#sw starter

Everything had to be perfect, Trayous reminded himself, taking a breath as he looked around the communications station he had set up for himself. Before him, an oblong hexagon-shaped holoterminal, its surface faintly glowing a soft, calming blue as he braced himself. The Sith glanced to his left, looking apprehensively at the dome-topped black and copper droid at his side--R2-Q5, a remnant from the days of the Galactic Empire, much like himself. "Now, Q," Trayous said quietly, hastily adjusting his bracers and belt before fiddling with the small silver fastenings of his cloak. The droid whistled an affirmative, plugging himself into the terminal and easily making a connection with the Millennium Falcon. Perks of having an advanced spy droid on one's side, Trayous noted before a small tone told him his transmission had been accepted. He stood stiff as a board, hands folded in front of him as he spoke in what he hoped was a calm, clear, and professional tone:

"Survivors of the Resistance, this is Darth Trayous of the Imperial Sith Remnant on Malachor," he began crisply, inwardly praying the slight tremor to his voice didn't carry through the recording. "I apologize for not reaching out sooner, but when your distress signal was received, we had a job setting up a means to get back to you. In any case, you asked for help, and you have it.

"I represent the few individuals who call this planet our home after the First Order's massacre of our people," he went on, "and humbly offer you sanctuary and unwavering loyalty towards our common goal. Coordinates to our location should be transmitted to your navicomputer by my astromech; I eagerly await your decision. Over."

Part of Teela knew the person she was today wasn’t someone she kriffin’ wanted to be, but adapting to a post-66 world meant morals and ethics couldn’t coincide again. It was a gray area, just like it had been since she left the Order. “That’s the price of information around here.” 

||OPEN TO ALL ||

There were so few of them.

If you had told Kaydel that the only Resistance members left would all fit on to the Millennium Falcon she would have thought you were crazy. But somehow it was true. This was it. This was all they had.

Even the Princess General had expressed disbelief.

She’d really thought it was the end. When Leia’s face had fallen at the lack of a response in the bunker so had her heart. Kaydel had never met anyone more fierce and determined. If the General was to lose faith there was definitely no hope.

But then Luke Skywalker had appeared. The man of just as many legends as her superior. She still couldn’t believe she had been in the same room as Luke Skywalker. And Han Solo. And Leia Organa Solo. They were the stuff of legends. And now she found herself in the Millennium Falcon.

As exciting as it was, the timing was very poor. Instead of gleefully exploring the ship she had dreamed stories about Kaydel was helping people find places to bunk down and rest. She was looking for any medical supplies they needed or trying to find ways to make do. The actual attempts at healing she left the the few remaining medics but she lended a hand when needed.

Her latest project was taking inventory of their possible food at the moment. There wasn’t too much but it would hopefully last them until they reached a place. There was some very old and probably mostly inedible caf that had caught her attention.

She’d made a pot and taken a cup before retiring to one of the only deserted areas of the ship. By all appearances it seemed as if she wanted to keep focused as she finished her calculations. Really all Kaydel wanted was to not go to sleep.

The yells through the comms as more ships exploded or were shot down echoed in her head. Faces of those she had worked closely with on the bridge before it had been blown up swarmed her mind. Admiral Ackbar had always been kind. She was very thankful for the coworkers that hadn’t been there at that moment.

Sometimes she wished she had been.

So now she sat quietly in the abandoned hallway while most of the rest of the survivors slept. Looking down at the datapad in her lap she felt hot tears as they filled the corners of her eyes. Lost faces looked up from the screen as she took on the task of updating the survivors logs.

          The floor stuck to her cheek      as she peeled it off the ground.      Ugh, how many drinks did she have last night?      She couldn’t of have had that many.     She had one, just one.      And one more when that cute      blue girl gave her one.     And then there was that green guy.      And then that red head. . .

                    “---Fuck.” 

            Everything spun around her,       she was going to be sick.       Her hand gripped a table’s edge .      to steady herself, but she lost       her footing anyway.        She soon stumbled      back into the hard floor. 

                     Jedi’s balls!

            Great now she had a possible      concussion to add to her throbbing head.      Just great.       Attempting to steady herself, she sat up.       She held back a heave,      she hadn’t thrown up       in four years from being hungover       and it certainly wasn’t going       to start happening now.       Okay. Okay. She wasn’t going to throw up.       Nope. Not at all. 

              She was about to lay down again,       hoping that might ease off the spins.       But a blurred figure perched      on her worn couch had different plans.      The figure soon came into focus.