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Caldus stares at himself in the mirror, testing the weight of the brown robes that Kadu assured him are ornamental and not a required uniform. Given that his new Cathar brother lounges most of the time in a pair of loose shorts and nothing else, Caldus is inclined to believe him. In battle, Kadu wears armour.
Caldus leans his palms against the counter and shakes his head. No, these robes do not suit him. Shrugging off the outer robe, Caldus strides to the closet in the room that he shares with Kadu, though the Cathar spends most of his time in medcenters these days. A glint catches his eye when he reaches for a hanger. The same glint that he’s ignored for three months.
After divesting everything about his formal robes, Caldus squats to study the curved crest of an relic from another life. He reaches for it, palming the domed helmet and bringing it to his face. Caldus has found acceptance here. There are no whispers when he passes. Only open curiosity and the sort of enthusiasm that comes from a building full of scholars.
Caldus senses the bright energy a heartbeat before the door to his shared room opens. Kadu lopes in with his long limbs and an exhausted sigh. The Cathar is two years Caldus’s junior, but his superior in every way. Still, they bare only healthy competition between them where the stakes were caf and pizza instead of life or death.
“I quit,” Kadu groans as he flopps onto his bed, long arms sprawled. “I hereby relinquish my role as healer and join the dregs who lounge on sandy beaches and catch sick waves.”
“No you don’t,” Caldus answers without looking at his friend. They’ve grown close in the short time that has passed. Closer than Caldus thought possible.
As Caldus eases onto his mattress across the room, Kadu rolls onto his side. “No, I don’t. But it’s a nice dream. What’s that?”
Caldus is still staring at the T-shaped visor that signifies a people not unlike his own. “A gift from an old…ally.”
“That’s the one you had the day we picked you up.” Kadu props on one elbow and waves a hand for more. “Come on, tell me a story. I’ve got another rotation in less than an hour and need someone to keep me awake.”
Caldus hunches forward, his mind spiraling towards the past. To a girl with eyes so dark blue that they look black in certain lights. “It’s an inside joke,” Caldus begins, turning the faceplate toward Kadu to display it properly. “A way to own the thing that the Sith used against me."
“Ready to go, partner?” Fynta shoves into his room, her energy crackling like the electricity that Caldus is all too good at summoning. She bounces on her toes, the light catching on the parts of her amour where the paint is scuffed down to the metal.
Caldus fumbles for his half-helm, unwilling to be caught without its limited protection from unfriendly eyes. Even hers. Though Fynta has only asked made wild guesses about his species, each more outlandish than the last. Still, she too is training to be Sith.
“You realize they are only pairing us in the hopes that one of us doesn’t come back.” Caldus swivels to face her, his sort of friend. She only grins in response. She knows the laws of this world better than him. She’s certainly adapted better.
“Which reminds me.” Fynta flounces towards his desk, ignoring the differences in their sizes because it truly makes no difference. They have been equally matched since the second month of training. Each loss suffered from their singular rivalry alone. It sets them apart from their peers, and not always in the best manner.
Fynta stops directly in front of Caldus as he rises, her head even with his chest. She cranes her neck, grin stretching wider. “I got you something.”
The box makes him step back, instantly wary of what it might hold on the eve of such an important mission. The girl sighs and rips the top off as if offended by his suspicion. She might be. It occurs to Caldus too late that if Fynta plans to kill him, she’d make a spectacle of it. “Here, you oversized beast.”
Caldus grunts at the force with which the box is shoved against his torso. Inside rests a helmet with full T-shaped faceplate and large tusks that curve away from the jaw. He lets the box fall away, admiring the craftsmanship that went into this piece.
“You like it?” Fynta asks, bouncing on her toes to see over his elbow. “I had my brother commission it from a proper smith.”
'Proper' no doubt means Mandalorian. She carries on, unencumbered by his thoughts. “They worked in extra space and a ventilation system that help mando’ad with your particular…sensibilities.”
Claustrophobia.
He supposes it’s only natural for smiths of a civilization built around this unique aspects to have one or two among their ranks with inconvenient phobias.
Before Caldus can thank her, Fynta takes the helmet from his hands and plops it onto her head. It wobbles comically, far too big but he appreciates the effort of ensuring him there are no traps. When she removes it, Fynta holds it out, but her fingers only tighten when he takes hold. “Own who you are, Caldus. If they want a monster, give them one.”
She lets go, reaching around the curved tusks to place her hand against his chest. “It’s all an act, anyway.”
“Your friend sounds wise,” Kadu yawns, blinking slowly at Caldus from where his arm has slid out from beneath him with his head pillowed on one bicep.
Caldus snorts. Fynta was a lot of things, but wise had never been one of the many accusations hurled at her. “I left without saying goodbye.” He turns the helmet over so that he’s staring into the faceplate, his reflection warped by the dust of living in the back of his closet. “I often wonder if she would have joined us.”
Kadu rolls onto his back, speaking while he stares at the ceiling. “You should wear that instead of the half-helm.”
Caldus nods, having thought the same thing so many times. It had been fitted to his measurements, though the crafty girl had never admitted to how she’d gotten them. Caldus wore it only once on their mission and the effect had been profound. While Republic soldiers battled valiantly, many surrendered when he came into view. Fynta and Caldus had left those chained together with the relief of fewer deaths on his conscience.
Afterward, he's put it away. The sense of power it gave him, to have hardened soldiers, med twice his age, cowering before him had been terrifying. Now, he realized what a gift that had been. To detain them instead of murder.
“Is that why you don’t?” Kadu asks, and Caldus is suddenly reminded of their master and the skilled way she wrings answers from people.
Even knowing what Kadu is doing, Caldus answers with a long sigh. “I’m not sure I deserve to. She gave me a gift that would have changed the way other acolytes viewed me. I repaid her by running away and leaving her to their cruelty.”
When Kadu answers, it is opposite of what Master Carlo would likely say. He rolls back onto his side, head once more propped on his fist. “It sounds like she would call you a coward and probably throw you to the mat again.” The Cathar flashes sharp teeth in a wicked grin, drawing a laugh from Caldus.
“You are surprisingly intuitive my friend.” Caldus takes a deep breath, then settles the helmet over his head. The HUD lights, blinking once then sputtering, before booting up properly. The ventilation fans kick on to provide fresh air when his heart rate kicks up and Caldus reminds himself to breath.
After a moment to acclimate, Caldus faces his friend. “Well, how do I look?”
Huge shout out to @kunoichi-ume who gifted me this set so that Caldus could have his in game tusks! Thank you!
The universe and genre transcending Fynta and Caldus for @cinlat ...I think it's just as likely that they're searching for trouble as it is they're avoiding it!
