“i Wouldn’t Call Myself Lucky.”

@spectreoflasan​ // Zeb Orrelios

“I am cool,” Zeb snapped. “You know what’s not cool? Karking up your guts before it’s even hit kriffing midnight because you don’t know how to hold your liquor.” Karabast, he’s going to have to set a good example, isn’t he. With once last wistful glance at the mutlicolored and very potent-looking drink in their hand, Zeb slid it down the bar to the person on their other side and grumbled, “Knock yourself out, mate. You! Barkeep! Two waters, now.” Zeb’s gruff edge lingered as he turned back to Sabine. “Now hydration, that’s cool. You want to actually enjoy your drinks? Then pace yourself.”

Oh, for the love of Alderaan. ‘Hydration, that’s cool’ ?  Zeb had never felt so old in their kriffing life. But that’s what Sabine needed right now. Guilt twisted his stomach as they stumbled against him. Hadn’t Zeb’s lousy excuse for a parallel-timeline counterpart bothered to teach her to drink properly? Zeb set a steadying hand on Sabine’s shoulder, even as their last comment provoked a growl. “And for the last time, Kallus is not my boyfriend. ‘Sides, he’s in no state to be looking after anybody right now.”

“I w-would hold my liquor fine! If you would give it back to me!” They yelped as he pawed her reaching hand away. (Heh. Pawed). They shot the bartender a nasty glare and tried standing on her own. Feet felt like lead and head too thin, and the metal of the counter dug into their skin. 

“Zebbbbb, don’t you think I deserve a drink after the shit year I’ve had?! W-why not! Why not get fuck-king shitfaced?” She huffed. This had to be a joke. First all of the-- the shit! The shit with Ezra and Kanan and Mandalore, and-- and it hurt! It hurt and it was scary and it made her hands shake and her chest tight and!  And they just wanted it to mute, just for a moment! Moisture pooled at their eyes as Zeb spoke, as they responded. At his words, her face fell immediately, turning from anger and fear to...to something that ached deeper. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong.

“Wh-what do you mean he isn’t your boyfriend? Did. Did something happen?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

His pulse accelerated when they produced the datapad, its blank screen mocking him with unknown possibilities. But what could she possibly have? Hux had been meticulous about covering his tracks — he’d hired a slicer to remove any trace of him from the security footage at 500 Republica on the night he delivered the infamous Amidala tape. Then he’d gone a step further and airlocked the slicer to eliminate the risk that they would talk.   (Saved him a few credits, too.)   And he had of course searched Alton’s penthouse for bugs. Every time!  Granted, that night at the New Republic fundraiser when he had first met Alton, he had been… thoroughly inebriated   (not by his own design! Damn that Seventh Sister)   and had perhaps not been quite as cautious accompanying Alton back to his ship as was appropriate.   (Appropriate being not at all, but it was too late for that now.)  

But even as reason urged him to tread carefully, pride demanded he call her bluff. Hux returned their gaze with haughty, manufactured confidence.  “I would do nothing,”  Hux said firmly, as if saying it with sufficient authority would make it so,  “Because you have nothing. It does not exist.”  Cold sweat slicked his palms as he waited for her response.

_

His words rang with hollow intent in Sabine’s ears. Of course, he’d try to deny her accusation (no doubt a result of years of practice). She followed his glance once to the datapad and held it lithely in their fingertips, toying with the edge of the screen. He was trying to measure the truth in her words, trying to pry the evidence from them. Fine. She’d lean into the game. (No reward without risk, right?)

“Okay, Armitage. If that’s what you really think, who am I to stop you? After all--” they picked up the datapad, letting the grain of an image flash in his direction  for just a couple of moments before stowing it out of sight. “--I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d like to believe otherwise. Maybe I should take my concerns to them and be on my way.” 

They moved as if readying to leave, examining his face for any reaction. Stealth armor pressed into her skin beneath the dress, vibroblade at their thigh cool to the touch. Cowardly though Sabine thought he was, if there was any chance of a fight, she’d be ready. An inhale and an exhale marked her lungs, and excitement ran electric across the Mandalorian’s skin. The ball was in his court now, and Sabine couldn’t wait to see how he’d play.

❛ can i come with you ? ❜ from din

Sabine enjoys this friend’s company as much she enjoys spending time with any of the Spectres (as much as she had enjoyed spending time with Tristan and Ezra). To hear him ask for her companionship with such gentility...The question brought a grin to their unmasked face.

“Of course. The more the merrier.”

 mvchinery​ // Depa Billaba

confusion colored her expression at the near instant recognition, because as much as she wanted to, depa couldn’t return it by face alone. still, she shook the stranger’s hand after returning their items, mustering a friendly smile.

at their name, though, she brightened far more genuinely, her smile broadening. “oh, sabine ! kanan mentioned you. it’s lovely to meet you too.” she didn’t know too much about the rest of the ghost crew, but she had been looking forward to meeting them. they were kanan’s family, & she was glad he had found such a good group to have his back. “i would love to get to know you.”

The warm reception was enough to give pause to the anxiety in the pit of her stomach. This woman was someone Kanan looked so highly up to. Surely it was important the Mandalorian make a good first impression, and bumping into the Jedi hadn’t exactly been the ideal start.

“Likewise! Sorry, I’m not, uh--” they readjusted the straps on her messenger bag and swept a stray piece of hair out of her face. “I’m usually more put together than this,” Sabine said with a light chuckle. “D’you, er...Do you have time to talk?”

@cravked​ // trilla suduri

it wasn’t that unusual, by all accounts, but perhaps her own standards had shifted with the way that she had spent the last two years of her life. any kind of contact with other sentient creatures was not quite as dreaded as it had been before. she was changing, whether she liked it or not. she couldn’t be miserable for the rest of her life. she realized that she didn’t want to be, either. that meant accepting some of the ways that she had changed.

“you’re lucky i took pity instead of leaving you for the thugs,” she offered, not quite willing to yet let go of her nature to underplay things.

standing up once again with the other, trilla drew her cape around her frame so that it was more hidden. “i suppose you would think that, with that armor that you’re wearing,” she remarked. her words weren’t particularly spiteful, despite the history that she was well educated on. “don’t count on learning too much. if you haven’t noticed, i’m not as chatty as you appear to be.” which was fine by her standards, really. she much rather the stranger do all of the talking.

A glint of light flashed around Trilla’s waist as she adjusted her cloak and Sabine sobered for a moment, struck by the image they saw. It was only a quick glimpse, but it was enough. A lightsaber. This stranger carried with them a lightsaber. 

They averted their gaze, instead focusing on the landscape before them, but she couldn’t deny that her curiosity about the stranger grew. Was she being assisted by a Jedi? Or a Sith? Or, could this traveler, like their friend Ahsoka, be neither? Was she the weapon’s original owner or, like Sabine’s experience with the Darksaber, had it merely passed into her hands over time? Was she here of good will, or did she have an ulterior motive? Sabine didn’t sense any danger from their travelling companion, but she could never be too sure. 

One thing she was certain of was this: as mouthy as she had been, Sabine’s sudden shift to silence would not go unnoticed. Trilla, whoever she really was, was very intelligent, that much they could tell. So, they threw out a quip in response to the other’s taunting.

“Well, that’s okay.You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I’m sure these plants make excellent conversationalists,” they teased. “In fact, I bet they’re even better at being brooding and aloof than you are.” She checked their datapad, gathering a quick mental map of the surrounding area. “And it’s only an hour or two’s trek to the next settlement. Unless you know the area better?” 

She would hold conversation and accept what help was offered, for now. After all, it’s better to wait with sharp ears and eyes than walk into the jaws of a Rancor unknowingly.

@cptfulcrum​ // Alexsandr Kallus

Everyone  was  struggling  with  Ezra’s  untimely  death.  So  many  unanswered  questions,  so  much  pain.  He  knew  that  Zeb  felt  it,  which  is  another  reason  why  Kallus  had  been  keeping  his  distance  from  Lira  San  as  of  late.  He  wanted  to  allow  his  friend  to  grieve  in  the  way  he  saw  fit.    That’s  what  he  was  telling  himself  at  least.  Watching  Zeb  and  Hera  grieve  Ezra  once  was  excruciating.  He  didn’t  think  he  could  do  it  again,  not  when  he  was  still  reeling  from  getting  the  kid  (  man  really  )  back  and  losing  him  again.  Allowing  himself  to  work  again,  for  the  New  Republic,  had  given  him  purpose.  When  he  had  heard  from  Zeb  that  Sabine  hadn’t  been  in  contact  for  a  while,  he  knew  that  he  had  to  check  in  on  her.

Tracking  a  Mandalorian  was  no  easy  task,  even  for  ex-ISB.  Whispers  of  the  warrior  in  the  painted  armor  had  finally  lead  him  someplace.  He  had  landed  his  ship  a  few  clicks  north  and  had  been  on  a  speeder.  When  he  saw  the  lone  speeder  that  he  hoped  belong  to  them,  he  slowed  down  before  getting  off  of  the  bike.  He  left  it  idling,  not  sure  if  Sabine  even  wanted  to  see  him.  He  wouldn’t  be  particularly  surprised  if  they  preferred  their  alone  time  right  now.  But  he  had  to  try,  at  the  very  least.  

He  approached  slowly,  a  hand  on  his  blaster,  just  in  case  it  was  not  their  friend  that  he  found,  but  a  potential  foe  instead.  One  could  never  be  too  careful,  especially  when  he  had  been  attempting  to  track  Grand  Admiral  Thrawn.  “  Sabine  ??  “  he  called,  finally  passing  the  clearing  and  seeing  them.  “  It’s  Kallus.  Garazeb  was….  Well,  we  were  worried.  “  he  admitted,  “  I  told  him  I’d  come  and  check  up  on  you.  “  

Sabine looked up at the sound of a speeder bike in the distance, all mechanical hum and rattle. They froze, hoping it was just another passerby and not anyone she knew. Working quickly, they stowed tools in exchange for a blaster, aiming it at the thicket before them. 

Something that sounded like her name carried across the wind, and they planted their feet sternly, breathing deepening in preparation for battle.

Who had the will to track her down all the way to this remote planet on the edges of the Outer Rim? What did they want with her? The stranger’s words were muffled and distorted from crossing through wind and distance, though she could see the shape of their body winding towards her in the foliage. Her heart jumped to their throat. After all this time fighting, after the wars she was raised in, still they felt a twinge of anxiety at the prospect of confrontation. Stalks of foreign plants rustled with movement, and a figure emerged into the clearing with a hand on their gun. Sabine stood, still as a stone.

Kallus? 

Was it really him, that old Imperial-turned-Rebel, after all? Last she had heard, he was on Lira San, helping to rebuild the Lasat species on their homeworld, (and spending a lot of time with Zeb, too). Could it be him, this man whose story mirrored their own in too many ways? Yet, here he stood in front of her, eyes wide as their own. 

“Dank farrik,” they finally murmured. They lowered their blaster, but the tension did not leave the muscles in her arm (or in the air between the two figures).

“Kallus. If I’m being honest, you are the last person I expected to see here. Wh-” they holstered their gun. “What are you doing here?”

@xspectre-1​ // Kanan Jarrus

as soon as kanan heard her voice, it was clear that questioning wasn’t necessary. a little older– more hardened, perhaps, but it was sabine. he wouldn’t even question the fact that his hand had to be raised higher than he remembered. instead, arms moved to wrap around her, her own distress clear enough. 

as if she hadn’t seen him in years. 

regardless, as she spoke he slowly pulled away, desperate for some sort of answer. an  explanation for what the hell had just happened. 

lothal, that he knew it was… why, why he wasn’t on the same lothal. “i, i know that– last i remember you, ezra and zeb had just left– i was going after hera,” he blinked under his mask, trying to make sense of all of this himself. 

His arms engulfed them in a warm embrace, and she stiffened, then melted into his side. They didn’t worry about the tears staining his shirt, didn’t care that their face was buried into his neck. He was real. He was back, and he was real. She knew so many people the Rift had brought through time (for better or worse), but this? This was nothing short of a miracle.

“Kanan,” she muttered, breaking away, but still drinking in his image. He was the same as they remembered. Messy hair, hand-painted mask, dirt-crusted boots. Here she was now, holding onto his hand, still on her cheek, like a lost child. “I can’t believe it’s you. I-- I mean. I.” They paused, taking in a breath. How do you explain that you’ve missed your parent for years, while he’s only missed a beat? “Kanan, that was...over seven years ago.” She let his fingers cup her cheek, smiling through tears. “We won. Our family, the whole Rebellion. Buir, we won.”

cptfulcrum​ // alexsandr kallus

Kallus  has  long  since  known  that  the  Ghost  crew  had  forgiven  him  for  the  atrocities  he’s  committed.  Even  as  he  struggled  to  understand  how  or  why,  he  would  be  grateful  to  his  final  days  for  friends  such  as  them.  Sabine  would  understand  the  significance  of  this  in  a  way  that  no  one  else  tasked  would.  They  would  understand  the  research  that  had  gone  into  this,  the  inner  turmoil  while  he  had  struggled  with  the  Imperial  idea  of  his  body.  Years  later  and  it  haunted  him,  the  guidelines  beat  into  their  soldiers.  “  Thank  you.  “  he  said  simply,  nodding  his  head  as  he  put  his  personal  code  into  the  datapad.  Then  he  handed  it  off  to  them,  the  picture  simple  and  not  able  to  be  understood  to  someone  that  didn’t  know  him.  The  Fulcrum  Symbol  featured,  with  fauna  native  to  Lira  San  in  another  image.  Finally,  a  third  image  of  some  flowers  native  to  Lasan.  He’s  no  artist,  but  has  a  vision.  He  knows  Sabine  is  the  one  to  execute  that  for  him.  “  This  is  quite  personal  to  me.  I  want  a  tattoo.  “  it’s  to  the  point,  lacks  the  emotion  he  has  surrounding  the  whole  idea,  and  his  insecurities  about  how  Zeb  would  feel  about  the  whole  thing.  “  If  it’s  amenable  for  you,  I’d  prefer  you  to  help  me  with  this.  “  

The image drew a sharp inhale from the Mandalorian. The concept was striking, a symbol equal parts sharp and soft, a contrast of edges and curves. It was as though the picture itself was blooming before her eyes; she could already see the colors springing to life, filling the spaces between lines. They thought of the equipment that sat just inside her ship and the weeks since it had been used. It was a practice she was well-versed in-- but this time was different. It was so much more than ink and skin.

“Kallus, I...” But what words could she speak to answer a request so heavy? Sabine understood, of course they understood, what this meant to him. They could imagine the struggle he’d faced just to ask so much of her, the nights he must have wrestled with the regulations the Empire had imposed on him since boyhood. The tattoos she had were-- like so many other things-- an act of rebellion against them. And now it was his turn. Wordlessly, she nodded, holding his tired gaze with their own. Their grip on his hand tightened. 

“When do you want to do this? I can have a few digital drafts made up withing a few hours, but I won’t rush you. Take it on your own time, and I’ll follow you.”

for   @beskarbuir and @finitefm​  // din djarin and tarre vizsla

──   MANDALORE,  YOUR  SCENERY  IS  LIKE  FAMINE.   mandalore,  the most stagnated,  ravaged part of it,  is too lucid for him.   the landscape straddles between home and desolation,  thriving in that liminal space;  that is to say,  it welcomes him without communion.  but that is alright,  for his learnings were true.   this is a cursed planet,  far past death and onto lying in wait.   feverish and weak.   imperials looming over and gorging on the fruit of their lands,  gloating as its acidic juice drips into the corpse’s eyes.   mandalore bares it’s clenched teeth and hungers,  too.  for ichor,  for people,  for love.

din will not be the one to satiate it.   the love he offers is for his people beyond this soured heart,  reared in their ways in places far from here.   they are a nomadic people steeped in an idea.   they are more than mandalore alone.   still,  he stood close to his companion in these past days,  keeping an eye on their surroundings but mostly on them.  it almost seemed like she would choke on the prospect of coming here,  of walking into the maw of their once home.   since their arrival,  her grief was mute;  hemorrhage kept internal.   he hopes they know that if they dotter,  he will bear their weight. 

though there,  in the distance,  rises a haunting:  arriving in beskar adorned in gilded fractures, as if shattered and rebuilt.   his steps nearly stop there,  hand so willing to pull sabine back for her safety.   to din,  they are an unknown beauty and terror looming forth   ─   and though the feeling is transient,  he dallies the tiniest bit slower than sabine when she perseveres in the face of a phantom.   then,  she drops to her knee as if the very sight of them is sacrosanct,  bowing their head in reverence.   ‘ tarre vizsla ’ ,  they had said,  and all besides the clan name and shriek hawk garners no recognition. 

his next move is less calculated.   there is a bow of his head,  hand to the heart while the other still grips his spear like a walking stick.   a commingled greeting less pronounced as sabine’s,  but respectful to a title that eludes him.   ❝  su cuy’gar.  ❞  a fraction of an accent lilts his words,  obvious in comparison between him and them,  but there is no shame in it.   he lifts his head and glances to his companion,  then back,    ❝  as had we.  ❞   concern edges his voice,  ❝  how long have you been here ?  ❞   this is a dead land.  there will be no survival here.

the   reactions   tarre   has   faced   from   their   people   have   been   many,   in   this   time.   they   cannot   say   that   the   awe   is   their   least   favorite,   for   they   have   felt   the   brunt   outraged   violence   at   assumed   deception.   the   PAIN   that   lay   beneath   those   interactions   bests   the   creeping   discomfort   of   respect   for   a   mythos   larger   than   their   life.   they   were   mand’alor   in   their   time,   after   all   –   they   know   the   INTENSITY   of   mandalorian   devotion.   but   they   have   only   made   martyrs.   to   BE   one   ?   it   is   something   entirely   different.  

when   she   kneels,   they   are   surprised   by   the   instinct   to   kneel   as   well,   to   find   the   level   of   her   eyes   beneath   her   colorful   helmet   and   assure   her   that   deference   is   largely   unnecessary.   but   this   is   not   a   force   call,   only   human   LONGING,   and   they   have   spent   years   attempting   to   calm   their   gut   punches   of   emotion.   they   mirror   her   companion   instead,   a   hand   raised   to   their   heart.   these   two   are   sharply   different   in   more   than   their   armor.   their   knowledge   of   HISTORY,   they   can   assume,   yet   the   importance   lies   in   the   force.   she   is   fireworks.   he   is   something   more   unobtrusive.   they   find   both   intriguing   on   a   level   that   may   speak   only   to   their   own   desire   for   new   connection   with   their   people.

there   are   more   pressing   matters   than   any   slowly   sharpening   edge   of   desperation,   however.   their   voice   is   smooth   as   mandalore’s   hot   winds   as   they   reply,   ❛   i   am   them.   please,   RISE   –   i   am   no   mand’alor   in   this   time.   ❜   they   would   insist   that   ALL   mandalorians   are   clan   enough   to   do   away   with   such   formalities,   if   they   had   not   begun   to   grasp   that   these   descendants   of   theirs   are   not   nearly   so   united.   ❛   i   am   glad   to   find   others.   what   is   left   of   history   is   something   worth   revisiting,   i   believe.   ❜

the   bittersweetness   of   it   all   is   beginning   to   burn.   they   tuck   the   feeling   underneath   their   tongue   and   let   it   rest   there,   tangled   up   in   the   core   of   them.   ❛   only   briefly.   there   is   better   accommodation   not   too   far   from   here.   i   wanted   to   see   what   this   became.   ❜   their   words   come   freely,   yet   remain   careful   with   that   bittersweet,   that   knot   of   feeling.   their   head   tilts   slightly   as   they   look   back   to   the   ruins.   ❛   this   is   a   place   of   BLOOD.   it   is   good   that   it   is   no   home.   ❜   it   had   been   theirs,   once,   and   they   suppose   that   that   is   the   tragedy   of   it.   this   loss   will   not   leave   them.

So, it was them, Mand’alor be’ruyot. How or why the leader had returned during their peoples’ most desolate hour was far beyond her understanding. Despite years spent in the company of Jedi, this was perhaps the most impossible thing she’d ever witnessed. Tongue heavy, Sabine found that they had no words-- no amount of training could have ever prepared her for this. Still, at their ancestor’s command, she rose, glancing over at their brother-in-arms.

The younger Mandalorian knew that their companion was not as versed in the history of their people-- which was not something she faulted them for. It just was, a product of circumstance. They examined him-- a shared language of silence only the two knew, unreliant on the visages hidden beneath beskar. This was the nature of their friendship: an understanding that silence had its own place in the conversations they held. So much was shared with so little sound. Despite the unease and confusion that now plagued them both, Sabine understood.

Attention turned, shifting back to the words spoken by one who held so many stories from an age lifetimes before her own. Guilt seized their breath once again. This place was no home, not for anyone. Nor had it been for years, and there were few more to blame than she. Sabine felt their voice waver and crack in response to the bitterness of the haastal.

“No. It is not.” So many skeletons haunted this wasteland once called prosperous, once called beloved. “It belongs now only to the mercy of the Ka’ra above.”

Noticing how uncomfortable the formalities had made their ancestor, Sabine extended an unsteady arm, anticipation of the traditional salute for Mando’ade.

“I am Sabine of Clan Wren and House Vizsla.” There was a moment of pause, consideration. Her companion could share their name if he wanted. It was optional, as most words between the two were. “It is an honor to share your name. Gedet’ye, what may I call you if not ner Mand’alor?”

They couldn’t help but hope her friend wasn’t too lost right now. She gave them a glance as if to reassure him that she’d explain later.

“That’s because he inherited Hera’s good sense,” they joked, with a gentle nudge at his ribs. She could tell there was a lot on his mind, but there was no need to pry. Their language had always been one of silence, of emotions unspoken. It was...well, they were beyond grateful to have him back. Sure, she was older and (hopefully) wiser than the last time they’d met, but it was still him. Still Kanan. They’d done nothing to deserve their family back, but goddamn if she was going to let anything happen to them again.

“Ka’ra, it’s good to have you back. I was starting to miss making fun of you. Even if I can’t exactly call you an old man anymore.” The flash of a smile, marked only with a small caliber of sadness. It was a gift to see him again, but something still stung with a phantom of guilt.

@call-me-spectre-five​   //   sabine wren.

“jacen seems to be rather fond of you.” there was a warmth to his tone, even if his expression was somewhat contained. most of the results of the emperor’s rift would have been overwhelming to the average person, and it was to him, despite that he had been able to swallow much of it while maintaining his dignity. fatherhood, the restoration of the jedi order, what had happened to ezra… he was trying to follow his master’s teachings, controlling his emotions so that they did not control him. “you’ve been a good influence for him.”