BAD LANDS

#theregoesthegalaxy #[our otp everybody]#theprizefighters:tame racing driver #theprizefighters:queue

GIVE ME KISSES.... THE K... KISSES.

21: Then there’s the tongue (you sly dog)

So Jatne had had one too many, and what else was new?

”That guy wants to dance up on me, Jatne!” Asuna hissed at him. She was clinging to the front of his shirt with one hand, her body twisting and turning to the music and brushing up against him.

“What guy? Where?” Jatne could barely shout above the music. The club was loud and everyone was dancing to the beat with jerky panicked movements like they were trying to break out of chains. Jatne was feeling mellow. Asuna brought him here for a job but he was fairly certain she forgot about it. Or lied about it. She was buying the drinks so he didn’t ask questions.

“This way.” Asuna pulled his shirt, stepping backwards to the beat with a sway in her hips that Jatne didn’t have to try very hard to follow.

There was a clearing on the dance floor near a wall where she led him. It was the momentum of her hands pulling and pulling on him and the pressing of her toes that brought their lips together. Jatne braced her against the wall, falling into the rhythm of the kiss.

His fingertips were tingling and his hands felt as if they were detached, not his own. But his mouth was his, and there was a connection. He tasted her and she had the lingering sour taste of the martini with hints of mint.

“I thought you were trying to clean me up,” he murmured against her mouth.

Her hands plunged beneath his shirt. “Huh?”

“You said—nevermind.” Kissing was easier.

nec-dextrorsum-nec-sinistrorsum

I want the K

6: Gentle Peck

Boss picked him up and Jatne was curled up in the speeder seat beside him, blasted out of his mind, and that kind of high that kept him grinning from ear to ear. He spoke in nonsensical slurries. Outpourings of thank you and what a guy. The crisp autumn wind was hardly enough to snap him out of the daze or the realization that he was about to be brought home, and the entire reason that Boss was even there was probably because a very irate mother of Jatne’s sent for him.

Jatne grinned over at Boss as he drove. “I’d be dead without you.”

“What?” Boss didn’t hear that.

“I’d be dead because those guys—those guys were gonna kill me.” Jatne’s mouth felt like it was full of ice cubes. Numb and cumbersome.

Boss slowed the speeder down in front of the Meshkad’s ranch and stared at his passenger, not sure if it was the booze or not. Then Jatne leaned over, grabbed Boss by the face, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Well bye!” Jatne pushed open the door, took two steps, and fell on his face.

#tw: drugs #deluxemodel

Tom Hardy

(via pinterest)

#jatnemeshkad:faceclaim

shereshoy

“Udesii. I literally meant don’t blame me. I’m not demo, I’m sniping,” he said, holding up both hands in the classic pose of surrender or defense against a physical attack. A crooked grin had formed on his face regardless. “My brothers wouldn’t blow up their transport unless it was a last resort because of secrets on board that couldn’t go into enemy hands.”

He ignored the fact that their situation could change sharply into his example.

Careful of his bulk, he followed after Jatne. He moved silently regardless of his boots that should have been tapping on the metal floor. Jango had taught him well, even if sniping had been Zam’s purview.

“Nah, don’t worry. This skraan is perfect compared to the stuff I’ve been eating while on the mission,” he said. Protein packs were fine and all but they got old fast when you ate it every meal for a week on end.

He reached out for one of the bags of the nuts, grinning at the sight of the slight glaze on them. He went to work chowing down on them. It took him a few seconds to realize they were of the spicy variety with a bit of sweetness to them. He grinned to himself, it had been a while since he had had warra nuts.

#shereshoy #[stealth post in old thread]

“I trained in sniping, too. Small world, huh?” Jatne said with a wink. It actually was not that uncommon for Mandalorians to come across a fellow vod with the same specialty, but nevertheless, Jatne always felt a small connection with other snipers. Even if he was afraid of heights.

Jatne dismissed Sheres’s comment about delivering him into enemy hands. That was stupid. Jatne would sooner die than cut a deal with the Seps. While war was a way of life for him and his family, the leadership in the CIS left much to be desired. Not that the Republic was much better, but there was the GAR to consider.

His hands reached for the bag of cookies, which he tore open and ate two outright. “So you mostly work alone, then? ‘Advanced Recon Commando’? I met a Captain that got stuck with a Jedi on most of his missions. That has to be a drag.”

She calculated the risks she was taking as she waited at the counter, reaching out to Jatne cautiously. He had very strong feelings for Kyrimorut, that much was certain, but what interested her was his protectiveness. He would put down his life for what she heard (through a serious grapevine of coded transmissions and sliced data) was a safe place for clone deserters, and that meant she could trust him.

“That sobered you up far quicker than the caf could,” she noted quietly, setting down their two mugs and sliding into her seat, “I’m sorry I don’t know the etiquette of the Ranch. It was a long stretch that a place would even exist. I’m looking for nerraku.”

The twi'lek paused, lifting the steaming mug and taking an exploratory sip. Good, if not a tiny bit bitter. Maybe that was just the subject crossing her mind. She hadn’t formally learned Mando'a, and had even less reason to use it since fleeing, but a word or two stuck with her. She pursed her lips, wondering how many subtle hints it would take for him to understand. Or someone else to, she had no delusions about the Empire. Even a hint that she was a Jedi could be too much.

“I’ve been looking for ner vod of the 22nd. To see if any of them… Retired. I was very close to them, once. Things soured, though.”

The caf was eagerly brought up to his mouth, his tongue a long suffering victim of being burned on a weekly basis. The caf was good. It always was.

As she spoke, Jatne watched her carefully. If his gaze at the bar had been a bit meandering, his eyes were now sharp--or as sharp as he could will them to be, under the circumstances. A bit more caf and he could rectify that.

His expression became decidedly more confused, his brows lifting, as she spoke of the ‘22nd’.

“You...”

He dared not say it.

“I can’t take you to the ranch.”

He folded in his lips, contemplative. “But I’ll put a word out, and let you know. How’s that sound?”

deluxemodel-archived

ʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘ

“…I wasn’t expecting this, to say the least. However, can’t say I’m not flattered.”

#deluxemodel #((jatne that is a LIE and you know it))

“Nah, I’m just messin’ with ya. And Jaro. Haha, love birds.”

He certainly had. Even without the Force, to sense how anxious the question made him, everything about him shifted from amiable, easy-going, to defensive. Evidently, he might have known who she was looking for, or at least had some ties to them. Perhaps the Force was still at work here. She didn’t lean away, even if she wanted to, and inhaled deeply, puffing her chest.

“I’m not with the Empire, we’ll start there.”

This place was far too public for her to go into full details, but she was quiet enough to say that. Even Mandalore, a neutral system that operated on its own government, wasn’t safe. Not for her kind.

“I think I’ll try that caf you suggested,” she slid out of the booth, retrieving credits from her bag, “Should I get the same for you?”

Jatne accepted her answer with a curt nod, but he was not willing to let his guard down. She offered to get the caf and he leaned back into his seat with his arms folded over his chest. “Sure. Thanks.”

Kyrimorut was strictly a clone rescue, so he didn’t know what this Seela girl wanted with it. He wished he didn’t know the location of the Skirata clan holdout for this very reason. Boss needed a ride once, and then Jatne had to go through Kal’s orientation as to what Kyrimorut was.

Even if Skirata’s fight wasn’t his, it was Skirata’s clan that took in Jaro after he went AWOL during Order 66. Jatne had to protect Kyrimorut at all costs, for Jaro’s brothers.

He wondered for a moment if he should contact Am’buir, but not yet.

“Next time, just call it ‘the ranch’, all right?” It wasn’t anybody’s real code word for the place. Jatne simply couldn’t risk being overheard, even in the Jatekara.

“I’ll take your advice. It sounds good,” she replied with a half-smile, knowing fully well that she would try it, but would probably end up adding at least a tiny bit of milk and sugar. Her tastes had pushed even farther down the line to ‘sweet’, a last testimony to the clone brothers she’d been so close to throughout the war, though really she was willing to ingest most anything.

The benefits of multiple stomachs.

Hirani had followed closely behind the Mando, surprised by how quickly his posture had changed since stepping outside. He was still drunk, she could tell, but he had a sense of pride that tipped his chin up and puffed his chest, and it was something she was not entirely expecting. The Mandalorians were a proud people, she shouldn’t have been very surprised.

“I have a strange question to ask, but maybe you can help me,” she murmured as she slid into the booth across from him, eyes on his helmet, noting how gently he treated it. Buy’ce, she remembered the men called theirs. Bucket, right? Funny, how much she had learned in two years, and how much hadn’t really gone away.

“Have you heard of a place called Kyrimorut?”

#hiranishala #[it's business time]

Jatne’s heart skipped a beat. He leaned forward on the table on his elbows, his bright eyes focused on her face, trying to see through her.

“Where did you hear about Kyrimorut?” His voice was pure ice even if the words had to be spoken carefully.

Thank Manda she didn’t mention the place at the Hayc’jag. Imperial sympathizers and the indifferent scum liked to hang out there.

He didn’t know what she was asking. Had she been sent by the Empire? Not likely, but he knew what he was prepared to do if she was. Or, he would die trying.

"Born and raised," he replied. He walked with his head up and chest out, boots heavy on duracrete. In Keldabe it was important to maintain a sense of authority, especially in kit, and even more so because he chose to leave his bucket off.

Jatne would probably die here, too, if he didn't get his hands on a ship of his own soon.

The tapcaf was an unassuming building with a sign that was not lit up. Jatne walked in and chose a corner table, sliding into the wide booth built for Mandalorians in full kit. He set his helmet almost lovingly on the back of the table. His father's helmet, now his.

"If you like caf, you have to try their custom blend. Black. No bells and whistles. It's really the best."

#hiranishala #[jatne loves the jatekara more than it loves him]

[My RP bio states that I am 24 years old. This blog is old af.]

#ooc #three years old dammit

“I’ll take your word for it,” she murmured, still looking him over, “Are you inviting me there?”

Maybe caf would be better for her than alcohol in a time when she needed to keep her head clear, and having the company of a Mandalorian, even a drunk one, might keep a bit of suspicion off her. She was on Mandalore, after all. Besides, she had discovered a lovely drink called hot chocolate on her travels that was amazing, perhaps she could indulge. Cantinas weren’t good places to get reliable information, anyways.

“I might take you up on that offer,” Hirani smiled in return, though a little muted, and set a few credits on the counter, paying for her drink, “Though the owners here might be a little unhappy you’re directing customers away from them.”

Are you? he wanted to counter, but didn’t. Actually, he wasn’t sure why he was telling her about the tapcaf. He supposed the patrons were a bit less rowdy, and under Yain’s watchful eye, even an aruetyc like this Twi’lek could feel safer.

“Okay, yeah,” he agreed. Caf was exactly what he needed right now. He nodded to the barkeep as he got up. Jatne’s tab was about the size of a small moon, but he’d get it reconciled later. “The owners here can eat osik. Dab owes me creds.” Jatne’s head tilted and he seemed to be calculating for a second. “Anyway, c’mon.”

Jatne picked up his helmet and clipped it to his belt. On nearly any other planet, a Mandalorian in full armor could make his way through the crowd with a wide berth, but not here. And Jatne was short. So he shouldered a path out for them, straight out the front doors.

The night air was refreshing and also reminded him just how much his head was floating. Jatne drew in a deep breath of cold air and looked to be sure Seela was still with him. “It’s not a far walk. Just a couple blocks.”

There was a brief flash of fear in her eyes, and she was too late to stamp the feeling down. Months after, maybe even years after, her mind would always jump immediately to the worst case scenario. Did he somehow know? Could he sense it? What would he do?

No, he was drunk, and she was a young woman on her own in a big, bad galaxy. Hirani vaguely wondered what it was with the males of nearly every species and that bravado they had to exude, else they be seen as lesser. She huffed, tipping her head back and finishing her drink, before turning her head entirely, to look him over.

“I can take care of myself,” she shrugged, pausing a moment before turning on her winning smile, a brow cocked, “What do you suggest, though, Jatne?”

Jatne nodded when she proclaimed she could take care of herself. She probably could. If his teenaged sister could knock Teroch to the ground, anything was possible. Bitter, Jatne thought about how in his current state, perhaps he was the one that needed looking after. The thought made him chuckle.

“There’s a place called the Jatekara. A tapcaf. It’s nice. Nicer than this dump.” Jatne propped up his head with his hand and tried a genuine smile, but it likely failed. He could have tried to explain Yain Juuri to her, but he was the wrong person to do it. “Promise.”

#yes all of these #jatnemeshkad:human disaster

arlika; surprisingly swishy: Jatne is a piece of shit but at least he loves and is kind to animals

arlika; surprisingly swishy: That's how you know deep down he has a heart of... bronze ... aluminum .... candy heart.

MI-REEL-GO ; fucking alien: cotton candy

Jace Malcom: spun sugar heart

evildeen

Stolen from the galaxy far before his time, he had been a spark so bright that his memory would go on and on forever.

He whispered using his last breaths: “The wages of dying is love.”

Jaro loved and was loved. Leaning down, Jatne kissed his brother, one last time.

In the morning, he was gone, fading away like the summer wind that cooled into the stillness of autumn. Tracyn would not leave her room, but Verda was making tea.

“If everyone could live like that,” she said, handing him the mug, “you wouldn’t need all those years, anyway.”

Jatne and Jaro were the same age. Fifty-three standard years. But Jaro was a shadow of his brother, his warm smile smitten by the constant aching of his back, hips, and knees.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jatne mumbled. “He should’ve…” He still held it against Jaro, never taking the cure.

Verda shared the space in front of the window with her nephew. “Jaro did it on his own terms. Not yours. Not anyone else’s.”

Jatne gripped the mug tightly, too warm on the palms of his hands, and he let a sigh escape him as if releasing all the pain boiling deep in his chest. “I miss him.”

Her gaze didn’t leave the field beyond the window. “Go check on your sister.”

#here have a sad #meshkad:prose #jaro meshkad #jatne meshkad

She didn’t want to seem standoffish or curt, but these days trust was a commodity she couldn’t afford to spare. It was sad to think that just a year ago she was so friendly, so quick to smile and laugh. The War, the Purge, the death of all she held dear sucked the joy out of her like a flash of light into a black hole. She turned her head slightly, to get a better look at Jatne.

“They did,” she replied simply, taking the glass that was slid to her and turning it in her hands, “But I think it was worth it.”

He didn’t recognize her. No one could have, Hirani was dead and Seela was just a poor dancer who had lost her master to the Separatists and needed to find her way. Jatne was drunk and just flirting, something she’d grown very accustomed to. She lifted her glass, taking a long sip, before setting it back down, eyes focused on it.

Just because her face wasn’t on a bounty board now didn’t mean it wouldn’t be, tomorrow. She had to be cautious.

Jatne squinted.

He was used to a cold shoulder, but this was different. A kind of caution that came from a deeply-rooted fear. Or...

Just her version of a cold shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agreed, wary, “guess so.”

Then his eyes trailed away from her, down to the counter’s surface. Dizzy again. But not important. “This may be a dangerous place for someone like you.” Could have meant anything. Because she was small, because she was young (but not much more than him), because she was a she.

“I’m just sayin’.”