Libertas

stardust-flyboy​:

Ace looked up at the Cilare, as if trying to gauge his intentions around the human pilot. “I mean it,” he repeated, quieter this time. “He thinks he’s untouchable, and that’ll get ‘im far, but the same was true for his father and look where he’s at. Don’t you get captured, and don’t let him get killed. He thinks he’s a hardened criminal, but he’s a good kid,” he uttered before sitting back down on his stool, turning around once more and getting back to his work. Crusoe, still perched on Xel’s shoulder, booped quietly and scanned the mess of parts all around them, as if committing them to memory.

Xel had been mostly ignoring the elder Ardennian as it talked shop to Joules. It talked a lot, too much really, was damned bossy as well in Xel's own opinion, but otherwise unproblematic thus far. As far as the Cilare was concerned Ardennian were only to be paid extra attention when they came rushing you in howling packs of five or six with every one of their four arms in said pack brandishing a gun in hand. Otherwise. . .

Just one?

Boring.

After all once you ripped the first set of arms off the rest was easy on just one, killing just one was no challenge. Xel was of course quite good at yanking out arms from the bodies of other sentient beings, it was pretty much his own version of artistic sculpting—just with far more blood (from them), deep sense satisfaction (his) and deafening screaming (also theirs).

"We. Are. Extinct." The low words were more growl than speech. To make sure Ace got his meaning Xel made certain to move in close towering the smaller creature until the Ardennian had to back up a step, and crane his head back. Cilare lips then curled into a slow, brightly white razored smile as he peered down on the dodgy beast. The message was clear—Ace had most certainly better forget again what a Cilare looked like if he didn't wanna find his secondary appendages used for a very Xel-centric brutal version of DIY fine arts and crafts. Xel was even tempted to add a more physical insurance policy on top, but Ace's next words caught him off guard instead.

Was the beast questioning his abilities?

Don’t you get captured, and don’t let him get killed. 

The gall. . .

"Fool old man. Joules IS untouchable! He has me now." Xel ran his tongue over his teeth almost animal like, wishing it were his coufee blade over the weak unprotected throats of any of Joules unseen enemies instead. Clearly the old Ardennian really didn't know what a Cilare could, would do to protect friends and family. Joules had gave him a place to call home, good food, went so far as to call him partner. No one had made him their equal in a very long time. Not since the Cilare had been a boy.

It meant something to Xel.

It meant everything.    

"Joules is Xel's partner now. Others will learn to beware that. Nothing and no one will harm him. I will not let it." Xel continued his eyes harder and firmer than the gleaming linked metal of forged chain-mail that pulled taunt over rock like muscle, his determination clear. "Not ever."

And with that final parting shot, the Cilare turned on his heel sharply, with Crusoe booping excitedly on his shoulder and followed Joules back into the dank surroundings outside Ace's cluttered sanctuary. His long legs quickly and easily bringing him right to Joules back and close enough again that only the very stupid would have had to try to pass between the two uninvited. Xel was large and shiny enough that not a soul in the depths of Taris was indeed so insane nor so foolish.  

"I do not care for the four armed simian. . ." Xel stated rather flatly once he was sure he and Joules were well out of Ace's ear shot. He still didn't appreciate that the creature dare think him incapable of looking out for Joules . What did a money grubbing geezer like know anyway?  "It does not believe in your mission to find your sire. You are positive it can be trusted? It seemed demanding. You really plan to give it a cut of our takes? We are strong enough together—on our own. This guild will see that."

They’d see it or he’d bash them over their heads until they hadn’t any other but accept. Xel didn’t actually care about the money, but he definitely did not like the idea of anyone potentially attempting to swindle them. However his distrust was destined to wait. They had arrived at their destination. 

Patchi’s Cantina was nothing to write rave reviews about in the NewsNet. The cavernous, smoky hovel stank of spilled intoxicants and sweaty body armor. Xel's sensitive nose immediately wrinkled, and his sharp eyes adjusted quickly to this even dimmer (if that were possible) crumbling watering hole. In the musty portcullis dubious eyes peered their way. The regular habitués of this place were unaccustomed to the light of day, and certainly didn't wish to be seen clearly by anyone new .

One glance was all it took for Xel to figure out the entire place was crawling with the usual assortment of the Outer Rim territories most untrustworthy. A right motley bunch too of  freelancing henchmen, plotting schemers, wily card sharks, moonlighting bounty hunters assassin droids and every other ragged ne'er do-well up to no good and on the hunt for new prey. Harsh sounds of quarreling issued from a booth full of Esral'sa'Nikto in the back  of the dive.

“Disgusting.” The Cilare ground his teeth together in annoyance. Now that Xel had processed the lack of immediate risk, he folded his arms expectantly. Joules had a plan, he was sure. Old Ace might not trust in the bright nova of a pilot but Xel did. Hulking, his muscular frame flanked Joules back  with protective menace and warning.  In response, a space opened up miraculously for he and the pilot at the previously crowded bar counter. Clearly no one wanted to be the one to have to sit next to the human and his enormous, bronze and durametal encased sneering companion.

 A VIP box somewhere over The Fighting Pits

One more match tonight and I can sleep, she thought. She held out her hands and looked at them. They were trembling. She was trembling all over. She knew she was losing control. Too much dreamdust for too long. She shook her head to try and clear the cobwebs, only to have Cong yank viciously on her lead again, just because he could. Bastard. Her nerves were jumping, almost out of control. She lowered her head and breathed slowly, pushing the strange reaction down with every ounce of will she had left. All she needed was a good night’s sleep, and he wouldn't even allow her that. Hell it was mostly his own fault she could barely keep her eyes open and was practically dangling from her slave collar in fatigue. Dreamdust was an amphetamine-based psychostimulant drugs that produce increased wakefulness, and Cong was damn near force enough into to make a Ikopi run head long off a cliff. All because he wanted her frenzied enough give him a fight in the sack.  Stupid Dowutin clearly thought she was some ridiculous cross between indestructible Droid and a porn holo on repeat. Still even trying to protect her shredded pride and tattered virtue from Cong was better than watching him look for more “collectibles”. 

Just one more gore fest, then sleep. . .

Maybe.

Your Result:

To Love

stardust-flyboy​:

The elevator shuddered, then began to slide its way back down. It felt like minutes, and Joules could feel a shift in pressure around them. The air became warmer and denser, but after a while, they finally slid to a halt. When the doors opened, a ruined, small, but still populated underground city of activity welcomed them.

Xel could have done without the Taris landing. . .

A little rough, said the human. A little rough his shiny bronze Cilare arse, and just when he was almost about to decide he liked this riding shotgun in a cockpit with all the windows and stuff. The hyperjump had been exciting and exhilarating, but Joules slipping and sliding them into what in Xel's humble opinion amounted to a teeny breaded jax butthole of a seam in the slag of the planet was less "exciting and exhilarating" more "nerve wracking and stomach churning". For once, Xel was glad his people lacked a strong gag reflex and that he personally had a stomach as tough as his tensed bronzed bicep muscles.

Landing with Joules still tested the limits of both.

"A very. . .tight. . . and small glove, Flyboy. Of which you just clipped the fingertips from." Was the dry snort of a reply in the face of his human companions clear enthusiasm for their risky ball shrinking maneuver. Still, despite the way Joules had shoved his hands into it, this was certainly the best damn mitten one could hope for under the circumstances. There was little danger of being detected either optically or by instrument over this particular alcove of ruined topography. The Ganymede would be lost against the passing winds, churning slate, dust and residual radioactive storm discord. Sheer crags closed in on either side of them, definitely a credit to Joule's razor sharp skills at the controls. Even the best sensors would not be enough to locate the Ganymede's shape, not even if they were right atop her, a perfect cover set off by the silhouette of the mountainous ruins of former planetary glory of a long gone past prime.  

It was, just barely, almost too narrow.

Xel took one last peek from the cockpit window, let out a long bass register exhalation and firmly decided that one day he would have Joules teach him to almost magic hand fly ships into death possible spaces too. Not today though, another day, when the memories of this particular landing had faded a bit. More than ready to go he stood as Joules headed out of the cockpit, and whistled sharply. The amphistaff, who until recently had been hibernating somewhere deep in the bowels of the Ganymede had apparently found plenty to eat on it's own Xel noted with a frown, as it appeared slowly from beneath the navigational panels looking both thicker in girth and longer by several meters.

"Crusoe! Do not feed Q’aah Yammka human treats when you are bored! You'll make her sluggish, lazy and spoiled! Amphistaffs are weapons not house pets! They are suppose to hunt for their keep!" The large alien grumped after the escaping mischievous droid that was hurrying past him to catch up to Joules, and looked as guilty as a BD-1 mech build could appear.

"And you too! You know better!" The amaranthine colored serpent darkened to an even deeper near ultraviolet black color of shame as it rippled swiftly up his forearms, carrying the coufee and bugs in it's mouth, which it dropped into Xel's waiting hand before fitting itself around his shoulders sheepishly, it's dragon like auditory hood drooping from the implied disgrace.

"Let's go! Time to work and earn all those extra snacks you've been consuming. . ."

Once Q’aah Yammka was settled, Xel followed Joules to the lockers. Most of the stuff was of little use to him, if not due to the smaller unappealing sizes then due to sheer needlessness. He he knew Joules was in his own very human way attempting to protect him, but this wasn't Ailon, and he damn sure wasn't now nor ever again going to hide himself like a slave in ill-fitting raiding gear. This time he would be the one protecting Joules, and he'd do so proudly, as a free being in his own armor. He did however take the tracker Joules offered, which he then promptly clipped to a huge rugged bandolier from the locker that he added to his torso and into which he attached the coufee and bugs. It was pretty much the only equipment that wasn’t designed for a human body design.

"I’ll be fine. I don't need sophistication Flyboy. Easy broken, expensive to replace. Fancy Rim tech is wasted on one such me. Slavery doesn’t really teach one much more than how destroy. I’m quite good at that part, I break many things in the past." Xel murmured as he poked a bit more looking for a decent weapon or two, not that they were helpless. Certainly not. Joules had that relic of a blaster he liked so well, and even fat and over fed Q’aah Yammka was more weapon than even the best Rim made mace, whip or saber combined.

Still Xel liked to have options. . .

It was a Cilare thing.

Xel also didn't add that it was in fact the very Yuuzhan Vong ways of hate and shunning of the gadgets and unliving technology that Rim's denizens so easily embraced and couldn't function without, which was much the main reason that his former masters had very nearly annihilated many former inhabited Rim cities and large portions of the known territories like Taris and even the unexplored Outer Rim. If there had been no magic hands Jeedai (or much "less" as it was now thanks to the faceless First Order loyalists ), the Vong would have been unstoppable.

Technology, could never be better than pure might and no fear. . .

According to Joules intel, the upper Taris atmosphere didn't require respirators. Still as the hatch rolled up and the ramp lowered, the place might as well have been a toxic wasteland as far as Xel could tell. There was nothing left. It was almost skeletal. Not surprising, but jarring nonetheless. No life, nothing surviving to make a planet thrive or renew it's resources was the Yuuzhan Vong signature calling card. It would have been eerie, but for the fact Xel was well use to protocols surrounding how his former captors powered their worldships known as Koros-Strohna. To fly a planet one must consume planets. Frankly, what remained in ruin might as well have been a Life Day gift to the universe. . .

Xel had seen the Yuuzhan Vong leave no planets at all.

"I am always alert. You though, you should watch your step." Xel told Joules peering at the chilling skull image the human held aloft once they were topside. "Even if there is still some remnant of civilization here, don't think that the Vong didn't leave calling cards in places like this. There could be implanters, or Yorik-Kul. Lots of dumb wanna be warlords,and bad magic handed Jeedai cults still like to play with the surge-coral's effects—the pain is something that makes even the worse nightmares seem more sweet, and that if you're lucky. Usually you end up a puppet, mindless and controlled."

Just to make sure the pilot listened, Xel moved in closer nearly walking on the human’s heels. No sense in tasting the fates, he wanted Joules in grabbing reach just in case. Following Crusoe and Joules into the dim cable car, Xel soon added the lowering freight to his quickly growing list of "bantha shite that sucked about Rim planets". Elevators. Not his idea of quality travel. Only one way in and not a whole lot of options for another way out. It was Xel's least favorite type of situation. Worse the cramped lunchbox was noisy, shaking, and moving all at once. Growling low in his throat the Cilare put his back to it's dank wall, and palmed his coufee. Even an agitated Q’aah Yammka hissed low aggression once the lift began lowering into darkness.

"I'm not coming back to the ship this way Flyboy. We take another route back, even if I have to scale these damn ghost ruins and tunnel us out an underground pit with you on my back!" Xel all but snarled at Joules from his dark corner of the elevator that reminded him of a cage. The lift was more like what he was use to in a Yuuzhan Vong worldship.

A slow free fall into hell. . .  

"So this is the seat of the new guild. . ." Xel drawled shaking his head and stepping from their less than stellar descent, to peer out over Joules head at the nabe spread before them.

It wasn't quite yet hell, but New Taris was certainly a friendly next door neighbor with purgatory. Before them mazes of narrow walkways stretched out and were cast in darkest gray and curling smoke. Above them, no sky, the only light was manufactured from great flood lamps mounted on resurrected buildings that had been worn into layers of nondescript materials depleted of any tones that weren't shades of browns, blacks and dull steel. Rather than illuminating things, the floods blanketed the entire region in perpetual dusk. The air moved slower, was thicker like a humid rain had fell and yet the road beneath their boots was dust dry.

The Taris inhabitants were no better than the subterranean realm they dwelled within. Without much surprise, Xel spotted a half-dozen types of respirators and life-support apparatus being used by entities whose biology was either underground or atmosphere incompatible. Around them the buzz of activity was done with eyes veiled in shadowed half-light meeting nothing and no one for too long. The few remnant splashes of color come from various items laid on tables or dusty near obscured shop windows, all bartered and traded from clearly scavenging slight of hands. Almost everything in the entire dank labyrinth, even the denizens themselves stank of secrets and subterfuge.

Taris wasn't a place you came to be seen, it was a place to be lost in.  

Or forgotten. . .

"I assume our plan for securing the first fob is not to just walk into the nearest cantina and announce: We're bounty hunters here to work, where's the nearest guild master? So how exactly will we find an agent to sponsor us or take us to the house?" Xel asked as he, and Joules wove in and out of the patchwork pattern of alleyways and streets. Xel had skunked around a bit in his time away from Sal in freedom, and he'd heard things in places about how become a guildman usually worked. Rumors mostly, but creditable enough that Xel had known this might have been a nigh impossible a task had Joules not come back into his life.

The guild was still one of the few organized outfits that had any real legality on the known worlds of the Rim, and to keep it that way they had rules and requirements enough that kept them mostly a legit institution. To some, the guild were freelance law enforcement. To others, just simply more a cunning set-up than the usual smuggling thugs. Either way if he and Joules wanted to make it in the Rim and beyond as legal professional stalkers with careers not cut short too soon in death by the guild itself, then they were gonna have to go through the proper channels and do things the way things got done.

“I don’t suppose you have some extended relatives on Taris, one who’s a bondsman that you forgot to tell me about? If so now would be a good time to comlink them.” Xel knew he and Joules were gonna need an active member who still paid dues to the house on Taris to sponsor them, someone out of the game for the moment and not looking to get too much more of a bounty cut than was fair from them. Usually bounty hunters passed such a boon on to an apprentice, or more rarely a son or close relative.

stardust-flyboy​:

The swirls stilled and turned into long, vertical lines that came at them quickly and suddenly halted with a sonic boom, and the Ganymede lurched forward slightly. Joules laughed quietly, feeling his insides tickled by motion. Jumping through hyperspace was an adrenaline rush he would never get tired of. “Here we are,” he said, his eyes trained ahead as the view of the ruined planet filled their line of vision. A few curls fell over his face, but he didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with watching the vector map for any interference. “We land in a few minutes, then we go straight for the guild before anyone tries to fuck us over. I’d rather get the fob and go to the market than have to blast everyone in the face for a first meeting, I dunno about you,” he mused with a soft grin. “You okay?” he asked, glancing over towards the Cilare. It was only Xel’s second hyperspace jump on the Ganymede, and Joules knew that not everyone had that same love for it that he did.

Xel smiled watching the small blond human retake command of his ship once more with a mild smirk on his face that looked as if it were flavored with hints of something that appeared very suspiciously like "pride". With a noncommittal grunt in the silence once they were alone again, the large bronze male plated up the only somewhat singed bluish hotcakes for himself and Joules. He would remember not to turn the cooking fires so high next time.

"Hmh. You sounded much like a Cilare war commander just then. Not quite so human flyboy. I approve." He had shucked his armor vest to be able to cook in freedom, and once more gleaming burnish flesh stretched and rippled over hard muscles that still looked as if they'd been poured from titanium. As quickly as he'd dropped the praise the large alien filled two plates, set one before Joules and calmly began shoveling still steaming hot food in his mouth, chased with more loud swallows of the human made sweet and sour citrus drink.

Eating unarmed twice in as many parsecs time. It was the greatest compliment a Cilare could pay another non-Cilare, outside of true brotherhood or tribe titles.

The day was certainly beginning to look up. . .

・・・・・・★・・・・・・☆・・・・・・★・・・・・・☆・・・・・・★・・・・・・

Again Xel marveled at being in the cockpit of a ship. Most of his life had been spent in the bowls of a rig, either slaving away, fighting for his life or a little of both. To be an equal member of the crew and see space as others knew it was still a little spellbinding. Xel strapped himself into the navigators chair, near little Cruesoe who was aft on the control panel and hard at work his tiny antenna swiftly toggling in all directions, as Joules well made ship trembled slightly, then hovered on the thrusters, before swinging toward the hyperjump.

The jump itself was like something out of a holoprojecting synthesizer, all strobe flashes and nova burst of vertical starlight. Once they exited the jump, trailing sheets of crackling energy followed with dancing lines of brilliant discharge playing back and forth over the Ganymede's impressive and impenetrable hull. Impressed despite himself, Xel looked over at joules just in time to see the pilot looking as if he had just spent a week of roaring adventure in the casinos and fathier racing tracks of Canto Bight. Frankly the flyboy look just the same as a Cilare did after a good hunt: flushed, triumphant and sated.

Space was Joules "Yuuzhan'tar".

His "Darr".

Xel did not as a rule enjoy flying in space, but he did very much for some odd reason enjoy watching Joules enjoy flying hyperspace. He belonged here and not just because he flew well, the human move as if he was one with entire universe. Perhaps it was that slight magic hand magic he'd mentioned before. The Cilare almost wished he knew of another Jeedai, so he could ask, but Jeedai were far and few between. They had been destroyed and scattered as much as his home world had been. Even the ones that had been on his ex-masters boat had never spoken to him as Joules did, nor ever saw him as more than an animal.

Xel was humbled by Joules being at one with his natural place in the universe, so it was a moment before he realized the pilot was in fact speaking to him again. Intriguing little shooting star, the human worried over his welfare. Blinking like one who had inadvertently stumbled upon a holy grail, the Cilare lightly cleared his throat. "I'm fine, but you've got hair in your hair in your face flyboy."

And exploding stars in those Ithorian rose blue eyes. . .

Now where had that thought come from? Xel wondered and again turned his attention to their descent. Around the starship outside seethed the dreary atmosphere of Taris. Its ionization layer was interacting with the Ganymede's screens to create an even more eerie monotone display. The shrieking of the planet's winds could even be heard through the vessel's hull. No wonder the real city had gone below ground. The upper crust was a wretched dump.

Still Xel was simply unapologetically Xel-like about their mission.

"Anyone "fucks" with us then they will be fucked with right back and all the worse for it. I am not afraid. We'll get the fob, resupply at market and if anyone chooses to meet their graves today for meddling then so let it be." 

A huge bronze careless hand waved a casual dismissal at Joules worries. “Where can you land on this abominable place, that’s easy to return to but hard to steal from? Now that I have a home to return to, I’ve no wish to have it stolen.”

😇

The past. . . .

“Yes! That’s it boy!”

Xel flung the Chazrach’s entire body in a wide arc, like it was no heavier than a pillow. Around him the other’s of the warrior caste cheered, but he didn’t care a wit. All he wanted was for the other to take it’s feet again. However the fearful slave stumbled backward and fell flat on it’s back. 

“Finish him! Finish him you mangy heretic cur!”

Xel sniffed the air, it smelled of sour Chazrach blood and musky fear. Yes this is what he was now—a cur— lower than a dog. An enslaved dog that had to kill for it’s supper tonight.     

😰

The past. . . .

The small creature was tough, Quodeith Blei would give it that. Even now the thing knew it could not win and yet it clambered to it’s feet unsteadily, facing him swaying from blood loss and what was no doubt a severe head injury for it’s own kind. if it survived to heal the scar would be most exquisite, with puckering right over it’s lightly hairy brow. 

A definite improvement given how ugly it was with all that shiny gleaming flesh. “Stay down heretic!” Quodeith Blei growled, scolding the dumb animal in simple basic. Perhaps the boy did not know the tongue? He leaned in to say it slower, and immediately the wicked little beast did the only thing it could now that it’s arms had been both broken⁠—it spit right in it’s captors eye!

With lightning speed, the Vong warrior backhanded the audacious beastie sending the whelp flying, even as he admired it’s will. Yes, that’s right fight little one—fight or die. Unable to use it’s now useless arms the bronzed beast hit the wall of it’s cell unexpectedly hard, falling, silent but for a bit of twitching and more blood spilling from it’s mouth. 

stardust-flyboy​:

“So, Taris! Once we’re there, we’re getting the fob first, then picking up supplies. There’s bound to be a fuckload of swindlers there, and we can’t afford to risk losing all the credits we’ve got for it. The rest we can get credits for with sabacc, or maybe you could get into a drinking contest, or we could find any small errands that need to be run or… who knows. We’ll figure it out as we go,” he said, going off into a tangent to distract from everything that had just happened moments ago. “That sound good, mate?”

"I could. Armor is not that hard to make. . . " Xel replied, his words languorous and mellow. There was something almost hypnotic in the way Joules fingered the links of his new armour. It made kinda want to draw the human up against the great expanse of his chest. So odd. "You'd need more durametal, and another laser torch. I may have malfunctioned your other."

Joules was definitely gonna need a new laser torch, as he may (definitely) had broken the old one. Maybe a few other things too, since all Joules tools seemingly had been designed for smaller much more human hand grips. 

“Your gift. . .” Xel’s words came out with something of a struggle, since minus the blanket there had been quite a lot of bare Joules on display. Between wrapping his mind around that fact and the momentary interruption of the holoavatar, Xel wasn't quite sure were he should look. “Don't you. . .er. . the droid said—? Is it not human enough?”

He was sure he had gotten the human factor right, but the shock on Joules face did not look to be appreciation, frankly the human looked horrified as if something had ratcheted his spine straight and plugged his human bowels permanently. Xel rubbed the back of his neck thinking, wondering now what Rim social rule he had broken this time, and feeling oddly bereft now that the warm atmosphere was gone thanks to his gift's interruption. Feeling that retreat was the best option, he reached down and scooped up Crusoe (who unfortunately on teeny legs wasn't fast enough to escaped the Cilare, though the little droid certainly tried.).

"Well. . .my apologies Joules. We'll leave you to dress—don't worry about a meal I think I can work your galley to make suitable fare that a human can eat." With a nod, the large alien cleared out, taking a twerpping wiggling arm tucked reluctant Crusoe with him.

»»——⍟——««»»——⍟——««»»——⍟——««»»——⍟——««»»——⍟——««

Crusoe was fussing in the galley about his part in the mornings chaos. . .

"Your. Fault." Xel grumbled insistently in monosyllable reply, as he attempted to stir something he hoped would be blue milk pancakes. 

Meanwhile, the dejected holoporn avatar (whom Crusoe had named, for lack of any other, CR-8R, "Crater") was mournfully singing sad lost love songs in Bothese. They were both putting Xel's teeth on edge. 

"Your calculations were wrong!" He watched the poured edges of the beryl tone pancake sizzle in one of Joules pans. Maybe sugar, bantha butter and healthy dose of Kashyyyk forest-honey drizzle would make Joules forget this morning, Xel hoped.

At least until he could figure out a better present. . .

"Humans are small beings I told you we should have recalculated the vectors!" Behind him, Crater had warmed up to his "rejected" pining lover mode and was working it's way through an emotional Bothese ballad about from as far as Xel could roughly translate, dying with one's lover between the claws of a skar'kla beneath the lonely snow covered mountaintops of Bothawui's three moons. 

"FAS!" Xel spun away from the cooking unit, and nearly growled the Vong expletive. The smell of burning batter and sorching blue milk was slowly beginning to fill the air behind him. 

"Can't it be shut down?" He snapped waving a wooden cooking spoon in the general direction of the warbling holoavatar’s slow dramatic pacing and pirouetting.

Crusoe beeped cheerfully that "Crater" had fallen in love with Joules and would be unable power down completely until it had "satisfied" his obvious "coital needs". As if egging the lovelorn creation on the little droid piped out equally melancholy Bothese chamber music to keep the ballad’s measure.

"It's a holo!" Xel exclaimed, sounding totally outraged. Over his shoulder, whirls of sapphire smolder continued to rise unattended. "It's not suppose to "fall in love" with him, it's suppose to help him wank off!"

🙇

“Rowan?” Xel clasped the other males hand, and being the territorial Cilare he was, he also tightened his grip ever so slightly, gaze slowly darkening. Rowan, merely held firm his own gaze lighter and serene—as if he felt nothing of the aliens near crushing vice of a grip.

“Baelfyre. Rowan Baelfyre. Pleasure.” The force seeker could sense this was some test of sorts. The big alien was unlike any humanoid he’d ever seen. but Row definitely knew a impromptu pissing contest when he saw one. Xel was “protecting” what he saw as his home. Without letting his gaze flicker, Row quickly took in the scars, the most prominent of which were around the tall bronze alien’s neck.  

Xel had been a slave, and ill used at that.

And not that long ago Row would suspect. 

“I’m looking forward to us working side by side together Xel.” Row spoke and added just the slightest hint of soothing waves of the force to his voice, until Xel’s grip eased and finally a sharp nod was given.

 “You may stay for now. Sometimes the magic hand stuff comes in handy.”

👺 

“Your former lover looks weak. You should have killed him once he betrayed you. . .I still can.”Came the hopeful muffled grunt from behind Ubesian mask. Xel narrowed his eyes behind the visor at the one his companion referred to as “Kane” standing across the room looking bored and too rich for his own damn good. Money aside, the human still looked puny in his opinion—Xel nodded once in silent confirmation that if it came to it, he was certain he could snap the weak humans neck and pull both his arms out in less time than it would take to blow his own nose. Beside Xel, Joules (in an equally covert specially tuned Ubesian breath masks disguise) shrugged casually. 

“Well I was kinda young back then—and there may or may not have been a lot of Toniray wine involved in him seducing me. But. . .HEY! Give me credit big guy! I didn’t shack up with him! Besides relax, we’re here for intel, not blood shed. . .yet.”Joules trademark grin going unseen in the mask and he gave Xel’s muscular arm well covered in a dark Ubesian cloak, a fond pat. 

“However, I might let you break a few of his fingers later. I mean after all he did hire those whomprats that hijacked my ship. First, let’s go say “hi” like the good party guest we are. Come on. . .”

stardust-flyboy‌:

———

“Morning” came, and the artificial lights that slowly glowed to their full strength were now shining brightly over Joules. The rest period was over, and he’d make some breakfast soon before finally jumping to the Taris system. As he lay quietly in bed, his eyes remained closed until he heard the lumbering footsteps of Xel just outside. He thought maybe the Cilare was on his way to the refresher until he heard tapping on his door.

“Mmm… Jus’ five more minutes,” he groaned, flipping to his side so the magpie on his back was to the door. But Crusoe didn’t give him much of a chance to get “decent” before pressing the door’s button to slide it open.

“Crusoe, what the hell, mate, at least let me get dressed,” he groaned, keeping the sheets bunched around his naked waist as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His silver gold curls were wild, and he reached up to try and set them in place. He realized Xel was also present in the doorway and he stopped to stare, letting his brain fully wake up and process what it was seeing. Xel was wearing chain mail?!

“Whoa…”

Xel grinned, stepping into Joules bunk fully.

Joules looked impressed. Xel liked that fact. In fact, he liked it a lot. After all it had been a while since someone thought he was "impressive". Scary maybe, intimidating certainly, but not with wonder lighting their face. The pale human’s pinkish lips (that the lower of which always looked to the Cilare as if a fire wasp had stung him) had dropped open. For once, Joules even seemed as if he were speechless as well. There was only the softly uttered 'whoa'. That part amused the alien, since usually, so many words tumbled out of Joule's mouth like chunks of shale sliding down a cliff face. Joules a way of making even small talk seem exhilarating. Pleasant sure, but also occasionally burying Xel in the unfamiliar. 

“I have clothing now! Made this myself. What say you flyboy? Do I look acceptable enough for your Rim guild?” His deep guttural voice was light with teasing, the verbal equivalent of, for a Cilare, a wink. Seeing Joules in shock gave Xel a tiny spark of heat around the neck, and made his eyes seem to glow with excitement. On his body, the painstakingly crafted and skull decorated beaten plates and tight linked chain mail jerkin of durametal came well past Xel’s waist and nearly to the Cilare’s knees. 

"Beautiful, isn't it? The metal will protect against most blaster fire even though it is not nearly as crystalline as the Vonduun Skerr Kyrric I am most used—" Xel voice dropped into silence abruptly as he fully realized how close he now stood to Joules. The lanky human looked soft and tousled fresh from sleep, his moonbeam tresses taking on a supernova like chaos around his head. Joules chest was bare, and Xel was pretty sure that nudity extended to everything else he was hardly hiding with the sheets clutched in his hands and against his waist from his bunk. 

Cilare nostrils flared slightly, and Xel's olfactory nerve centers were treated to the pleasant scents of refresher soap, mild human sweat, and clean bedding cloth all mixed with the not altogether unfamiliar telling musk of spent male pleasure. 

"You received my present then?" Xel asked, voice far gruffer than he’d intended. The Cilare tilted his head, as a weird sensation flooded his chest, deflating his pride at his new clothing accomplishments somewhat.  He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt slightly annoyed that his human friend had so quickly begun using the holoavatar for stimulation. 

He'd hoped perhaps. . .

Stop that!

He couldn't blame Joules for being so eager to make use of his gift. After all, presents was signs of bonding, goodwill and friendship. If Joules was happy with the holo man, then that just meant Xel was far less likely to find himself dumped in backwater outer Rim territory all alone. . .

Or worse—sold as an exotic slave again. 

"Crusoe explained  that the holo program will not affect your ships overall flight integrity, nor sabotage the current performance. I told him the lower vectors he recommended were quite. . .ah. . .er. . .substantial, but he assures me that it was your personal preference of things being bigger, firmer and better in that department." Xel tried to move back but for some reason his legs weren't really obeying him at the moment. A tiny part of him even wondered what Joules would do if he stepped even closer. What would happen if he moved forward until Joules himself was forced down into—?

No!

Thinking in that vein again was dangerous territory. 

He. Was. A. Former. Slave. He was unworthy of a mate. At least until he'd earned his way. What would he even accomplish now by pressing this human who had so much more than he, back into his own sweat damp sheets? Sheets, where Joules had no doubt had already known the expertise of his holographic present to satisfy the pilot's every venereal desire and carnal need.

 Xel made a little choking noise at that last thought. Joules being interested in "him" after a private virtual reality erotic fantasy man was laughable. Furthermore, even if it had not been, Joules and he were both the males of their species. Xel was still not quite sure how that would actually work for him, though thanks to the ever helpful Crusoe's little digital commitment to details, he most certainly had a far better idea how it at least "usual" worked for Joules. . .

Don't think of that! 

Too late. . .

Fresh stains of scarlet colored his cheeks, and Xel made a show of looking at his new vest and adjusting a few of the links to cover his embarrassment. Not that they needed adjustment, but anything was preferable to concentrate on than letting his mind fully immerse itself in recalling the way Joules so enthusiastically basked in banquets of male-on-male sensual delights.   

"So do you think we will make Taris before days end?" Xel’s tone was all professional interest when he finally spoke again. His posture, was also extra formal now, shoulders stiff and spine straight enough to audition as a spaceport tower."Armor is best, when broken in by lots of use."

You are a Don't Fuck With Me Seme!

Serious and to the point, and sometimes bordering on the sadistic, it takes a special breed of uke to satisfy your needs. You tend to be anti-social with little patience for most people. You need someone to challenge you and push you to your limits, and then be able to take your intense reactions, which possibly involves rope and sensual torture. This is what makes the Badass Uke the yin for your yang, as you're the only one able to put them in line and satisfy each other.

Most compatible with:

Badass Uke

Least compatible with: