#repard

Sunday sketch doodle of Repard (VLD Galra) and Nosch (Kingzvire) 💖

Cairis huffed a little and nodded.

"Kirguk shouldn't be a base commander," she declared. "Never mind that I think he's a grat-ilk-ukzak - he clearly doesn't have an understanding of priorities. He had a problem going on that needed investigation and other things, but instead: he chose to play stupid games trying to prove himself smart, and then only proved the opposite."

She frowned and drummed her fingers on the table, the tips of her claws click-clacking against the metal for a moment before she stopped.

"Either there is something passing through that Hub that nobody wants continued - or they are pissed because he wouldn't pass it through," she said. "Something hinky is going on there and I think an Auditor Squad should be called in, but that's above my pay grade."

She sighed and shook her head.

Beautiful art commission I just received from @seductighoul !

@galranrepard

Rio hated being planetside. Every planet felt wrong, the air too much, gravity pulled too tight or was too light. Heights. Bodies of water to drown in. Constant weather changes. How did anyone live on them?

Not that he had too many choices. Or any chances. He had lost track of time, but he had been on this planet for several pheobs now, or at least pheobs on the planet's cycle, put to a mining operation, bound with a slave collar, and kept there under automated surveillance. It was a prison labour camp, where prisoners of war or traitors were sent to tear out resources from deep within the crust. The only crew that Rio knew about were those that maintained the guards and kept the defences active. He had been sent there originally in bandages, as before he was in the prison, he had been under the gentle and touching care of the druids

Rio shuddered at those memories, the ones he allowed himself to keep. He had lost a lot since he had been captured, not the most important being his leg. It had been replaced once he arrived at the prison with a basic mechanical one, but it chaffed his skin, and he only wore it when he was sent to work. He had tried working on it with some of the tools they were given, but there was only so much he could do with it.

But he had made it, somehow. No one had came to rescue him, no one knew about him, but he had gotten out. He couldn't remember... quite everything that the druids got, but gun to his head, he would swear he never revealed his allegiances. He had sealed it so tight, he wasn't even sure he could say it out loud again.

And so here he was, laying in his bed, unable to sleep, but not wanting to move. He waited for time to pass, sitting in his tiny room, bathed in the light glow of the permanent force field. And yet, time refused to go any faster. He'd try and work on his leg some more, but he had no control over the lights, and the dim glow wasn't enough to be able to access the smaller compartments. So here he laid, waiting for the next alarm to indicate the next cycle in his life.