#salgodkiller

☯ First impression of your muse

Do you absolutely really want to know?

Quartz: Who is someone you support, no matter what?

Sal, c’mon, you know it’s you. 

nearly a decade ago probably with @salgodkiller​

there are several million places he’d rather be than the one he’s in just then, but life would not be so kind to him as to let him choose. and so there he is. there he is with four vicious looking men surrounding him, in the middle of the underground tunnels on the fontaine planet. tunnels that hold even more vermin than its surface usually does; and that’s saying a lot with the high number of inmates this prison holds.

he knows no fear, no reluctance to do what must be done. right now they are the enemy and they’re out for his blood - and he’ll take two down at least before he’ll let them have that satisfaction. the thing is; they’re not alone. on this shithole of a planet, they’re never alone. people say iridonia is bad, but it’s paradise compared with the dumpster fire that is fontaine.

he can perfectly imagine his father’s judging gaze should word of this ever reach the man, so it’s probably a good thing no one ever gets off this planet alive - or dead, from what he’s seen so far. but even if the truth will never reach his father’s ears, that doesn’t mean he won’t make the man proud, won’t give these men his worst, just so they know never to mess with a zabrak again if they survive long enough to improve their judgement.

he sees them coming, the shift in stance, the slightest widening of their pupils, the quick inhale of breath before they lunge. he’s ready for their movements, turns his head to one of them and smashes his solid, horned skull into the man’s hands, meanwhile kicking out towards another one’s knee and using it as a leverage to quite literally jump at a third attacker. the fourth entirely misses him because of it, and it’s not long before he’s rolling through sand and dirt to get back up on his feet, the fourth attacker incapacitated on the floor with a crushed windpipe.

he knows the rest will think twice before allowing to let him close enough to get his hands around their necks this time around, but that’s alright with him. he doesn’t need the close proximity to do harm, he just enjoys looking them dead in the eye when he squeezes the life out of them. that being said; the victim of his horned skull is bleeding from what looks like a broken finger, some of the bone sticking out through the skin and blood dripping onto the floor at a steady pace. all three of them are looking at him with equally murderous gazes and he throws up a little smug grin just to antagonise them further.

some 4 years ago aboard the derelict with @salgodkiller​

it’s bound to happen.

it’s bound to happen and yet when he walks into the navigation room and full-body slams into the captain’s frame he’s not prepared at all. usually the captain is loud enough to be noticed, or maybe he usually pays more attention to notice the man. the thing is, his mind has been elsewhere for a while now, tumbling and stumbling and running away from him, and so with the droid over at zur’s for a check-up and his sight even more impaired than usual, they collide.

he only knows it’s the captain he so fully bumps into when they both go stumbling, neither of them having expected the impact - the captain probably because he thought doc would come to a standstill and doc because he simply hadn’t noticed the other there. in fact, he doesn’t know it’s the captain until the man launches a few expletives at his head and he quickly rolls away from the other so they don’t end up sprawled atop each other.

“what the hell doc!?” the words are spoken in angry exasperation, the captain clearly more than a little annoyed by this bodily collision. he moves to sit up, legs pulled up a little, arms slung over them as if he’s entirely at ease sitting on the floor in the navigation room, as if none of this even remotely fazes him. “are you blind!?”

he must be imagining it. must be his mind just going wild all over again, but for a split second there he thinks he recognises the voice, thinks he can deduct a few decades from it and find the boy he used to know right there a few steps away from him. so he blames it on that, the way he is suddenly tired of lying, exhausted of this pretence he’s been painstakingly keeping up just to make sure no one would figure out the truth. this pretence that he’s been wanting to drop days after he came aboard the ship, but he couldn’t imagine the rough-edged captain keeping a blind doctor aboard so he’s kept it quiet for an entire year so far. his old friend, though? that young boy with the galaxy in his soul? maybe, just maybe, that guy would keep him around.

“yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, pushing himself up from the floor and standing, brushing some dust off his pants though he wouldn’t know if it’s there anyway. “yes, i am blind. and here to tell you that we’re out of painkillers. completely out. so if you could make sure we get some next time we land somewhere to stock up on supplies, that’d be swell.” he’s tired of flashing the trademark grin as if he’s always so sure of what he’s doing, but he flashes it anyway, raises his eyebrows lightly and then, because he’s quite certain the captain won’t believe him if he doesn’t, he lifts his hand and takes off the goggles, letting them rest atop his forehead rather than over his eyes, and thereby revealing the scars criss-crossing his face, and the unseeing emptiness of his dark pupils.

“sorry for bumping into you, cap.” and with that, he’s out the door again, reaching out hands to make sure he doesn’t walk into the doorpost, and then feeling his way back towards the medbay with one hand to the wall, making sure he doesn’t walk into anything while he strides away as quickly as inconspicuously possible to make sure he’s not around to witness the response to his confession. if the captain wants to kick him off the ship after all, he’ll find out at the next planet, probably.

some 5 years ago on a little-known planet with @salgodkiller​

he is hidden. there is no other way to call it. he’s hidden away in the depths of a hood, a scarf pulled up over his nose and mouth to cover that part of him, and a pair of dark goggles hiding his scars and eyes from sight. people will probably wonder how he can see properly through the dark goggles, but that is a question he doesn’t intend to answer. the droid, at least, told him the goggles are dark, for he himself has no clue. it’s still the strangest sensation. he’s long known he couldn’t see well, has learned from other people describing the experience to him and it being a million lightyears away from his own, but there’s a difference between blurry, limited vision and the few flashes of light he very occasionally gets to see now.

there is a man standing a few steps away from him, looking at him with ‘badly hidden contempt’ as the droid named it, now probably sizing him up to get his worth. he doesn’t really know what to think of it, doesn’t know how to behave, and so he decides to go for quietly aloof, pulling the strap of his bag a little better over his shoulder and allowing his body to slump slightly in a sign of utter self-confidence. someone could walk up to him just now and punch him in the face before he would even be able to respond, but he makes sure to look like he’s had no such worries ever in his entire life. he doesn’t think he can look any tougher than the man dressed in black with the tough leather boots and the scowl that ‘could battle a sarlacc for deadliness’ as the droid so helpfully supplies, but at least he doesn’t look as wimpy as he currently feels.

his eyeballs have been surgically inserted, they are not real, they have a golden glow to them. the droid keeps relaying details to him, as many as the thing can find, apparently, but he listens to it all with quiet detachment. “so,” he eventually hears, and he slowly alters the tilt of his head to make it look like he is now actually looking at the other man. “like i said the pay will vary on the jobs we take. you in or out?” he can still feel the ghost of blood on his forearms and fingers, hear the faint slushing of guts spilling and blood gushing. is he in or out? does he want a job on a shitty ass little smuggling ship or will he continue to try and save those no one else wants to heal - usually because they’re beyond saving.

if he’s going to be attempting the impossible, he can just as well get off this godforsaken little backwater planet and possibly earn a little more than just enough to scrape by. still, he pretends to think it over for a moment, not too long just in case the man is impatient, though. “alright,” he says eventually. “as long as you don’t interfere with how i do my job and the droid can come, i’m in.” he is sneering at me the droid tells him after a moment, and it’s followed by the man’s voice again not long after. “pets are nothing but a distraction. they get in the way.”

@salgodkiller​ 

if they were to start naming galaxies after people, he thinks the captain should have his own. some shitty backwater galaxy at the edge of the universe, on the verge of collapse and always in danger of destruction, but so fucking beautiful.

he can’t see, can’t judge the man by his looks, only by his actions -which leave much to desire- and by his words -which are even less pretty-, but he is for all intents and purposes convinced of the fact that the captain is beautiful like that. in a tragic way. in the way one thinks the falling leaves of tropic plants preparing for cold season are beautiful. in the way one considers the fading light of a setting sun beautiful. soon to be gone, but breathtaking in those final moments of bravery, in that final siren song.

this is, of course, a very subjective opinion. one he has never shared with anyone else. something that he keeps locked away in his mind, far from the prodding and reaching of people trying to figure him out, far from even his own conscious thought. except in those few moments when it catches him off guard, leaps to the front of his brain usually on moments when the object of these surprisingly tender thoughts is nearby.

no different this time, as the heavy booted footfall announces the captain’s presence. he presumes sal is here to ask about the newly arrived passengers’ health, then again maybe all the captain’s interested in is how the supplies are faring. then again, the captain’s never been interested much in any of these things, so it’s always a surprise to figure out what the man has chosen to brave entering the med-bay for. definitely not to get himself checked out; the man would rather die from an infected inch-long scratch than let him get anywhere near with his 'broken eyes just get an operation already what the fuck’ or whichever eloquent way of speaking would be used to rub salt in his wounds this time.

some 20 years ago on an impressive star-destroyer warship with @salgodkiller​

“you can’t catch us!”

he’s running. ever running. not away from anyone or anything, but towards something.

the ship’s hallways are endless and yet he’s never gotten lost before in his life. perhaps his inner compass is that true, or maybe he’s just always made sure to be in the right company to find his way back to where his parents reside, never seeming to find their stay aboard the ship as entertaining and delightful as he does.

there’s several other children’s voices audible in the hallway, giggles and other sounds of delight intermingling as their feet drum on the hallway floors, racing through the open space in an effort to get away from or closer towards each other. he’s not just one of the many, this he’s realised over time. the other kids look up to him, award him a sort of reverence that he recognises from when he’s watched the adults interact. the only other child to be rewarded this same reverence - even more so than him - is the golden eyed starchild, son of the ship’s captain, the one who always calls all the shots, and his best friend.

salathiel is a whole different category on his own, always has been. he knows this, accepts this without resentment, for it takes only one look at the boy to know, to know. sal is at the top somewhere, high up in the stars. adrien is at the top as well, but he’s only at the top of the little rabble of children that they play with. he’s the boss of them only insofar as sal allows him to be. he knows this. he doesn’t mind. he would do near anything for the golden-eyed boy at his side anyway. or maybe not just near anything, maybe it’s really just anything.

they round a corner, feet thudding on the floorboards in sync, as he always ever falls into step with the older boy, always ever seems to gravitate towards him and then adapt to fit beside him properly. it’s not a conscious thing, but it happens over and over again. suddenly the rhythm of his steps gets interrupted, his friend’s hand closing around his arm and yanking him through an open door on the side. the door panel closes behind them almost instantly, as if it already responds to the thoughts of the boy who is set to own it some day, and then they’re piling behind a series of stacked boxes, collapsing on the floor while breathing heavily, wide grins on their faces.

his cheeks are pleasantly flushed, his heartbeat racing from the exertion in all the best ways, and when he tilts his head to look up at his friend, he looks straight at the golden glow of his eyes, outlined by the shape of his face. he pauses as he always does when they lock gazes like this, doesn’t think twice of the way his heartbeat always speeds up rather than calms down when it happens, nor of the way he’s always grinning when they’re together.

sal shoves his face away and he laughs at it, at the familiarity of the motion. rather than accept this, though, he rolls over, puts his head on the older boy’s stomach and tilts it so he can look up at him again, taking his friend in from this upside-down viewpoint he’s achieved now.

“you almost tripped,” he says, grins widely though he doesn’t in the slightest say this as something he might make fun of his friend for. sal doesn’t consider it worth a reply, which is expected, so he simply reaches up to punch his friend’s shoulder, his breathing having settled a bit at this point. “shall we go out and chase them instead?” he offers next, and this is something that does get the older boy’s approval.

crucial muse development questions

2. what was the best thing in your character’s life?3. what was the worst thing in your character’s life?4. what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

he doesn’t know how he ended up in this remote part of a ship sharing a bottle of booze with the captain of all people while the rest of the crew is fast asleep. he understands even less of how they got to this particular subject, but here they are, and here he is, and though he’s doing a good job pretending he’s drunker than he is so that the godkiller will have to figure out on his own whether anything that comes out of his mouth is true and he can pretend not to remember saying any of it in the morning, he is sober enough not to use words that will reveal too much to the golden-eyed captain.

“when i was young i knew a boy,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be saying these things in front of the captain. maybe he can pretend like saving a man’s life together has made them friends. maybe he can just blame it all on the alcohol. “we were good friends.” he thinks of the boy as he remembers him, soft features, bright laughter, hands that felt wonderful held in his own. “we had the greatest adventures together, as kids do. i think i remember every single moment we spent together, no matter how silly.”

he thinks of all the times they discovered new parts of the ship they grew up in, of all the times they ran laughing and screaming through its hallways, of every single moment they’d hidden from those who tried to find them in little nooks and crannies only they seemed to know about.

“i had to leave him when i got older,” he says eventually, when the silence has gone on so long that the captain might just as well have fallen asleep. that would be even better, he thinks. he could then speak about it now without anyone ever being the wiser for it. “it was the hardest thing i ever had to do.” his unseeing eyes peer into the distance, his hand bringing the glass up to his lips so he can take another mouthful of the alcohol and swallow it down quickly. the taste has him frowning at its bitterness, but it’s not as bitter as the memories.

when eventually he speaks again, it is to voice a possibility. only, even as he says it, he knows the possibility is not just that. in its own way, it is a truth already. in his own way, he is already doing exactly that, living on a ship with a very low income just because supposedly no one would hire him, when by now there are enough people who have seen him perform supposed miracles despite being blind. he could perform his job in many places. he can only imagine staying in one.