Captain Kurt Wax (LNO)

Knock knock knock

Wax’s eyes snapped open as though wound, like the toy soldier he was. He lifted a clawed hand and pressed the pad of a finger against the gravelly intercom. Darth Vindictus had given him run of the ship, but he’d sequestered himself away in Engineering. It was filled with empty crew quarters, the Eclipse being primarily run by Sith and unengaged in any conflicts. Engineering was quiet, and this suited him fine.

Zi’aa would drag him out eventually; this he knew, but the solace was needed.

“What is it?” he asked, able to hide the gargle of disuse in his tone under the flimsy connection.

Dad let me in.

Wax’s eyes closed wither a quiet curse as his finger slid off the button and back onto the bed. Always the bunk closest to the door as was habit. He sucked his cheeks in and brought his hand back up to the intercom.

“Don’t you have a shoot up to go to?” He cringed internally. The words sounded like they’d come form someone with a pole up their ass. Not a stick. Pole.

He could hear Taizi’s raspy laughing through the door. She rapped again.

Clink Clink, the thick glass of bottles rapped against the metal with a dull full sound.

“Hear that Sargent Earwax?”

Wax pressed the white button below the comm without hesitation, and the long sealed doors whooshed open with an overly sterile smell. Undisturbed air. He pulled his large square frame into a sitting position, wife beater and stuck up hair altogether telling a story on its own.

“Captain Earwax.”

Taizi’s small frame in the doorway sauntered in, bottles of rhyl held by the mouth at her side.

“Close enough,” she drawled and sat next to him.

She smelled like blaster smoke and sweat in her scored plasteel armor. Wax watched her with a near concerned look. He was quiet a moment.

“I quit,” he finally said now eyeing the bottles in her hands.

Uktaizia reached over, grasped her brother’s wrist, and pressed the bottle into his palm.

“I get it you’re whipped. What she doesn’t know hasn’t happened.”

The medical bay doors whirred open with Wax’s eyes. The sound reverberated through his hazy-half sleep to the hard red light of the ceiling. Alarm. When he moved to push himself up his muscles responded as though on delay. A grating in the distance grew louder.

His biceps tightened against the pillowy resistance of the bed, but his own weight had never been heavier. His breaths quickened as pain shot through the frontal mask of his face. Deep deep in the bones. He tried to loosen his jaw—

“Ah, he’s awake.”

--to alleviate the tight tension, but something stopped him from widening it. His hands grabbed his face and the claws scraped against the bandages. Captured? Invaded? Was the Eclipse fallen? He could feel his heart.

Farkle, they gave you bandages? Wax thought to himself. His inner voice strangely soft.

“Indeed, he is.” The harsh grating formed into chesty words.

The air plunged into a bitter cold. The red light across the ceiling stayed, then vanished like a lamp light being turned off. Wax spat blood. Not a hard decided spit. He rather pushed it out of his mouth and felt the coppery drool slide down his chin.

The Medbay. The Eclipse’s medbay. The familiarity of it rushed into existence. They hadn’t been under attack after all. Wax reached to rub the gooseflesh from his skin. Prior having been covered, it was now bit by a nip in the air outside the ancient bricked up stone. The relief of being jerked out of a too ready wakefulness didn’t come as Wax found himself cast into another place he was unfamiliar with.            The building was stone. He was laying on a hard wooden pallet. His long boney fingers splayed over it glowed white in the gloom, but the warm glow of his eyes that lit darkness was not present. Was he blinded?

As he thought it, the vision of his hands dimmed as though he’d called the affliction upon himself. He pushed against the sturdy wood. A pain made itself known in his face, and his breaths became more labored as they crossed his lips. A deep pulse in the adjoin of his nose to his eye socket, through the left side of his cheeks buried itself into his sinuses. Persistent, untenable. It didn’t relent, it didn’t fade. Kurt whimpered and shook from pain. Cold. The crushing sense that he might die here on this flimsy piece of wood. Alone. He needed to find his strength; he needed to move.

“It’s your birthday.”

The red light spanned across the ceiling. Dim. Familiar. His body heat fell back through him all at once. The warmth was overwhelming.

Kurt shot up in bed, like cold water had been thrown over him. Ziost. The dust that made them into gray statues of the damned. Soulless living relics that haunted dead ground. Morkhala's amber eyes stared at him under ashen visage. Blood drained from her ears. Something that sent chills up Wax's spine wailed in the distance before rushing forward and grasping his body with chill hands. 

 "Go stand on the vent," echoed through the room. A cold whisper of what had been a powerful command. He grabbed his rifle from his back, but the metal melted into his palms, heatless. Something next to him fell onto the bed and he twisted to look, picking out Zi'aa's equally distraught yellow eyes in the gloom. K

urt was twisted up in the sheets. Cold sweat spotted his brow. The pillow was clenched in his claws that had sunk deep into the fabric, like some sort of animal. "Zi'aa," he choked out, but the word was lost to the hollow sound of ringing in his own ears. 

 She looked dishevled, like Kurt had dragged her out of her own nightmare, but she touched his face. Her palms were small, smooth. He yanked his claws out of the pillow. The fabric gave soundlessly, but he cared little. He curved his hand around Zi'aa's and shuffled closer to her. The sheets pulled around his legs. Stiffly they half met each other in the middle of the bed. Both of them ruffled by sleep and disquiet dreams. She said something. Her lips moved around the hollow sound filling his ears. At that moment, it didn't matter what it was or wasn't. The need for comfort was mutual as they awkwardly folded into each other. Her fingers reached into his hair as her lips said something that sounded half-frantic against his collarbone. 

 He had to reach across the bed. His legs were trapped at one end, his back strained toward Zi'aa, like a stretched out piece of Taffy, but he pressed her into his arms as best as he could manage. Slowly, breathing her scent in, fight turned into fatigue. His cheekbone ached where it rested on her slim shoulder. Kurt's eyelids dropped. He realized they weren't both fully awake. 

Zi'aa pushed him away with gentle guiding hands, but he stiffened despite the soft minstrations. His yellow eyes searched her dimly lit face with an apologetic arch to them. She turned away from him. "Zi'aa," Kurt repeated quietly. He wasn't sure if his lips had made the sound, but he reached for her shoulder. She turned back to him with a tired sad smile and pressed a hard peice of metal into his hand. The roundness of the cuff was familiar. Kurt looked down at his red pulsing comm link and knitted his brows. He looked up at her questioningly. She returned the gaze. 

 "I don't know," her soft fair voice said in his mind. It was strained with emotion and sleep. "If you need to take it, go." 

 Kurt quickly kissed her brow and extracted himself from the tangle of sheets. He stumbled to his feet on the cold metal floors that leached any lingering warmth out of them until he was behind the dividing wall. The black gloom opened up into a natural star light. A burden he didn't know had been clenching his chest lifted. He licked a stripe up his palm and shoved his hand through his hair. Some thick tangles snarled out. He winced, discarded the clods of gel and ripped out hair on the floor with a shake of his palm, then clicked the red button. Whoever caught him at this hour would merely have to deal with the unprofessional consequences of their actions. 

 In his palm a tiny blue manifestation of his father built itself into existence. Immaculate somehow for the hour with wide shoulder pauldrons part of cruelly shaped armor, hair already slicked for work, and - though Kurt couldn't see them - cold beads of yellow eyes looking down his proud chiseled nose at Kurt. "

Captain Wax," he said automatically. Kurt's carefully practiced professional tone fell flacid. "I was deafened in an altercation unfortunately. Is it urgent?" 

The robotic message made his insides curl, but he knew not what to say faced by the patriarch of his House. Someone who had declined to look upon him for years. 

 Wax's Lord's lips moved with deliberate enunciation. It wasn't for his son's benefit. It was merely a facet of how he spoke; Lord Ignolis lowered himself for no one. 

So. I. Have. Heard.

 Each word dropped Kurt's heart. So I have heard. His cheeks dimpled as his face rearranged from shocked vulnerability into a severe calm.

 "My Lord."

 Who. Are. You. Posted. Under. You've. Involved. My. House. In. Matters. I. Would. Tend. To. 

 Wax read each word without tone. Without inflection, but he knew. He knew the calm scathing voice of his father. He knew the danger behind it. Darth Maliscentiam had gotten back to him upon her wake. Dread dropped into the pit of his stomach. Anyone else would've defended themselves. Plead their case. Wax knew better. He answered submissively. 

 "Darth Quietus, my Lord."

 Kurt never addressed any Sith as such. "Lord" was satisfactory for them. Good. It was the only word Kurt read from his father. His eyes stared determinedly at his pixelated lips until the light from the holo made them see painful blooms of stars he blinked away. 

 You. Will. Disengage. Anything. Other. Than. Your. Job. Captain. (Lord Ignolis' mouth twisted sneerishly at the word) Until. I'm. Through. With. Mine. Am. I. Clear. 

“It’s gone,” Kurt gasped into the bony shoulder lending him support.

The name was new and with it came a christening of pain. It was the eve of Lifeday, and it was raining in the empty 3 AM city.

“I’m sorry,” the effeminate murmur said, its words a small inkling of its owners frantic comprehension of the Pureblood’s pain. 

“My people are dying, Elly. They’re dying and the-- the Empire doesn’t ca--”

“Shhh--” Kurt was hugged closer, his mouth choked on the fabric of the thin tunic.

“Dayn’t sey that,” came the low whisper against the shell of his ear. 

Kurt nodded, he nodded and swallowed his tears.

The Ziost orbital station was serene, but not because it was uninhabited. The Imperials that lived in the darkness were quiet, watchful behind eyes, Wax couldn’t make out except for the whites. Two guards lined the doorway but made no motion as the Captain stepped through. The doors of the airlock open behind him. Wax watched the lights flicker as his heavy treads sunk into the hard floor. Grit crunched underfoot. A panel bulb was knocked askew by some long unfinished repair that had stopped half way.

Wax ground his heel into the floor, so that it crunched. The motion unsettled some of the finer particles. They sparkled in the light in a way that pricked pins into his lit eyes. Ground glass. Peculiar. The small turbulence settled onto a long dead mouse droid. Out of his periphery Wax had assumed it was another pile of ash.

The Lord’s heavy footfalls matched his. He stood aside deferentially as she stopped just in front of him, her head raised and her bearings smart though none of the poise hid the powerful way she threw her husk behind her movements rather than controlling it. The gold threadings in her straight plait gleamed in the starlight. She stood only at the Massassi’s shoulder yet rivaled him in thickness.

“Is this it?” she asked in her deep tone that held a natural command.

Wax, had he been a lesser man, would’ve been compelled to answer, but he wasn’t. His cool gazed rested on her wide back. “Yes, Lord Morkhala,” he said evenly.

She inhaled with purpose and the otherwise soft mouth pressed into a grimmer line.

“This station isn’t strategic and only exists to establish credential clearance. Its capability is reduced to the essentials.”

It was a kinder way of calling Ziost dead with so many words. They didn’t stop in the throat the way that dead did. Wax had spent years pretending that Ziost had never existed. Lest words of mourning attract the cold gray suits of Imperial Intelligence. But, though he’d only reacquainted himself with its existence a day prior, that he would see it, didn’t hit him until now. It floated out the window just out of peripheral sight.

Lord Morkhala didn’t say anything. She continued onward toward a small transport half-swallowed in shadow. The metal clap of her armored boots stirred up clouds of dust along the way. Wax followed in her wake. When he met the eyes of his fellow Imperials in white, he was reminded of the rifle on his back. He quickened his stride.

Wax barely noticed the Darth until they were upon him. He was a jagged black outline against the shuttle. It was only the slight gleam of metal that gave him away. Wax placed a foot down in a heavy iteration of a bow to indicate to the Lord that she was nearly upon him. She stopped precisely on Wax’s marking. Just a few steps away from the man in the raised helm. Blue lekku fell from the lifted horns at the back.

Wax bowed at the waist. His straight bridged nose parallel to the floor without shifting a gelled lock of his hair. “Darth Voorzijn, I am Captain Wax.” He resurfaced and planted one foot down to straighten into a parade rest. “We are the contacts sent by Darth Prognatus.”

                       “I try to avoid loving people I sleep with, so yes.”

                       “Have you been in love though?”

                       “I…think so, but I’m not the best person to ask.”

                       “Why not?”

                       “I’m a slave.”

                       “Do slaves not have emotions?”

                       “It works … differently for us.”

                       “It works differently for me. I can’t get close to people. Except for you and mum.”

                       “Well that’s not what I mean—”

                       “I’m close to you though.”

                       “You are, Quirt. … You are.”

Capt. K. Wax: Uktaizia?

Capt. K. Wax: Uktaizia, I haven’t heard from you since you called? What’s going on? You always listen to my voicemails even when you’re ignoring me.

Capt. K. Wax: Taizi, answer me. Having someone tell me your "brains will be painting the walls" isn’t a funny prank.

Capt. K. Wax: Just

Capt. K. Wax: Just bring me back the pants. We can talk. I’m not mad, Taizi.

Capt. K. Wax: Uktaizia. I’m going to assume the worst. If you can read this, I love you. To her captors, I represent the Imperial government and a Sith House. I can work something out to settle her debt; whatever course of action you have planned is unnecessary.

Uktaizia_W'ks: i lived captain earwax

Uktaizia_W'ks: u ever hear of personal space??

Past the Imperial barricade, the tombs were not restful. The rustles of other acolytes seeking their plunder carried through the cavernous halls from all points around, but there was a presence louder and yet all the more still to Khaûtimak W’ks. In the murk there was an omnipotence breathing the stagnant air and biding the eons. Unheedful of things older than him, he pressed deeper into the temple.

The ground sloped into a steep fall beneath his feet. Eventually the shriek of wind blasting around sharp desert outcrops faded into a dull moan and the silence of the grave pressed in. The going for a while was painful and slow, since the sizable Pureblood had to fall back onto his haunches to avoid careening carelessly into a K’lorslug or another acolyte in the gloom. He found himself gritting his teeth. The physical part of his body told him that his muscles were expending laughably little exertion, but frustrated desires whelled so deeply in his chest that it tensed the thin band of rationality keeping him in place.

Khaûtimak bared his lips back so they stuck against his teeth. Strange power rested here and it would be strange power that would be the undoing of many an acolyte already pushed to fervor as they jockeyed to become Sith. But fighting ones inhibitions was discordant with the natural energy of the Force, and Khaûtimak did not suspend the tugging in his chest lightly.

Then the ground finally evened. He couldn’t hear the wind anymore. The tomb of Tulak Hord glowed a soft yellow from ancient lights that hid more than they exposed. But the retinal glow of the Pureblood’s eyes provided him an advantage over his human rivals. He wandered for a while encountering nothing until nothing weighed very heavily on his mind. The rooms and halls were built so similarly to the untrained eye that nothing but K’lorslug slime differentiated features. The chambers’ various meanings and purposes once common knowledge to Khaûtimak’s ancestors was now lost to monotony on him. Occasionally the shouts of someone being killed in darkness rang out, which was an unnatural comfort over the repetitive shuffling and mutterings.

Around the corner, a scream bellowed. Unlike the echoes that might’ve occurred a few paces over or an antechamber away, this was sharp and desperate on the ears. Not residual but real. The taste of electricity laid over the back of Khaûtimak’s tongue in a thin coating just a second before purple threw the caverns into stark relief. He charged forward to the strobing violet flicker of the Force energy.

The woman who’d screamed lay in the thick of a pack. From their practical minded blades and clothes they were nothing more than tomb dogs scavenging after artifacts. From the mouth of another hallway intersecting the antechamber, Khaûtimak could see another acolyte drawn out by the yells swiftly unsheathing his warblade. She was blissfully unware. It was an unnecessarily vulnerable position she’d put herself in to antagonize a few treasure hunters, but it was a situation he could leave to resolve itself and pick off the winner. Yet yawning tombs were lonely places for victors of petty fights.

Khaûtimak sprang onto the other acolyte as he brought his hands down to strike the lightening user. There was a yelp of pain as Khaûtimak’s warblade broke his grip and wrists, sending the combatant and his sword skittering across the floor. He lashed out with the Force in desperation, pushing Khaûtimak with a crack into the wall. His back hit hard knocking the wind from his lungs, but his feet and head remained steady. Lightening flared dangerously close to his wine-dark skin and danced off of it in violent crackles as he bared his teeth and advanced forward. Khaûtimak could barely see from the disorientation and the strobe from slowly frying bodies, but he could feel. He thrust his hand down where he could feel the other curled on the ground. He could feel the breath knocked from his cracked rib cage. One handedly, he drove downward and felt a gushing spurt of what could’ve either the living Force or blood whell into the sucking chest wound. Khaûtimak brought his other hand to the back of the pommel and forced the blade forward until it sparked against stone. The life drained like an ooze from his body and into the sealed tomb with his last rattling breath. Lost forever.

It fell dark again. The stench of cooked meat filled like blood in his nostrils. Khaûtimak wrenched his blade from the dead acolyte’s sternum with the protesting jolts of electricity propulsing violently away from sinew and bone. Behind him, the woman, a Red Sith, was poised in a textbook perfect combative stance. One hand raised to Khaûtimak and his heaving sweaty bulk fearlessly. Almost fearlessly. There was a line of tension down her spine that curved away from him in a guard.

“Well met, sister,” he managed between controlled but massive gasps of stale tasting air and sheathed his blade. His tongue felt thick with electrical charge and exhaustion.

The tense line of her body relaxed into a mistrusting question mark.

“I’ve no quarrel with you. Those Imps got what they deserved.” Her voice, in contrast with his even timbre was high, sharp. It danced on points, like her lightening.

Khaûtimak wiped away locks of black hair from his face and back over the top of his scalp. “And what was that?” he asked. Dry amusement tinged his voice.

“A dishonorable death. May they shit themselves in the place they were trying to befoul.” She stepped out of her stance to reveal a long siding of wall. The glyphs carved into the heavy rock had been removed into a long gaping trench, like a wound in the temple. From it energy flowed raw and damaged. There were many such gaps like it in other rooms.

“And what of it? Sith don’t concern themselves with petty thieves.”

“Sith? Funny word for one to use who isn’t concerned with his own heritage being raped and plundered.”

Khaûtimak’s eyes narrowed. She was quickly beginning to pluck at his nerves. “Sith is a legacy; it’s more than any one race. Unfortunate as the rape and plunder may be.”

She scoffed. “If that’s what you think, then you know nothing.”

Khaûtimak felt the band of irritation begging him to cave in to slaking his fill of power. It expanded with the adrenaline fueled rise in temper at this infuriating ungrateful woman– It was that swell that ultimately brought him back to a steadying breath. His lungs were still shaky after the disturbed ozone and roasted flesh, but the rawness called attention to his surrounds rather than the provoked pool of emotions within. “Then you can tell me about it on our way into the tomb.”

The woman blinked. “I—I suppose a truce is a good idea. Then you feel it too? The need to give into your worst senses?”

“Yes, it’s tempting. And I think it’s the failure of many an acolyte. A smart Sith is a thinking Sith – not a beast. But at the same time, only Jedi are stupid enough to batter their true selves down. I believe an alliance is the best solution. You’re a good fighter and passionate; if nothing else, we might at least be able to have an interesting conversation.”

The woman’s sandy orange eyes sparkled with interest in the dark. She approached him and held out her hand. “You’re very flattering when you’re talking sense. My name is Jikksi. If you betray me, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted.” His four clawed fingers practically engulfed all of her small but corrosively smoothed hand. “But pleased to meet you Jikksi as long as you give me an honorable death. I’m Khaûtimak. Khaûtimak gestured her forward. “Well, we can’t waste the day talking.” She threaded her arm through his instead.

“What? Can’t a lady even get an escort from the big strapping man who saved her?” Jikksi fluttered her eyelashes coyly. Her tendrils swayed under smirking lips. A snide edge to the words told Khaûtimak she was feigning for her own amusement, but he returned the smile anyway.

Dear Elly,

I haven't written you in a long time. Because, well, you're dead. Sometimes when I'm really toshed I'll open up my datapad and draft up an EMail. Fumble through the spelling a bit. Drone on about how much life isn't worth it. You know, without you.

I remember after a week of you being gone, I started writing you on Korriban, while I was deep in the Kaas jungle. Your holos got me through basic training, and I know I got you through the trials. In a way, we kept each other alive.

But I'm not that far gone now. Not toshed I mean. Buzzed, maybe, but I don't know if it's in my nature to write my dead friend holos or the liquor talking through me instead. I don't think I'll ever know anything but that the two years witho-- no. No.

We're not going there tonight. I can relive tearful EMails, but me crying on a Holo. That's my line in the sand.

I'm writing because I get the inkling I can't relate to people anymore. Of course, I've always been somewhat serious; you know this, but the military called on my discipline as an example. I rose to that occasion, and I changed, as we all do for the Empire. It's not just a job for me. I don't clock in or clock out. I am always an officer, always the heir to my house, and when my father dies, I will always be its patriarch.

It was always different with you. I don't know why, but it wasn't until you ... Stopped talking to me that I felt the absence of what we used to have. We haven't been friends for years, have we?

I told Zi'aa that my social skills were shot after this week, but I'm not sure that's true. I'm not properly sure that I'm normal. I mean, I've never been quite typical; I've always been in control of my social presentations because they have to be perfect; I've no room for error. I've never been afforded that luxury because the Empire doesn't make room for idle thought. You say the wrong thing once to the wrong person, and your bindings come undone. I'm not, nor have I ever been in a position where I could afford that.

Zi'aa...you don't know her. I'm working as a liaison for the Regiment. The army scratched me from combat staff after my negligence got you and everyone else killed at that skirmish. Demoted me back to junior officer. Cheers. I'm on staff now because Marlowe is a merciful man. But I'm working with a Sith special ops group because, let's face it, Sith Purebloods in the military are a rare boon. I was just supposed to take a few names and interviews, and they'd probably file the information away in a cabinet somewhere and pat themselves on the back for not having gotten a messenger killed at the hands of the Sith Order, but the Empire's done that for so long without yield. We are suffering. I won't let it continue. The Order and the Empire should be one and-- oh I'm erm-- Rambling.

Zi'aa. Zi'aa is an Acolyte recently made an Apprentice. She's a former slave. I don't know to whom; it's not important. The girl's er-- sorry, woman. You used to hate that, I remember. The woman's made of glass. To be honest, I have a hard time of even thinking of her as a woman. She's childish still. Young. She might still be stripping off her teenage years in the face, but I don't think her personality a problem with her age; you and I had more maturity at fifteen. I don't think she's ever been properly enabled. You know what my father did to our slaves. I think it's very much the same. You break them. They learn dependency. Infantilism. Hate for their position but hate too for themselves. Hm.

She wants to be with me, you know. Poor gi-- Er-- Poor woman. She had it twisted out of her by another similarly childish apprentice, Beltafud. Only, he's childish in the way Taizi never grew out of her teenage years, but where Taizi was spoiled, he's being beat into submission. I love our people, but really, the Sith make you wonder at their own bloody arrogance sometimes.

Zi'aa, anyway. I saw an opportunity in the future should she survive, and I took it to write her a blank check. We might talk about being together after she finishes her training and I-- I don't hate that. I always had plans, since the military and turning down my betrothed, that I'd marry for love. The definition of such has changed with time, with maturity, but business and love go hand and hand. I can't see myself falling in love with anyone, but I don't see an absence of it around Zi'aa... when she’s closer to the age I am now. Father would eat her alive, and mother wouldn’t be mad. Just very. Very. Concerned. I hate that almost more than father’s disappointment.

...

At the end of the day, I don't know what any of those apprentices would understand about duty and the duality of self and persona, but they'll have to learn it quickly or they won't be saddled with so much responsibility that they'll ever have to; Zi'aa perhaps was the one who I thought could understand, but I suppose she wasn't that type of slave. ... Very few slaves are that type of slave. Very few slaves were you, but I suppose that's why you didn't die one.

Funny thing is. I never thought of you as remotely mortal, even... After what happened. After you stopped talking.

I should stop talking. This is venturing into Quirt's EMail territory because I have nothing else to vocalize except a lot of grief. And if it's nothing good, one shouldn't say it at all.

What do I say here to the man I fell out with before he died? Sincerely? Best wishes? Em-dash, em-dash. Love? Love.

Love,

Quirt

P.S. Remind me to tell you about this week sometime. It was a right proper fever dream. Though...so many things in my life have been for a while now.

Uktaizia W'ks: nah, I got a new thing.

Capt. K. Wax: New… thing? Is that what the esteemed coalition of ambiguous freelancers is calling work these days?

Uktaizia W'ks: no droidass. that’s normal person speak for kriffin someone. you no, sex? the thing uve never had?

Capt. K. Wax: Always the gentlewoman, Uktaizia. Sometimes I wonder if the reason father hasn’t cut you off yet is because the temper tantrum you’d pitch isn’t worth the trouble.

Uktaizia W'ks: your just mad cuz daddy still talks to me

Capt. K. Wax: *You’re

Capt. K. Wax: That correction is case sensitive. Or it should be. Not that you’d mind.

Uktaizia W'ks: im not cut out for this long term shit

Capt. K. Wax: Pardon?

Uktaizia W'ks: this girls really cute and i just wanted a stand but shes all long term kinda shit

Capt. K. W'ks: What about this conversation made you imagine I’d invite hearing all about the problems you create through sheer stupidity?

Uktaizia W'ks: mean i probably could just drop her and she wouldnt mind

Capt. K. Wax: You’re not reading my texts are you…?

Uktaizia W'ks: i am but i dont give a shit

Capt. K. Wax: Of course not. Why would you when you can derive cheap emotional satisfaction off me by bludgeoning the conversation the direction you wish it?

Capt. K. Wax: … Continue.

Uktaizia W'ks: thats it. itd just b nice to have someone around i guess. I kriffin hate men in cantinas and i hate myself more for needing them.

Capt. K. Wax: There’s a lot to unpack here.

Uktaizia W'ks: i hate it when u say passive aggressive sithspit like that

Capt. K. Wax: Well…

Uktaizia W'ks: well???

Capt. K. Wax: You don’t need them. Strictly speaking.

Uktaizia W'ks: yeah u no what I feel about ur laserbrained theory that ppl are too loose, droid

Capt. K. Wax: (1/2 of full message downloaded) Right. Well. Far be it from me to try and talk sense to you because I don’t quite have the time for it tonight, and we’ll get nowhere-

(2/2 of full message downloaded) I think settling down would be good for you. You can’t convince me you don’t feel a little out of sorts traveling like that. I’m in the military, and I find it head spinning.

Uktaizia W'ks: thnks Tansilm

Capt. K. Wax: You’re welcome.

Uktaizia W'ks: your pretty good at making me feel better for a droid

Capt. K. Wax: And with that I think we’ve met our sibling affection quota for the year.

Date Entered 06/01/3630 BBY

Receiving Unit Shadowfall Division

Site IoQ

Officer Name Kurt Wax

Post/Shift Occurred during the off-duty hours of 0250 – 0345, Imperial Fleet

Special Instructions My only special directive on this mission was to remain sensitive to Sith culture, otherwise, during this incident, I had no special instruction due to its spontaneous nature. The officer reading this report should remain mindful of these notes.

Document Processing Request Parts of this report are sensitive to the operations of a group graciously hosting me. I request limited permissions for those without proper clearance through redaction of denoted areas. Ex: [redacted text].

Incident Report At 0250, the receiving division’s scouting outpost at Yavin 4 was alerted by a monitoring system that there had been unusual energy readings. The manner of this system is unknown to the reporting officer.

In the absence of the Division’s CO (Darth Quietus), two apprentices - Kanuen and Zelkyn – and the reporting officer responded. I thought to familiarize myself with the Division by observing their field operations. Upon arrival, it was clear that the alert was not caused by Imperial mining operations but by a small company of five men (by what I was able to observe by eye). [They had opened an energy anomaly that I have been briefed on as ‘portals’ using the Force. I will explain in more detail later.] I let the two apprentices handle and conduct the situation, since I do not have the proper clearance or initiative to intercede. I briefed them of this but did offer counseling based on my years as a field officer.

We observed [the company was wearing black and gold]. Upon seeing our approach, they started to become hostile. Two wielded blasters, while the others seemed engaged in a task involving the portal. Kanuen informed them of the legal infringement of using Imperial land and indicated that the people with him were ready to defend it. Zelkyn moved into a defensive position in front of me with a ready grenade/canister type weapon.

I advised Zelkyn and Kanuen that these men might have useful information. Kanuen questioned their motives. As follows: [They have come to establish Darth Palladium’s rule over Imperial, Republic, and Hutt space in the name of another or else dimensionally congruent Empire.

They indicated an indoctrination program for citizen’s they presume will come under their rule.] At this, I advised both Kanuen and Zelkyn to feign interest, since their youth gives merit to mental malleability on their parts. I played the part of a conflicted loyalist, using this position to, at the right time, create a believable diversion. Given the situation, I felt I was obligated to offer support so that all three members of the group returned safely. That is the option I gave Kanuen, while he liaised with one of the men’s company that carried himself as leader. He chose to mount a full charge once the situation had deescalated and the other party was leaving. There seemed to be a lack of communication between him and Zelkyn or the plan had changed and this was not communicated to me. We killed our opponents. I discharged rounds in support.

Kanuen expressed disappointment he couldn’t capture the men alive, while Zelkyn was happy about his kills. I will withhold comment on my desires.

[We were able to establish that Darth Palladium intends to throne himself over the stretch of the territories mentioned in our dimension. And due to Kanuen and Zelkyn’s ruse, obtained a remote control. The claim is that this remote assists in interdimensional travel by manipulating connections or possible resonances between minerals and the Force.]

Post-Report Notes I suggested this device be given to the Seekers – who are under the head of Darth Vigilus. I intend to follow up on briefs about the device, once they are made available.

Given that the men did not return from their post, it’s very likely some sort of scouting company will be sent to check on them in the same area they lost contact. I would advise monitoring that point to either intercept or observe for such an occurrence.

For the Empire.

Capt. K. Wax: I'm going to be planetside for a few hours for some networking thing hosted by Darth Anihrul. I regret my unavoidable absence these two years and am more happy than you know to be in the shelter of Kaas. On solid ground. Would you request my presence at home?

✔️

Lord Ignolis: I wouldn't presume to request anything of you. If you return home, that's your prerogative.

Capt. K. Wax: I'm working closely with a Sith based division of the Department of War now. I can't expound on details, but I thought I could benefit from your insight.

✔️

Lord Ignolis: Just because I also work in the Department of War doesn't guarantee insight; no two Sith are the same. Besides. You've lived with me haven't you? Is that not insight enough?

Capt. K. Wax: I'll be home around midnight, if you're inclined to wait up.

"Get. Wax." The senior officer only allowed her face to slide into her hands once her makeshift page was gone. There was always something; wasn't there?

Wax was a fine specimen of officer. He'd been a lucky pull from Kaas City. A former combat officer of eight years demoted back down to junior ranks, he was tall, firm, and collected - if on the bad side of cynical for all the reprimands he had to bite his tongue on. She had never been demoted down ranks, but his plight of watching the station descend into a bucket of madness every night and not being able to right the very obvious oversights, was a sympathetic one. Every senior staff went though it, but she supposed Wax did doubly so as the teams newest addition. Nothing broke the spirit quite like Vaiken.

The Pureblood swept in a about ten minutes on the point of a second looking effortless. He'd been off-duty, sleeping no doubt from his last forty-eight hour shift, but managed to look as though the deepening circles underneath his primly arched brow ridges were no trouble.

"Ma'am" he said simply. The posh Kaas City slant to his accent pushed the word to sound like "Marm." The 'r' sound classical rhotic.

"Morning, Captain. I'll make this brief. Kellen's having trouble with some Sith and his pet whore near the pit stairs. The one Moff Klovin is fond of."

"What. Specifically?" Wax asked. His head tipped to the side inquisitorially.

"Kellen pulled up the Lord's companion for a dress code violation--" Wax's mouth corners tightened. "I know," she stated simply. "But what's done is done, and now our Lord isn't happy about it. Kellen is getting eaten alive out there. You're to smooth things out, but if it goes sideways, Imperial maintenance is lovely for getting bloodstains out of the carpet. Other than cleanup, I'd rather you not interfere, lest we have to escalate this to the courts and have a slew of bodies behind us. You know how that goes."

"Of course, ma'am."

“Oh and Wax?”

The officer turning to leave paused and glanced back.

“I want to speak to you about your deployment a moment.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“You have your travel to Yavin 4 arranged through transportation here?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Remember, HCR expects you there at least two hours early by protocol and for the checklist of things to pack to be taken. You will be there a while, but you are also representing your sending unit as well as the receiving.”

Wax nodded.

“That’s all. HCR sends their regards and wnats me to tell you you are missed on Kaas.”

“Appreciated Ma’am.”

__

“I understand that you find the shape of your friend’s--” Wax glanced down the naked man’s body to the place the Sith Lord was gesturing. “body pleasing, but your Chiss being naked on Vaiken has caused some complaints, you must understand.”

“This whore--” the Sith hissed behind his mask as he pointed to the unadorned, very sharply dressed woman captain just behind the broad cover of Kurt’s right shoulder. “Insinuated that he was some sort of slattern and impugned my honor.” Electricity crackled over the Sith

“We here at Vaiken Spacedock would never imply something of the sort. We pride the direction the Empire has taken by allowing sex workers and progressive dressers alike a place to express themselves within permit guided reason. All my colleague meant to imply was that the circular walk and bar might be a safety hazard to your friends-- exposed parts.” Wax tacked on a smile and nudged Kellen behind him - who adopted the same borderline uncomfortable expression full of teeth and prayers.

The Sith untensed. Wax couldn’t see what the Chiss was doing, and he really didn’t want to. “I expect a formal apology and my tab--”

Kurt took out his datapad, nodded with raised eyebrows, and began to take notes to give to the next duty officer on shift after Kellen-- which he supposed would be himself now that he’d been called out of hibernation.

“Are you getting all that down?”

“Oh yes, Lord. Every word,” said Wax as he jotted down the phrase ‘highly volatile do not engage but do keep a close watch on.’ “The Empire thanks you for all you do for her and for your cooperation in this matter.”

After the Sith and his friend turned on heel and left, Kellen and Wax leaned on the railing. Their pressed uniforms formed sharp lines where they leaned over.

“Wax.”

“Mm?” Wax pulled his eyes away from the empty bar.

“Thanks. I know you got off shift a couple hours ago and--”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut through her briskly, “Go see the CO, bear through the yelling, and take the rest of your shift off if they don’t send you to maintenance. I can cover--” Wax glanced at his watch “the rest of today if you get back on duty tomorrow.”

Kellen stuttered. “No, I-- I mean. That’s sweet of you, but I wanted to ask you something else if that’s alright?”

“More than.” Although they were the same rank the human looked like he was going to eat her all of the sudden. “What’s on your mind?”

“I know I’m not exactly of perfect heritage and that this is bold to ask a Pureblood man, but-- when we’re both off-shift, I thought we might get a cup of caff sometime and you could tell me about what fighting in the field was like. If you want to, of course.”

“Ah- well,” Kurt gave her his officer’s smile meant to comfort people without a lick of hope into giving their all. “I appreciate the offer, but I take relationships seriously given that I have a house name to also uphold, and right now my career comes first. And am also being deployed tomorrow.”

“Of course, it was stupid of me to ask--”

“I don’t mind.” Wax cut her off again. “That said, I should go. Tendrils crossed nobody dies tonight.”

Kellen laughed behind his back. “Not even the people here are stupid enough to do that. You’d have to try and kill a Moff or something.”