#darthnerdgasm

“And in the news today we have quite the story, don’t we Amanda?”

“That’s right, Bob! Sometime in the night a Hutt’s barge was stolen and taken for a joy ride that ended by crashing it into clan scion Koppoz’s private floating palace. The barge started to move without scheduled clearance about one thirty seven this morning, according to witnesses.”

“The barge ripped clear of it’s moorings, as shown in this ametuer video, and picked up speed at an alarming rate. It caused several midair collisions as it careened through the air. Thankfully, no one was injured.” 

“By two am the barge was set on a crash course -literally!- for Koppoz’s palace tower. Koppoz Security Co’s infamous black ops forces attempted to storm the barge, but as you can see here from this video, they seem to be driven back. Explosions and gunfire abound, weren’t they Bob?”

“Yep. Koppoz’s best beaten by some mystery hijacker. Given Koppoz’s shady dealings, even for a Hutt, and the recent tragedy at one of his arms manufacturing plants, some people are calling this a stroke of poetic justice, a strike against the oppressor for the common people.”

“The hijackers, whoever they were, were too far for clear video identification, but we have represented thier positions here with a blue and red dot, respectively. Look at them fight! Koppoz issued a press release a short while ago saying that it must have been an elite strike team from a rival Cartel member -bets on that at eleven, folks!- but some people hold that it was only two people, though descriptions vary from a Sith to a Twilek to a cybernetically enhanced human.” 

“And not only that, Amanda, but there were no bodies found in the wreckage of the barge. It seems these mystery freedom fighters escaped Huttese retribution scott free… Though the Cartel is clamoring for evidence and demanding something be done to protect thier other investments.”

“This is certainly one for the books, Bob. Nar Shadda Security says it will devote any and all resources to catching the perpetrator, but considering thier relationship with the Hutt clans so far-“

CLICK bweeeooop

Toren turned off the news and turned, arms crossed, giving his captain the icy Vulcan glare only he seemed capable of. Cylver smiled sheepishly at him from the sickbay bed. Her mangled cybernetic arm lay besides her, detached; she had her thigh swathed in bandages and bruises on her shoulders, shown by a white t shirt. A long cut across the bridge of her nose devolved into swelling and a black left eye. 

“Ehehehe…”

“Captain.”

“I, uh. I can explain?”

“Please do,” he said, and she winced. His tone was drier than Tattooine and cool as Hoth. 

“Well, I met this other smuggler lady, see, an’ we got t’ thinkin’ an’, ah, might’ve started sharin’ stories. Braggin’ an’ stuff, y’know, like us spacer gals do, an’ mebbe she had a bit much t’ drink, an’ mebbe I slipped up a bit too, and well… She said she could steal anythin’ that flew, an’ I said I could do it faster, and well.” Cylver chuckled, shrugging her bare shoulders. The shirt was Toren’s, and too big for her, but when she staggered to the ship beaten, bruised, buzzed and smelling like ozone and fire, Toren KNEW something had gone wrong. 

He had not expected it to be this bad, however.

“Damn, Cap’n, y’ had alla fun without me,” Corso said cheerfully. 

Risha, leaning agianst the wall, rolled her eyes. “Just be glad your boy here had the good sense to get us out of Nar Shadda space as soon as we got you on board. Word on the comm channels is someone - a FEW someones- wants you and your friend’s asses on a plate, Captain.”

“Damn, I never did get her name,” Cylver realized. “Ah well. It was fun!” 

Fun. You were nearly killed- how can she-

Idiot, illogical, reckless-

Breathe. Breathe. No anger. Only Surak. 

“Captain, from now on, I insist on accompanying you when you leave the ship. No exceptions. Logically you cannot be trusted on your own to leave the local edifices intact, therefore someone must go with you to ensure you do not get yourself killed or worse. Miss Risha, please notify me when we arrive above Taris. I will be… meditating.” A LOT of meditation would be needed to banish the urge to strangle her for worrying him like that.

The sight of her, bleeding and limping as fast as she could to the ship’s gangplank… It made his heart freeze in his chest. She was not allowed to do that. If she insisted on being illogical and stupid, she needed HIM there with her to make sure she survived her insane endeavors.

BUT THIS IS HAPPY RIGHT?

WHY WOULD YOU SEND THIS TO ME ON FLAILING IN AGONY FRIDAY

Whoa, does Ashara actually have skin now and not weird matrixy texture maps that look like cable knit sweaters??

hi hI HI hi                          hihihihihi HIHIHIHIHI    hi                                                              Hello, sapling. HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO

It wasn't words so much as a feeling of welcome: the same feeling of the sun on it's ancient leaves or the first warm day of spring. That was what she felt from the ancient pine in whose branches Prudiika Kallig-Firestorm was currently nestled. The Sith Pureblood smiled a sent back a wave of welcome herself. 

Grass was always on the move, always excited, a constant hum of growgrowgrowhellohellohello. The wildflowers felt much the same, a chorus of cheerful hi's. 

But the ancient pine's benevolent greeting was her favorite. He was almost words, in as much as they were. Ponderous and infinitely wise, he'd seen the worst storms Tython had to offer over the last three hundred years. He'd watched the return of the Jedi to thier home planet, and the settling of the Pilgrims in Kalikori. Though he wasn't sentient, she still enjoyed looking at things from his perspective. In return, she brought him new dirt from the Temple gardens to help him grow, and checked his grove, a copse of much smaller trees that were his children, for bugs and other things. 

In fact, last year she'd saved them from the pine beetles that were sweeping through the forest. Grandfather couldn't understand death -their sense of time was skewed, or maybe hers was skewed compared to them; that was an interesting thought- but he did know she saved his children.

That was when he started calling her 'sapling'.

How is the soil today? she asked him- agian less in words than in impressions. 

It took him several minutes to respond. That was the thing about talking with plants and animals: they didn't do things on your schedule. You had to be patient, and listening, if you wanted to get anywhere with them. It varied by species. Oaks and pines tended to be the most open. She'd meditated in front of a birch for six months before it would give her the time of day, but good ol' Grandfather here had taken to her almost immediately on her arrival. 

Pru's first conversation using the Force like this had been with him. He had a special place in her heart.  

Good. You feel like you have a bird's nest. What is tangled in your leaves?

Wow. So much for emotional control. If even the TREES can tell I am frustrated...

The padawan leaned back with a sight, fifty feet up, and closed her eyes, face to the sun. Her head rested agianst his trunk. Spring was coming, the time of growing, and he was sticky with sap, but she didn't mind. Her bare feet weren't tough enough to avoid scrapes and things as she climbed up his trunk, nimble as any squirrel, but for now they rested, dangling off the sides. 

How to explain? 

....Recently, I have started to share my sun with another tree. She is older than I, much like yourself. I am a sapling to her too, I think, Pru said with a little eddy of amusement. We share the sun equally -casting no shade on each other- and it has been... very nice. 

Deep breathing put the smell of wildflowers in her nose. From here, she could see where they grew around the old ruins with thier dark memories, yellow blossoms a happy contrast. Rocks were nearly impossible. She tried, once, sat in front of one for a day and a night before it even realized someone was there. They were as slow as the movement of Tython's crust. Some ruins had lichen or flowers growing on them, too, in almost gleeful defiance. 

This is good. Young things can learn from old things. But, if all is fair weather, then we would not be speaking of it.