Pencils & Parsecs

So... @dukedevil95 made a thing...

This is the cover to the project I’ve slowly been working on for the past couple of weeks. Hopefully, I’ll be uploading some more pages soon.

This is one of the first “big” transformation/compositions I ever made with photoshop, I recently tweaked it a little bit, I’ve learned a lot since I made it, but I still like it. Kym would make a really kick ass Mirialan in any live action. It was souch a treat to watch her get more and more comfortable with the whole “live RPG” thing and turn Aio into a great and compelling character.

I loved this photo by Cameron, it just screamed “Movie Poster” to me, it’s also a reminder and a lesson for me, fan edits of images are cool, but always ask the original creators / models for their permission. 

On a side note, I made a different edit where I “dirtied” the picture, but in the end went with Cam’s suggestion, on my version the red didn’t pop as much, this one looks better.

Throw back to when we all found out how Bert imagined Randall looked like. A complete shock to every one.

I’m not much of an artist, but I like photoshop, I’ve gotten better since I did this one, but I still like it. 

“The captain and the operative”

As I was putting together the plans for a new fan art project, I realized that none of the models I had for the Yojimbo were very good for my plan.  So, I decided to redesign the ship, keeping in mind some of the elements of a HWK-290 but adjusting it for what I need for this project.  It definitely looks different but trying to keep the spirit of the original design.

The redesigned Yojimbo is still not very spacious but I’ve incorporated elements to allow for small personal quarters and actual cargo space.  I keep thinking of the Serenity as an overall idea with less room.

Whether you’re on a mission for personal profit or a mission for the Rebellion, it’s always smart to have back-up… Big, tall, and hairy back-up…

Just a couple of rebellious smugglers…

Star-charting the same cycles of woe,

and in a galaxy well-worn by war,

who still dreams of surrender?

Wish fulfillment is left behind

in the great divide.

Mortality is always nipping at

freckle and imperfection

constellations.

The stitches unfurl,

old enough to be divine.

And nothing, nothing left,

wish fulfillment driven blind

by an abandoned family line.

Finality, punch-drunk,

grows creative from the sheer number

of fallen within the same clan.

Imagine an abstract begging,

the last to still dream of another’s surrender.

Then the well-worn galaxy is greeted,

euphorically, by a surprise.

Broken constellation.

Someone casting out.

A whisk-away, unsheathed in red,

painting paths by smirk.

The first awe whispers the first breath

of a resurrection, reinvention,

the first of a family to live,

to truly live.

A creation myth all her own,

as thrillingly hushed

as when the first ether fell to the sea.

An adventure all her own,

catching an abstract as starstruck

as when starlight first dared to look back.

And all this

for no one else

but herself.

———

Meetings 

They were always there. Without fail, like clockwork. It was humorous at first but after a while, it got a bit frustrating. At what point do you realize that signing up isn’t a simple courtesy but actually needed? Especially on a ship this size. There needs to be order, schedules must be kept, people must be met. We signed up for that room damn it, and here they come again and just sit in it! Usually arguing amongst themselves.

If I’m being completely honest though, I never really cared. I’m all bark, no bite and they always seemed to have way more going on than we ever did. Usually there were  four of them present. Exactly which four would alternate back and forth, but the blonde, the Mirialan, and the 9 foot tall cat creature where always somewhere, if not in the room. Sometimes the Nautolan would be there brooding in the background. Sometimes the smug red-head would be lounging across the chairs appearing oblivious but taking it all in. I’d be lying if I said we didn’t occasionally listen in on their meetings. We couldn’t help it, they were just so damn entertaining! (Do you have any idea how long we waited for someone to punch Randall? That moment… we talked about it for MONTHS!) Even with all the yelling, arguing, huffing and myriad of broken belongings, they always got it together in the end and were animated and energetic when we eventually would kick them out of the meeting room. Until this last time.

 There were still four present but this last time, there was no yelling or arguing. There was no brooding or lounging or oblivious looks around the room. No blames were cast or attacks made. There was only silence. Our usual meeting room was full of dejection, defeat, and despair. It all felt wrong; off. We felt sympathy for them; for their losses. Myself more than the others I think because this time, I was in the room.

During the battle with the Revenant, I was off ship and planet side. I missed a good portion of the fight, much to my relief later, but as a result, it meant there weren’t many of us left to do the small things like take notes. So I was there as a notary of sorts. Taking minutes and details in a dusty, crumbling room on our giant half-destroyed ship for a meeting that was never supposed to take place. I got to hear it all. The whole story from the Reapers about what happened after the Mandalorian temple, and aboard the Revenant ship. I got to hear what little truths and facts were revealed; friends found, friends lost, sides taken, prophesies fulfilled. New names popped into the fray (ones I would need to remember later) and old ones that were believed long-lost reared their ugly heads. Things got twisted; messed up and literally anything you didn’t want to happen on their mission, happened. They were fucked from day 1. It was as if some cruel force of fate rolled the dice and they kept losing and I couldn’t help but wonder if Randall could have prevented it all. He had control; or so he claimed, and he told them so little. And now here they were, the fabled Reapers of the Rebellion, alone and broken with nothing to show for their historical missions but legends and lost artifacts. 

They stayed for a while, talked about what went wrong, conveyed the finer bits of betrayal and old magic that met them in that temples. They explained how what went wrong, went wrong. They caught up with each other in what would happen next and where they would go from here and then they left. Each going their separate ways, the famous Baron Majestic and the Mirialan together down one hallway towards one hanger bay. The blonde Mandalorian, Captain Fey, and the Nautolan going the opposite towards the other hangar bay. I was about to follow out the door when Randall called me back.

“ Lt Ann, correct?” 

“ Yes sir.”

“We need to talk.”

“Yes sir.” Randall glanced at me with sad and tired eyes. Ones he hid behind ridiculous glasses throughout the entire meeting with the Reapers. He even hid it in his voice, making that same stoic and authoritative countenance as his previous meetings. This was new. Probably not good. 

“I need you to do something. If I remember correctly you specialized in reconnaissance  back at the Academy correct? Before you deflected to the Rebellion?”

“Yes sir,” I responded nervously. He knew about that? I thought I was just here, in the background. As far as I ca recall, I never told anyone what I did before joining. 

“Good. I have a mission for you. You heard them mention those missing artifacts. I need you to get them back. A small team, one that can blend in. I want this to be your team so fill it with those you need. Use the resources Captain Fey and the others have already put in place along with what you learned on your most recent recon mission.” 

Ah. Well that makes more sense now. If he knew about my trip to Mandalore, it would explain how he knew about my past expertise. That last mission was mostly secretive though, just a quick trip to gather intel on some curious history I’d been hearing about. I wondered if he knew what all I came back with though as I returned with much more than just knowledge. Still, this was an interesting change of events and probably one I should have seen coming.

“I can do that sir. Is there a time you’d like me to aim for departure?”

“Tomorrow at the latest. The Revenant already has a head start on us, and I plan to close that gap.”

I nodded. Pretty straightforward and I knew a few guys who would be up for the job. I wish certain events hadn’t happened; we lost a lot of good men and women in some of those explosions. Lothal wasn’t too far though and the Ghost’s crew was always looking for work.

“Sure thing sir. I’ll get right on it.”

As I headed for the door, Randall called out one last time. “Lt. Ann, one last thing. Your name. Why do you go by your first name and not your family name?”

I laughed. It wasn’t a common question, but I knew it was talked about. “Oh. That. Come to find out, I have a pretty common surname and several of us attended the Academy at the same time. It was the only way to really differentiate me from the others.”

“Your first name then, Ann. That’s usually short for something right?” 

“Yes, technically Ann is just a nickname. My full name is Annick but Annick NickMcNickerson is really a mouthful.”

The thing about markets

and thieves without malice…

The thing about layers of clothing,

tapestries and thieves with taste…

They have a way of pointing to themselves.

A thief of the right heart

sneaking peeks mid-chase.

A whirlwind of a year

since Lii’rah discovered

a pickpocket turned daughter.

The thief of any heart

is jetting off a cliff.

Even with a friend on board,

doubts and insecurities.

Did she do enough

to prepare a pickpocket daughter

through a whirlwind year?

Kylara’s looks,

the eyes flying open

before understanding.

The slow creep into a smile.

One of those looks

where Kylara’s face

Rayleigh scatters into truth itself.

Trusted godmother,

but she rarely catches the fights.

Remembering fabric…

Labyrinth of layers,

passer-by collisions

and tails.

Aer’a horizontal

before finding the ground,

but she’s always been scrappy

fists and onto to her feet.

Corrin, Corvica and Val approved,

a holo-net family.

But here there’s been three.

If Kylara can believe,

and Aer’a always finds a way to be brave,

why can’t Lii’rah believe in herself?

After a whirlwind year,

with a pickpocket daughter,

she spots a spark of faith.

Upward and upward,

ascendency,

a galaxy wholly unprepared

for her pickpocket daughter.

Lii’rah knows

being a mother means

watching a twinkle fly off,

again and again.

But after a whirlwind year,

who could blame her

for sneaking peeks mid-chase?

The thing about mothers

and thieves without malice…

They sometimes share their twinkles

with a witness.

———

Perched above,

offered out,

ship platform out of the cliffside.

And while a first flight

should be a fairytale,

I feel the awe and wonder

ushered out,

offered out,

as penance in the search for myself.

And next to me, Kylara as witness.

Hiding the fear

until the shiver strike,

as her hand

cusps my shoulder.

The whole world has opened up

to dashes there and back.

All the people,

all remembering.

How can I maintain

a record without weakness,

when I can’t even hide

fear from my hero?

“What course with all your newfound freedom?”

I’ve no reply,

but I want to say,

‘where you’ve been.’

But I’d be pale replacement

for the captain.

A frightened young woman

against someone

fearless, with endless wisdom,

a life, experience.

And in embarrassment,

I let it slip, mistakenly offered out,

“where you’ve never been.”

No reply,

but she lifts my hand,

together pointing skyward.

We move about,

drawing a constellation

that claims the entire sky.

Says,

“There. And there. And there.”

And for the first time,

I don’t sneak peeks of approval.

Says,

“There. And there. And there.”

And my hand moves about

without realizing

her hand has returned to her lap.

“And there. And there. And that’s freedom.”

One hand pointing.

One hand to the controls.

Between the eyes of two women,

a kind of understanding.

And there, Kylara grinning,

reclaiming the penance.

And this is the start of myself.

Safe to be afraid

With all this newfound freedom.

And not the first to be afraid,

just the next to be believed by your hero.

Years on,

I’ll be the next to reclaim someone’s penance.

Even now,

Kylara knows she’s witness.

———