#cause the first time was like. i drew braig and my friend was like 'you make him look hot' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kyberled · 6 years

Note

and also techbuilt bc reasons : shield

Send “Shield” for my muse’s reaction to yours placing themselves between my muse and danger. || Accepting

Send “sword” for my muse to put themselves between your muse and danger. || Accepting

He hated politics. Always had; he supposed he got that from his master. But, this was important. Vitally so, in fact.

A Jedi’s duty was to defend those who needed them, regardless of personal comfort. And, besides, this was better than battlefields. At least the only volleys thrown here were verbal. … Mostly. He sighed, wiped a hand down his face. This was exhausting. He closed his eyes for one step, two, then opened them again and straightened his posture. This was a mission, same as any other. A Jedi’s duty was to protect. And so, protect he would. He adjusted the bundle of datapads in his arms. When he got home, if he had a chance, he’d like to stop by the archives - Perhaps Madame Jocasta could help him locate some more Sentient Rights cases he could reference. If anyone could find them - or someone who knew about them - it’d be her. He glanced over his shoulder, and returned Senator Gestahl’s friendly smile and nod before setting off. It was nice, having people in his corner. In all of them, in fact. He wove his way through the traffic in the halls. It was strange - this building was large, but it still felt so cramped in comparison to the temple.

He was still walking, looking out a window to the city beyond, when a voice stopped him.

“Ah,” the word was drawn out. Each syllable creaked and groaned like an ancient ship. The presence left a taste of salt in his mouth, cold and faintly tinged with green, metallic and oppressive and damp. It would have been suffocating, had it been especially strong. Torn at the edges. Old. “Just who I was hoping to see.”

“Good morning,” Braig said, turning to face the speaker. An elderly Kaminoan, stooped slightly and dressed in a finery that he hadn’t seen among their people before. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I am Halle Burtoni,” the Kaminoan gave a small facsimile of a bow. It was about as sincere as a gundark’s grin. “The Senator of Kamino.”

Ah.

Braig returned the bow, making sure to keep his hold on his books.

“Padawan Braig of the Jedi Order.” He said, straightening. “Though it sounds like you knew that already.”

“Everyone knows who you are.” She said, waving a hand through the air. The way she said it sounded like a threat.

“I’m flattered.” Braig said. “You said you wanted to see me?”

“I was just wondering,” she began, shuffling closer, “Why you want to run my people out of business.” Braig frowned. He had a feeling this would happen. He’d just hoped it would have happened before he’d spent all day working.

“That’s not why I’m doing this.” Braig straightened his shoulders a bit more, drawing them back. “But, if you must know: The sale of sentient life is a crime. It’s slavery. A Jedi’s duty is to stand against injustice, and that is what I am doing. Your people are brilliant geneticists, medical experts, and scientists all around; I’m sure you’ll make do.” He hated that this was happening in the middle of a hallway. Clearly, that had been intentional; Why? Chances are, she either wanted him to back down or slip up in view of the general assembly. He knew he’d been gaining some traction - and he had to give credit where credit was due, Uncle Aruk’s bribery probably had a hand in that. There was no way some of the people claiming loyalty to the movement gave a preacher’s cuss about the men.

“My people have made leaps and bounds in our research thanks to the clone initiative. Would you have us throw all of our progress away?” She was closer still. Braig decided to hold his ground.

“Of course not,” he tightened his grip on his datapads. “But I’m sure you can find much more ethical ways to advance your studies, to the benefit of all. You are, as I said, quite intelligent.” He wished he could get away with an insult. He was very quickly deciding he did not like Senator Burtoni. This could cause issues. “The men are people. Not lab rats.” His knuckles whitened around the corners of his datapads. Without making it too obvious, he drew a steadying breath through his nose. … It was hard to disguise it though, with how close she was leaning to him. He probably could have spit in her face without moving, given the lack of distance.

(He had to fight against the urge to do so. Proper form and logical debate would win, here; acting out and disgracing the name of the Jedi would accomplish nothing.)

(She still sickened him, though. He thought he might borrow Obi-Wan’s mouthwash when he got home, before visiting the archives.)

“You are awfully young to engage in politics.” Senator Burtoni said, narrowing her eyes. “Aren’t you afraid you speak of things you know nothing about?” Braig snorted softly.

“When you scare me, Senator, I assure you, you’ll be the first to know.”

The Senator’s signature flared. Dark and roiling, a sea ready to pull ships under and drown the crew entire. She leaned in closer still and opened her mouth to speak when a voice cut in.

“Hey, Braig!”

He looked over his shoulder and felt relief melt into his shoulders. He hadn’t been so happy to see a person in quite some time. Burtoni had looked up as well. Her face twisted into a sneer.

“Ah, good afternoon, Senator.” Hora said, placing her hand on Braig’s shoulder as she moved between the two (Forcing Burtoni to straighten, both to make room and look her in the eye). “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Senator Bex.” The contempt in Burtoni’s voice was mirrored by a sluggish, rotten wave through the Force. Braig grimaced. “Of course not. I was simply- Ensuring our young friend here–”

“I can take over on that front.” Hora said, turning around and nodding for Braig to follow.

“I don’t like her.” Braig said as soon as they had rounded the corner.

“Join the club, we’ve got monogrammed hand towels.” Hora rolled her eyes. “She wasn’t giving you trouble, was she?”

“No.” Braig shook his head, then smiled up at his friend. “Nothing that the two of us can’t handle.”

#techbuilt #B) aunt hora to the rescue #Anonymous #i need a braig and hora tag #i'll think on it #&& as best i can; answers #&& far far away; drabbles #&& best foot forward; ic #&& brave new worlds; padawan

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kyberled · 6 years

Note

huntborn : shield

Send “Shield” for my muse’s reaction to yours placing themselves between my muse and danger. || Accepting

Send “sword” for my muse to put themselves between your muse and danger. || Accepting

He hadn’t planned for things to go this badly. But then, he never did. Was this how his master felt? The thought brought the slightest smirk to his face. Didn’t have much time to think, though - the door was already rattling.

SLAM.

The hinges creaked.

SLAM.

The wood buckled.

“Friends of yours?” Boba asked, holding his blaster in front of his face.

SLAM.

“Not exactly,” Braig’s eyes scanned the room. Sparsely furnished. Small table, two chairs. Two metal cups, one overturned. Dented tea pot. Door in the back (presence behind it). No windows.

SLAM.

Door in front, clearly not an easy exit. Also clearly a decoy. Make them want to go out back into waiting arms.

SLAM.

Push the table, bar the back? Pros: Prevents/slows people in back from getting in. Cons: Bars possible exit. Not worth it.

Brace both doors with chairs? Pros: Bars both exits, slows/prevents people from getting in. Cons: Waiting game. No.

Eyes flicked down to his wrist.

SLAM. (Not quite as forceful as the others; Ragged breathing from the other side. Wore himself out.)

Comm Obi-Wan and Cody? Pros: Confrontation with larger force/more physically intimidating combatants may scare them off without a fight. Would make any fighting that did happen much easier. Cons: Lots of explaining to do, door might not outlast ETA, and (glanced to the young hunter at the other side of the door) what about him?

…

No.

Fight? Pros: Direct, simple. Man in front sounded tired. Likely sore on one side from bashing door, can be exploited. Cons: Direct risk, total enemy firepower unknown, gives away cover (too late for that), could cause injury or loss of life to either side.

Alternatives: None viable.

Braig’s frown tightened in time with his grip on his sabers.

Delightful.

“Come on, Fett,” the voice from the other side of the door was ragged, but imploring. “What are you doing with a Jedi, huh? We’re on the same side, here!”

Braig’s eyes settled on his companion. He liked to think they’d become friends over the course of their shared exploits, but…

“You know how much you can get for a Jedi’s head, these days?” The voice continued. Boba sneered.

“One million credits,” Braig said in time with the stranger outside. They seemed far more excited about it than he did.

“Think about what you could do with that kind of money, kid! You’d be set for life!” The voice didn’t sound as ragged as before. Caught his breath, then. How many were out there? Braig closed his eyes, drew a deep breath through his nose. Another. The force shifted its coils around him, rumbling like distant thunder. And within the roiling clouds… Two out front. The one at the door, and one off to the side. And in back… Three? His brow knitted. One of the presences was muddied, somehow. Strange. Well, if he picked the front door, he should have a few seconds to take out the two before the three could get around, even if they jumped over (unlikely, not impossible).

“Besides,” the stranger continued. “What have the Jedi ever done for you?”

Dispatch nonlethally, where possible. No need to leave a body trail.

“You should go.” Braig said quietly. The voice by the door had moved away. Speaking to the other presence, maybe?

“What?” Boba sounded offended by that. Offended and confused.

“That door won’t hold, and they know it, too. I’m going to open it, and then you should go. They’re not after you.” Braig leaned back against the wall, fixing his eyes on the door. “You don’t need to get hurt because of me. This isn’t your fight.”

“Yeah, right, it isn’t!” Boba began.

BANG.

A flare of light. Bright orange, red. Heat. Shrapnel. Braig threw up his arm. His ears rung as he shook his head; a shower of wooden splinters dislodged themselves from his hair. As his senses returned, he was vaguely aware of Boba coughing. That took a back-seat to a much more pressing situation: The blaster pointed at his face.

“Knock knock.” The man in front of him was grinning. He had more scars on his face than teeth in his mouth, but Braig couldn’t decide if that was saying much. The blaster in his hand was grungy (Cody would be appalled by its condition), but definitely seemed functional. Behind his shoulder, a serpentine shape twisted in the settling dust. The Force around the two of them - the man and the shape - flared.

“Good evening,” Braig said. He decided to keep the shape in his peripheries, and return the man’s intense stare. A blaster clicked behind him, in the direction of the twisting shape, but the Force didn’t hiss quite loudly enough for it to be pointed at him. It rumbled around Boba instead.

“Nobody needs to die, here,” Braig continued, trying to make his stance nonthreatening even as he curled his left hand around the Force. Keep your eyes on me, friend. “I’m more than happy to let you all walk away.” Laughter from outside. Three voices? The man in front, the shape in the door, and one that sounded more mechanical. Didn’t match up to a signature. Droid?

“You hear that?” The man said amid chuckles, turning his eyes to the door. Braig clenched his fist around the hilt of his saber [the table rattled slightly as it lifted a hair’s breadth off of the floor]. the shape by the doorway sauntered in, the dim light shimmering on their green scales and drowning in their black braid. Two blasters pointed at Boba. “He says he’ll let us walk away!”

“What about you, Fett?” The green-scaled one asked, jutting their hip out to the side. Grip on the blasters was level and steady. No stranger to shooting. Confidence from there? Braig did his best to get a better glimpse of them without taking his eyes off of the man (trying to quiet the way the Force seethed and roiled around Boba without dimming his senses too much). “You know it takes a village to take down a Jedi, hm?” Their voice was somewhere between a croon and a hiss. Reptillain– Ah. Falleen. “We could use an expert’s opinion,” Species strength: Pheromones. “And of course we’ll cut you in.” Makes individuals more compliant. High risk factor. “So, what do you say?” Take out as soon as possible.

“You’ve got a strange way of negotiating deals.” Boba replied.

“I don’t take risks with this much on the line.” The Falleen tossed their head. Braig had the distinct feeling he was being nodded to; He wished he could see over their shoulder to get a better read on Boba. There were too many emotions in the Force around him for Braig to try reading it right now.

“So,” the man jabbed his blaster towards Braig, who wrinkled his nose and leaned back. “You coming quietly, or nah?” Braig exhaled in what was almost a sigh. He readied the Force around him.

“I assume you’re not taking my offer?” He asked wryly, arching a brow. The man chuckled again and stepped closer. A shadow in the doorway - the droid? Not a standard B-unit. Arms: Uncertain. Be ready. Braig could smell the faint tinge of old alcohol on the man’s breath as he spoke.

“Not when the Seps are makin’ a better one.”

“As you will,” Braig nodded, then dropped. Torqued. Yanked on the force. Table went flying just as his shin collided with the man’s ankle. Blaster bolts - duck lower. Crash of wood. Two pained grunts - crash from the back. Door opened. More blasters. Jump back, sabers up to deflect (DON’T KILL THEM, you can still get out of this). Movement from the corner of his eye - Boba? And droid. Help? Braig stepped towards him - Force SCREAMED - jumped back and down.

“This better be worth it.” A clawdite? Not shifted. Braig grit his teeth. Shift weight back and forwards to hurl a chair - “Pfaask-!” The clawdite swore and whipped around to put a blot through the chair. Splinters everywhere. Not looking - take advantage. Two steps, jump; both knees met their back and drove them down. They gasped. Air knocked from lungs? Not quite. Blaster went flying. Braig looked up; Another human in the door. Not friendly. He jumped back, Clawdite tried to stand. Perfect. Braig planted his foot on their back - a nice step-stool - swung sabers down as body twisted to deflect bolts and bite into blaster. Two pieces, no longer a threat. Blow with the Force to knock him off balance - kick ribs - palm to chin, head meets wall, drop. Still breathing. Not standing. Bought time. Braig turned. The ragged man was back on his feet. Disarmed - looks like Boba had that under control. Droid still there, but leaned to the side. Lost two legs. In a brief pause, Braig had to be impressed. He was… Really good at this. Moved with a grace most people didn’t have. It was different than watching a Jedi fight, but–

SMASH.

Braig barely had time to throw his arm up and move back. There had been two chairs. Emphasis on ‘had been’. The second joined its brother in ruination. Braig’s arm ached. Glad it wasn’t his head. Could’ve been worse. Still bad.

“Hey!” A bulky Gand snapped. “How banged up can he get before the price drops?”

“Only need the head!” The ragged man snapped. “N-… Nothin’ else!” Sounded out of breath. A thump and a gasp and a thud and his presence dimmed. Not dead - unconscious. Boba had the same idea.The droid lay on its back, sensors fixed on the ceiling. A sad series of rumbles. No longer a threat. Humans down. Droid down. That left Clawdite and Gand. Grip switched on sabers. Gand was closest. Deal with that first. Arm still ached. Force dulls it. Gand was unarmed. Wait - vibroblade. Braig twisted to the side. Dodge the thrust, grab the wrist. Lock the joint (thank the Force for all those times sparring with Hano. This Gand wasn’t quite as big, but, it helped). Twist the joint, torque his shoulders. Sweep his leg and up and over and a swift kick. Should keep him down. That left–

A metallic click. A cold circle pressed to the back of his neck.

“Slag, boys,” The voice was somewhere between a croon and a hiss. Reptilian. “You really know how to give a girl the run-around.”

Ah.

Falleen.

“‘S just us,” the Clawdite’s rough voice was more ragged than before. “Others are down.”

“Ah, well, that’s a shame.” The Falleen replied. Braig scowled and moved to turn. A harsh jab from the barrel against his nape warned him to be still. He sighed through his nose and barely avoided rolling his eyes. And now he was being held hostage. Fantastic.

“What do we do with him?” The Clawdite asked. Braig didn’t need to look behind to know they were talking about Boba. He also didn’t need to look to feel the red heat of anger from the both of them, muddied by a brownish-black creaking from around the Clawdite’s ribs. Must have been a solid hit.

“Well,” the Falleen said. “We could kill him,” Braig heard the click of another blaster. Right, she’d had two, hadn’t she? “But that would be a bit messy.” Braig took a deep breath to center himself– Hm? A sweet smell in the air- Oh. Oh no. He pushed the air from his lungs and focused on the Force around him. Clear your mind. Stay aware of yourself. “And we might need the extra hands to keep this one quiet; Whatever Reevar says, I heard they pay more for the living ones.” The air felt positively thick around him, like a humid summer’s day.

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.

(Stars, he hated pheromones. They made his skin crawl.)

“So, what do you say, Boba? One million split three ways sounds pretty good, hmm?”

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.

(His lungs burned. Holding breath after so much physical activity was difficult. But he wasn’t going to make it easy for them - Even if he’d really rather not fight B–)

He barely had time to tense his shoulders before the click of a primed blaster gave way to two shots.

Thump.

The crackling after-effects of stun bolts.

Braig’s eyes stayed closed. Then his muscles relaxed, only slightly, as he turned to see the two bounty hunters motionless on the ground.

“Come on,” Boba said, grabbing Braig’s wrist and pulling him towards the obliterated front door. “I don’t want to be here when they wake up.” Braig hesitated for a moment, then followed slowly, before matching his pace to Boba’s as he was pulled down the streets in a twisting, complex route he didn’t bother to pay attention to. No, he was much too busy staring at his companion with no small degree of confusion - and maybe a touch of wonder, too. Boba glanced back at him, returned his eyes to the path, then looked back again, sporting a wrinkle in his nose.

“What?” He demanded.

“Why did you do that?” Braig’s words were pronounced slowly, deliberately. And before Boba could scoff out a reply: “I mean- I’m grateful, I am. I appreciate it. But- Why? You don’t owe me anything-”

“It’s not about ‘owing’.” Boba snapped. A pause, his eyes fixed on the road once more, before he added with a tad less conviction, “Everyone knows turning in your own clients is bad for business.”

#huntborn #Anonymous #Braig; so distracted by watching Bo that he almost gets a chair smashed over his head: no this is just platonic i swear #Boba; trying to be grumpy bc he doesn't think there's any hope of braig liking him back: >( it's just business leave me alone don't hurt him #(!!!)#REMEMBER WHEN THEY WERE SUPER AWKWARD ABOUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND THEY WERE STILL TRYING TO SORT OUT THEIR FEELINGS #i know this deviates from the prompt slightly but :') i hope I did your boy justice #long post #sorta #&& far far away; drabbles #&& worth the risk; braiba #&& brave new worlds; padawan #&& as best i can; answers #&& best foot forward; ic

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kyberled · 6 years

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👤

Send a 🙌 and I’ll introduce you to an NPC related to my Muse. || Accepting

This means any minor ‘background character’ in my Muse’s life, such as a relative, coworker, friend, rival, etc. that they interact with in their personal canon.

Lieutenant Regiment Commander ARC-4496 ‘Kriss’ was a clone trooper who served in the 423rd Flare Corps under Jedi Master Dhisit Riloff and clone commander CC-2331 ‘Dash’. Though he could be a bit blunt at times, especially when his temper was sparked, Kriss was widely regarded as a good man, soldier, and brother. He had a strong sense of loyalty to both the Republic and his brothers. He attained his rank primarily by his dedication to do what needs to be done to keep his brothers safe, and achieve the mission goal. A very no-nonsense man, Kriss drew a very bold, noticeable line between what was acceptable of the men under his command, and what wasn’t. In spite of this, he did care for his brothers very much. His men knew they could come to him for any problem, and could rely on him for backup and/or protection (within reason) from anyone outside their ranks.

Appearance-wise, Kriss was about average height for a clone, with a physique that just-so-slightly favoured upper body strength over lower - one of his hobbies was grappling with Dash, and maybe some of his other brothers, too, but those two were each others’ preferred partners, most days, and Kriss would count Dash as his best friend. His eyes were a bit darker than average, but you’d have to either stare at him for a long time (he will get annoyed/uncomfortable) or have one of his brothers right beside him to notice it. He kept his hair shaved, but would often wait at least a few days in between each shaving, so he was often sporting a head of dark stubble. Interestingly enough, he would always be clean shaven when it came to his facial hair (something that his closer brothers would tease him about, from time to time). He had a small notch in his right nostril, that was perfectly in line with another that sliced through the left side of his upper lip. This, as well as a small scar through the end of his right eyebrow, was from a rather nasty injury he’d received when he was younger, following an explosion from which he had shielded his younger brother, Mal (CT-4527). Another scar ran in a straight line from his left clavicle (right beside where the muscles connecting his neck and shoulders ended) to a few inches down his pectoral muscle. This was from a very unfortunate encounter with General Grievous, where Kriss would have lost his own life if not for the interference of Master Riloff, Master Riloff’s then-padawan (a Nautolan named Sudic Dra, who unfortunately did not survive the encounter; Kriss blamed himself for this), a good many of the rest of the Corps, and a rather timely arrival of a fighter squad. Some would call this dumb luck or the intervention of the Force; Kriss thought of it as cruel irony. Kriss also has a tattoo stretching across his right shoulder and upper arm, and his back, consisting of swirling symbols and dark lines in intricate patterns. Typically, his armour and blacks cover this, so most non-vod and/or medical personnel haven’t seen it. His voice was a bit rougher than the average clone, a bit deeper and more gravelly, but, still sounded enough like the rest of them that outsiders would have trouble picking them apart.

Aside from grappling, Kriss enjoyed drinking alone (he was up for 79′s only some days, as he found the experience enjoyable, but very draining) (he also preferred darker spirits to the lighter), star gazing, swimming, arm wrestling, yoga, unarmed sparring, and sabacc. When he was young, (from about the ages 2 to 5/6, a nameless little cadet), Kriss had the nervous habit of chewing his fingernails; He broke the habit at around age six (perhaps just a bit before his decanting day, perhaps a bit after, he’s not entirely sure), but still keeps his nails short enough that there’s barely any whites. He found the hum of engines soothing, and could often be found reading or doing his datawork in hangars or repair bays for just that purpose. Aside from that, he didn’t like listening to music much in his spare time, and any other background noise was distracting, so, if the hangars were too noisy, or he didn’t feel like being there, he would often be doing his work in his bunk in the barracks. He had a minor fascination with plants and greenery - more so when he was fresh out of the factories on Kamino, but, he retained this throughout his life. There wasn’t anything like that in the factories, or the barracks, and though Coruscant had its parks there wasn’t a lot of flora there, either, so he thought plants were interesting. He didn’t have much interest in pressed flowers, though, or any plants that weren’t currently alive and sprouting. On the odd occasion where the men were given any food outside of ration bars and nutrient paste, he preferred spicy and bitter flavours. He took his caf black, and made a point of knowing how to repair the caf machine(s), so that he would never have to go without - in fact, he kept a few small tools in one of the pouches on his belt for just such an occasion. Kriss was also a very light sleeper. Because of this, could usually be found with his pillow loosely pulled over his head, to try and muffle any noises his brothers made during the night. He had a very blunt, straightforwards way of speaking, though he wasn’t above a bit of biting, cynical sarcasm, when he was especially annoyed - a trait he shared with Dash, though Kriss was undoubtedly the more talkative of the two (However, given how quiet Dash was known to be, this wasn’t saying much). He wasn’t much for telling jokes, but when he did, it was usually accompanied by a slight eyebrow raise and a deceptively sugary tone that Kriss rarely ever used elsewise.

In terms of combat, Kriss preferred being in close combat with the clanker armies. Some may call it reckless, and they would be right, but he enjoyed the adrenaline rush. He preferred dual-wielding blaster pistols, but also enjoyed the payoff of grenade launchers. For this, among other reasons, he vastly preferred fighting away from civilisation.

Kriss was about twelve and a half years old (25, physically) when Master Riloff and the 423rd travelled to the planet of Tassish XII (known to the locals as Galé’Galui), accompanied by Padawan Braig. Kriss had been left in charge of the group with the refugees (referred to colloquially as Galé), both on account of Braig being more in charge of healing and helping the local physician, Lélé’ri’ann (and their apprentice/partner, Makula), and because both Riloff and Dash had doubts that leaving Braig in charge was at all a responsible idea, despite him being the highest-ranking officer left behind. Braig didn’t feel especially slighted by this, as Force-Healing does take a great deal of focus. As such, he was more than happy to leave Kriss to commanding the men and give his help where he could, leading to a neutral, but civil, first impression between the two. (Kriss had expected some deal of whining, of ‘but I can handle it!’ or ‘but I’m a Jedi, too!’, or worst of all, ‘but he’s just a clone!’. He was pleasantly surprised when none of this came.)

When the 423rd was massacred, Kriss was not the one who saw Braig stagger and almost fall (That was Boone, CT-5012). He was the one who took one look at the padawan’s face, heard him say ‘we have to go’, and instantly rallied the men and started grilling Go’ann and the other elders for a possible escape route. He was among the men who held out hope that the Republic would come for them. When the then-Sergeant Mal broke under the stress, insisting that the group should turn themselves over to the Separatists and see what happened, Kriss, along with Nada (CT-5342) and Trickshot (CT-5101), were the first and most vocal in telling him to shut his mouth. When Rikii, a native (who Kriss had feelings for, but would not admit to until later), attempted to find peace between the feuding brothers, the altercation turned violent on Mal’s part; Kriss had enough of that, and through a convoluted and rapid chain of events, shot Mal between the eyes. He later claimed that this was necessary. Mal, Kriss thought, was out of control and a liability. Typical Kriss, some would say, making the difficult choices. This caused a schism among the men and the refugees, and it would be a while before it smoothed over. (It is also worth noting that Mal’s death, in Braig’s official report of the incident, was listed as an accident; There is no documented mention of Kriss’ involvement.)

Kriss was the first of the men to ingest a native, underground species of insect: the maguwe grub, which would become one of their primary sources of protein when emergency rations ran out. Annoyed that his brothers were being such ‘shines’ about it, Kriss grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth. Upon being informed that they were usually cooked first, he shrugged, swallowed, and said, ‘Taste fine to me’.

Towards the end of the Grau Tessk incident, Kriss confided in Braig (worrying about how his brothers might react) that he planned to stay behind when the Republic did come for them, as he was sure they would; He wanted to stay with Rikii. He was also worried some of his injuries wouldn’t heal properly in time for their rescue, rendering him unable to be of service to the Republic (and likely on the chopping block for termination). Braig promised to list Kriss as ‘KIA’, to avoid him being sought out, and informed Kriss of his own decision to have the surviving members of the 423rd invited to join the 212th Attack Battalion. Kriss said that that only confirmed his decision, as the 423rd was the only one for him - but asked Braig to please take care of his brothers, all the same. Unfortunately, Rikii (along with Hype [CT-4996], Hardwire [CT-4997], Scratch [CT-5501], Trickshot, and the Galé Soh and Kurita, among others) met their end in a series of raids performed on Separatist slave encampments. Following this, Kriss approached Braig in the tunnels and asked if ‘there [was] room for one more in the 212th’. Of course, Braig said yes.

Following Braig’s fateful encounter and battle with General Grau Tessk, Kriss was one of the two men (along with Boone) who carried the injured padawan back to the tunnels. He was also part of the improvised strike force that had helped to take the general down. This was one of the only times his brothers were privy to his wavering faith in the Republic, though it would soon be renewed a few weeks later.

When the Republic came, Kriss aided in the liberation of Galé’Galui/Tassish XII after a brief stint in a medbay (which many would say he rushed, and blame for his resultant leg injury after he lost his balance and fell down a ravine. This required a long stay in bacta; even then, his knees would bother him when rain was on the way for the rest of his life). He did go on to join the 212th, and continued to serve his brothers and the Republic loyally, never faltering in his decisions. While Commander Cody (CC-2224) was far different from Dash, Kriss still respected him and his leadership greatly, and was more than happy to serve under him. Kriss continued on in his reputation of carrying out all of his orders with precision - including Order 66. He was eventually killed by a rebel strike force during the Imperial age, about three or four years before the Battle of Yavin. His life might have met its end at the end of a lightsaber, depending on who you ask.

Bonus fact: In his own way, his tattoo represented all those who were close to him that he lost. Some of the most detailed portions would represent Dash, Master Riloff, Padawan Dra, Rikii, and a clone named Carver (CT-4302), who had been Kriss’ close friend during training, but was unfortunately killed when the assassin, Asajj Ventress, and the Droid armies invaded the clone facilities on Kamino.

#Grau Tessk #death //#insects //#injury //#violence //#ask to tag #ngl I almost let Rikii live so Kriss could hide out on gale'galui until the imps took it over and mined it dry #but then i looked back at the original fic of the incident and it was like 'rikii dies'#and i was like 'oh ok that's canon sorry kriss'#thalxssas #&& give the sun a head start; ooc #&& as best i can; answers #&& temple archives; headcanons #&& scars reveal us; grau tessk

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