A streak of pink and purple flew over the oceans of Selen. The whistling of birds could be heard as it passed. Aboard he ship, Meneveria Navis’thae had her target set. Near the Tri'augel oslan chain, a seemingly mountainous and barren patch of land stood alone. It was what was beneath that was.of importance to Eevie.
“K-D9, please open un a secure channel using that code I told you earlier. It’s time to see if there’s really anyone listening.”
The droid happily beeped a.response in the binary language as the signal was set. From a technical end, it did seem like the passcode worked.
“Great work, K-D.” Eevie was somewhat nervous. It was time to see if she was truly a part of a family again. “This is call sign, Free Bird, requesting permission to land.”
After a few moments of silence, a voice came over her comms.
“Granted.”
A large hole began to open on the islands surface, revealing a docking station with several personal ships already there. The highly.customized N-1 Starfighter slowly descended down to land, the sounds of a thousand chirping birds coming from its engines.
Eevie slowly removed herself from the cockpit, K-D9 escaped its droid port. They were here. The covert. Her new family’s home.
“Ok…just breathe. You are Eevie Erinos now. You can do this.”
The mandalorian known as Meneveria Erinos Navis’thae was home.
A green Twi'lek sat on a folding chair in the hangar of the Erinos compound. A Mandalorian speeder sat with its engine half-assembled (or disassembled for the pessimists). She was holding a datapad in one hand and a ice cold drink in the other.
“Oh, come on Ziggy, a Shistavenen and an Aleena could never do that. The size difference is too extreme. Still gonna read it though.”
The hangar opening and landing boosters firing sent a blast of hot air in her direction, causing her loose fatigues and tank top to billow and flap. Small pieces of the the bike’s engine began to rattle on the floor as they threatened to scatter.
“Ah! Karking kriff!”
The JumpMaster 5000 was a stupid name.
In his opinion.
Anyone can jump…most people can, and those who can not are masters of other things in their own right.
His pointing this out had received a raspy whisper of a barking laugh from the tall, dark Nautolan who piloted the assault ship. And his brows had furrowed, and he had reaffirmed that it is a stupid name. Once in a while, Flyndt just found himself calling it out on it. Days where he tears apart his stereo and leave it strewn in pieces forgotten on the crate he was sitting on, and now was trying to reorganize wires under the port side of the spacecraft – attempting to fix the dismantled communications array he…had…left yesterday.
It was a day of abandoned half-done projects and frustration. The young man did not know what was bothering him, but it seemed to be melting away with blue, yellow, and red wires.
So the Omwati stood on a ladder with his off-white undershirt’s long sleeves tucked into his leather gloves, ducking nearly his whole torso into an open maintenance panel. He had just retreated with an abandoned nest of some critter who had tried to make a home sometime within the last five years, when the hangar opened. Wind ruffled his baggy lilac pants, threatening to untuck them from his leg sleeves, and carried bits of grass and fur from his hands. Nictitating lids passed over sunset eyes to guard from the dust and dirt kicked up by thrusters as a ship pivoted to land nearby.
The sound of it’s engines caught Flyndt’s attention, his head swiveling to see from under the Jumpmaster. Striped crimson feathers flared at hearing thousands of avians approaching, curiosity and caution warring as he chewed his inner cheek. He opted to waiting and seeing if anyone recognized the newcomer, pulling his datapad out to send a message to Foxen.
🦜: I think wires fix, try? 🦜: New person here, you know?
He set it down and took a rag off the scarfs about his dark green-teal vest coat, cleaning his hands
A clawed hand shot out and caught a bolt as it dropped, leading up…and up…to a broad torso that ended abruptly in thick burn scarring at the opposite shoulder. Offering out the piece, Jax smiled, a rare show of fangs for his family, down at the Twi'lek as his ears folded back and flicked at the noise. His silver-streaked, reddish brown hair wisped around his half-muzzled face from it’s perfectly sculpted tail at the back of his neck, and a flip of his head put the shiny bangs back to rights.
“Watch out there, adi'ka,” the man purred at her. He noted her datapad and its open page, and his smirk crept a little further, one foot stamping in quick stacatto. “And I can assure you – I advised Zigarashe while editing that chapter – that it is plenty possible. I have bent just as far. I would demonstrate, but Kobign is not here to see me do it, so it is not nearly so fun.”
L'ara visibly cringed, squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head to drive the image from her mind. Not that Jax wasn’t…attractive in his own way. But he was the first person who had taken paternal care of her in her life. That made him as good as her dad. Not that she’d ever called him that.
“Hguh! Da- Jax I didn’t need to know that. I didn’t tell you about that private event at the fun house a few weeks back, did I? Boundaries!”
She laughed and hugged him regardless. Their relationship was… different. Closer than friends, but not father daughter. They shared private details like friends might, definitely more than parent and child typically would.
The hybrid snickered, evidently having gotten just the reaction he had been hoping for. He returned the hug one-armed and bent sharply at the waist in a fashion that made anyone looking feel their lower back, nuzzling the tops of her lekku with another purr.
“Well if you are going to critique such works around others, perhaps be prepared for commentary? Boundaries,” he echoed, ears flicking playfully. “Did you have a good time, adi'ka?”
“Great time. Had to knock out a couple of overly hair-gelled and cologned creeps. Got a request to work security on their next party.”
Now, despite L'ara’s best attempts, she was trying to figure out how being on the receiving end of anything from a six-plus foot Shistavanen would be anything but disastrous for a three-foot tall humanoid.
A light growl left the older Mandalorian as he released her from snuggling, teeth flashing. “Well done, adi'ka. Do you think you will take the job? You are not obligated to the AAF full time…”
Lacking a folding chair, he leaned lightly against the workbench, testing its heft before putting his weight against it.
Eevie looked around through her helmets visor. She saw an Omwati standing on a ladder near a Jumpmaster ship and walked towards him. KD-9 followed behind.
“Hiya, names Eevie, you an Erinos too?”
“Probably, it’s a nice pocket of credits. Maybe if it stays consistent, I can upgrade my bike. This one just doesn’t have any weapons and I feel…under-armed in the field.”
He eyes darted to the satchel full of high-explosives that sat next to her chair. Those don’t count.
Jax nodded, following her gaze and understanding fully well. “Kobign and I should not plan on a mounted turret for your birthday, then?”
“I mean… I can always use more guns. Fewer guns does me less good really. Or if you can find one, an engine off of an N1 starfighter. I could definitely use one of those.”
L'ara’s eyes now looked over to her bike that currently lay in pieces.
Yeah, I could definitely use that.
“Oh, I met another Mandalorian the other day, out in the forests. Sagitta was her name, I think.”
Lupine ears perked straight ahead. “You did? How did it go? Who are her aliit? Was she nice? Did you have a good time?” While he did not add sweetheart, it was obviously there at the end of the last question in his rumbling tones.
“Oh yeah, lots of fun. Up until I shot her. Yeah loads of fun. She said something about ‘Armistead’? I’ve never heard about them. She only talked about her dad.”
L'ara hoped Jax hadn’t noticed the bit about shooting her new friend. She couldn’t lie, but she could try to slip unfortunate details in between sentences.
“Armiste– you what?” Her elder straightened up, and his arm immediately crossed over his chest, though there was little space for his hand to tuck into. Even after some five years, the gesture was still ingrained. When he spoke next, it was with what L'ara and anyone else knew as his Commander‘s voice, hard-clipped consonants like drumbeat marching orders. “Report, verd. Did you log this open arms incident with command?”
“Uuuuuuggggghhhhh! No…because it wasn’t a sanctioned mission… But it wasn’t my fault! She called for covering fire, which I promptly provided, and then she jumped into the middle of it to engage the enemy hand to hand! I patched her up with my medkit and made sure she got back to her people safely.”
She hated when he pulled rank. Besides, nothing really bad happened. But almost immediately the pair’s tone had shifted to that of a strange combination of scolding parent with child and a quiet drill sergeant with a recruit. (The scariest kind of drill sergeant in her experience.)
The look on Jax’s face became mildly less stern with only a shade of disappointment. He listened with that same expression to her explanation until the end, at which point he just stared down at her for another long few moments, bright blue lupine eyes unwavering. Almost beseeching. A stare that beheld the soul and said, I believe in everything good in you unconditionally, so why are we here?
“I am glad you were not hurt, L'ara,” he sighed at length, sounding tired. It matched the gray in his hair he let show these days. “Well done responding to your vod and handling clean up and recovery. I am proud of you. That said, we should debrief as a family later about this enemy engagement, and see if we cannot contact Clan Armistead. They may have more information, whether that leads to ally or enemy.” He reached up and drew his knuckles over her right lek before curling them briefly around it, mimicking with his hand a familial gesture he did not have lekku for. “Please, adi'ka. Unsanctioned means unsafe. These systems exist for a reason. That is all I will lecture on the matter for today.”
“I don’t think they’re looking to make enemies. She was on a solo scouting mission. Which means their numbers are thin, I think. Minimum people for a scouting team is two. Do we ever absorb smaller families or clans? They might accept it for safety.”
L'ara wanted to roll her eyes. She wanted to act like a stubborn teenager. But she knew Jax was right. Unsanctioned missions were dangerous. And Mandalorians worked best in teams.
“No more rogue missions.”
His datapad pinged on the console where it lay.
Foxen glanced up from his circle of knives, having set himself to cleaning, oiling, and sharpening each blade he had on him rather than indulge himself the temptation of watching Flyndt work. Flyndt had been agitated since morning. Reason: unclear. Application of breakfast and Core form training had not decreased tension, and the Omwati had seemed 17.2% tenser and fidgitier while Foxen was within 2 m. Going to see the horrible animals at Val'teo’s homestead had been rejected (thank frak). Supposition: it was a Bad Day for Flyndt.
So he had chosen to remove himself, and proposed ship maintenance. The comms array honestly wasn’t much use to him for obvious fraking reasons, but it would be of use to Flyndt, and that was what mattered, ranked underneath mission: Whatever They Could Do Today to Improve Mood.
Too bad they’d left the ship in the hangar and not outside the house. The hangar had other Erinos in it. Undesirable. But likely not so to Flyndt. He probably needed quality contact with units that had fraking souls. And if animals (terrible) would be rejected, perhaps things (“people”) would not be.
Finishing with the knife he held and wiping off his hands, the Nautolan hybrid reached for his pad. His mouth made a smile at seeing the sender. The message was simple. He typed back.
🦈: Probably fraking not, but I’ll come out and look after testing. Don’t know who half these frakers are anymore. How’s your status? 🦈: [Image:764.hfg]
He attached an image of the neat six by five rows of shiny, well-balanced throwing knives, angling until the light in the cockpit provided sufficient luster to each blade without his damn huge shadow blocking it. Flyndt liked weapons and he liked shiny things, and they were damn nicely fraking polished.
- That sent, Foxen stood and stretched, reaching over to tab the comm array. As soon as it powered on, a shriek of static ripped through his ears before it died altogether.
Shitfrakdammit.
Once lowered hand from head, he tried again, only for the system to remain unresponsive. He grimaced. Well, Flyndt would get it. He was brilliant. It would only be a matter of time and whatever other system got sacrificed in the meanwhile.
The Nautolan turned and headed for the exit hatch. But first he strapped back on all his knives and checked that all were hidden from visual field. Assessment: sufficient. Also: this was a fine fraking shirt.
When he descended the side of the craft, he noted the open hangar door, the sound of idling engines, Jax being a guilt-weaponizing blowhard to the Twi:lek scrap he’d adopted at some point in the last half decade. He searched, making for the port side ladder and–
Flyndt.
Plus a stranger in violently neon puked colors. Assessing.
Jax rumbled at her. “Thank you, verd'ika,” he said, releasing his drill sergeant stance to sit again. He pondered her question with a look that skewed into the distance, pondering other years, places, faces. “Hmm…we have. A strong House is often composed of several Clans. Such was the way of Mandalore. But our numbers have not been so high as that for some generations, and so we have only been the Erinos. The Erinos were largely composed of those from Clan Kodiak and Clan Skirata, as you will recall. If Clan Armistead wished to join us, and relations were reasonable, I see no problems with it.” He smirked at her slightly then. “But ahh, we are all Mandalorians, and this is not a war. Of course, there will be some problem. Particularly if their group is so small as to feel desperate. I hope all things go pleasantly, though.”
The chirping ship hatch opened and an armored individual hopped out. It seemed they were looking in his direction, and coming on over. Flyndt debated staying on the ladder or getting his feet squarely on the ground before they reached him –
Brrring, brrring.
The purring trill of his datapad drew his attention back to it and, tucking the rag back into his belt, he grabbed it to check. Maybe, but probably unknown, and – knives. The Omwati spread his thumb and forefinger out to zoom in on the blades, well oiled and cleaned like he had come to expect of the hybrid. He started tapping out a response.
🦜: o ° o ° o ° o 🦜:
Flyndt stopped. Crimson crest arching up as a greeting reached his ears. It took him a second before he glanced to the woman? And set the device back down on the ladder. One short assessing look later, he replied.
“No.”
A pause, and a deeper hrmm than his own light voice.
“I am Flyndt,” the Omwati touched two fingers to his embroidered breast pocket, dipping his head slightly from his perch. He glanced past her to her ship. “What avian your ship mimic? How and why?”
“Hrm,” came an echoing noise behind the figure, the massive Nautolan having come closer to what, he presumed, was the interruption to the little dots on his datapad whose dance had replaced his diaphragm in breathing for him these days. Sanguine eyes narrowed at it, less because of the garish everything and more for the flash of irritation.
No, he said to Flyndt as he rounded the newcomer and placed himself squarely beside the base of the ladder, pivoting to face the insult to retinas everywhere. I don’t recognize that mess. OK?
When he was done talking, he put one hand out on the ladder, steadying it.
Just in case.
Eevie gave a slight chuckle at Flyndt’s demeanor. So uptight…
“No worries, I am new to this covert, so I wasn’t sure. And the Avian sound wasn’t planned out. I modified my ship quite alot. Pretty good with my hands that way. The chirping is just a result of those mods.”
She noticed the Nautolan approaching and stepping up to the ladder. Looking over the well dressed Mandalorian, she could tell he was vastly outfitted with knives.
Hmmm…a man after my own heart
“You’re looking sharp. The names Eevie. Yourself?”
Flyndt blank expression shifted with interest as Eevie mentioned modifications. He glanced again at her craft, the urge to see the tech growing. However, his sunset gaze fell onto Foxen while he came up behind the woman. His eyes lingered on the man’s face before shifting to the movement of hands.
Does not recognize.
The feathers at the nape of his neck stiffened. She was new to Erinos and Foxen did not know – granted, he realized now, there was many the Nautolan hybrid likely did not. After a slight sigh to focus, the Omwati sunk into the Force and reached out to feel the living aura before them. Nothing but friendliness that seemed genuine.
O.K. Flyndt responded back to the other man with a nod. He shifted to sit on one of the rungs and rested his arms on his knees, listening to the father introductions and waiting.
No hands spoke.
“Hoo?” He leaned forward slightly – the ladder only shifting just barely before Foxen flexed and held it still– and passed a look at the other man. Sanguine eyes just stared at the newcomer with no indication of a response to be given. Flyndt simply raised a brow and straightened up. Giving a name or not was Foxen’s right, until he asks…
“You are new…to Erinos? What brought you here? To join group?”
Foxen stayed tense while Flyndt’s feathers stiffened, assessing the figure and awaiting, importantly, for Flyndt’s assessment as the Omwati’s expression focused with a sigh.
Analysis: beskar armor, garish or not. Loose stance, open, category: “friendly”. Hand at ease near hip holster weapon, stance category: ready for engagement. Vocal tenor indicates probable female, tenor and height suppose probable age ranging 10-35 galactic standard years depending on species.
Inventory: thirteen visible possible weapons, if electronics used as bludgeoning object and keycard used for stabbing into the cranial cavity through nasal septum or ocular orbital. Five knives, not as nicely polished as his. Blaster pistol, vambrace pair, blaster rifle, pronged fibrocord whip.
Whip.
Red eyes narrowed further. Shift further in front of ladder and Flyndt: 0.03 m.
Then fingers flashed: O.K. All clear.
Okay.
He returned the knife that he’d let fall into his other palm, hidden in the curl of finger and turn of wrist, back into its sheathe.
Flyndt sat, reclined, and the Nautolan held the ladder easily with the shifts of the Omwati’s slight feather weight and center of mass. Kept his gaze on the figure rather than get distracted by the knee almost at his eye level while his bird made idle conversation, gathering intel. Smart. Foxen listened, waiting.
Eevie looked between the two before reaching up to remvie her helmet. Her Sephi face beneath gave a friendly smile to the two untrusting individuals.
“I am a new Erinos. Socorra gave me the passcodes to come here, so I wanted to come meet the rest of the family.”
Eevie looked at the ship Flyndt had been working on.
“I’m pretty good at fixing things, if you need help with that ship. Mine has been fairly customized. I went all out in terms of speed and maneuverability. I like the idea of flying free, and being untouchable. Me and chains don’t get along well.”
Flyndt raised a brow at that last bit about chains and her. Several questions lingered on his tongue but he simply nodded, an understanding look crossing his face.
“Freedom beneath the suns and stars. Nothing should keep one from such.”
The Omwati paused and considered Eevie’s offer, glancing to Foxen. Did it work? His gloved hands asked, no?…can take her help?
If Foxen’s passive expression for the bubbly colorblind stranger twitched at all, it was then at the thought of letting her touch their ship. Their first refuge. His lips wanted to pull back.
Stranger.
However.
Didn’t work, the Nautolan replied, looking to the Omwati’s perfect pallete and feeling his eyes rest. He made a smile. You’ll get it. I know you will. Pause. If you want advice, ask her. It’s yours too.
“Hrmm…”
It did not work. The corner of his lips tugger down briefly, glancing away for a second. It did not work. He needed to stop messing with all of Foxen’s stuff, breaking–
A smile.
Flyndt paused, head swiveling with unnatural ease on his shoulders to take in the small moment. An utterance of reassurance and faith worked a small smile back. You’ll get it. I know you will…
…It’s yours too.
No. No, it was not! Why?! It did not belong to him. Just– a sharp pull on his scalp as his crimson crest raised, some of the feathers tugging at the leather tie gathering them, and the silver plumage on his nape bristled. Sunset eyes jerked away from Foxen and stared for a moment across the hangar at nothing in particular. That earlier annoyance and agitation returning in full force. Tsk, puhta.
Forcing a breath, he turned back to Eevie and gave a brief feign of a smile. “Will take help. I have no luck with it, need fixed soon.”
Sooner than later, fix it and then won’t have to bother or impede Foxen with his ship.
A smile back.
It is quiet, heavy rain over the sound, face upturned into the downpour. It is the smell of sauteed butter and steamed vanilla. It is cool silk. It is a very old song, in a very old ocean, and a soft hand on the head that was larger, then.
It hits him in the fraking chest every fraking time, to earn those smiles. Not just to witness them – that’s its own rapture – but to make them happen? He’d get on his knees.
And then it evaporates. Feathers snap, bristle. Sunset tears away. The beak clacks, ttttttttt, and the chatter of the brrrre underlying it is irritationangerdeny.
What did he say.
Is this upset with the ship. With failure.
Is it because he came near. Should he have maintained distance per previous protocols after observation of annoyance.
Unlikely to be the female. He is accepting her assistance.
Assessing.
“Hrm,” Foxen worries, and tries to ask, just like at the river, what did I say that upset you?
Eevie approached Flyndt and placed a hand on his shoulder. She had a playful grin on her face.
“You and me, we’ll get this ship back in gear.”
Rolling up to the ramp was a BB astro-droid, the same coloring of Eevie and her ship. It made several whirs and beeps as it spoke to Eevie.
“This is my friend, K-D9. He will happily assist with the repairs as well.”
Nothing. Will fix your ship, was the short reply, cut off when a hand rested on his shoulder. The Omwati stiffened slightly and glanced to the hand, then to Eevie. Another small feigned smile and a nod.
Spotting the droid approaching and seeing an opportunity to avoid farther physical touch and discussing it, Flyndt hopped off the ladder and crouched beside the unit. He stared which way and that over the components, occasionally poking it gently here and there. “K-D9? He can aid on repairs? What other things does round droid do?”
“He’s my co-pilot, helps me with quick calculation when creating flight plans, and defensive maneuvering. He’s also just a really good friend to have around.” Eevie replied with a smile. She was truly lucky and happy to have K-D9 in her life.
The Nautolan despaired at the answer, and the possessive. Your ship. It was sufficiently distracting to keep him from glaring at Eevie’s hand until it removed itself.
It didn’t feel right. But Flyndt said nothing. He can only trust the words.
Set retreat: 3 m. Sit. Observe. Overwatch. At least Flyndt has a droid to poke at. Perhaps it will make him happier.
Set task: do not hate the Sephi because he is talking to her but will not talk to the self.
Alor’s Hidey Hole
Socorra’s office at the compound was far more robust than it had any right to be; no expense was spared for the Grand Master’s Praetor no matter where she remotely worked out of. Thankfully it was paid for by the Iron Bank and never touched Galeres’ much smaller budget.
The viewing screens covered each wall nearly top to bottom in front of well-organized computer hardware and tables. It was a sterile room all except for the center, where in stark contrast to the robust technology, a simple wooden cradle and blanket rocked gently with a diapered infant wiggling inside.
Turhaya’s mother snapped and buckled her retrofitted chestplate back into place with the little infant happily gurgling and seemingly well-fed as he watched curiously. She threw on a burikad, a Mandalorian infant carrier modified and slightly modeled after the “tactical harness” that Marick had commissioned for Kirra. Normally a right pain to get a squirmy baby into a harness for a non-Force user, it was made much simpler and quicker with some help of telekinesis to set his little legs in and body made secure.
The woman grabbed her helmet and locked up the office, triple checking, and headed out with the little infant strapped in and able to view the whole world from his mother’s embrace.
While he silently observed Flyndt and debated messaging Minnie to report failure and ask for assistance – because fraking Jax was fraking unbearable and that was just beyond the pale, he wasn’t that desperate yet – when the sound of a door mechanism resealing reached his ears.
Curious.
He didn’t remember a door in this hangar that wasn’t either of the big ones. Insufficient memory, or new addition in the last 5 years 7 months 28 days standard?
Assessment: 67% secure compound. Jax present, 12 m away. Flyndt fully capable. Probably safe to look away from him with stranger claiming new Erinos status.
Besides. He’d said nothing wrong.
Leave it the frak alone, you–
Rather than indulge unproductive thought processes, Foxen turned and looked around. Twisted in place. Searching.
No visible additional doors. However, Socorra Erinos had appeared in front of a wall.
Oh ho.
A secret room.
Nice.
Also: infant humanoid in chest harness. Assessment: probably hers. Similarity of features high. Also nobody carries around fraking babies they don’t care about.
Emotion recognized: nostalgia. Current parameters acceptable for application. Set status: allow.
He thinks of Minnow when she was that small. Goddamn biter. Always busy babbling even then. He remembers uncertainty, and a deep desire to ask things of their mother who is a long-gone ruptured corpse he carved the baby out of. Information inventory on infant rearing had been minimal, then. Thankfully, knowledge is plentiful once one posseses literacy, and texts and holonet connection are not troublesome, like category: organics.
He feels the moment the female notices him staring at her young. It is a thing predators know and recognize in one another. A rise at the back of the neck, the hackles. He looks up, and meets the stare of one blue eye acknowledging.
“That is… cool,” Flyndt uttered. He pulled his finger away from the droid and leaned on his knees, listening to the trills and beeps and watching K-D9’s head swirl. How he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on a droid of his own, maybe a broken one, build it back up from the ground. A assistant, a companion. A good friend…
His gaze flicked from the droid to where the large black Nautolan hybrid had retreated to sit, and groaned quietly to himself. He fraked up, did he not? Bad reaction for something completely different and not Foxen’s fault. Unsure still the words to explain what was upsetting him and his gut still twisting, in need to calm down, he vowed to talk with Foxen later and apologize. For now, fix ship and talk to this Eevie who seemed fairly friendly, maybe too friendly.
The Omwati stood and gave a small smile. “Was fixing the communication array…I had dismantled it the other day, learning how the wires ran but messed up reassembly.”
He moved over to the ladder again and climbed up to retrieve his all-in-one tool and datapad. The device was still open with his half written reply to Foxen…he closed out of the screen for now. Hopping down, he set the datapad and took down beside stereo parts strewn on a nearby crate.
“If you mind taking look, please, I can hold ladder.”
Eevie set her helmet down and moved to step up the ladder.
“Absolutely, I would love to be of whatever assistance I can offer.”
Climbing the ladder she saw the communications array that Flyndt had mentioned. Looking over the exposed wires and parts, she caught sight of what she assumed the issue to be. Seeing some.nearby tools that the Omwati had been using, she took her time and fixed the small issue. Smiling at her work she made her way back down the ladder.
“You did a wonderful job putting it back together. There was one component out of place, something almost anyone would’ve missed. It should be fixed and operational now! You should be proud of the work you did. I’m honestly impressed. It was clean work.”
Flyndt stepped away from the ladder he had been steadying for the Sephi, more like spotting than holding it in place any, and gave her some space to stand. There was a bit of relief to hear he was on the right track with it and had been so close. He smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, I did clean out the critter nests first,” the omwati stated simply, gesturing towards a couple dropped piles of dried grass, insulation, and fur? Feathers? Something. “You aid I appreciate a lot. Shall I test it? I will not be long.”
“Yeah go for it! I love the sound of machinery purring!”
Eevie’s tone was playful and bubbly as she spoke. She understood that it could be a bit much for some, but too much of her life was silent and controlled. She chose to forever be herself, regardless of the opinions of others.
The striped red feathers atop his head twitched a few times unintentionally as she spoke, his ear catching on the lilts and air of her voice. With a quick nod, he jogged off and up through the hatch of the Jumpmaster, continuing his pace till he was sliding into the pilot seat. Flyndt paused and allowed his hands run over the armrests, leather and durasteel against leather clad and bare fingers.
A sigh.
Flyndt opened his eyes and set to his task. Leaning forward, his hands hovered over the controls as his eyes darted between sections of knobs and switches. He clicked lightly a rhythmic pattern and mimed flicking and pressing several short series before he paused above a particular switch.
“Hoo.”
Flick.
Bwee, bwee, bwee–
Lights throughout the cabin and outside started flashing off and as the loud klaxons sounded. Flyndt’s sunset eyes widened in alarm and his plumage shrunk flat to his scalp, slimming his visage. After a couple seconds of shock, he jabbed the switch several more times till the noise finally ceased.
“…wrong lever, Flyndt.”
He took a deep breath and went through sequence number two he remembered. These buttons thankfully activated the advanced communications. The double chime a satisfying response. Good, thank you, Eevie.
‘I love the sound of machinery purring!’
Hrmm.
Fingers danced across the controls, each sound of a fob mimicked near perfect tune. With one final flick, the Jumpmaster 5000’s engines ‘purred’ to life. A smile cracked on the Omwati’s lips as he leaned back into the seat with arms crossed listening. He let it run for thirty seconds, listening to the sound, and then turned it off, to save fuel and hopefully prevent Foxen from completely barreling into the cockpit in concern…maybe.
Though unincliend to look away from a fellow predator first – weakness indication – Foxen’s gaze was taken from the Socorra and infant by noticing Flyndt disappear from sightlines. He tracked him heading back into the ship while the Sephi bounced around, replaying conversation snippets.
Her compliments did not upset the Omwati. Conclusion: he is the problem today.
The shoulders slump, but then he adjusts them. No time for slumping. On duty.
He waits, expecting Flyndt to emerge with report of successful comms. Instead, the fraking alarm starts going off, and Foxen just about flails over as his heart evacuates his ribcage at speed.
He does fall over when the alarm goes off and the engines start, but only because he’s almost directly under them and the air force is gusty even to his malnourished 175 kg.
The Sephi makes happy noises, and as the Nautolan picks himself back up and adjusts position, the engines shut down again. He can clearly picture in his mind’s eye Flyndt, hooting also happy at the console or pressed up to the engine panel, enjoying the noise. It’s one of his favorites.
He risks further upset and pulls his pad out. Stares at the dots still dancing there. Types.
🦈: Fixed? Knew you’d get it, fraking brilliant bird. You can leave it running if you want.
He adds, yours too, but then deleted it. Then deleted the whole message and put the pad away. Demonstrated his input unwanted today. Maybe it’s just a bad day for Flyndt. Maybe tomorrow, they will run the engine for a bit, just to listen because they can and no one controls them anymore.
Foxen returned his attention to the Erinos matron, belatedly wondering if the alarm had upset the baby. Jax can fraking suffer with those bigass ears, but the kid is innocent. Wince.
Killer recognize killer.
Socorra’s one-eyed gaze remained fixed and rigid as she stared at Foxen. In that brief moment, her mind rapidly sifted through the limited memories she had of him. It was short, mostly no questions asked missions. Her mental databank stored a comprehensive dossier on most of his life as well and that was much longer. If the Seeker wanted to expend staff and her own resources she could have his entire life in it, but at the time she was made aware of the Nautolan’s name it was not necessary.
It still wasn’t.. yet. But the way he looked with unlidded, unblinking predator eyes at her baby…
The ship suddenly roared to life, startling the living Force out of Turhaya. His little limbs helplessly flailed in the air for a very brief moment before he looked out with wide frightened eyes. His parted lips slowly grew wider and wider until finally a plaintive wail loudly escaped from those tiny lungs.
Socorra’s helmet clattered on the ground as the scarred hands holding it cupped Turi’s dainty pointed ears–clearly not a trait from his mother–a second too late, but she turned her back to the hangar to protect him from the blast and debris.
She hated ships.
The engine cut and she turned back around, bouncing and shushing, cooing and just plain holding her little dragon tight against her mountainous armored muffins. Even telepathy was not enough to console the little guy.
Noting the Nautolan on the ground, thoughts of potential injury to him occurred and her encyclopedic mind went into action, recalling her extensive theoretical knowledge of musculoskeletal injuries, analyzing various scenarios and their associated symptoms.
But then he stood up. Nevermind.
Foxen clocked the locations of every individual present again, gaze lingering in daggers on Eevie, before he turned and approached the Human bouncing her wailing infant at reduced speed. As he neared, he tilted his chin up, showing throat briefly in indication of minor submission; no harm meant. He stopped 0.75 m away for space, his gaze refocused on the infantile mammal.
He frowned slightly, trying to recall Human life stages. Weren’t often relevant to his work, this young. Not never, but not often. Hard to gauge when they started with ineffective legs they dragged around instead of being efficient and swimming until lower limb development sufficient for walking. Was upset due to fear, startle? Or damage to tiny Human eardrums?
Hrm.
Shrugging, the Nautolan reached up and took hold of a headtail, pulling one thick gold ring off of it. Too big to swallow. At least for Human baby.
You better be Human, kid, he thought at it, not wanting any articulated jaw surprises. He wanted to see how life with Flyndt in the world went, thanks, not get annihilated by angry female over accidentally asphyxiated cub.
Foxen crouched down, to be more of a height. Then he held up the ring to the wailing, sobbing creature and shaking it to make it catch the light and sparkle. He clicked rapidly while he did it, a high chitter of Nautlia not normally used when he wasn’t teasing his sister.
Flyndt emerged from the ship after less than five minutes since he first ducked inside it. His quick steps were light going down the grooved ramp and no sooner as his sandals hit the hangar’s floor was his gaze darted to the last spot he saw Foxen, a curious coo escaping him. He had fully expected to come face to face with the man, and a part of him seemed…disappointed it did not, even before he remembered his earlier snap and the wave of remorse that came with it.
Crimson feathers rose and froze suddenly when he did spot the Nautolan off aways. The overhead lights glinting off of a metal ring twisting and shook before an infant. A child. It gave him pause to see the hardened statue of a man who did not care about most others, being so delicate with a kid. He heard of Foxen raising Minnow as a babe seen pictures, just was different seeing it in person.
Flyndt cleared his throat and shifted his attention back to Eevie nearby. He offered a small smile and nodded, “It worked.”
Socorra watched the humanoid, loath to trust Foxen. It was not that she harbored specific reservations towards his kind, but rather, the Sith’s experience had taught her that the galaxy was full of mentally ill and evil-for-evil’s-sake individuals. And she had made plenty of enemies in her lifetime. The Erinos name held little significance as well, especially when it came to the safety and well-being of her child. Even Teroch, her adopted brother, their Alor, had turned against their own kin. Socorra couldn’t help but suspect that others were equally hesitant to place their trust in her.
As Turhaya’s sobs began to subside, his quivering lip and tear-filled eyes remained, leaving prismatic rainbows of color streaming down his chubby cheeks. Before his crying had even ceased, he reached out with his tiny arms, a combination of physical and unseen forces gently tugging at the ring, as if trying to draw it closer to him.
Socorra was more than aware of the others and would acknowledge them in time, but was not for a moment going to remove her single eye from this confrontation-greeting.
When the infant reached for the ring – was that slight magnetic force? Force Force? Updating intel – Foxen released it to it, passing it over without touching the child. Noise reduction achieved, upset possibly subsided. Success.
Now then, credentials.
He hadn’t missed at all the watching, and didn’t doubt it a moment. Logical. Taking steps back 0.5m, Holding up both hands, palms out to show them. He mouths, not weapon.
Then he reached for his pad, removing it slowly. Stared for a moment at the 🦜: o°o°o°o… in his and Flyndt’s messages and the picture of knives above it. Had it not been an adequate display? He’d have to try harder next time.
But, irrelevant now. Tabbing out, he went to the storage and pulled up oldest holopics; his total only numbered a few hundred, and most of those had been taken in the last several months since he and Flyndt returned, but there were others.
Turning the screen around, he showed Socorra the image of himself, subtracted approximately twenty years, and more importantly, Minnow, the same. Barely more than a tadpole, just grown her legs. She is in his hold and gumming on his headtail. Drool is palpable as she smiled in her sleep, even then.
After a good 20 seconds of displaying the picture, he turns back and types before presenting it again.
I mean no harm to yours. Sorry about the engine. Testing repairs. He/she/it okay?
Eevie reached out her fist towards the Omwati, not knowing if they understood the gesture or not.
“I’m glad that I could help, she was purrin like a Loth Kit. Always feels good to hear an engine revin like a champ.” Her smile falshed her white teeth. Eevie was usually pretty keen on keeping up a good appearance. She cared not if her many scars were visible though. Those she displayed with pride, her mark showing what she overcame.
Crimson feathers raised as the avian regarded the fist. He reached out and cupped his hand on top of it, giving the woman a nod and small smile. “It is healthy rumble, yes, I think. Still learning ships.”
Flyndt paused and glanced back around, gaze lighting on Jax and a Twi'lek chatting before flicking back to Foxen, the lady and babe.
“Who is that?” he asked Eevie.
Eevie looked in the direction of Flyndt’s question to see Socorra, the newest Matriarch of the Erinos Clan.
“That is Socorra Tenebrosa Nhar’qual Erinos Arconae. She is the woman in charge of the Erinos Clan, apparently rebuilding it from the relic it had become. She’s safe to talk to and interact with.”
Socorra peered at the datapad, a habit to do so anyway. She slightly smiled at the heartwarming image of Minnie using him as a teething toy. The woman knew he had raised a little one but so had Satsi.
She looked back up to him. Way up. “This is Turhaya, or Turi. Bright Star. He is fine, just startled.” Indeed the ring was already in his mouth, gripped with little fat fists. “My mistake for not checking hangar first. Bad timing.”
Her raven and whited haired head tilted. “Is telepathy acceptable? We not need speak.”
The Nautolan hybrid immediately shook his head in turn, firmly signing a, no. That one usually didn’t need translation, body language being what it was. Crossing his arm across his body and pushing away in refusal.
Instead he moved back to the pad interface, gaze softening slightly at the picture there before he returned to a typing screen and showed it again.
Denied. Not in my head. Mess with my mind and I’ll kill you. Think you know who I am like I know you. Uncertain who survives, and I think we both have preference for living for someone here.
Hi, Turi. He can keep the ring if he wants. It’s solid, not plated; shouldn’t flake off even if he keeps gumming. He’ll learn when he tries to bite with teeth though.
Request: may my friend meet Turi if he would like to? Uncertain of his feelings on children. May evoke happiness. He is trustworthy. Will bet my life and armor on it. And can make many noises. Turi might like.
“Socorra Tenebrosa…that is long name,” Flyndt commented. He eyes the dark haired woman in the distance. A tick of his crest at ‘safe’ happened. That was something he would take with a grain of salt, see for himself. He nodded once and shifted his attention back to Eevie.
“Is it custom all Erinos take name? You be Eevie Erinos then?” He asked, only now realizing that might be a thing despite Jax sharing it alongside the Nautolans. They were siblings after all.
Eevie gave Flyndt a smile.
“Yes, when one joins the Erinos Clan, they take the family name. How they do so is really up to the individual. I was born Meneveria Navis'thae before my parents sold me into servitude. My full name now would be Meneveria Erinos Navis’thae, but I usually just go by Eevie.”
“I see.” Flyndt returned the smile with a brief one of his own. It was short lived as he registered the bit about her parents and servitude. His face fell with a small frown and softened brow. A hand rose to rub the side of his neck, skin tingling despite suppressing the memories that comment called back on. “I am sorry, you had gone through that.”
Mess with my mind and I’ll kill you was far too Satsi for comfort. It was almost word-for-word. She wanted to tell him that with excellent perception, one could hear another person think and they would never know. Best not give away the tricks of the spy trade.
Socorra did not respond to the first; there was an understanding and it required nothing.
To the second she slightly bowed her head. “Thank you. Teeth are way off still.” Thank the Maker, she thought about Turi and her poor muffins.
To the third her head slightly tilted as her mind wandered the hangar looking for his friend. “Yes. Should I get pram instead of birikad?” She pointed from the baby harness to the hover carrier off to the side of the office.
Eevie’s cheerful demeanor never dropped despite Flyndt’s softening look.
“Hun, no need for you apologizing. I couldn’t be happier with my life as it is. All the bad, all of the good, I am who I am because of it. I am no longer in chains, just a leaf on the wind. I am free to be me, and I care not who takes issue with that. Speaks on their issues, not mine.”
His crimson crest rose slightly at that and he glanced dropped his hand and his gaze for a moment to reflect on her words. She had a point, they were free to be a themselves and none of that last dictated who they were. For the first time since conversing, Flyndt gave her a fuller smile and nodded. “Puhta te, frak them if they do, have issue.”
A hum escaped his lips as shoulders relaxed, trying to think of something to talk about. They chatted on names of Erinos people, different as it was.
“We, my people, name differently, individually. There no family name, just the one given at birth under the moons. We just say who we belong with when greeting. I am Flyndt of the Han'duwil, yes, see?” He explained after a moment pause. The Omwati withhold the fact that was not his first name, the name he spoke with his people. He had only just met this woman and yet to get to know her.
Foxen shrugged to that question, hoping that enough conveyed an up to you. The birikad certainly brought back memories.
Intense nostalgia. Your choice. Will keep ship off. And Jax can be jealous.
So said, after giving time for reading, he turned and started walking back towards Flyndt and the Sephi, offering his back first in deference to the infant.
A bit uncharacteristic for the woman, she laid a finger on the side of her jaw as if thinking, then a minute shrug and left the harness on. Some sort of friendly gesture perhaps, for a fellow Mando.
“Names are important. I am glad to have never to you, Flyndt.”
Eevie, who’s helmet was still off and in the crook if her arm, noticed that Socorra and the Nautolan Foxen were approaching.
“Hey there Soccs, thanks for the invite to this place. I’m excited to join the family! These two have been…very welcoming.”
Objectively untrue. One of them has been welcoming. However, bullshit social niceties of the Sephi he envies are not the focus.
Instead, Foxen waved at Flyndt, then gestured at the infant strapped to its spawner’s chest. His hands spoke, if still more slowly for the Omwati’s, a certain relief in not having to type.
Thought you might want to meet the kid. Not sure how you feel about them? The name is, here he paused, uncertain if his previous spelling of the name on the pad had been correct; given Socorra hadn’t said anything, he would have to assume so. Name is T-U-R-I. Not sure I’m spelling that right. Reminded me of Minnie, seeing in the birikad. B-I-R-I-K-A-D. Birikad. Mandalorian baby carrier, wrap to chest. Minnie probably has photos.
Another pause. Would it be appropriate to say good job about the ship now? His hands hesitated, then fell silent. He stepped 1 m to the left, to allow sufficient room for interacting with Socorra and Turi if desired while maintaining distance.
Bucket summoned back to her arm, she greeted Eevie with a nod, although prepared herself for the inevitable pounce-hug.
“Of course,” she smiled slightly for the Sephi. “Avery may have adopt but you with all us.”
Socorra watched as the looming tower flashed the Omwati several hand signals. They appeared very direct and having noted his muteness or refusal to speak it seemed very likely to be an actual sign language. Her right hand drifted to the left vambrace and began translating on the comp.
He signed “Turi” which was endearing in its own way for someone ragingly not meant to be endearing.
“Flyndt, I believe? Greetings. Eevie put you to work, sah? This is the way.”
Filing the name and terminology – that very much is not a wrap but can see the similar purpose – away, Flyndt glanced to the woman and babe. Kids were fine, innocent and such. It was not the babe he was hesitant meeting. His hand was halfway raised to ask Foxen’s thoughts on the Matron when Socorra spoke.
“Hello, yes, Socorra,” he nodded to confirm his identity. “Hoo, I asked her for her mastery, for assistance actually.”
The Omwati paused, feathered crest twitching slightly. His gaze shifted to the toddler, brow softening slightly. “And this is Turi?” Flyndt stepped forward slightly and gave the toddler a smile, a bit wider than he tended to give to his peers. “Hello, Turi, having good day out with your Whi?”
Eevie just touched Flyndt on his shoulder, giving them a playful look.
“I didn’t even do much. Flyndt here was basically done, and quite perfectly, I might add. There was just one tiny issue that anyone couldn’t missed.”
Sanguine eyes fixed on the pink feminine hand once again touching Flyndt.
Spontaneous combustion, still failed.
Damnit.
However: updated intelligence inventory for Operation: Make Flyndt Smile. Item: Sephi female/mechanic/Mandalorian: acceptable.
Face twitching, the Nautolan turned his gaze instead to Flyndt’s wider smile for the infant, committing it to memory for inevitable days without. What was that word. Omwatese for mother? Parent? Guardian? How was it spelled?
Desire to ask: high.
Maybe later, if possible.
Eevie felt the tensing muscles under Flyndt’s skin. She noticed the feathers on his head flattening at her touch. Realizing his discomfort, she removed her hand.
“I am sorry Flyndt. I am a physical person, but I should’ve asked your comfort and permission before touching you. We have only just met after all. I will try to keep myself in check more.”
“I leave piloting to professional like Eevie,” she waved a hand. “I could chart course like astromech. But give wheel and I drive ship into broadside of death star.”
The woman stiffened slightly as Flyndt moved closer to the babe. It was habit, and going to be near impossible to break. Her eye darted to the pram off to the side with the thought that maybe it would be better afterall.
Outstretching the same tattooed and burn-scarred hand that waved, Socorra summoned the repulsor carrier to them and began lifting Turhaya from his harness.
“Up and out, there we go,” she said softly, turning him around and nuzzling his nose with hers, eliciting a giggle that lasted until he was nice and safe in the carrier.
A soft hrm came from the Nautolan hybrid from his place adjacent to the group. Noting Flyndt tensing had had him tense in turn, but the female’s apology was…sufficient enough. At least to not remove the hand at the wrist.
Another pilot. Bubbly touchy. Minnie would probably like her. Gross.
He observed the process of moving Turhaya from birikad to pram with a solid feeling in his chest, especially when nuzzling commenced. The nostalgia was getting to be like cotton in the lungs, almost too strong. Strength of sentiment and memory compared to the vast failings of now: fraking brutal.
Now: so often looking at his sister and seeing how badly she wants to touch and affirm and how it makes the skin wish to detach and flee the body; he fear of breaking her if he is startled, like with the mouth-running cosplaying Zabrak; how if they talk now, she only seems to cry, and he cannot find words to ‘tell her anything’; her missing the sound of his voice, and how none will come out. Getting off the ship, and Minnie. Standing there, so much older. Her face opening. Tears. How she runs for him.
How he flinched.
She skids to a stop, but still runs into him. A silent shriek. Recoil. Hurt on her features. Questions questions questions. He can’t.
He can’t.
The Nautolan turned his head away from the scene of predator parent and adorable fat child in possession of his jewelry and interloper Sephi, even if it had Flyndt in it. Flyndt does not wish for anything from him right now. Refused. Excusing himself is not desired but fleeing is also highly wanted. Assessment: his fraking life now, a mess of contradictions and bullshit. Because trauma is the greatest.
He does not fit in this scene, and the dissonance makes the objective planetary axis tilt 23° off the midline. Head: aches, like icepick rammed into temple, piercing right eye, which twitches.
Ow.
Flyndt nodded appreciatively and offered a small smile in thanks, both for the removal and the future consideration. His attention shifted to movement, gaze catching a scarred and inked hand gesturing and he found himself trying to connect the mark’s interrupted pieces together. It tugged at the back of his mind, like he could nearly guess what it may be but details still hazy.
The hand moved to extract Turi from the carrier and he watched the short exchange between mother and son. Crimson feathers twitched and something lodged in his throat briefly. Flyndt averted his gaze, sunset eyes shifting to Foxen nearby, whose brow furrowed momentarily like in discomfort. Concern threatened to tug a frown upon his lips, so he turned to Eevie with a short smile. “Do you want say hi to Turi? Infants enjoy touching hands.”
Eevie smiled at the baby and waved to the giggling little man. She turned to Socorra.
“He is so adorable. I’m so happy for you and Wyn.”
The Sephi turned back to Flyndt, her eyes and cheeks ablaze with glee.
“I love babies. They’re so…pure…innocent. One day…one day I hope…”
Her voice trailed off as a glimpse of saddness trailed her face. As quickly as it was there, it was gone.
“For now, the skies the limit for me. Me.and Avery have enough with his son and our Clan.”
With the Sephi focused on the infant, Flyndt turned to check in on Foxen. No sooner had his hand raised had he noticed eyes glancing back to him. Operation distract the two women failed.
The Omwati returned his attention back for the moment, noting Eevie’s glee for a moment. His feathers twitched when he caught that brief lowering of her smile, the furrowing of her brow. All quickly chased away by glowing optimism, or the attempt to convince one self of it. He offered a small smile.
“May your family be healthy and prosper. Anything is possible under the suns, yes,” Flyndt nodded once. He glanced to the side, to the Nautolan, signing.
O.K?
O.K?
Not really. But objectively neither of us are.
Assessment. Triggers identified, inventory: * infant reminding of past self * comparison of the self to the past self that is dead x I don’t know how many anymore * helplessness/frustration/guilt; inability to soothe Minnow, inability to soothe you * jealousy/frustration; won’t tell me what I did wrong so I can’t try to adjust my behavioral parameters; let her help you but not me even though stranger
Overall status: not okay, but not having a panic attack, so objectively fine. Low bar these days. Neither of us woke up screaming today. Had breakfast and lunch. Came here to repair work despite bad mood. Kid’s cute, hope I never have to kill it.
Sighing to himself, Foxen didn’t make their sign back. He just shrugged instead, gesturing, Yes and no. I’m functional. Tell later if wanted. He would ask about this ‘under the suns’ epithath another day, a better day. Added it to the list. For now, an addendum to intelligence: don’t know an A-V-E-R-Y either.
In his peripheral vision, he noticed Socorra’s arm device pointed at them. Whatever. The Nautolan hybrid turned away, going back to the ladder by the ship. If the problem was fixed, he could clean their tools up so the body had purpose.
“Thank you, Eevie,” she replied to the Sephi, noting the sudden sadness. “You two make far more adorable couple. There are alternate method to having child now, nothing I coud have imagine in youth. And of course, we are Mando. Adopt is no less important as we build clan. If you want child, I make it happen.”
She motioned to the carrier. “In meantime you can babysit this one whenever! I have schedule app and contract all ready, no worry on background check.”
The body paused in its retreat, head turning slightly to angle ear back.
Alternative methods unimaginable in youth? Did that mean her particular youth, or in the last decade even on Selen? Query: what was missed in such advancements in the last five years.
Could–
The mind slams shut on that thought. It is a two fronted war, and both are immediately denied. Classification: irrelevant conjecture. No longer topic of research, not for his sister, and not for the self. The self cannot have such thoughts.
Tidying by the ladder: no longer sufficient busywork. The mind is tail spinning. Who in the frak authorized even the shape of such nonsense, invasive hopes? He elects to blame Minnie. Surely somewhere, buried in his psyche, is some stupid article from one of her gossip rag trash holomags about imaginary dream infants and partners. And the mention of scientific advancement has rekinled old research avenues he once spent time on. Therefore the mind, already fractured, has leapt between these two topics and hurt itself doing so.
Ugh.
He puts a hand to his head, where the icepick feeling in the right eye twists and digs. His thoughts are fraying at the edges and he hates feeling out of control of them.
The Nautolan turned back around. Approached the scene he didn’t fit in and hovered 1 m away again, staring at the patch of olive skin in the window of Flyndt’s glove, close to infant carrier.
Flyndt barely contained his concern at ‘yes and no’, it leaking out enough that Foxen surely may have noticed. He swallowed around a small lump, feeling guilty for earlier again, and uncertain what to say, he tried to offer simple logistics. The Nautolan did not know an Avery.
Know W-I-N?–
Foxen had turned away and left already, walked away.
A sigh. Hands fell.
The light blubbering from the floating cradle thing drew his attention. Flyndt moved around Eevie as Socorra and her talked, and crouched lightly beside it. He took a necklace off and held the small vial containing a chip packed carefully with a bit of nerf wool. Shaking it slightly before the infant, he imitated a quiet rattling sound for the boy.
ᵣₐₜₜₗₑ ᵣₐₜₜₗₑ.
Flyndt crouches by the infant, offering his own bit of entertainment. The gold band that Foxen had given him, now fully covered in spit, all but slips from the tiny worm sized fingers as Turi tries to reach for the necklace, stretching arms as short and fat as choux pastry vainly. The baby giggles.
The scene is too much. He can’t even kill his asinine thoughts – distantly, he thinks Minnie would call them cute and adorable and coo at him with some trash holomag clipping shoved at him – in the cradle fast enough. Better he just shoot himself in the face and be over with.
Still, he is a bad enough thing to stare for the 1.45 seconds it takes to capture the image of Flyndt with Turi in his very long, heavy memory, to tuck it away before he turns again and moves for the ship without another word/gesture to anyone. He flees back to the cockpit and keys the door behind him, reaching first for his lighter, then for the knives. He’ll clean them all again. Better this time. Slowly.
And by the time he’s done, if his mind isn’t clean again, then that’s what the fire is for.