out of his gauntlet with a ‘shck.’ He was no medic, but there wasn't time to wait for one.

“You’re gonna need a new undersuit after this, vod,” he says, making a cut through the synthetic fabric. The knife jams, and Niner sheathes it, opting to rip the suit open with his hands instead. It’s not an easy material to break, and the jostling probably isn’t easing his patient’s pain.

Niner hisses as he pulls the suit back, sticky with crimson. Dread squeezes his chest. Jaing looks real bad.

"This is going to sting a bit," he says as the bacta stim activates with a 'beep.'

[stubborn-amphibian]

“It sounds pretty risky. If you’re wrong…”

Vi lowers her voice and pulls the hood of her cloak over her face. The low hum of the market hid their conversation, but there were always ears listening. “I know the Hutts are a dangerous family, but they have someone I need. A dancer. All I’m asking is for your help to get me in and out alive. I’m willing to pay.”

[stubborn-amphibian]

"I restored your life, Nautolan, and bandaged your wound." @misguided-ferocity

@misguided-ferocity

The nautolan groaned and tenderly poked her forehead. She hissed and quickly drew back her hand as if she had burned herself. A large purple bruise was starting to take shape.

Bright sterile lights pierced her eyes and she blinked. Her prosthetic hand scraped across the metal table of the med-bay as she pushed herself up. A white bandage hugged her left leg. 

“Draven? What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Zalo and the others?"

[stubborn-amphibian]

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.” / Eryn

@reawakcn

“You’re a Mandalorian with a very specific set of skills,” Vi scoffs playfully. “The odds are in your favour.”

An orange skinned nautolan hovers beside Vi and taps his foot. “So do we have a deal, or not?”

“Patience, brother,” Vi says softly. She finds his shoulder with her metal hand and rests it there. He seems to relax slightly, but he crosses his arms and clenches his jaw. Vi turns her attention back to the human woman. “Eryn, I know we haven’t spoken in years, but our people need these blasters. Our freedom fighters are barely scraping by and I heard you may know where to find them.”