#favors

"We won't be bribed, either," said William. He knew he was galloping in among the sharpened stakes here, but he'd be damned before he'd be patronized.

"Bribed?" said Vetinari. "My dear sir, seeing what you're capable of for nothing, I'd hesitate to press even a penny into your hand."

II : In Your Wake Only Blood and Bones

Part 2 : Feel No Fear Before the Multitude of Men Requested By: @lissthatskiss Ares!Technoblade x HalfNymph!Reader

Recommended Listening: Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier and Vulture Culture by Fangclub Words: 1.4k Taglist: @lissthatskiss @segnoblade @wingedghostpepper

The clones are unpaid and therefore broke. They can’t really pay each other to do things since they have no money so they go for a new currency: favors

Now, the CTs don’t really do it the same as the Commanders because they have to be specific. They can’t return a favor between battalions quickly, due to fighting/locations/schedule. They’re at the whim of the war and pick and choose their repayment time.

The Comanders are different. They trade and barter like crazy. It’s favors with a few cases of alcohol. They can trade favors they are owed to others all the time, so anyone can cash it. They can pull the strings to get their payment quick.

For example, Cody needed a save from a small squad. He knew Delta was on planet doing some mission and he needed a detour but he had no connection or favor. However, Fox (for some reason) did. Cody offered a case of spotchka and a favor Monnk owed in return for having Delta do the detour. Delta owed fox one less favor, Cody owed no favors (which is the best outcome, since Fox WILL cash it) and Fox got something on Monnk and free (very expensive) spotchka.

Few CTs knew they did it this way, and the CT captains such as Rex and Keeli had to quickly adapt to this way of thinking. Rex made the mistake of owing Bacara before anyone told him. Keeli was lucky enough to meet the SpecOps CC Blackout, who clued him in on the difference but left him high and dry when it came to implementing his knowledge. (Keeli ended up owing Blackout two mini guns for his ‘friendly advice’)

Though, when times are tough and there is little time to barter, it is common to put off the payment until after the act is completed. Though many hate doing this as the trading can become unfair. What often happens is the party in need already has a deal prepared and states their need and their payment, it is hardly ever contested (however the helper may tack on another fee which is accepted or denied).

For example, Doom needed backup from Jet’s flame troopers. He quickly called, stated his need, and his payment of a case of charges. Jet had found the payment (though correct in price, unpractical for his squad) and changed it to half a case of fuel (easier for Doom to get a hold of and just as useful as charges to a Demolition team). Doom accepted the terms and Jet’s squad arrived right on time.

Though the bartering is mostly physical, many deal in the intangible. Perfect examples are all of the Coruscant Guard and the Special Operations teams. These are the only two groups who has everyone (including CT shinies) in on this system. They have the least to offer when it comes to normal ops, after all what GAR commander needs to know where a random Senator is going to be at what time or who slept with who. However, this trading info is perfect for the Guard who constantly works with/against (yay embezzlement and blackmail) these same Senators and for the SpecOps who need to know political climates and interpersonal relationships for recon and assassinations.

Most trading goes on between those two, and their prices are often higher since the missions are higher stake. Often Commando Squads are up for bids (who doesn’t want a four man 100% mission completion rate squad in their pocket), blackmail on natborn officers, republic secrets, senators schedules, crime syndicates favor and areas of interest, etc.

For the Guard, their trading goes further. They work with crime syndicates to keep it off the streets while keeping profit up. Those who do not work with them, go down. They’ve gain control of the lower 2000 levels through this and those who do not conform are forced to by the Guard or the citizens of the lower levels who don’t want to deal with the Guard, (peer pressure and bullying at its finest.)

The commanders learned this from watching the Cuy’val Dar, who would often trade on Kamino. The Alphas picked it up and used it but the CCs truly made it valuable beyond belief. The trainers traded for free shifts and booze, the CCs traded for mission successes and heavy artillery.

Many CTs attempt to learn how this system works. However, as few know it’s different, even fewer see the affects; those that do, know well enough to leave it be.

Despite there being no real difference in intelligence between the CCs and CTs, witnessing the speed and weight of the trades, makes even the Jedi’s head spin.

The Padawans are one of the few outsiders to see it in action. They do not really like it, but many pick it up for lesser trades (help with this paper or answers for this homework). Cal Kestis surprisingly picks it up the best. He’s the youngest so very impressionable, eager to learn, his CC Commander Steel, is very good at it, and Steel is possibly the only one to teach their General’s Padawan.

Steel sees that Cal isn’t going to be on the field much (Steel agrees with this and makes sure he stays on the Venator). So, if Cal ever needs help, he knows how to get it. Steel has made him be present for several trades and even made him come up with theoretical ones. Cal becomes very good at it, but is unable to flex his skills much due to the other Padawans unable to match his speed or skill. They are several years older, see it as in-Jedi like or are bad at it (or their Captains are bad at it and can’t teach them well), their concept of value is off (Jedi don’t often put a price on things and those that do have a habit of underselling due to being nice), and/or they do not know the range of what can be traded.

It’s very personal, with different Commanders wanting different things. Knowing who wants what can often make the payment cheaper for the offering party.

Oh wait, of course you don’t because I just wrote it on my notes app due to our power going out ⛈️ and when the mind wonders, it wonders to this fucking KING.

Okay thanks bye! 🍪

(not even a whisper of editing here, this was purely to pass the time) 🐶

-

You smiled when you saw the contact photo appear on your phone.

Dr. Abbot, with finger guns in the air, eyebrows raised, ridiculous smirk on his face.

He’d earned this contact photo, or rather, you’d lost a bet (but you’d never admit how much you loved the rare instances when it popped up and you got to stare for a second before answering).

You accept the call but before you can say hello he starts talking.

“Hey side chick….”

(You cater all the hospital gatherings and you’d made the mistake of giving into your nerves the first time you met the man and blurted out “I’m the side girl,” instead of “welcome to my station, how can I serve you?” You’d always wondered if the nickname would have stuck if you’d have worked another station but “sandwich girl” and/or “dessert girl” didn’t have the same ring.)

You take a second now to try and remember when he changed it from girl to chick but nevertheless, he was already talking a mile a minute, bringing you back to reality.

“Can you help me out?”

“Wait, sorry, what?” You stutter, almost dropping a tray of cookies on the ground.

“Keep up SC, I’m running into a trauma.”

It bothered you how light his voice was, given whatever he was walking into, but you had a lot to learn about him.

“I’m watching my friend’s dog, she hates thunder, can you just go check on her for me? Gonna be later than I thought, you know where my keys are.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but once again…

“Gotta go, you’re a life saver…”

There was a pause, you weren’t sure if he was still there, but then…

“Fuck, hopefully I’m one too.”

The sound of his voice falls away from you until all you can hear is Jack barking orders, yelling for blood, and Dr. Robby.

You let a little shiver move down your spine, trying to shake off the thoughts of whatever was happening in trauma around the corner from you in the hospital’s caterer preparation kitchen.

You sneak a few peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and wrap them up for Jack. He’ll be exhausted, maybe they’ll help.

A blush runs up your cheeks as you carefully place them in your bag, being sure not to crush them.

Perhaps you’re a dessert chick after all…

-

Dr. Abbot had not informed you that his “friend’s dog” was a 65 pound golden retriever, who barley fit in his small rental on the edge of the city, and who had a little more than hate for thunder.

The poor thing was shaking and shivering when you arrived.

You dropped to your knees and pulled her big fluffy body into your arms trying to soothe her.

“Dr. Abbot didn’t tell me your name baby,” you said softly, looking for a tag on her collar.

You dig through the floof and finally find a red heart shaped tag that barely reads “Scout.”

“Well Scout, it’s you and me for a bit, think you can manage a walk in the rain? The bad stuff has blown away for now.”

Truly, your inquiry belongs with yourself. You hate severe weather and if it was publicly acceptable, you would probably be shaking as bad as the dog if the forecast didn’t change soon.

You find a leash hung over the door and grab it, attaching it to Scout’s collar, luckily, she easily accepts. Before you head out, you take a moment to breathe and absorb the overwhelming sent of Jack’s living space. It smells like espresso, detergent, dry dog food, and…you turn slowly to see a scented candle on the table in front of his couch.

It’s a sweet vanilla scent with warmth and bit of spice behind it. You pick it up and inhale ungraciously.

“Oh this is divine,” you murmur.

Your mind travels to sitting with Jack, here, on his couch, with only the candle lit, the flame reflecting in his heated gaze…

Scout lets out a quick huff, eyeing the door.

“Sorry new bestie, I tend to get lost in…well…anything that has to do with the man living here but we don’t talk about that with humans.”

Shaking off your growing Jack obsession, you open the door for Scout and grab a light coat from the rack by the door to keep you dry.

-

Side Chick (10:46 p.m.): Hi, sorry to bother you but I just wanted to let you know Scout and I managed a 45 minute walk before the wind and rain picked up again. They say thunder will be here soon, thinking I’ll stay for a bit?

Side Chick (11:27 p.m.): Hi, it’s me again, the weather is pretty bad, is it OK if I stay a bit longer? Sorry, I know you’re busy.

Side Chick (12:25 a.m.): I’m just about to leave, FYI. She’s still really nervous but I think I helped? I left The Sandlot on for her. She’ll like it. Oh, cookies on the counter are for you, not her. Careful getting home, weather is getting worse.

Missed Call: Side Chick (12:44 a.m.)

Missed Call: Side Chick (12:48 a.m.)

Missed Call: Side Chick (12:49 a.m.)

Side Chick (1:15 a.m.): It’s flooded. The street is flooded. I don’t think I should try to drive my car in it. Is it OK if I stay here a little longer? I’m such a pain in the ass this evening, I owe you many cookies.

Voice Note (1:27 a.m.) Translated: Dr. Abbot, Jack, the sirens are going off and I’m not suuuuure if there’s somewhere I should go I am not great in storms so if…oh the power is out, I should *BOOM*.

Side Chick (1:35 a.m.): A tree just came down, the window is busted. The dog is panicked. I think I may try to drive us out of here. I don’t know what else to do. I guess I should wait for the sirens to stop.

Missed Call: Side Chick (1:42 a.m.)

Missed Call: Side Chick (1:42 a.m.)

Missed Call: Side Chick (1:42 a.m.)

Missed Call: Side Chick (1:42 a.m.)

-

“Fuck that was exhausting,” Jack admitted, finally coming out of the trauma at 2:15 a.m. He gulped water from his bottle and opened his locker to find a clean shirt.

Immediately he noticed his keys were still gone.

Grabbing his phone he froze when he saw the amount of messages and missed calls.

Instead of reading them he dialed you immediately.

Straight to voicemail.

“Fuck!”

Jack pulled a clean shirt over his head and ran out of the break room and through the ED.

“Hey man, you need a smoke break you’re not getting one, it’s Kansas out there,” Dana yelled after him.

The weather was atrocious. He knew he was being stupid jumping into his suv and screaming through the flooded city streets but seven missed calls plus all those messages meant something was wrong.

Hydroplaning, he tossed his car into park a block away and started running through the water logged street, his leg already aching.

A bolt of lightening hit close and Jack cursed himself for being shin deep in water.

Finally, sopping wet and out of breath he made it to his small rental and smashed through the door.

“SC?! Scout?”

He heard a muffled bark in the darkness, and noticed the tree branch sticking in through his living room window.

“Hey! Where are you guys?!” His voice was higher, tense.

Running for the bathroom he flew against the door, shoved it open, pulled out his phone flashlight and almost blinded you with it as he grabbed the shower curtain.

Scout jumped up and into Jack’s arms, knocking him backward, and onto his ass.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing and did his best to calm the petrified dog.

“Shh sweet girl, s’ok, we’re all ok.”

Wind whipped through the small condo, and another bolt of lighting shot through the sky so finally Jack could get a look at you.

You were in the bathtub, the most central part of the small condo, arms wrapped around your legs, chattering with adrenaline.

“Hey SC, I don’t think my leg is strong enough to get up yet, will you come here so I can be sure you’re OK?”

You rushed out of the tub and immediately scrambled down to the floor reaching for Jack. Immediately you began sobbing into his neck.

“I’m sorry. I hate storms. I fucking hate them. The fucking sirens and the poor dog, I tried to…”

You feel Jack’s fingers dip into your hair and run against your scalp.

“Shh, both of you.” He has one arm holding you close, his lips touching your forehead, and the other wrapped around Scout.

“We’re OK, and you have every right to be apprehensive, it’s nasty out there.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t have driven home! I panicked, I’m so sorry…”

This time he cuts you off with a soft, kind, peck on your lips.

It jolts you, and your breathing pauses, as intended.

“Hey, only reason I’m here is for cookies.”

You lean up and stare at him for a second.

“You didn’t eat the cookies did you?!” He feigns shock. “I drove in this mess for a reason young lady!”

You let out a momentary small smile. He feels awful for sending you here, you can see it, but you can also see his relief that you’re OK.

“No.” Your voice feels hoarse from crying.

“Well damn straight, why don’t you go get them and we can continue to hang in your little bunkhouse here until the storm blows by…is that my comforter IN the tub?”

You wince.

“I thought, if we needed to cover our heads or…”

“Easy, side chick, I like that you want to be under the covers with me.”

You appreciate his humor, but realize he has still not attempted to get up, perhaps wanting privacy for what will most likely be a painful struggle.

He sees your eyes assessing causing his to storm up a bit at the potential pity.

You let out the last of your nervous shaking as the wind finally begins to calm.

“I’ll let you have both cookies and get under the blanket with you if you promise to start calling me something else,” you tease.

“Baby doll, that’s a fucking deal.”

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