#**qy

Despite Qyrhu keeping his pace deliberately slow, Theron seems to struggle while walking next to him, gait careful, pain hiding in the rigid lines of his face. A slight sheen of perspiration starts to cover it, and his puffy eyebags look redder than usual. He looks awful and Qyrhu can’t believe Theron suggested going for a walk outside. No, the only place Qyrhu will be speaking another word to him is at his bed in the med wing. He has told him as such, and Theron has had to relent.

Qyrhu could have dropped by for a visit sooner, so Theron wouldn’t have felt the need to abscond from the med bay and ambush him in the halls, nearly making Qyrhu’s heart seize up. The bastard. But Qyrhu admits that he has been delaying meeting Theron again, even after he had recovered enough to receive visits. The conversation that will need to follow weighs heavily in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t trust himself not to botch it, draw too much blood. Not after all the previous ones with him, long ago now, but not long enough.

Let’s get this over with.

Theron sighs when they enter the med bay, and Qyrhu spends a few minutes idling in front of his room, picking at his gloves, while Theron receives a dressing-down from the annoyed nurse on duty. The satisfaction of it makes Qyrhu break into smile.

He enters the room when he finds it has lasted long enough. The nurse really hasn’t done anything other than scan him and remind him sharply that his state is still fragile. Theron bears it with an air of someone used to medical personnel being angry at him. No remorse.

“Thank you, sir. He will adhere to your professional recommendations in the future,” Qyrhu says, though only for the nurse’s sake. It is not likely to ever happen.

“Now, leave us.”

The nurse exits the room with delightfully insubordinate commentary under his breath. Something sounding suspiciously like ‘see if I care next time’ and ‘he’s as bad as Shan’.

He can’t dispute that.

Qyrhu lets the door slide close and leans against the wall, so as to face Theron, who, for the lack of other seating options, has perched himself at the far end of his bed. He seems like he really didn’t want to touch that bed again for a while, even though he looks less sickly now, sitting down.

Qyrhu takes note of his rumpled downtime pants and oversized shirt that were hiding under his cloak, now discarded. His mop of dark hair messy and unstyled, his sidecut less neat than when he had first seen him up close on Nathema. Theron takes him in in the same way. There hasn’t been much time to truly look at each other until now. Not in the last nine months. Something inside him aches for this kind of silence between them, Theron’s eyes on him, and his on Theron’s, no words, just their familiarity, their appreciation, their sanctum of the other’s presence. Both of them seem to briefly conjure it among the strangeness of his long absence, among this nervous, uncertain quiet before a storm of their own making.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Qyrhu says into this silence.

Theron looks up, into his eyes. Qyrhu holds his gaze, willing to show him he means this, his own eyes softening around the edges for a moment. Theron needs to know this, whatever follows, he’s glad he’s here, and alive. He doesn’t want to think on how he would feel if Theron hadn’t survived his injuries. He can’t… It is too horrific. He clamps this imagined despair down again. There is no need for it, Theron is in front of him, calmer now, his skin tone healthier again as he has had time to recover from his walk.

“I… yeah. I’m glad, too. That you’re safe.”

Theron looks like he has words bubbling in his mouth that he has wanted to say for forever. Qyrhu lets him speak them out.

“Look... I know I put you through hell. I was reckless and stupid, and it almost cost us everything. Leaving you there on Umbara... Saying these things to you… it destroyed me.”

Qyrhu keeps his face impassive. He’s surprised how hard it is to take his words for the apology it is. He had been waiting for an apology. Theron truly owes him one. But he just hates it now, hearing him do it. He hates his contrite look, how his eyes jump around before returning back to him. Theron looks like a trapped animal, and that’s quite literally what he just did to him. Maybe he should have had this conversation outside, as Theron had suggested. Theron leans his arms on his knees and looks up to him, looking everything like an abject supplicant. It makes him want to taste bile.

Qyrhu should at least have sat down, too, so to not make that comparison starker, but he hasn’t wanted to sit next to him. He slowly breathes out his discomfort through his nose. Since when can’t you take one sincere apology, from the person who wronged you? Not in every way, but it had been insane, what he did. Telling no one. Leaving everyone blind in the wake of this. Leaving him with this much guilt.

Theron has straightened up now, trying to decipher his silence. His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress unconsciously.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he continues tentatively, “I don’t know if you… where we stand. If we have another chance –”

Qyrhu halts him with a raised palm. He has heard enough, and he doesn’t want him to say things he will later regret. Even without any Force behind it, Theron falls silent immediately, as if he has squeezed shut his windpipe. Qyrhu cringes inwardly, hurt to see that display of anxiousness before it is hidden behind a neutral expression again. It’s Qyrhu’s own fault, for always being so imperious, so exacting. For making everyone be wary of his reactions. It affirms what he has to say.

“My turn.”

Theron’s expression slips again, into confusion now.

“The way you have gone about this whole solo operation is terrible, and we’ll need to pick that apart more when you’re on active duty again.”

Well, the others will. I’m sure Lana has already started.

Theron nods feebly, valiantly covering his unease about that prospect. “Alright.”

“And I fault you for the way you broke up with me. It was cruel.”

“I know.” Theron’s expression is pained now. “I know, Qy. I’ll never forgive myself for that–”

“But I don’t fault you for ending our relationship in the first place.”

“…What?” The word escapes in a startled breath.

“You should have done it long before that.”

There had been many reasons to do it. For the many times he had rebuked his comfort, his help. For all the venom he had lugged at him for trying. For Qyrhu’s weakness at falling apart in the first place, not strong enough to keep himself together, to weather the hardships he should have been able to weather. He had been waiting for Theron to distance himself the whole time, even though it was Qyrhu who should have been the one to end it, assume responsibility, when Theron couldn’t do it, but he had been blindly clinging to the idea to try again, try every day to be better, to make it up to all of them. In vain.

“Qyrhu,” Theron shifts abruptly, to stand. Qyrhu holds out his hand as quickly to stop him in his tracks. He doesn’t want him to come closer right now. Theron keeps himself seated, tense and poised to jump. He looks distressed.

It had been a brutal wake up call. He had realized that if he kept this up, he would end up hurting everyone around him, until they all turned away from him, or worked themselves to death because of him. He can’t be thankful to Theron exactly, but in this last act, he had finally done what Qyrhu had expected him to, and made him realize how awful that was.

“I can’t let you go on flagellating yourself without bringing this up,” he says, too lightly for the taste of blood still in his mouth.

Qyrhu looks down at Theron’s unhappy face and breathes out. He didn’t think he’d ever have the opportunity to tell him this. It helps to ease the sting of it.

“I am sorry, Theron. For how I behaved. For trying to force it for this long. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve me like this.”

“Qy, you were going through shit. I never held that against you”, Theron says, grief in his voice.

“And why shouldn’t you?”, Qyrhu is tired. He swallows down his irritation at having his own past state acknowledged, even when he has just admitted it himself.

 “The circumstances are excuses. This is about how much one has to put up with someone else’s issues, excusable or otherwise.”

Theron puts his face in his hands. “Fuck. I’m trying to apologize here.”

“It is noted. But I’m not finished.” He wants to say his piece before Theron can divert from it. Some detached inner voice is noting that he isn’t being considerate once again. Well, that isn’t news.

He overrides his instinct to remain unmoving and brings his hand to his face to smooth over his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. Trying to soften himself into something less harsh.

“My point to all of this is… I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a relationship.”

Theron lifts his head again, his face carefully still.

“I don’t want to resume whatever we were doing just because it was so before. Honestly, I don’t want to go back to that.”

Theron chokes out a sound; it resembles a mirthless laugh.

Qyrhu doesn’t like who he has been then. No one would have. Theron is just being too nice, too forgiving. He doesn’t want that. He wishes he was angry at him at least a little. He used to be. When did it change? When did he stop to take him seriously? He thinks to know when. From the moment he had been snapped in half like a dry twig. The moment he started coasting.

“I don’t want you to come to me out of a sense of loyalty,” Qyrhu keeps going, trying to keep his voice even, through his chest constricting, “or guilt.”  Or pity. His nostrils blow out involuntarily. “I would never let that happen.”

“You…,” there’s a oh-so-slight hint of anger in Theron’s distress now. He wants so badly to lock his jaw around it and shake. “Stop assuming things. I’m not thinking that.”

“I don’t believe you, Theron.” Qyrhu keeps his tone quiet, but the sharpness is undeniable.

Theron’s mouth clicks shut.

Their silence is thick now. Hope drains down slowly, marring the floor.

Qyrhu is still mad at him and he can’t pretend otherwise. He can’t swallow down these long months of misery and doubt, feeling like he failed him. He still failed him, but apparently not as much as he had thought. How stupid. All of it was stupid.

Another part of him wants to fall on his knees for all those words, clasp his boots and apologize for making him sad and hurt once again. He knows how much Theron has sacrificed, how much he has risked, how lonely and arduous his last year has been. And now, after everything he’s done, wounded and still half on his hospital bed, he comes to him for reassurance, to mend bridges, and he is met with this. His mess. Again. If he was a better man, a better friend, he would stand by him to get through this time of convalescence, at least wait until Theron doesn’t feel as jittery as now, covert op nerves still in his veins.

Qyrhu cannot smile at him and pretend it’s fine, however. He is tired of pretending things are fine. It is unfair, but he can’t change that.

“This is a chance. For both of us,” Qyrhu keeps dropping stones into the pond of Theron’s resigned silence. They splash in with a dull finality.

“I don't think we are who we need to be for each other.”

It will be better if both of them realize this, and leave each other be, don’t cling to something out of sentimentality that doesn’t actually make them happy.

“I want you to think about it. For longer.” plounk “And I will be doing the same.”

Theron nods calmly, a conscious act, his gaze looking at nothing. It hurts to see him like that. Doesn’t he see the chance in that? That he’s free of him, of his expectations? He hopes he will realize it soon.

He wishes to be someone who makes him happy. And he doesn’t want either Theron or him to squirm and change too much to be able to fit with the other. I just want both of us happy. But he isn’t sure how possible that is. He won’t make up his mind now.

Qyrhu pushes off the wall and makes to end this. Finally.

“I’m leaving Odessen.”

Theron looks up at him again, sharply.

“Where?”

It’s a hastily tumbled out word, not much hope for an answer behind it, as he watches him walk over to the exit.

Qyrhu stops in front of the door when it has swished open.

“Don’t follow me.”

He leaves, the door closing behind him. He is staring straight ahead, blinking too many times in the harsh bright light of the med center. When he’s out of there, he gets out his comm unit and quick dials the first contact.

“I’m done here,” he speaks into it.

“Good,” the line on the other end is briefly drowned out by a clattering noise, someone throwing down something with finality. He feels more certain again, hearing Vette’s voice.

Vette wakes up in the middle of the night. At first, she isn’t sure why, she’s still sleepy and comfy half in her sleeping bag, one bare leg luxuriously sticking out. But something has woken her up. Something that seems to come from her guts, an innate danger sense. She carefully peeks out from under the covers. The room is dark. The light from the moons that might come through the thin curtains is dimmer than she expects and makes the shadows in the room almost impenetrable. Good thing she isn’t afraid of the dark, right?

Then she hears a dull shuffling sound and freezes.

It stops again, but it has come from outside the room, in the hallway. She tries to make out more, but it’s quiet.

Oh, come on, they said they never come inside…

She’s annoyed now, but still spooked, too, contemplating how considerate she should be. Should she really suffer awake while the others happily snooze the night away? And what if it’s actually something else, some low-budget assassin that can’t even sneak around properly?

She immediately discards that possibility again when a truly awful moan comes from the hallway, keening and gurgling like there’s something thick and wet down its throat. The shadows around the door seem to grow.

“Oh fuck no,” Vette whispers loudly, crosses over Qyrhu’s sleeping form still half in her sleeping bag, “I’m not sleeping on the outside.”

She tucks herself in on the inside of their sleeping arrangement, feeling a lot more like she won’t be the first one getting grabbed if these things come inside, sandwiched between a slowly rousing Qyrhu and a Theron whose back is turned to her. She can’t see his head because it’s under an entire pillow that his arm is holding in place over his head. Wait, has he just been trying to continue to sleep like this? Next to Theron is a motionless Faro, laying flat on her back and her arms on her chest like an entombed mummy.

“Whzhgh?” Qyrhu groggily intones as he appears from out his own sleeping bag.

“There’s things in the hallway. You asshole said they wouldn’t come inside.”

“Hnm?” his eyes still aren’t open while he’s rubbing his face. “They don’t.”

The sound that wafts over to them now is like the splashing of vomit hitting the floor. The air in the room becomes inexplicably thick and damp. There’s no smell to it, but it really feels like it should smell like rotten corpse.

“You wanted to keep that shitty relic!” Vette hisses and pulls his own pillow away from him to bury her nose into. She has forgotten hers on his other side. “So go fix this. I can’t sleep in these conditions!”

Qyrhu grumbles but unzips his sleeping bag and reluctantly rises from their mats. He shuffles through the room, collecting his lightsaber and throwing on a bathrobe over his downtime clothes. He’s taking his sweet fucking time putting on his mismatched slippers while heinous looking shadowy goo creeps in from between the upper crack of the door.

At the sound of Qyrhu exiting the room like he’s just going to the fresher, Theron’s head comes out from bellow his pillow, sleepily looking after him as he closes the door. He doesn’t seem all that enthused to follow though.

Everything is quiet.

Keeps being quiet.

Vette and Theron are straining their ears.

Then there’s one wet slap, loud in the dead quiet, like someone just hit a huge dead fish.

A many throated scream pierces the air, discordant and dreadful. Vette feels goosebumps popping down her entire back. She watches as, out of thin air, deep scratches slowly grow downwards on their walls, and she grips Theron’s arm in horror. Theron tenses and grabs Faro’s arm in turn. Faro is still lying on her back and looking up at the ceiling with a flat expression. She simply shifts the knife she has been holding in her one hand to the other that isn’t restricted by Theron’s grip.

Meanwhile, the hall is still a cacophony. There’s lightsaber noises, screaming that alternates between piercingly high and vibratingly low, sounds of breaking glass and shattering furniture, one enormous stomping thud that shakes the entire floor of the barn floor they’re on. They aren’t sure if the harsh hitting sounds are Qyrhu’s doing or if they are being done to him. The muffled grunts that come every now and then tell them he’s still alive at least.

As they are beginning to wonder if they should maybe go look if he needs some help the screaming changes into blubbering gurgles and finally, a relieving silence. They hadn’t noticed how dark it had become as the shadows seem to return to grey instead of deepest black, and beams of cool moonlight trace the floor.

The door opens on creaking hinges. Qyrhu comes back inside, re-tightening the belt of his bathrobe. There’s something dark staining the front of his robe, but otherwise he looks surprisingly unscathed.

Theron releases himself from various forgotten grips and clambers over to look at the stained robe. His fingers come away red.

“Jam has run out,” Qyrhu says to that.

Faro intones a sigh from deep within her chest, not having budged from her mat.

“I always thought that kitchen was lacking,” she says. “The next one is all in stone.”

“It’s not that bad,” Qyrhu assures, “but um… I’m going to the market tomorrow. The milk is all curdled.”

“How about durasteel for the kitchen,” Theron adds, sucking the jam off his fingers, “I don’t want any more stone in this hut, feels like all of it’s cursed.”

“When did you say that buyer comes in again?” Vette angles her head over to Faro, “Please say tomorrow…”

“You know it, Vette,” she says with eyes already closed again.

Unsurprisingly, Qyrhu scoffs at that and looks at them reproachfully. “Excuse me? You just decide to give away the one thing that makes this hovel look like it has some class?”

“Yes,” everyone intones at the same time.

Tev rarely has nightmares. The dreams he has are often just vexingly stupid stress dreams, like for instance Corso replacing the flight controls that were just recently painstakingly updated with quality scavenged parts, with a squeaky clean new one that doesn’t even fit the system and feels like shit in his hands. And being convinced that he’s done a great job, and Tev wake up growling and gnashing his teeth. He chews him out over breakfast (“How dare you do this, I’ll kick you out of this ship if you do that again!!” – “Capt’n, here, git your juice in first, it’s too early in the afternoon to be this pissed off.”)

There is one though. He cannot shake that one, even though it’s been years. It occurs so seldomly that he’s often lulled into a false sense of security about it ever popping up again. He wakes up from that dream soaked in sweat, his right hand cramping in acute agony; clutches his cybernetic fingers like they can feel again, a whimper in his throat. With trembling hands (they never tremble) he pours shot after shot, drowning the memories – an error in judgement, got caught skimming the wrong thing, landing in a backroom, where’s the money, cold-hot sharp metal biting tighter and tighter into the soft flesh of his finger joint – Lightheaded, he sits at the counter of his ship’s galley until the early hours.

24. If presented with the opportunity, would they accept omniscient knowledge?

Oh, they would see the cred signs, they would hear the katching katching. Knowing about all the lost and hidden hyperlane routes! Knowing all access codes, all routines and unexpected behaviours of guards and enforcement, knowing all crime bosses’ weak points. Just, oomph! They would be unstoppable. Please, they could have a beach planet with their name on it in two years tops!

“Captain, it’s for things like knowing what the purpose of life is and what happens after death and such.”

Confused and sceptical silence.

“…Who wants to know that crap.”

More seriously, it would be a hard decision. They struggle between life being exiting, and life being safe, and the balance shifts one way and the other like a wave-tossed ship at sea. In their earlier life, they would definitely bet on safety. They would be incredibly bored with their life, though. If they had a real choice, they would prefer not knowing what happens. It makes them feel alive. Even if they're also afraid, it makes them feel alive!

27. What do they consider real? Do they only believe in things they can see and touch?

She wishes life was that easy. What is real? The web of debt and fear, the way it keeps people ensnared, the way only the threat of it makes most of the work. She believes in power like that, because she lived under it for her whole life.

And unfortunately, even though you don’t want to believe in crazy witches crushing your windpipe from the other side of the room or making you feel like doing things you don’t wanna do, the disbelieve won’t save you and your throat at all. That’s something she had to learn the hard way. (she always has to learn the hard way…)

But the good news is, and that’s what she started to believe too, both of this can be countered with the power of incredible violence! Just play nice and meek, bide your time, and hit hard when the right opportunity presents itself. Keywords mean and dirty.

I love thinking about how a non force-sensitive can kill the wizards, and I want it to be hard, I want them to be a real, pants shitting threat to them (at least if we’re talking about trained force users). Being non force sensitive / force null doesn’t mean that you’re immune against the Force (That’s not how the Force works!). It means you have less defences against it. You are at a massive disadvantage. And I love the non-forcies who make it work by the skin of their teeth, with no dignity (bc it’s not an even fight) and no fucking mercy.

Qyrhu

The first two questions were tricky and kinda heavy, I’m not sure if I did them justice, but they were chewy. And the last question is just asking to open the floodgates of angst. You asked for it haha.

4. Do they believe some individuals are inherently more important than others?

He can never be oblivious to what his society taught him what the worth of people is. The Empire ranks its people clearly and ruthlessly. He has always been on the higher echelons of it, and he is very aware of it, it’s hard not to. He knows how much power he wields over others just because of that. He doesn’t think it’s just, even in his life before Korriban, he has seen enough how that power can be used and abused, whether it be callously, gleefully or even unknowingly. It isn’t just, but it is a reality, and everyone moves through space knowing it, including him.

What he struggles with, even though he doesn’t think it’s fair, is to formulate an alternative. He’s quick to think and talk of merit, as per Sith philosophy, people earning their worth with great feats and perseverance. But this rings hollow at times. Many did not have the same education, wealth, opportunity and able body as he had. Do they deserve their fate, then, if they don’t raise above their station? I think it’s fair to say that he is conflicted.

I wish I could say he is just a good personTM that instinctively knows the ‘right’ answers, but…. No. sorry. It doesn’t always work like that. I still want him to be good and kind, in his own way (those words in combo with Qyrhu are a bit… weird). But he has a lot of learning and unlearning to do, and ultimately, his actions will always speak louder than his ability to express his beliefs exactly.

Honorary mention of Vette showing him the mirror with extreme snark whenever his unaware privilege shows. He isn’t always amused, but he listens to her a lot more than she thinks. (those blasted Vette disapproves are cutting)

13. Do they see more value in individualism or collectivism?

Sith philosophy builds on individualism a lot. But the thing is, the old republic Sith are also a part of an Empire. And empires need its people to work for it, not themselves. I feel like that is something that some of the war focused Sith know all too well. You do your part for the war effort. You cannot just do what you please and waste your life on frivolities, you need to benefit the system. (I have in mind that little disparaging remark of Marr about a Sith Lord who spends too much time in his “agony dungeon” instead of doing real work, lol. I don’t think every imperial Sith thinks like that, there are many with their own little projects (see ambitious undertakings), and in contrast to the general imperial populace Sith still simply have more room to indulge their own passions within their service to the Empire because of their social stature.)

In any case, this is a mindset that was heavily imparted on Qyrhu, and while he has to have his youthful rebellion specifically against his family, and periodically show for the sake of his pride that he can do what he so pleases (and don’t you forget it), he still thinks that’s true, everyone has to do their part for the war, with whatever strength they have. Those who don’t are displaying a disdainful level of selfishness that has no place in the Empire. Rivalries and power games are part of the system and need to be navigated, but the fact that they often hamper or outright sabotage the imperial war effort is a point of frustration for him, especially the longer he is a player on the board and witnesses it firsthand. And perpetuates it, either unwillingly or sometimes as a little treat to himself (he is not immune to the thrill of competition, the satisfaction of triumphing over another arrogant Sith).

Qyrhu sees meaning in collectivism, especially pertaining to goals and campaigns (and those are basically his life). But on the other hand, he’s never felt like he has been part of an actual community, he only maintains a small circle, and isn’t very used to invest his private time in social community. In the Alliance he has a bit more possibility and leisure for it, but even then, he values his privacy and his ‘free time’ away from the group a lot.

The way he is a real boon for the Alliance is how he keeps people pointed in one direction and has no patience for internal divisions influencing the Alliance’s missions and goals (if they keep it out of the mission, they can squabble all they like, he doesn’t give a fuck. Honestly, he prefers the squabble over forced team building karaoke nights, you would have to drag him there in chains) (or just let Vette at him, that’s way more effective).

29. What is their breaking point?

I love the Dread Masters bit where they force the PC at gunpoint to tell them their greatest fear, and I love the warrior specific answer so much there:

Baras thought to use me as his weapon. I overcame him. But there are others, and I wonder if I can defy them all.

This is an almost primal fear for him, being unable to stop being used, having his freedom taken away completely, no wriggle room, no freedom to deliver the results in the way he wants, no possibility of change on the horizon (he still thinks he has a chance, somehow, he needs to believe this). This fear has been there since the start, the threat of it always there and growing the more powerful his masters became, the more complicated his situation.

So at least in this, game-canon is coming for his throat when Fallen Empire rolls in and Vitiate starts haunting him. He rebukes him and hisses at him and ignores him but inside he is frozen solid with fear. How can I get rid of him? It should be the priority, but nobody seems to know how, and there are other things that need doing, that demand his attention (and thank the stars for that, the distraction is welcome, give him a campaign against a technologically hyper-advanced empire over his empire’s worst ghost any day). (you have both). (shut up).

The worst thing to happen then is the Emperor taking over his mind. Qyrhu did not expect that he could do it like that, without him having to give over control first. But of course, he was a fool, he had forgotten Ziost, Vitiate grinning on cracked Jedi lips, laughing out of his mother’s mouth. He doesn’t know how he got out of this, how he regained control. (My mind, my rules? Really? It seems too easy)*. This experience creates one of the most crippling post-traumatic responses he’s ever had to deal with, will follow him for a long time after, making him think that he is actually still there, impotent, only living out a fantasy where he overcame this and they won because he can’t bear the thought of his body being taken over, his mind reduced to linger in-between abysses. Victory for the Alliance, mental problems for Qyrhu. Congratulations, you broke him. He’ll be picking up the pieces for the remainder of his life.

* this is mostly due to my own confusion and discontent about this stupid wishy-washy resolution so unfortunately, I’m making it my guy’s problem. sorry man…

Canon is a pretty harsh timeline, in the AUs where he isn't Valky's fave he's doing a lot better, has more agency from the start.

Leather Bitch (left) - pretty standard set for his leather armor loving ass and his wearing several layers loving ass

Underworld (middle) - KotFE Alliance time & running around with Vette / incognito fit

Casual Color (right) - not that clearly visible but this is about the wide pants. maybe one day i will dye it differently but he can have some salmon pink as a treat for now <3

Casual Goth (left) - his casual sithy wear

Formal red & black (middle) - polished, official business armor, very expensive in and out of universe (i used a fucking dye on that one grr)

Jumpsuit (right) - his Act 2 armor, why is it still here? the space jumpies compel me

Pirate Blue (left) - nostalgic Rishi times, I haven't overwritten it bc i love the blue on him, yeah? Look at my shitpost about it, boy!

Rügge (middle) - that simply means 'Back' because of y'know, his back in this outfit, we all agree on that I heard. This is also a non-canonical outfit just for me, because Qyrhu would not wear this revealing clothing in public.

Shiny Black (right) - I see armor that is already black without needing dyes I run after it and put him in it. This one's from Iokath, I believe. Best believe he has two dozens of black armor sets for all occasions. This one's comes with lights on it bc absolutely he's into that.

Simple Grey (left) - wow, a lighter color??? Is grey a color? of course

Uniform (right) - this was a black dye but it looks brown smh. Not sure if he would ever wear a uniform instead of just armor, but hey, maybe?? the Alliance?? has uniforms??? like later on when they're established??? i like how he looks in it, that's all...

29. What’s their favorite food?

He usually has a rather broad palate, and is curious to try out new foods. The type of dish that is almost always a hit is ‘Rice with Ingredients’. At the end of the day, there’s no need for more than that. However, he hasn’t always been on speaking terms with food and eating. After his botched carbonite stay, he struggled with nausea a lot, and that made him eschew eating as it made the symptoms worse. He was very aware he had to eat, he usually takes care to eat well and healthily, but during this time even the smell of food was difficult. Because of that, his body weight was fast approaching dire. He had to learn anew what kind of food worked with his body (in addition to calibrating the right cocktail of meds he needed. that helped too).

I need to get on that other ask about cooking😭 he’s going to find joy in eating again, promise.

32. Do they have any special skills?

i tap this one out, i'm not sure what is considered special here🧍

33. In KotFE which companion(s) from another class are you most looking forward to them recruiting

Kira is initially cooly distant and professional towards him, she’s not interested in becoming buddies with (another) Sith, there’s too many Sith in that Alliance already. Qyrhu feels that and leaves her alone. But eventually, they recognize the Vitiate induced trauma in one another (Kira first bc of Echoes of Oblivion, and Qyrhu because of the Children of the Emperor getting the spotlight again bc of Sahar’s old jedi master), and their attitude toward each other just becomes softer. Like, oh, there is someone that has had a similar experience that no one else can understand what it was really like, and at least in this, they become unspoken allies. Even if they are very awkward about it. I like thinking about their dynamic. There are other people who share V. trauma but idk if Qyrhu bonds with them over that quite like he does with Kira.

The other two are more for the comedy: Blizz and Guss

Qyrhu is very endeared by Blizz. Resourceful, creative, enthusiastic, energy in bounds, by the stars, Blizz, please leave something for the rest of us. Blizz is - surprisingly for everyone else - very likely to talk Qyrhu into something.

Qyrhu: “The jawa reworked the fridge yesterday, I have an ice-cube dispenser now.”

Theron opens the fridge and is taken out by a whole ice cube shot straight to his forehead by that same dispenser while Qyrhu shouts his name in alarm. Theron doesn’t trust Blizz around household appliances after this.