#taveau

The DM introduces us to the spectacle of Theed City, capitol of Naboo. It’s temperate in climate, standing majestically on a forested mesa. 

We’re contacted by Theed air traffic control. 

Me: As usual, Taveau is gonna look to Grif to do the talking. 

H: As usual, Rralwarr can’t talk. 

ATC: confirm number of passengers and planned duration of stay. 

Grif: Uh hey there, we have 3, planning on staying overnight. 

ATC: Copy, Blindsider... be prepared to show IDs to customs.

Grif, quietly: oh

(The players all sit back and give each other the :/ face for a minute) 

Rralwarr: Well, we don’t need to stop here...

Me out-of-character: can we do a galactic lore roll to see how bad it would be if we landed without IDs? I mean Taveau’s not gonna know what to search for necessarily, he’s not familiar with landing LEGALLY... But maybe someone else who knows more about this? 

Grif: hmmm well sounds problematic.

Grif to ATC: OK we don’t have time to stop here bye.

ATC: Copy, please exit Naboo airspace within 5 minutes. 

There’s a pause, then: 

DM: OK, WELL, I’LL JUST PULL THIS ENTIRE PAGE OF METICULOUS NOTES OUT OF THE BOOK AND EAT IT, NOW. 

Everyone: uh 

Everyone: do we uh

Everyone: was... were we supposed to land on Naboo.... 

Everyone: do we not have a session plan now?? 

DM: MMMMMYEP. 

M: oops.... oh, well, we already did that so I guess--

Me, out of character: AAHGHSDFJK. OK HOLD ON ONE SEC--

Taveau: H, hold on, are we... where are we going if we’re not stopping here? 

Grif: To meet up with Mij? 

Taveau: But we were supposed to meet up with him in a couple of days. We’re going to be there way too early if we stop here. 

Rralwarr: We could always just wait there. Maybe scope out the area. 

Taveau: Have you looked at the coordinates he gave us? That’s in the middle of Separatist airspace and I don’t want to be just sitting out there for two days! 

Grif: Well... 

Taveau takes out his datapad, does a thirty-second Space Wikipedia search, and shoves it in Grif’s face--showing that we can easily get tourist visas on the planet. 

Grif: OK, you really want to go to this planet don’t you? 

(Me out of character: YE) 

Grif: Listen, OK, let’s make a deal... We’ll make this stop and I’ll subtract 10% of your pay. 

Taveau: 

Taveau: What

Taveau: What is my pay?

Grif: ...OK yeah let’s go ahead and establish that. 

Taveau: Uh-huh, so what do you think is a good--

Grif: *FAST TALK MODE ENGAGED*  Well listen I feel like we’ve got to find a price that’s reasonable for our means without devaluing the great help you’ve given us. You helped us in battle as well as with flying this ship. You’ve changed the direction of my entire life, and I hope you’ll be there for a lot of it, because you’re a pretty cool guy. However, as far as payment goes, well, I mean you weren’t flying for the whole time you’ve been with us, and a lot of that time the ship was on autopilot anyway--

Taveau, breaking out of his overwhelmed haze: OK but you say this like programming autopilot is EASY. Could you do it?

Grif: ...Probably? I mean I’m guessing there’s a button you press. 

Rralwarr: You’re the type who’d push the self-destruct button instead. 

Grif, uncomfortable: Thehrhyhe haaa theyyy don’t HAVE self destruct buttons??? do they??? 

Taveau: *chuckles* .... nah. 

Grif: Ah, good, great. So how much do you want? 

Taveau, who has no idea what a reasonable price actually is, just kind of bluescreens for a few seconds and then goes “.....10,000?”

Grif: OK, sure. I’ll get that to you as soon as possible. ...You really wanna go to Naboo?

Taveau: Do you have a better idea??

Grif: ... ...well... no... but...? ...OK but let’s go to the other side of the planet, I don’t wanna talk to that guy again, he seemed grumpy. 

(DM: Ooh...

H: I know what his punishment for us is gonna be. 

DM: The Gungans have also been making a killing off of tourism, and have built a spaceport outside of Theed to allow access to the underwater city. Yes, THIS IS WHAT YOU GET for making me eat my notes.)

Grif, researching the area, notices the Gungan city, and goes:  Ooh, an underwater city! Now, that I could get behind.

Taveau: OK? Glad to see you excited about something.

Grif, reading from his datapad: ooh they took out an entire orbital dropship, they must be great warriors!

Taveau: Huh. Interesting. 

DM: So you fly in to Gungan Space and you get a uhh.. a new buzzer on the  commlink... it appears to be Gungan traffic control. 

ATC: HEDOOOH! YoU-sA wAnT lAnD iN GunGAn cItY?? 

HEDOOOH! You-sa want land in Gungan City? 

(Players: oh... 

DM: THIS IS YOUR PUNISHMENT.) 

ATC: wE-SAAAA be hApPy to WelCOmE YoU! YoUUu-sa, be lAnDiN iNNnn, ah... DoCkInG bAy 36! 

Grif: All right, sounds great!

ATC: ThAnK yOuS!

Grif: he sounds friendly.

Taveau: yeah, they sound pretty chill. 

Grif: they must have a very interesting and deep rich culture if their speech is so hard for us to understand... I think it’ll be a very interesting experience.

DM: You land, and are greeted by Gungan Customs, which seems to work on a different organizational scheme than Nubian customs. 

Gungan Customs Officer: Hello-sa! 

Grif: Hi! :D 

GCO: Welcome to Naboo, we-sa very happy to have you here! But-ah, there is una small matter! The landing fee is 500 Republic credits! 

Grif: OK, uh, shoot! Well, I can cover that one. (M: I’ll swipe my cardy-boii)

We get our visas and ride down towards the underwater city in a small sub shuttle. Rralwarr is not happy about being crammed into a small space, or about being underwater in general, but it’s otherwise a very nice ship. The pilots points out interesting features of the area as we glide downwards.

Taveau: Huh... I’m starting to enjoy myself.

Grif, staring at the pilot’s eye-stalks: .....huh. 

The water grows darker, but ahead is a dim glow of light which slowly becomes many different points of light, coming from a system of oddly bulbous pods linked together: the underwater city of Otoh-Gunga. 

Grif: Wow! This is impresive!

Pilot: It is very nice, yes? We-sa like it here. 

Grif: So, like, how do you get in without, like, letting water in?

Pilot: Ooh, we-sa have membranes! It keep the water out, but the ships go through! 

Grif: Amazing! But isn’t that a security risk? Can any ships go through, or only yours? 

Pilot: Oh, we-sa don’t worry about that. We-sa very peaceful, no have soldiers here since the invasion. 

Grif: Oh, good, I always like a peaceful planet. I come from one myself, it’s called Alderaan. 

Pilot: Does it have oceans? 

Grif: Oh, yeah, lots of oceans! But I don’t think there are any underwater cities. \

Pilot: Sound lovely. Maybe we visit sometime. 

We arrive in the city, and Rralwarr immediately runs to the most open space in the area and takes a slightly panicky breath of air. 

Taveau: Doing OK Rralwarr?

Rralwarr: *tiny Wookie noise* underwater.... 

Grif: OK, let’s figure out how we’re gonna do this! Rralwarr, I know you want medpacs. Taveau, what about you? 

Taveau: Booze. 

Grif: ..That’s all? You made us come down here for booze? Alright, fine, I’ll get you some booze. 

Taveau: You’re paying? I wasn’t aware that was part of the arrangement. 

Grif: Oh, sure, yeah. I’ll get you whatever you need on this trip, it comes out of your pay, is all. 

Taveau: I can buy my own groceries. But I will let you buy me a bottle of rum. 

The party splits: Rralwarr goes off to buy medpacs, and Grif and Taveau head to a liquor store. DM asks what I’m looking for. I say just a cheap rum. 

DM: Just... complete rotgut?  You’re looking for the Star Wars equivalent of Everclear. 

Me, ooc: not QUITE that bad. 

DM: So, space Jim Beam. 

Me: Yeah. 

DM: OK, you find that. 

The DM introduces the cashier lady, the store, and an impressive array of space booze to choose from: a number of Mon Cal grades, one which is 1000 credits (Taveau: oof. that’s unnecessary), samples of imports from other planets--the cashier notes that a few are becoming hard to get, thanks to the Separatists taking over the planets of origin. 

DM: There’s also a novelty bottle of bright green alcohol that comes in a bottle shaped like Yoda’s head. You’re pretty sure this was not authorized by the Jedi. 75 credits. The label reads “Feel good you will, hmmmm.” 

Grif: !!!

Taveau: I’m not sure I trust this, but OK?? We can share it, it’ll be interesting. 

We get the novelty Yoda booze and 1 bottle of 95-credit (fairly cheap but almost respectable) Mon Calamari black rum for Taveau’s personal use. 

As they leave, Taveau takes the rum out of his bag, takes a swig straight out the bottle, and then puts it back in his bag. 

DM: That’s very white trash of him. 

Me, OOC: You assume Taveau is white? He’s just... space trash. 

(DM argues that I showed him some pictures I found on pinterest as references and they looked like white trash. And OK they fit the general aesthetic and appearance which is why I sent them, but they don’t supersede the character description that’s on my sheet.) 

DM: So you continue walking along, noticing the tourists and the Gungans looking out across the city. It’s so pretty, you think you have to take another drink of rum to appreciate it, so you do. (Minor irritation from me having my character played for me, but it is, in fact, extremely in character, so I roll with it) Grif, you crack open that Yoda head. It is very sweet and very fruity, with a bit of citrus. It’s basically 170-proof Mountain Dew. Some of your nervousness about being underwater slips away. You decide to give Rralwarr some when you get back. 

Taveau: How’s that? 

Grif: Weird! It’s sweet, try it? 

Taveau: ...ooh. I like that more than I thought I would. 

DM: Taveau, you find yourself feeling like you’re almost ready to talk to people. It’s weird, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it. 

Next, we head to Otoh Gunga Metalworks. Naboo, being so peaceful, does not permit the (legal) sale of weapons for anything other than decoration, but Taveau wants to add to his knife collection. He’s planning to collect a knife from every planet he visits.

We enter, and the Gungan asks what we’re looking for. Taveau, being Taveau, just goes “Knives.” The Gungan chuckles.

Cashier Gungan: Who-sa you want to stab?

Taveau: Depends on the day.

CG: Me-sa kidding! We-sa no sell sharp blades, but we-sa do have good collection pieces.

Grif: Well, that would be perfect *elbow jab* sINCE YOU’RE A COLLECTOR, Taveau!

Taveau: Yep.

There are, actually, a wide variety of knives, mostly elaborately wrought decoration pieces, but down in the “historical section” are knives and hunting tools, replicas of the distant past. They have dull edges and are made of the same dark metal of the city-bubbles’ frames. There are spears, slings, and some small, almost stiletto-like knives. 

Grif: Wow, it’s so tiny! 

The Gungan chuckles: You-sa must be delicate, thesa not be for gooberfish. ...We-sa have spears for those. 

Taveau picks up one of the small knives and examines it. It’s a bit heavier than he would expect for the size and is made of one piece of metal, with the hilt wrapped in a tough green leather of unidentifiable source. It’s a stiff, non-flexible blade, very slender, the balance point towards the hilt. 

Taveau buys two of the plainer ones. 

Next, I want to find a vox box, a device which (I had learned from the manual) is readily available across the galaxy and speaks a range of phrases in Basic, and, with a good computer skill, can also be customized. 

All we can find, the DM tells us, is a novelty vox box that speaks in a Gungan accent. 

(Me: Is this really the only one?? I was gonna give it to Rralwarr as a gift, I thought it was a good idea... 

DM: That’s the only one. 

Me: I’m a little angry. 

DM: SO AM I) 

Grif thinks the box is hilarious and encourages Taveau, who was wavering, to buy it anyway. Taveau figures they can always try customizing it to be less annoying later. And then--

Grif: Bookstore! Do you like books? I like books. 

Taveau: Uh. Sure

Grif looks through the selections on galactic cultures, trying to find something on Mandalore. There are very few mentions of it, aside from a sort of cheesy fiction book title “Tales of the Mandalorian Raiders,” a story about the Old Republic. The cover shows a black-and-red-helmeted mando in old-fashioned armor--it’s more square, and the T-visor is contoured differently--stabbing his sword through a Jedi’s heart, with the wreckage of a city overrun by armies of battling Jedi and Mandalorians in the background. 

Grif seriously considers buying this book. Taveau picks it up and flips through it. It claims to be written in Mando’a blank verse, a claim which doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, but whatever. There are a few words of Mando’a flung in for flavor. They’re hilariously misspelled. It tells the story of an ancient Mandalore who once allied with the Sith. He’s portrayed in a fairly unflattering light, and the book focused on his creative ways of slaughtering people. 

Taveau cackles at this a bit. 

Grif: ....Had enough to drink? 

Taveau: Yeah yeah. *shakes the book* is this what you do in your free time? 

Grif: It is now. 

Taveau: Why?? 

Grif: Well--okay, here’s the thing, I just... My life has been changing a lot lately, and I’m not really sure where I stand, you know? And I want to believe that Mij and his people are the good guys, you know, and I really think it’s so cool what they stand for, the--the freedom, and honor, and stuff, and fighting Death Watch, but I just... I’m new to this, and I don’t know them very well, and if I’m going to become a part of this I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing. So, I guess I just want to understand more about the culture because I hope it’ll help me understand Mij. 

Taveau: ..*chokes* hgnsf. Huh, OK. Well, I don’t think a book about the far past is going to tell you anything about Mij, but I think I get what you’re saying... *suppressed chuckle* Huh, well, how about this. Would you like me to cook for you? You said you wanted to learn about Mandalorian culture, hm? *Cackling* I mean--you’ve got me, I’m right here. You, uh, don’t need. *dismissive shake of the book* ...This. 

Grif is enthusiastic about this, despite the fact that Taveau is still cackling devilishly. They go grocery shopping. There’s a lot of fish, some seaweed-type wraps, and “a rather interesting sauce”: the sando-aquamonster hot sauce, with a label reading “there is no bigger fish.” 

Taveau grumbles about the lack of spices, but buys the ingredients to make a fish wrap of some sort, along with that very interesting hot sauce. Grif follows everything eagerly. He does not protest the purchase of the hottest sauce in the store. We go back to the ship and reunite with Rralwarr. There’s a smallish cooking area in the ship, basically just a counter and a space microwave. Taveau tastes the sauce while he’s making the wraps. 

Me, OOC: So how spicy is it? 

DM: To YOU? Not very spicy, but you think it’s pretty good for an aruetiise approximation. 

Let me pause here to share with you, my dear readers, some fun trivia I learned in my study of Mando’a. Mandalorian culture is full of very spicy foods. They have a special word (hetikles) for the “noseburn” you get from really really spicy foods, the ones that basically just set your entire sinus system on fire--it’s a prized sensation. Taveau was, of course, raised to have a healthy appreciation of hellishly fiery foods. Grif was not, and Taveau kinda suspects this. 

Now, Taveau (fortunately for Grif) does not have access to real Mandalorian spices, but this sauce comes close enough to earn his respect. 

He makes some fish wraps and sticks them in the space microwave for a minute so they’re warm, then drenches them in hot sauce. Grif is excited. 

Taveau: Chill, this isn’t anything like authentic, I used what I could find.. it’s just some space-microwaved fish wrap with hot sauce on it... the sauce is pretty good, though. 

Grif: Oh, awesome, cool, great! Is there, like, a traditional way to eat this or 

Taveau: Just. eat it

Grif: OK! 

M: Grif takes a big forkful and stuffs it in his mouth. 

DM: CON SAVE! 

M: (6) 

DM: You would let loose with every foul word that you know, except that your mouth hurts too much and you can only get out an incomprehensible sound of pain. 

Grif: WREEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Taveau, at this point, is on the floor, just choking with laughter. 

DM: Grif, you scramble for the closest liquid--which is the bottle of Yoda liquor. It cuts the burn a bit but you do not feel well and you run off to the refresher to rethink your life. Taveau meanwhile is just losing it with laughter and calls after Grif “Kandosii!” 

Rralwarr: What did you give him?! 

Taveau: Just hot sauce. Try it! 

DM: CON SAVE! (high pass) Yeah, you’re fine. It’s good sauce. You think Grif is just kind of a wimp. 

Grif still hasn’t come back. Taveau feels a tiny bit bad but also he’s still laughing. Rralwarr pretends to feel bad. He is also laughing. We eat two of the hot-sauced wraps and Taveau puts one plain, not at all hot one aside for Grif, when he feels better enough to eat. Taveau also gives Rralwarr the vox box which speaks in a Gungan accent. 

Rralwarr: ...This was Grif’s idea wasn’t it. 

Meanwhile, Grif is lying spread-eagled on the tiles in the refresher, trying to absorb all the coldness from the floor. He feels like he’s on fire and his stomach probably won’t settle down for a while. 

Taveau spends the next couple of hours sharpening the two knives he bought. He tapes one to the underside of his pilot seat so that it’s hidden but easy to whip out if needed. He’s completely finished sharpening both by the time Grif stumbles out of the refresher. 

Taveau: Hey, Grif! I left one of those wraps plain for you. It’s in the kitchen. 

Grif: hhhghhthanks uhhh I’m not really hungry right now but thanks tho

Taveau: Are you okay? 

Grif: *sniff* hhghhhhyes ‘m fine just uhhhhghh. gonna uhh. go to bed now I think. g’night Taveau. 

Taveau: I, uh. Didn’t realize it would be quite that rough on you. 

Grif: huhhh nno it’sss fineeee m just a lil tired that’s all just. yea. ‘m totally fine don’t worry about it. g’night

Taveau: Oh, hey, before you go. This is for you. I sharpened it. 

He gives Grif the other knife he’d bought on the planet, the slightly nicer one, now razor sharp, and tries to show Grif some grips he can use to fight with it. 

Grif: uhhh that’s nice but uhh maybe show me this when I’m more awake maybe. tthank you. 

He stumbles off, and Taveau settles down in his pilot seat with his knife collection. For now, it’s quiet in the ship. 

The ground was steadily approaching, a faint shimmer below him as his night vision struggled to pick up something other than the walls speeding past. Taveau estimated he was about ten meters above when he switched on his jetpack, trailing a fiery blast down the face of the rock wall for a few fractions of a second before he switched it off, dropping down gently in darkness to the stone pavement of the courtyard. The kickback had slowed his descent so that he made almost no sound, and his night vision showed him two guards, staring blankly upwards towards where the trail of fire had appeared. The first one was still staring as Taveau’s vibroblade ripped into skin just below the tilted-back helmet. The second had time to hear the first choking on his blood, turn towards the sound and scream as Taveau crashed into him, knocking the half-raised blaster aside and silencing him with another flick of the wrist. He fell, and Taveau paused to check that both guards were properly dead. They were, and he could see the rest of the courtyard from where he was standing: it was empty, no further resistance between him and the simple metal door set into the opposite wall.

Somewhere above was the sky, so dark with clouds that it was hard to see where the walls ended and the sky began. The fortress had lights, but they had flickered out a few moments before he’d started his descent down the wall, thanks to interference that the Vaal’ik family would hopefully attribute to the storm. The fortress was built into a natural crevice in the rock, and so the walls of the courtyard were unevenly shaped. It was, in fact, just a wider area in a snaky crevice running through perhaps half a kilometer of stone before it reached open ground. The steep, narrow passageway was lined with armored droid lookouts. It was well-defended, assuming, of course, that an assault was coming from that direction. Somehow no one ever expected trouble to come from above.

Taveau reached for the control panel on the wall and brought the siege gate up with a grinding crunch. Now there was about half a meter of solid alloy between him and the droid lookouts: another precaution which would have been useful, had an assault been coming from that direction. “Courtyard is clear,” he said, and heard a scratchy confirmation over comms.

Immediately after he’d said it he heard something thump down behind him. The sound was followed, so quickly that he didn’t have time to turn, with the screech of a blaster rifle discharging into his back at point-blank range. He spun, striking at his assailant’s arms, and the rifle clattered to the ground: they had an amateur’s grip. They snatched for something at their belt and he saw them, him, briefly, close enough to touch: a young male human, about his own age; with a patterned poncho draped from his upper arms, the cowl hiding his face almost to the eyes, which were wide and sparkling in the night.

The bolt from Taveau’s blaster pistol caught him under the chin and exited at the top of his skull, spattering brain matter against the alloy of the seige gate. He dropped silently against Taveau’s boots, and Taveau stepped away from the limp weight, moving his torso carefully. He’d bruised his ribs, and it felt like he might have a few burns from the bolt spattering below the chestplate, but he’d be alright. Looking up, he saw something he hadn’t seen before: narrow handholds cut into the rock, leading up to a natural indentation of some sort. Of course, the kid had been hiding up there. Stupid. He’d made exactly the same mistake the guards had made.

“Taveau. We heard blasters. Report.”

“Ah, kriff—I was wrong, courtyard wasn’t clear. It is now. Some kid was hiding up in a cave in the rock and jumped down on me.”

“You’re certain it’s clear now?”

“Unless there are more of them up there.”

“Check it. We’re heading down now.”

“Copy that.”

He started up the wall, hearing first one, then two, three, four jetpacks firing somewhere to his left.

He paused, getting his balance, just below the level of the opening in the rock, then came up over the edge blaster first. He was facing a smooth wall, close enough to touch if he leaned forwards. There was nothing else in the space but a half-empty bottle of some kind of fizzy and a dusty blanket.

“This is Taveau, we’re clear in front.”

“Copy. Stay outside and guard the door.”

“Copy.”

By leaning forward a little, he could see the whole courtyard. He watched the rest of his team blow the hinges off the door and charge inside, disappearing into a dark passageway. The lights still hadn’t come back on. They must have done a good job.

Taveau settled into a comfortable crouch, relaxed but ready to move if necessary. The hollow made an excellent lookout point.

He wondered what the kid had been doing up here. Did he not trust the guards to stay awake on their own? Or was he friends with them? Did he just enjoy sitting up here? Maybe some combination. A couple minutes passed. Taveau wondered what flavor the half-finished fizzy was. He shouldn’t risk taking his helmet off in the middle of enemy territory, but there wasn’t much going on.

He failed to listen to his wiser voice, and removed his helmet with a quiet hiss of decompressing air. He looked up into darkness, now unbroken by the green shimmer of night vision; the only sound a tired whisper of wind over rock and the now-distant comms chatter from his helmet. A breath of the cool night breeze ran its fingers through his hair and brushed his cheeks. He breathed it in, tasting the bitter-salt smoke of the explosives in the air, and lifted the bottle to his lips.

It was a flavor he couldn’t identify—some kind of fruit. He liked it. He took another drink, and just then he heard the siege gate start to move.

It took him a few precious seconds to set the bottle down and jam his helmet back on. Night vision eclipsed the yellowish glare that had appeared in his peripheral vision, and he saw the shapes of four humans with a lantern, followed by the three droid lookouts from the path. They had opened the gate from the other side. Apparently they had an override. And a secret exit. But why had they come back here? Were they trying to launch a counterattack?

He updated the rest of the team in a low voice, without moving. The newcomers didn’t appear to have noticed him yet.

“Davi!”

It was the tall man in the front. It was difficult from this angle, but Taveau thought he could identify him as Vaal’ik senior. Exactly the man they’d come to kill. He didn’t seem to be concerned with caution, at any rate.

There was a sudden blast from the dark entryway of the fortress. Taveau heard it twice, crackling over comms and thudding through the air around him, followed by swearing from his teammates. It sounded like they’d been ambushed by another party of droids. Vaal’ik had a small army, it would seem.

“Davi!” the man shouted again, and darted forward into the courtyard, dropping to his knees beside the dead kid. One of the humans shouted for him to come back, and he ignored them, gently lifting the limp body into his lap. “Davi, boy, it’s OK, I’m right here.”

Taveau felt strangely sickened. Was the man insane? Could he not see that the kid was missing the back of his skull?

“Sir!” One of the humans shouted, noticing Taveau. Instantly six blasters were aimed up at him. Taveau silently adjusted his position so they could more clearly see his own blaster, pointed at the man directly below him. Vaal’ik was still focused on the kid and appeared to be feeling for a pulse. Then, slowly, he realized the tense silence of his allies, and looked up at Taveau.

“You.” he said, quietly.

Taveau didn’t see any reason to respond.

The man put the body down—Taveau was surprised at the relief he felt—and stood, never taking his eyes off Taveau.

“Get down here.”

“Why?” said Taveau, and the man froze for a moment, face changed at the sound of his voice. He got over it quickly, whatever it was that had bothered him.

Perhaps he’d had exactly this discussion with the kid not long before.

“Come down here and fight me.”

“With what?”

He drew and activated a force pike, the tip sparking against the night, emitting a low hum of sonic power.

“You know I have a gun, right?” said Taveau with some humor. He’d probably die as soon as he shot Vaal’ik, but Vaal’ik should know he wasn’t afraid. He’d known that he might die tonight when he left. If not tonight, maybe tomorrow.

“Are you that much of a coward?” prodded Vaal’ik.

Taveau shrugged the shoulder of his off hand, careful not to let it affect his aim.

“Yeah, probably.” He didn’t bother pointing out that, if he did shoot Vaal’ik, one against six was hardly fair stakes either.

“Sir?” said one of Vaal’ik’s allies, and he gestured impatiently at them.

“Stand down. Let me fight him.”

“Sir, this is madness, we need to get out of here.”

“I said stand down. You.” he pointed the force pike at Taveau. “Fight me.”

Taveau sighed, holstered his blaster and drew his vibroblades.

“Step back.”

He could never decide, later, why he came down. Maybe it was just instinct, telling him that he’d be less of a target on the ground, especially if he could get Vaal’ik between him and the others. Maybe it was a sick sense of pity, or curiosity.

He dropped lightly to the stone pavement of the courtyard and dodged an overhead swipe from the force pike. It parted the air with an audible whirr. A couple solid hits from it would break through even this armor. The man was panting, wide-eyed, teeth bared like a rabid animal, but he fought with an intense focus. Taveau stayed on the defense, waiting for him to overextend, but even in his rage Vaal’ik was smarter than that.

Whatever emotion was sustaining him, Taveau didn’t have it; finally he misinterpreted, tried to dodge in the wrong direction and then to correct and, failing to do either in time, caught the blow directly across his thigh plate, and he heard something snap. But the impact had slowed Vaal’ik for a moment; he seemed almost surprised the hit had landed, and Taveau took the opportunity to close the distance between them while Vaal’ik was struggling to control the larger weapon. Vaal’ik dodged, but not quickly enough to completely escape a slash from Taveau’s vibroblade which opened the side of his throat. Blood spattered quickly onto his robes, but it wasn’t enough to stop him moving, and Taveau had to block another strike from the force pike with his arm. Again that snapping sound, and his arm went numb, but he grabbed Vaalik’s wrist with his other hand and spun so that he was holding Vaal’ik’s weapon arm in front of him, punching his elbow into Vaal’ik’s stomach. Blood spattered from over his shoulder. He lashed out again with his numbed arm and opened a wound on Vaal’ik’s arm; after another cut the force pike dropped from his hand and Taveau spun again, pulling Vaal’ik between him and his six allies, and held him in place with an arm around his waist. Two of the humans shot at him, but the others hesitated. Of the two shots fired, one hit just above the visor on his helmet and one went wide.

Then there was silence.

Taveau realized that he was breathing, and his heart was racing. He counted the bodies with his still-hot blaster. One of the droids was still sparking and fizzling angrily. He steadied his hand and put it down for good with a direct shot to the eye. Then he released Vaal’ik.

The man fell to his hands and knees, leaving a hot trail of blood down the front of Taveau’s chestplate. He still wasn’t quite dead. Taveau aimed for his head. He was moving, but not for the force pike, or any of the weapons scattered around. He was moving towards the body of the kid in the poncho, who was almost within reach.

“Why’d you do it?” asked Taveau suddenly, startling himself a little. He didn’t expect an answer. But it was a good question. Their plan had obviously worked; Taveau’s teammates were still trapped inside. The man and his allies could have been off the planet by now. Perhaps some of them were, he was pretty sure there had been more family than this. But these ones had come back.

Vaal’ik dragged himself towards the body, visibly fighting to stay conscious, and gripped the boy’s sleeve with slick fingers. A tremor shook his body. He kept himself propped up on his arms long enough for two breaths to lift his back, then all at once he collapsed, landing with his head pillowed on the boy’s stomach. A silent spring of blood began to spread on the ground beneath him.

Taveau kept the blaster raised for a few moments, then slowly lowered it. He walked closer—stopping, as the muscles seized in his leg, to examine his wounds; the plates of his armor had warped and the gauntlet had cracked, but he wasn’t bleeding, though he didn’t think he’d be able to walk without pain for a while. Carefully he limped closer. Yes, they were both dead. Why did it make him feel so strange? And why did he keep looking at them?

He remembered a river from the mountains, bitingly cold and foaming with the released energy of long-silent snow. He remembered a force too great to fight pushing him down into that whiteness, until there was no sense of light or direction, only the cold rush of the river, and he felt that he’d grown as cold and blinded as it was. Then somehow he woke to his father slapping him viciously in the face. He struggled up, choked, and twisted to vomit up cold water. Slowly the roar of the river faded from his body and he could hear other sounds. Birdsong. His own gasping breaths. “—can’t believe you DI’KUT I SAID be careful around the river you could have been KILLED or’dinii are you BRAIN DEAD do you HAVE two brain cells to rub together, laandur, ni'duraa—” his father trailed off into increasingly colorful swears as Taveau lay on his stomach shivering and trying to force up the last traces of water from his burning lungs. His cheek stung. His father seized him by the back of his light training breastplate, hauled him up to his knees and shook him. “That was stupid. I expect you to do better in the future.”

“..Uh...hhhuh..”

“Excuse me, did you say something?”

“Yes sir.”

His father slapped him across the shoulders, stood, and disappeared into the trees. Taveau, who’d been preoccupied until now, barely saw him at all; turning to look after him he saw him glittering in the light as if he’d been dipped in jewels, just before he passed into the shadows.

“On your feet, ad.”

He was gone, and Taveau let himself sag.

He’d called him ad. Son. Of course, he’d called him a lot of other things too, so he didn’t put much store by it. Still, it wasn’t a term he heard often, and it stuck in his mind. It was unusual. It didn’t fit. Neither did the sparkle he’d seen. His father had been wet, and there was a trail of water across the rocks leading from Taveau’s boots to the edge of the river, and Taveau knew that he hadn’t pulled himself out. But he was surpised his father would step in after he’d disgraced himself with such a foolish mistake. And yet, he had been there. Taveau hadn’t even known that he was watching him. It made him uncomfortable.

The roar of the river continued, and he forced himself up just to get away from it. His legs trembled under him. He dragged himself back to the camoflaged lean-to he’d constructed and collapsed there, too tired to hunt. Foraging was one of the things he could let slide in survival training: his father would check the construction of his shelter, the condition of his armor and weapons; food wasn’t as much of an issue, as long as he remained strong enough to move around in his armor.

He saw the texture of the branches in front of him moving slowly, as if he was watching them through waves. He stared at them for what felt like a long time until suddenly taken by sleep.

It wasn’t entirely by accident that he’d fallen into the river, though it hadn’t been intentional either. Sometimes he walked on the very edge of a precipice for reasons he couldn’t name to himself. Maybe he hoped the proximity to death would spark a zest for life in him. Maybe he hoped he would fall. That day, a rock had been loose and he had. It had been an accident that he fell. It was not an accident that he was standing on the edge. It was not an accident that, a few years later, he walked in front of an active blaster cannon rather than behind, an incident that solidified his reputation in Death Watch as a complete dumbshit. And yet he’d lived, and still he’d lived, and tonight he was inexplicably the only one standing in the courtyard, and he thought maybe the strange feeling was a realization that he was closer than he’d ever been to something he couldn’t understand. Something that showed itself in rage and grief and sometimes inexplicable actions.

His head hurt. He remembered that he’d been shot and took off his helmet. There was a deep charred dent in the brow, and a crack in the supposedly unbreakable material of the visor. He carefully reached up and brushed his fingers across his forehead. Nothing from the blast, not even a bruise. Unlike his other injuries. What was the setting on that force pike? The feeling was returning to his left hand, but only slowly. He flexed the arm under the shattered gauntlet and wiggled his fingers. Nothing seemed broken.

The blood was still pooling under the man, but slowly. A lot of it had been soaked up in the folds of the boy’s poncho. Taveau suddenly wanted to kneel down and touch them, and he wasn’t sure why. Instead he turned and walked further into the courtyard. The others met him at the door. One of them swatted at him with a hacked-off droid arm. He batted it away irritably.

“You’re still alive.”

“So are you! What happened out here?”

Taveau lifted his helmet, displaying the blast mark, then gestured with it behind him at the bodies. One of his teammates whooped, streaking off to examine the spoils.

“Taveau, seven! I don’t believe this. How’d you do it?”

“The old man let me use him as a shield.”

He laughed, “Classic.”

Taveau didn’t remember the trip back. His next memory was of sitting in the return ship, running a finger up and down the crack in his gauntlet, staring at nothing.

.

.

A/N: Title is a reference to a song that I found because @silverskye13 recced it, which is Bottom of the River by Delta Rae. 

Taveau and Davi are similar names, especially if you consider that I got “Taveau” by changing one letter of the name Daveau, which means “of David”, and Davi is yet another form of the name David. 

So in the Flannery O’Connor seminar I took last semester, we’d often discuss how, in her stories, characters would be presented with a “moment of grace” which they could either accept or reject.  Taveau rejected this one, but it wasn’t a full rejection. And as long as you’re alive you get more chances. 

I’m not sure how well I conveyed all that’s going on here, so I’d appreciate feedback. At the time of this story, Taveau’s almost convinced himself that he’s alright with this, because he doesn’t think he has any other choice. Almost, but not quite. But he’s definitely not at the stage of actual rebellion yet. No, that comes later. It develops slowly. ....it is also helped by the fact that he got frickin betrayed n left to die by his asshole murder bros, like, that was definitely the last straw, but he was having doubts before that. 

Session 2 opens with me reminding everyone that I’m drunk driving and asking DM SpeedyJellyfish if I crash into the side of the spaceport building. He tells me to roll. 

I have a +8 to the Pilot skill, so the score I ended up with was a 23. 

DM: you LOOK like you’re going to crash-Grif and Rralwarr (that’s apparently how we spell the Wookie’s name that I was hearing as ‘Rowler’ before) are clinging to their seats in the back; at one point Grif slides off and Rralwarr grabs him-but at the last moment you make a perfect 90 degree turn and come to a complete stop right next to the building. 

Me: I step out of the cockpit and bow deeply. And then almost fall over.

Grif: I try not to throw up. 

Rralwarr: I am scarred for life! 

DM, to Grif: Roll constitution. 

Grif: (5) 

Joey: ...you lose it. You stumble out of the speeder and it all comes up. ...Other than that you’re fine.

We enter the spaceport and it’s empty and abandoned (not surprising, considering there’s an invasion happening) except for a single, distant figure. As we notice it, DM tells us it’s a Duros, but it’s too far away to really tell much about it-- (Grif does really well on a perception roll) oh in that case, it’s a female Duros in a dark flight suit and boots. 

Meanwhile, Rralwarr’s player H made a joke about ‘making a good perception roll in real life’ because he’d realized that T, M’s girlfriend, was now on Roll20 and was probably going to be playing that character. And lo and behold, she was. Her character’s name is Umbra. 

T (Umbra) then makes her own Perception roll and gets a 13, so DM describes what the group approaching her looks like to her. 

DM: You see a human, a wookie, and something in Mandalorian armor. It appears humanoid. The wookie is taller—seems very well armed. The shorter male human seems to have a bit of a swagger about him, and his clothes look decent but a bit scorched. The third figure appears to be in some kind of vaguely Mandalorian armor, brownish-like, and a poncho. That person you can’t tell much about, but he or she seems to be stumbling a bit, like it’s either very sleepy or drunk.

Grif begins to approach the Duros, and I declare my intention of “sort of mindlessly shambling after him.” Rralwarr says he’s going to grab onto me and hold me in place. DM says “roll a grapple check” and 

we 

both 

roll 

an 

11. 

DM: ......Oh. Well that’s a contested grapple check. Um. Rralwarr, you try to grab him but he just sort of.... wobbles away from you... Like, you’re not even sure Taveau knows what he’s doing, but you fail to get a firm grip on him. 

Me, after I’m done “wobbling” around Rralwarr’s attempts at restraint: I follow Grif. 

H (Rralwarr): I follow to make sure Taveau’s blaster doesn’t go off. 

Me: I’m not touching my blaster! 

H: That’s what YOU think! 

Me, remembering last session’s crit fail: ...You Have A Point

We approached T’s character Umbra and Grif struck up a conversation with her which resulted in her offering us a ride in the shadiest language possible. I didn’t get notes on her opening speech because it was long and I was just fangirling over having another girl in the group, but it gave off a very, very strong aura of ‘sly, arrogant trickster who’s likely to double-cross you at every step of the way’. 

Also, brief context: Rralwarr did really badly on a “lore” roll earlier in the campaign, before I was there; so badly that they’re still making jokes about how he originally thought that Hypori was a tropical planet full of beaches. 

Grif: What matters is that we need to get all three of us to Hypori. 

Umbra: Hypori. Hypori, y’say? Why Hypori? 

Grif: Well 

Rralwarr: Don’t tell her! 

Grif: ...My wookie friend, here, is completely convinced it’s a tropical paradise, and he’s dying to get to Hypori, so... You know, I try to humor him. I’m thinking, once he figures it out, the shock might knock some sense into him. 

Rralwarr: ...You’re really enjoying the fact that nobody else here can understand what I’m saying, aren’t you. 

Grif: :) 

Umbra tells us, shadily in her shady way, that for the right price, she can ‘get us a ship’. Meanwhile, 

Me: Taveau sits down on the floor. 

Rralwarr: Wookie is satisfied! (that I’m not going to accidentally shoot anyone from here)

Umbra, pausing her Bad Guy Speech: ...Is your Mandalorian, ish, friend okay?

Grif: Oh, yeah, he’s fine. He’s been through some rough patches, I think he just woke up an hour ago. 

Taveau: Yyyyyyep. 

Umbra: What sort of rough patches? 

Grif: Oh well you know, there’s the invasion, for one thing. 

Umbra: Invasion? Of what? 

Taveau: Oh, did you miss the invasion, too? 

Umbra: ...There’s been no invasion, to my knowledge... 

Taveau: Aaaaeeeyyyy, you’re just as much of an idiot as I am! 

Grif, making a very halfhearted attempt to smooth things over, tells her she’s ‘just as sane as I (Taveau) am’ and I point out that that might be considered an insult. Grif tries to Persuade her that that’s not what he meant... and rolls poorly, while Umbra rolls a high Perception. 

DM: Yeah, she is not convinced, and she is a little insulted. 

Me: I’m just laughing at all this. 

After Grif mentions the court hearing (that they missed, before the session where I joined) Umbra goes ‘oh, so is it your face I’ve been seeing on the holo-posters?’ but is required by the DM to make a Deception check (because that’s blatantly not the case, and Grif of all people should know) and doesn’t do very well. 

Grif: Wanted posters? What no why would I be on a wanted poster--the invasion happened before we could get to court! 

Umbra: Ah, must’ve been someone else then. 

Grif: Anyway. May we see these ships? Don’t like putting my money into something I haven’t seen yet. 

Me: Taveau is now completely prone on the floor. 

Rralwarr: Wookie is further satisfied. 

DM, to me: Roll constitution. 

Me: Why? 

DM: To see if you pass out on the floor. 

Me: OK you’re right that would totally happen--(and yet, I pass the roll and remain awake). 

Umbra leads Grif off to the docking bay, and Rralwarr hangs out near my limp body, watching them from a diplomatic distance. 

Umbra: Alright, this is the docking bay. Behind some of these doors are ships. Some of them could probably take you to Hypori. Some of them... you really don’t want to open. But I’m not just going to open any of these doors. Like this one? Yeah, it’s got a ship behind it... But it’s got a wicked security system, and I lost the key. So if you want a ship, then... It’s gonna cost 2000 credits. Or, behind this door... go in there and see about getting you a ship for about... 1500 credits? Or you could just pick one of the doors, but... the security systems in this place are pretty tight. 

Grif: Now, I don’t want anyone to get hurt here! I feel like you’re telling me to run headlong into danger, and if I got hurt, my friend here would be very upset. 

Rralwarr: *moves a little closer* 

Grif: *does well on his Persuade roll* 

Umbra: *does well on her Perception roll; can definitely tell that Rralwarr is giving her A Look from across the room* 

DM, interpreting the rolls: Umbra is definitely intimidated by this, she kind of shrinks back a bit, looks a little defensive... seems like she might be willing to lower her prices.

Umbra:  Yeaaaah... I, I, I’ve heard of a few wookies... not bein too happy when someone got hurt... Tell you what, I gotta make a living too tho. For the first door, I’ll go down to 1470, and for the second door, mmm 1250.

Grif: Oh come on now... 

DM: Is Taveau still lying on the floor? 

Me: Yep. 

DM: Roll Perception! 

Me: ...Okay? (rolls low) 

DM: MMmm. Nope! You don’t notice anything :) 

Me: 

Me: I Feel Uncomfortable 

Me: But Taveau does not, and is very much enjoying the experience of being completely relaxed on this nice cool floor. 

I ask DM to describe the floor. He says it’s kind of like a Walmart floor. Taveau’s standards are low. It is a smooth horizontal surface & he is very drunk. He continues to enjoy it, blissfully ignorant of anything that might have required a good Perception roll to notice. Meanwhile, while we’re having technical difficulties with showing T (the new player) how to use Roll20, I ping her character a couple of times on the screen. She responds with: 

Umbra: Your drunken friend is eyeing me... 

Me: Oh, is that what I’m doing? Just... staring at your boots, across the floor? 

M (Grif): Shiiiiiny. 

Rralwarr, who’d been checking on whether the computers had access to cameras showing the ships (they didn’t), then Percepted on the doors and went over to tell what he’d noticed (notably, that they were equipped with cameras AND GUN TURRETS) to Grif. Grif, now even more on edge, continues trying to bargain with Umbra, and DM then tells me to make another perception roll, and this time I get a 15. 

DM: OK... So close to the floor, Taveau, you can hear something. You hear a rumbling noise, that seems to be coming closer, but you can’t really tell what it is, or where exactly it’s coming from. 

Me: I get up a little bit, like up on my elbows, and see if I can figure out where it’s coming from. (decent tactics roll) 

DM: It’s coming from the direction of the city, heading in your direction. 

Me: I get up and lurch over towards Grif and the Wookie and go “hey uhhh do you guys like, do you guys hear somethin”

Grif, still attempting to haggle with Umbra: --scuse me, one moment—what now?

(His *sweetie, not now, mommy’s talking to her adult friends* voice was something to be marveled at.) 

Taveau: Do you uh. Did you, like. Can you guys uhhh hear somethin? Like, a rumbling, like... I thought I heard somethin. 

Me: I flop back down on the floor. 

(Imagine the CLONK of drunk-human-filled armor just dropping down onto this jank WalMart tile spaceport) 

Rralwarr: I gently get down on the floor too. 

(No clonk. The soft sound of a very large teddy bear settling itself onto the floor of the WalMart Space Tiles.) 

DM: Roll Perception! (He doesn’t do very well.) You hear something. But you can’t tell if it’s a speeder bike, an army of droids or a herd of rancors.

Then Umbra rolls, and gets a nat 20. 

DM: Oh you know instantly what this is. You jump up off the floor and go “yep that’s a squad of droids coming this way, they’ll be here in 10 minutes.” 

Grif: SON OF A BANTHA THEN WE NEED TO GET OFF THIS PLANET LET’S GO 

Umbra: Well, yes, but I still expect to be paid first--

Rralwarr: I Shall Intimidate Her (rolls a 22) 

Umbra: (makes a roll to resist this and gets a 10) 

DM: You are very very very very intimidated, cuz he just stomps up and roars at you. 

Grif: I’m sure you understand, we’re just trying to get out of here. Once we’re safe in space I’ll offer you some compensation.

Umbra: I... Still expect to be paid upfront.... 

DM: I don’t think you understand. You have just been... very. Intimidated. 

Me: I felt the vibrations from the deafening wookie roar travel through the floor and through my helmet and into my face. 

DM: Yeah, you’re more concerned about not getting your arms ripped off than about getting paid up front. 

Umbra: ....Okay....

Grif: Now just get us to the best ship-- 

Umbra: Best ship? Oh you didn’t say anything about getting the best ship--

Grif, losing it:  Just give us any ship and it’ll be the best ship cuz it’ll be what’s left because EVERYTHING ELSE IS GOING TO BE DESTROYED WHEN THE DROIDS GET HERE! 

Taveau, still prone on the floor, pounds lethargically on the floor a couple times and goes “hear, hear...” 

Umbra is convinced. But she’s not happy about it, and she’s not a huge fan of us. She opens one of the hangar doors no problem, and successfully resets the alarms after letting herself through. Grif immediately trips the alarms while attempting to follow her, and T provides sound effects. 

T: WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO! 

Taveau: THANKS FOR YOUR “HELP”, LADY! 

Umbra then has to make another mechanics roll to unlock the ship. She gets another nat 20. 

DM:  Mmm okay! You take your probe, and just slide it smoothly into the access port and the hatch opens up, the lights turn on, you can hear the engine powering, it sounds like everything is working perfectly, and not only that but you see that there is a nice hot pot of caf sitting inside the gangway. Fun things happen when you nat 20. 

Grif: ooh caf! I love caf-- 

Taveau: I NEED THIS

Rralwarr, to Grif: Yeah let him have it, if he’s gonna fly this thing I think he needs it more. 

Taveau takes off his helmet and dumps two-thirds of the caf into it. Since this is the first time his helmet has come off, they ask me to describe him. He’s a youngish human man with short, dark hair and beard, darkish tan skin nicked with scars. He hands the rest of the pot to Grif, and walks off sipping caf from his helmet. 

Taveau: Grif. You can have the rest. 

Grif: ....Why thank you. 

Rralwarr: But at what cost 

DM, to me: Roll constitution. (Mediocre.) Yeah, you’re good, nothing unusual happens but Taveau is now slightly more awake. 

Taveau is in fact awake enough to get the ship up off the ground with a single pilot roll this time. Meanwhile, Umbra has disappeared, after sneakily making a few rolls and communicating with the DM behind the scenes--we knew they were up to something because one of her messages that was supposed to be whispered (visible only to him) wasn’t formatted correctly and came up in the public chat. The DM tells us we’re not currently being shot at, but if we want to continue to avoid that we should use the ship’s radar to figure out where the droids are. Taveau is flying and Grif has a better use computer skill, so he goes and does that, leading to this exchange: 

DM: The droid ships are mostly on the dayside of the planet. 

Grif: Taveau, fly into nighttime—

Rralwarr: “Fly into nighttime”??

Grif: Shoosh I’m trying to be useful. Hey, fly to the night side of the planet, there aren’t any separatist ships over there. 

Me, blanking on how to respond and temporarily becoming Travis McElroy (Adventure Zone’s “I do that!” man): Thank you, yep, I do that. 

DM: Meanwhile~.... (rolls a 1d4 and gets a 4) Oh. Well, the little gift that Umbra left you explodes, but she placed it terribly so it falls into an empty cargo hold and does nothing. (He explains that a 1 would have knocked out the main engines, a 2 or 3 would have damaged the shields or other secondary systems, and a 4 avoided real damage entirely.) 

Taveau, only aware that there was just a very sudden, very close explosion: WHAT WAS THAT WHAT JUST HAPPENED 

Rralwarr goes to check and tells Grif what he learned; then Grif has to communicate that to Taveau, who doesn’t understand Shyriiwook (wookiespeak). Grif decides to do this by using the most complicated sentence structure and the most specific jargon he possibly can, resulting in Taveau, who is Literally Too Drunk for This(TM) and just wants to know in words small enough to absorb while drunk driving a spaceship whether the thing he’s in is about to explode, shouting at him: 

Taveau: USE NORMAL WORDS WHAT HAPPENED 

Grif: 

Grif: Bomb in cargo bay. Didn’t damage anything important. 

Taveau: GOOD THANK YOU 

DM, to me: Can you walk Grif and Rralwarr through making a hyperspace jump? (I roll pretty well; Grif and Rralwarr roll to see how well they understand me and Rralwarr does better than Grif.) ...Okay, he explains it very thoroughly, though a bit too fast and with a lot of slurring, so, Grif, you’re still kind of lost. Rralwarr, you get it, so you make the jump. (Another passing roll and a hyperspace jump later): You did it, congratulations. You’ll be in hyperspace for about an hour, if you want to rest. 

H (Rralwarr): Would Han Solo be proud of me? 

DM: I mean, you didn’t do a great job, you’re still a beginner; you just kind of... made it work. So no, Han Solo would not be impressed. 

H: Would Chewbacca be impressed, though? 

DM: Chewbacca was Han Solo’s navigator, he was the one who calculated the jumps to hyperspace for him, remember? So no, Chewbacca would not be impressed. 

Rralwarr: :/

Me: So are you in the copilot seat now? I just kind of silently reach over and fist-bump you after you make the jump.

Rralwarr: :D

Grif goes off to explore the ship, and the DM describes it to him. 

DM: There are 4 cabins each with a small single bed-- 

H (Rralwarr): How small? D: 

DM: ...You might could fit. 

Me, remembering a thought I’d had earlier, about the unlikelihood of Taveau having had a shower anytime recently: Is there a shower? 

DM: There is a small shower, yes. It’s a sonic shower, to conserve water. 

Me: A what now

DM: It’s a type of shower in the Star Wars universe that cleans you without water. 

T (Umbra), snickering from the background:  Clean with the soundwaves. SCARE the germs down the drain. 

DM:  Moving on, there’s a small food prep area, a few weeks’ worth of food, a lot of instant caf, and one bottle... one single bottle... of koati(?) rum. 

Grif: Ooh :D I take the rum and I claim a cabin. 

Rralwarr: I also claim a cabin... Do I fit in the bed? 

DM: Roll an acrobatics check! 

H: WHAT

Me: To see if you can curl up small enough to fit? :D 

H: ..... 

DM: (observes roll) Yep, you fit. Sort of. Your neck might be sore when you get up, but you fit. 

Me: I’m going to take a shower. 

DM: roll dex. 

Me: ...For getting into the shower...? Oh. Oh my gosh you’re right I’m so drunk. Oh no... (nat 20) OH 

DM: OH. OKAY THEN. (thinks for a minute) You get in the shower, you disrobe in the shower and switch it on, and you feel the vibrations from the sonic waves start, and you feel your body start vibrating along with them. And you’re not sure what is happening but you kind of like it. So you keep vibrating for a few minutes and then you’re like, OK, I should probably get out. And you put your clothes back on and get out, and then you realize... you’re not drunk anymore. 

Me: Not even slightly??

DM: Nope. You’re back to normal. 

Me: I’m not even hung over!? 

DM: Nope. You’re still a little tired but you’re OK. 

H (Rralwarr): Hide the rum

DM: are you all resting? Roll to see how much you recover. 

So the session ended with a mysteriously de-drunk-ified Taveau returning to the cockpit and curling up in the pilot’s seat to take a nap while the others rested in their cabins. The strange properties of the vibrating shower will mystify him for days to come, but in a place where people throw rocks with their minds and giant slugs run crime rings, it’s honestly not all that strange, and he’s able to shrug it off as just another weird quirk of the universe and go to sleep. 

I wonder what he dreams of. 

[Episode 1]