ARC Null 10

Maybe it's because he's too weak, or because he's just too stressed, but Obi-Wan just can't keep a lid on his anger as he's being punched and berated. Between the council, Anakin, and his men, he is about ready to scream with frustration, or perhaps cry.

Either way, when the punch lands, he feels the satisfaction wave through not only him, but Jaing as well. It's intoxicating. Obi-Wan's blood is boiling as Jaing squares up.

He's not thinking clearly and playing right into Jaing's hands.

"Would you rather I leave the Jedi order? Let your brothers fall into the hands of someone who doesn't care? Someone who has no idea what it's like to be a child, terrified in the middle of war, somewhere you have no place to be. And then what?"

The General takes a step into Jaing's space and is about to throw another punch as his eyes narrow dangerously.

"Just because I found Kamino, does that mean I'm the villain? I condemned you and your brothers to their deaths? Fine then! Blame me, everyone else does. Why not?" The words punch out of him in a near shout. The thoughts that he keeps to himself at night - the doubts he has about it all- pour out of him as the frustration of the war spills over in his anger and grief.

Blood, sweat, and now tears cloud his vision

And he's so distracted with the blinded strike that he throws out, just wanting to feel something connect with his fist. But it's exactly what Jaing wants, and the next thing he knows, his knee is being kicked. Off-balance, his hand flies out to grab Jaing's collar and pull him down with him.

And Jaing thinks, in a cutting moment of clarity-

Mandokarla as fuck. Carrying his own guilt.

Then the clarity is gone, as Kenobi's hand grabs at Jaing's collar, pulling them down.

They land on the floor in a tangle of bodies, Jaings legs wrapped between Kenobi's. He has enough presence to catch his fall, landing on his palms, stopping his weight from squishing the general.

Jaing snarls- animalistic rage that leaks out between his teeth.

"I don't care who found Kamino. I care-" He pinches his eyes shut, as if that will block out the memories. "The senate brags about sending ad to die. And you-"

Anger makes it hard to have the words flow easily.

He grabs Kenobi's hair, pulling his head back. Exposing his throat. Forcing him to meet Jaing's eyes.

Bron'ig was docked at Concord Dawn. He didn't have a place to stay and was simply living out of his ship, but no one bothered him. To anyone here, he was simply another Mandalorian. The Death Watch commando armor was tucked away in the armory of the YT Cruiser he had procured from a gambler who was trafficking and was no longer in need of it, or breath, and instead he donned his own personal armor.

The grey, black, and gold colors shone brightly, showing he had taken care of it, keeping it well-painted and polished with the Kenobi clan crest on the left pauldron. Considering he was the only surviving member, only those well-versed in Mandalorian history or Stújon would most likely recognize it to be Kenobi.

The fallen Jedi was shoving the last bit of dinner in his mouth when he felt an intriguing pulse in the Force. It was close. He straightened his spine and sank into the thread.

It felt chaotic, violent, unhinged, and with the promise of suffering. It hummed like a sweet song; his lips twitched.

Adorning his helmet, Bron'ig clips his lightsaber to the small of his back, straps the two blaster pistols to his side, and exits the ramp, closing the door behind him.

The whisperings of chaos and pain grow louder the closer he gets, like the dark side is guiding him with a game of hot and cold. Anticipation grows under his chest. Feet take him up the ramp of another ship, past bodies, blood everywhere, and it's beautiful; the grief that sits in the air as the crew watched their members get slain tastes good.

Imagine his surprise when he sees the very clone he believed he choked to death at the center of the slaughter. The shadows in the room grow darker as the implications behind the information take hold.

The Republic knows he's alive.

The thought explodes from his chest. Just one more thing he has to worry about. But if they are looking for him, then this clone has no business here. Unless it's a tactic to draw him out.

( DON'T YOU FEEL HIS ENJOYMENT? )

There's no lie in the whispers at the base of his skull. Reassurance swirls around him. This clone may be dangerous and unhinged, but the dark side loves the chaos he causes.

The armour and the colours are not unusual in these times. He doesn't immediately recognize the clan symbol, though Mereel's always been a better study of those, and makes a note of it's shape to consider later when he gets the chance.

He has his hand on his blaster, drawing it out, the slow draw of a man who makes no secret of both his preparation for a fight and that he's not going to be the one to start it.

The Captain- chained to the desk, bloody, hair damp with blood- whimpers. "P-please. Help me." He's acting so much worse than he really should be, for the amount of time that Jaing's been working him. Really, he shouldn't be begging at all. Jaing's only been using a knife, he hasn't even broken a finger. Yet.

Jaing ignores him, as he suspects the newcomer will as well.

"I do a lot of things I'm not supposed to." Grey armour, edged with blue accents, flecked with blood. He doesn't smile at the newcomer, though his eyes dance, visible since he'd left his helmet on the table. This day is getting more and more full of drama. "Do you have a problem with my activities right now, ser....?"

Send 🌑 for my muse to comfort your muse after a nightmare! || @nulluse

A strange sound pulls Bron'ig from his sleep, eyes flashing open in an instant and on alert. The number of immediate threats and possible exits is in his mind before he truly even remembers where he is.

Oh yeah.

The ginger's head snaps to the side, looking at the clone next to him on the bed. He will have time to unpack this later; for now, he needs to address the nightmare. Bron'ig hesitates, unsure if physical touch will be better, a mind suggestion, or just speaking aloud.

Well, he's a soldier, right?

"Ke hoyi." Bron'ig barks out the command, hoping that making some soldier instinct flare will wake Jaing up, while the Mando'a will subconsciously make him at ease.

Another voice, adding to the screams in his mind. Whispers, discussions, another voice that barely makes a difference in the scene around him. An order- good soldiers follow orders- mando'a means buir, means he's got to listen, if he ignores buir he's defective- good soldier, useful soldier-

He wakes.

The nightmare tension in his body slides into the tension of where am I? Who was that? He doesn't move, though by how closely he can feel the other person- they'll probably know.

But it'll give him another minute. To reorientate, to shake off the haunting voices of-

Clones in awe at the beauty of the wider galaxy but lacking the vocabulary to describe it. “It’s… it’s beautiful. It’s like… beautiful. Just so beautiful. It’s pretty. Um. It’s beautiful.”

Clones trying on civilian clothes and hating it because they’re so used to the armour being heavy and stiff. Soft stuff almost makes them feel naked, like they’re in their blacks.

Clones who chose to grow out their hair but have no idea how to look after it so it’s a complete frizzy mess that HAS to be tied back lest it go everywhere.

Clones with intensely scathing internal dialogues who are always super polite and compliant because mentally disintegrating their authority figures was the only way they could stave off the urge to go completely off the rails on Kamino.

Clones who have never figured out how to verbalise feelings (worsened by working with Jedi who can just… FEEL their feelings) making up their own terminologies. “I feel like… wet.” “What?” “On the inside.” “ew.” “No! Ok listen, not like that.”

Clones with lingering sun damage from the first time they took their helmets off on a desert world (nobody told them about sunscreen).

Clones having to learn what familial terms mean because what the kriff is an “aunt”?

Newly deployed clones being really awkward in any conversation that isn’t related to war because they’ve never spoken casually with anyone that doesn’t share their exact life experience.

An extension to the previous: clones mirroring the energy of whoever they’re talking to, to an unnerving extent, because they’re trying to learn how to socialise.

Clones in phase 1 armour with rough skin in the spots where it rubs really bad (This is canon btw. It’s not enough they’re at war, the Kaminoans also apparently can’t be arsed to tailor their gear)

Clones after the war being identifiable by the way they walk, because they still move like they have the armour on.

"I believe that there are many opportunities for you and your brothers. If I had the power to make it so within the Republic I would have you all recognized as citizens and given all the due process and honors you deserve." He frowned, the frustration no doubt poured off of him. He was a member of the council, but even their hands were tied with the red tape of the Senate.

He sighed and let the frustration go. It would only make the work ahead more frustrating. A dark spiral

"as it is, I apologize that you feel there is nothing beyond the war for you, Jaing." He said as he popped the candy into the small slot of his mask. "Perhaps that will change in the near future." It would change. Somehow.

Saved. Raised. Adopted.

And what is there but war for a Mandalorian? A true Mandalorian- armour, weapons, a cause to fight for.

Jaing chews his chocolate before responding. "Nice of you to think of use that way. My vode- we're mandokarla. That's gonna make it hard for us to do anything.... civilan like after the war."

"What will you do after the war?"

a series of randomly assorted headcanon questions for character development. feel free to adjust or expand on any questions when sending and specify muse if you're sending to a multi.

The insults Jaing slings at him aren't new. Force, he was bullied mercilessly as a youngling when he first got to the Coruscant temple. 'Oafy-Wan' with his awkward too long limbs for his body, his silly accent that no one can understand, his anger. In fact, Obi-Wan doesn't necessarily even disagree with Jaing.

Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

As he attempts to pull the Force in to protect him from the pain that is to come, another punch catches his cheek, head snapping to the side. He's silent. Obi-Wan has learned to take a beating in silence. Has learned since he was 12 years old.

Blood trickles into his mouth, and he has to fight the instinct to spit it out. Hands are grabbing his robes, and he grips them instinctively as he's hauled against the bulkhead, his head slamming back as he tries to blink back into focus.

He may be a Jedi, but he is still just a man when not utilizing the Force, and Jaing was a clone. And if he's letting it hurt because he thinks he deserves it, then perhaps Jaing is right, and he is a weak coward.

His breath catches in his throat at the insult, eyes blowing wide with hurt, understanding the gravity of Jaing's words. Obi-Wan can't help it as the anger gathers in his heart, manifesting in narrowed eyes. "Usen'ye," he growls before sliding down and ducking away from the hold. His fist slams into Jaing's side, right in his kidney.

He punches back, and it’s good. Hits his side with force, makes him stumble, has him blowing out air through his nose. Jaing takes a step to the side with it, exhaling. When he raises his face to Kenobi again-

he’s smiling. The bit of Kenobi’s blood that had splattered from the blood nose gives his face a derranged look, even before his lips curl up, his teeth widen, his smile comes through. Bright teeth, sparkling eyes.

Jaing's enjoying this.

He squares up, fists in front of his chest like a champion boxer in a holonovel. Fists high, like he's expecting Kenobi to swing for his face in return. It's a bad position, given how they're still so close to each other. A taunt, challenging Kenobi to take advantage of it.

Draw him into the fight, tease him with openings.

Keep him close.

"You send children to die." Too bright smile, beginning to bounce on his feet like a child on life day. There's a smooth satisfaction in Jaing's chest. He's broken that perfect Jedi facade, and now the blood anger is coming up. Anger on Kenobi's face, to match Jaing's. "You let the Senate buy us and kill us like we're nothing."

He swipes with his left hand- sloppy.

Considering the number of clones there, Tarre does not know if he should take it as compliment, that there are any at all with his name, if it really is in his honor and not some other Mandalorian that came after... or feel somewhat pained it's just three. Then again, seeing the state of his Clan...

"We should all invest more in buy'ce padding." He adds, tone serious enough to be clearly not so, before his offer is accepted, and Tarre's smile returns, and widens.

"Come, then. I know of a place, and it's not far."

And he will lead the way: wait for the other to catch up, yes, but he knows the markings of a place that will cater to privacy, which is what in his time would have been called catering to Mandalorians and similar cultures. Enough so that there can be a private booth, and not many questions asked, and Tarre can take off his buy'ce and despair at the state of his own hair.

He does not blame the other for being a bit tense, in truth: Tarre himself never ceases to listen to the Force for warnings.

"Where I come from, places that used to cater to Mandalorian sensibilities tend to have a mark on the signs advertising them, but apparently here it's not so common." He tells Jaing.

Now, in the Empire? It's more dangerous. The bucket stays on more. The privacy shields are more appreciated, even as they also become rarer.

"Sounds nice." Sometimes, all they get away with is drinking beer out of straws and shoving bread up half-lifted helmets. It's hard if a couple of the vode are together.

Yet another reason most of his brothers stay on Mandalore.

"Could use markings for places that don't want us too. Save the bartenders yelling about no helmets when I walk in."

dialogue.

i trusted you. my mistake.

i'll never forgive you.

i'll spend the rest of my life making you miserable.

we'll never be the same again.

you crossed a line.

you and me? we're done.

beg. for your life. for forgiveness. just beg.

are you going to beg?

i almost had you.

you were lucky last time. not this time.

they're dead ... because of you.

you took everything from me! what more do you want?

i'm not mad that you lied to me. i'm mad that i can't trust you ever again.

i will sacrifice us both just to make a point.

making each other miserable is our thing. don't try to change that.

this is my revenge.

something about you makes me want to be violent.

how could you?

why did you come back for me?

i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.

i won't make that mistake again.

you betrayed me. i suffered.

how fucking dare you!

how the fuck could you do this to me? to us?

our story ends with your end.

i won't show you mercy.

why are you helping me? i don't like you!

just this once.

you won't always be able to cheat death.

concepts.

on sight. sender and receiver have been on opposing sides for years. anytime one of them sees the other, it's bound to turn into an altercation.

knife wound. sender stabs receiver with a small blade.

pointed end. sender holds a blade to receiver's throat.

enemy of my enemy. sender or receiver saves the other from an oncoming attack from a third party, forcing them to temporarily be allies.

fist to kiss. sender kisses receiver without warning after a moment of high tension and close proximity shared between the pair.

enemies to lovers. suddenly sender's and receiver's banter and fighting turns into something more than hateful encounters.

headlock. sender manages to pull receiver into a headlock and continue a physical altercation.

betrayal. receiver confronts sender over feeling betrayed by them.

He nodded. "I am doing my best to do right by them." He admitted. "I understand from Master Ti that training was...not to a standard we would consider humane, let alone conductive of a true learning facility, but I can't do anything about the past." He unwrapped a small solid candy, looking almost like a lemon drop.

He'll keep it from a jetiise easily.

"I don't know if there's much besides war for me. But for my brothers-" He's thinking of the land near Keldabe that they've been fixing up. The scientists he's been tracking down while technically AWOL. The credits piling up interest.