Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private A Fistful of Reasons


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T H E _ W O L F
HARLAN | CONCORD DAWN
ARMOR | LIGHTSABER |
PISTOL
Loske Treicolt Loske Treicolt





After he'd paid respects to his fallen kin, he remained a moment in that humble kneel, peering to the vibrant, familiar sunrise in his eyes, a solemn triumph. While the promise Waylon beckoned into the waning moments of his life had been fulfilled...to come back home, it wasn't in the way Maynard would have treasured most. Still, with that lone settlement on the horizon, it seemed to wordlessly demand Maynard's attention. He didn't care to fire up the engine of The Renegade again, last he was sure, it didn't have any spaceport to accomodate it, certainly not one he'd trust keeping a close eye over his modified freighter.

Harlan. He'd not walked these streets in decades. They weren't much the same as they were in his youth. The familiar foundation and framework, certainly but the change of hands in both Galactic and local regimes had seen it defaced from its original appearance, not that he was too familiar with them from the onset. The salt of the earth of Concord Dawn were the homesteads, the surrounding farms and land claims occupied by the same families for generations. Of course, last Maynard had seen of the Treicolt homestead, it was burnt to a crisp by the Sith who'd stomped down these golden fields in their first bout of occupation over the world.

When they first set foot into Harlan proper, there was little sign of whoever might've been the principle authority over it, be it Mandalorian Unionist remnant, Sith, Protector...difficult to appraise and thus, he had to ask some questions. He did a decent enough job in equipping himself to blend in with the surroundings, the armor's coat of blue and yellow paints chipped and worn down to the metallic beneath, the patterned cloak thrown over his shoulder not unlike contemporary Concord Dawn designs. He appeared to be a hired gun and little else, save for the saber at his hip. Loske had her own means of equipping herself for this dusty world, even if it meant veering away from attire which she would've found more appealing since reclaiming herself from Shursia. A styling which Maynard certainly bared no opposition to.

This desolate town was a remnant of the frontier, those segments of the Galaxy untamed by any Galactic government and in spite of its proximity within the net of being within this galaxy, seemingly centered between several bustling civilizations, it seemed to be all of void from it. Strife and toil had a certain way of building up its people, but often left their quality of life lagging far behind. It was evident here, buildings still in need of repair, a choked to breath infrastructure, signs of abject poverty evident on the streets as people weaved through it all to conduct their day to day business. After all, in spite of it being a small settlement, twenty nears absent, in these conditions meant there were basically no familiar faces save for the remnants of burning memories, easily mistaken for deja vu as he glanced through the passing townspeople.

"Worse than I remember...not that I remembered this place being much to begin with..." He remarked, speaking to Loske alone.

He managed to spot the flickering neon marking the entrance of the cantina, the very same establishment here during his youth, not that he went inside it more than once or twice.

"We'll get the lay of the land here, I guess." The metallic door slid open with a shrieking hiss, a strained and worn mechanism. The first thing to hit him was the smell along with the dimmed lighting. Not only was there the usual grasp of the breath of stale liquor but so too did the stench of harder narcotics hit his nostrils. Tough times called for more rigorous means of coping. As much as Loske was clearly capable in handling herself, he was instinctively and expectedly protective, continuously glancing back to her with each step.

Most of the crowd of the day was human, lower energy, less likely to cause trouble, mostly farmers, couriers or traveling merchants finishing overnight work. Maynard took them to the counter, leaning forward before knocking a faint rhythm in line with the errant music being played through the cantina to get the barkeep's attention. Human but evidently, abrasive. A man slightly younger than middle age, at the brink of departing his prime and any inch of exposed skin covered in tattoo artwork, Mandalorian, contemporary spacer filth, given Maynard's previous line of work, he'd seen the whole nine yards. And given again, the lack of familiarity, he could only assume the fate of this man. Spacer, shipwrecked planetside, needing to make a living and just stuck around.

"How's it goin' Wanted to get a lay of the town if you got a second-" He was cut off with a wave of the hand by the barkeep.

"I don't talk unless you're paying for something, friend." The barkeep replied. Standard procedure, if you were going to take up the barkeeps time, at least make it worth the while.

"Ardees, then." Good drink to keep at his side if he expected to pay attention. It was cheap and far too bitter to enjoy, which meant it was easy to stave off the temptation. He watched him fill the glass, glancing back to Loske and the rest of the cantina for a moment before facing the barkeep once more.

"So how's Harlan faring these days? Who's calling the shots?" The man released a faint exhale from his nose in amusement.

"Harlan is Harlan - shitty as always. You asking about a constable?"

"Barely much of anyone calls any shots around here, Sith, Mandos, most any brand of banditi can pillage as they want around here. Homesteads been having the short of it for a bit now."
Yeah, it was worse than he remembered

"The Constables aren't able to do squat. They ain't as much as a force as they'd care to be."

"There any stationed here, still?"
Maynard inquired, arching a brow. It was only just then he took his first sip of Ardees, immediately remembering why he didn't drink it by choice.

"Tanau and Brandall. They've been managing it for a little bit now, Mandos hung around here not too long ago, kept things under control but, they seemed to have taken the money and run so to speak." Not that there was much to take or at the very least, they didn't leave much left.

"I guess just follow the trouble and I'll find 'em. Have something I need to drop by them."

"Yeah...maybe, if you give a sh*t, could look into the kidnappings going on 'round here."
The barkeep remarked, seemingly offhandidly.

"Kidnappings?" As if he needed to feel more ill at ease.

"I don't care to speak too much on it, ask the Constables." If he didn't want questions, Maynard wouldn't press it. Subject matter like that wasn't easy to handle.

"No worries...I'll leave you to it-."
He said, leaving the nigh full glass of Ardees on the counter, before turning to leave, motioning for Loske to follow.

"A lead on...something. I told you, if you came up around here you'd be a spacer too, anything to get off this dustball. And now...here I am...by choice." Maynard laughs to the irony to himself as they walked unto the street once more.
 

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G H O S T
CONCORD DAWN !! | HARLAN
MY SILVER LINING

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Limitless, uncut, vast –– so sprawled the fields they’d touched down on, and seemed to roll on for eternity from all directions of the cliffside. Loske was quiet and observant while Maynard offered his final words and fulfilled the duty of being the surviving kin. She closed her eyes and tilted her head downward. She’d only known Waylon as an extension of her husband, a constant idol, but had been a benefactor of his final sacrifice. Her hands pulled her poncho around her shoulders a little tighter, as if the gentle breeze had cued a chill as the end of the intimate eulogy.

Sunrise called to the soul of the land as a mother to her child, from this dust Waylon had been born, from this dust he returned. His ashes twisted and dissipated in the breeze, and they remained in respectful, companionable, awe-struck silence for a longer while.

For Maynard, this was home; coloured and shaded by memories of work always having to be done, having to speak Mando’a, a tough place where harvest after harvest was difficult. But it was home.

For Loske, this was the promise of their vista. The first tangible piece in everything they’d promised one another. Whatever it had been in the past was nothing more than stories for her, and thus this was nothing more than awe-inspiring potential.

Above the tangerine Townline, kissed to their heady blush by the sun, were clouds that moved in shoals. And so the sky was equal parts blue and a chorus of greys, streaked with silvers and golds that cast shadows between the closely-built structures of the dirty town.


"Worse than I remember...not that I remembered this place being much to begin with..."

Where Maynard’s perspective might have been comparative and critical, Loske’s own was warped with pure awe that they were even here. Walking down the dusty roads, she couldn’t help but smile beneath the sun’s warmth. All of Maynard’s story had been around the homestead, very few involved townships, but she still imagined the silhouette of the little Treicolts Waylon and Maynard chasing through the streets. If nothing else made her look like a foreigner, the out-of-place wistful expression certainly did.

Civilians wandering about their duties, merely shadows and silhouettes with no familiarity to her, she kept an eye on –– in case any recognized the man at her side. None seemed to. None seemed to look up or give any second glances out of their immediate trajectory –– focused on completing whatever task was on their mind before moving on to the next thing. A few that walked in pairs were carrying on in conversation, but she couldn’t translate fast enough what they were saying. The dialogue mirrored the signage that stretched over the rooftops, basked in sunlight; broken basic and mando’a all intermingled.

People-watching and absorbing the entirety of the planet and the little town was enough to distract her from the plague of Shursia –– to refocus on that rebirth and move on..together.

“I still can’t believe this is real.” Loske admitted, pulling herself from daydreaming. The admission wasn’t from an identity crisis, or from mixing up her realities –– that didn’t happen when she was coherent. Shursia couldn’t touch her right now. “That we’re here.”

Loske found herself squinting when they entered the cantina. It was darker inside than she might have expected –– but realized that the regular habitués of the place might have been seeking sanctuary in the shade.

For the most part, she was content to observe and let Maynard lead; still swimming in the golden warmth of knowing they’d made it here. While he spoke to the barkeep, she kept a respectful distance, mostly keeping her attention away from the exchange and at the citizens. Again. In the dim lighting, hands shuffled over hands, clutching at drinks and cards, murmuring jeers and taunts at the opposing players across the table. It all seemed...so normal, if not a bit sundried. Everyone looked sundried –– the furniture, the people’s skin, the slightly clouded ales, it was all a bit dusty and worn. She still looked a little too clean by comparison, and abruptly became aware of the feeling that at one time or another every eye in the place rested a moment on the newcomers. Nobody said anything, and only glances were spared briefly.


"A lead on...something. I told you, if you came up around here you'd be a spacer too, anything to get off this dustball. And now...here I am...by choice."

A warm wind moaned after them, licking up dust around their heels.

“Yeah, but it’s your dustball. So it’s going to be our dustball.” She offered back and fell in step, hooking her arm with his, still feeling the mirth of the fact they were here. Talking about Concord Dawn. Walking around on the crust of Concord Dawn. Getting to know the town’s lay of the land.

“But –– my home’s with you. And that can be anywhere. If we feel around and things just..we don’t want to be here, that’s okay too. The fact we made it here is..triumph enough.” Well. Almost enough.

They didn’t need to go down that avenue of conversation again. Not now.

“So what –– spacer you gets a lead, follows up on the lead, chats with the local authorities and settles on a price to help out?” Her expression fell slightly “Kidnappings sound sinister.” She admitted. “Especially a consistent amount to make it plural.”

 
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T H E _ W O L F
HARLAN | CONCORD DAWN
ARMOR | LIGHTSABER |
PISTOL
Loske Treicolt Loske Treicolt




The bewilderment in Loske's eyes brought an amused grin to his lips, to see her so awestruck by a setting and circumstances which seemed to be so grounded in normalcy and familiarity. And certainly, a downgrade from what she might have otherwise been used to on Coruscant, the Core, there was more wealth in the worst corners of 1313 than there was in all of this podunk settlement but in her eyes it all seemed to be the shining city on the hill, the rendezvous with destiny. He was worried for a moment if he'd romanticized Concord Dawn too much in its recollection, let rose tinted memories of childhood and upbringing, as sour of circumstances as they largely were, they were still favorable to much of the strife that was inflicted on him in the GADF.

"It's pretty crazy to think about, huh? Seemed so...impossible not too long ago...but things work a certain way for a reason...just so happened to work out for us, and I don't intend to waste the opportunity." Maynard offered in reply. Then she reassured him of that tinge of reluctance that must have certainly existed in her being. That it was all dependent on how he felt at all. He would be the determinant factor in their fate.

While Concord Dawn was far from the lush and wealthy aristocratic nexus that was Alderaan or the frozen bliss at Scipio, they could make it their's. With his ties to the people, to the land...it would feel all more fulfilling in the end. He would make something that was theirs with the toil of their hands, like his forefathers did in these very same golden plains before. Harlan was made up of settlers from Wild Space, sent adrift by the Gulag Plague to come here and so too did strife return Maynard and Loske to this world. And just like those who came before them, they'd make the best of it.

"I don't know if there'll be any better place to set down. Sure it- it's not a lot but we really can make it ours." He mirrored the sentiment, then came business.

"Something like that- I was hardly the lawman back in my day. Most jobs I ever took were running freight. But- that's not to say I didn't land myself in a scrap or five." Maynard remarked as they continued down the streets of Harlan, the town offering an innate bustle in the surroundings, slanted Galactic Basic with an accent not too dissimilar to Maynard's mixed with errant Mando'a phrases here and there in the crowd, people bartering for goods, spacers and hired guns shooting the sh*t with one another. No doubt the two of them would catch the eyes of the locals, certainly Loske at least, until Maynard's own frozen gaze was there to meet them in kind.

There was a sort of hospitality present on Concord Dawn, but like most any Mandalorian divergent society, it was an unwritten contract built on trust and merit, not just blind kindness.

Nearing the town center, marked by the ascending 'spire' of a long abandoned derelict starship jutting from the earth scraping the sky above, one of the ships of the original settlers here, hundreds of years old. Around it, they could sight what might be the first indication of any Protector here on Harlan. Seemingly in a parlay with a few Beskar armored men across from him, Mandalorians. Each of the three seemingly donning a different color pattern in their loosely parceled and assembled armor, the two flanking the man in the middle had their weapons drawn with the central figure leading the negotiation.

"N- no no no, it's not that...there isn't any armaments here- we just have erm- none to spare." The Journeyman Protector spoke up, a younger human man, only indicate of the organization with the blood grain symbol on his shoulder and the chipped armor he donned.

"None to spare. So you think this...pit would be better fit without our protection. Wait then until the troubles reaching your homesteads reach here. It's Deathwatch I'm sure of it. Those profligates certainly recruiting more the only way they know how. Brute force, bump in the night...filth."

"I- I wouldn't know anything about Deathwatch, we haven't seen much of any of them around here. But listen- we appreciate wha-"

"I've heard enough. This place is as good as left to the wolves...I catch word at all that you are concealing the locations of Deathwatch cells...my Jai'galaar will bring hell unto Harlan."

"We'll let you know if we see any...we don't want any trouble."
The Protector spoke up, holding his arms into the air in an almost conceding fashion.

"I figured not..." The taller, broad shouldered Mandalorian said before turning to face the two on their approach, the armor, the saber at his hip were both immediately seen from behind the Mandalorian t-visor, the man nodded once before turning to take his leave, motioning his henchmen in tow.

"Jetiise" The man muttered under his breath in passing of Maynard and Loske, subtle enough to keep between the three of them in theory, but it didn't do enough to keep Maynard out of the understanding, his gaze locked with the t-visor for a moment before Maynard spoke up in reply.

"Burc'ya - we have a problem?" He asked nigh rhetorically, arching a brow. They ignored them, continuing on their way. Treicolt's stride led him in the direction of the Protector once more who promptly eyed the two up and down in appraisal of their immediate presence...and danger.

"Right- you're the Protector here?" Maynard inquired outright. The man seemed to be in an offset, weary malaise for a moment, breaking from it with a nod.

"Y-yeah, sorry. Journeyman Protector Tanau...not like that means much." He admitted solemnly. They were clearly a group on the run, losing ground.

"I can see that, letting yourself get pushed around by...whatever they were." Treicolt said in reference to the Mandalorians.

"Mandalorian Union or- what's left of it...some break off group, I don't know. Call themselves the 'Shriekhawks' or 'Jai'galaar' . They've come up around here looking for protection fees in all the nearby towns, we don't have the manpower to send recon out to find where they're located at but...they've come around a few times, similar sh*t...sorry, was there anything you two needed?"

"A bit yeah...what were they talking about? Homesteads, Deathwatch and that?"
Maynard inquired, nodding his head toward where they came from at all.

"Small scale raids, usually night time...hardly any theft or property damage, but always someone missing. Really eerie stuff. They've never hit Harlan, only the homesteads and with just the two of us, dealing with the crime we already have to deal with here, plus Sith cultists hitting the caravans, our hands are tied as is." Tanau admitted, seemingly shameless in their short coming, not that Treicolt could blame them. If there really was only two Protectors, no doubt they'd be short handed, with problems like these, there would be no catching up.

"I worry that the Shriekhawks will catch unto that soon enough and just brush us aside, take control themselves...if they can protect the homesteads where we can't, no reason anyone would trust us over them anymore." Tanau admits solemnly, sound enough logic.

"You said they're at night, these raids? Any other correlation past that?" Maynard asked again to press them on topic once more.

"Not that we can catch unto, no. We're typically always dealing with something else, no chance at being able to respond in time."

"I feel ya...I'll give it a look if you don't mind the help. But while we're talking, I should probably return this to where it belongs."
Maynard reached into a pouch on the leather webbing over his armor, removing a metal disk, a badge shaped into the symbol of the Journeyman Protector. Waylon's.

"Wh- where'd you find that?" Tanau immediately pieced together that it might have been his lone comrade, dead.

"My cousin's, he served ages ago...best I return it to where it came from." Maynard siad, offering it outward to the man.

"No- if it was his then...it's yours now. I assume your cousin's passed or else we could certainly use him around here now...but, if you're really willing to help then, it best belongs to you." Tanau said, motioning his refusal with a wave of the hand.

"We'll do what we can. Name is Maynard, Maynard Treicolt."
He said, reaching out with his hand to take Tanau's forearm in a trustworthy greeting before the rogue Jedi motioned to the woman at his side. She could do well in introducing herself and delving deeper in asking whatever could be gathered from this small town crisis.
 
One or five. Loske snorted at the suggestion that Maynard might have landed himself in a few tussels now and then back in his days before The New Jedi Order. It would be hard to picture him doing anything otherwise –– interjecting where he saw fit and whether or not he won, he’d hold his ground. “I bet.”

The rest of the town had an untapped ease to it. Whatever sinister implications that came with the kidnappings didn’t seem to bleed into the necessary routines for making it from day to the next. The exchanges between locals and travellers had a sort of rhythm to it. It felt authentic and self-respecting the further they got from that first wary exchange in the dim bar.

Still navigating under the direction of the barkeep, Loske and Maynard might have looked the most aimless out of everyone else; despite having a spot they were heading. It felt remiss to the market of Thyrsus — right down to the ease of which Maynard slipped into taking the lead and donning the skin of Outrider. Though, there was something new there — something far more personal in the way they slowed their gait to observe the collection of squared up warriors.

Seeing conflict for the first time, or the potential for conflict, through her own eyes took a few extra seconds to process. The latency was in the assumed unfamiliarity, until she realized after a handful of heartbeats that this was the norm. This was actually far tamer than the fallen Knight’s norm. Their posturing was aggressive, but the ripostes were verbal, less fatal. Leering threats. Weapons were drawn, pointed at a single target. Without realizing it, she was considering the flinch of their muscles and what it might take to refocus on a new target if she were to draw their attention.

It was the disdainful hiss of the broad Mandalorian that ended her calculations, and Maynard’s equally stand-down challenge that snapped her from what used to be second-nature in summarizing a scene.

The leader apparent didn’t engage further, though Loske’s curiosity forced her eyes to follow them when Maynard went to engage the fresh-faced Protector. Only once did they glance back — the iconic Mandalorian helmet forcing them to actually turn their head and take the look in, rather than a more subtle over the shoulder they might have been able to manage without the obstruction. They retraced the route Maynard and she had just travelled, and they received almost as many glances as the two rogue Jedi had. Though there seemed to be one or two flinching reactions as well. But nobody cowered.

Pieces of Waylon were trying to be distributed back through the ties of his influence. His ashes on the breeze, his metal sigil — passed on to Maynard and staying there. The wistful notes of needing aid were impossible to ignore.

She could feel it brewing, the cogs of defiance turning within him.This planet had just shaken itself from the shadowy claws of The Sith, and opportunists were converging into the power vacuum. None of them were welcomed. None rightfully deserved to oppress—- that wouldn’t do. Such threats wouldn’t be tolerated.

"I think we need to let the Galaxy know we're here and that we're here to protect our way of life. To protect our dreams, make good on them. We're surrounded by people evil or dumb enough to be a threat to us. We need to let them know they aren't. That we can protect our interests, preserve what we've built."

Let the galaxy knew they were here, protecting their way of life.

It started with a handshake and a name.

When it was her turn to introduce herself, her expression was laced with undertones of knowing amusement, an intangible smugness, - just short of shaking her head. Of course this was happening. They were here, and here wasn’t ready.

“Loske Treicolt,” she offered on cue. It was one of those weird instances where she said her own name out loud, and it felt more concrete than anything. One more ounce of residual strength sapped from Shursia.

Tanau’s sweat-laden brow relaxed, looking a bit more relieved than tired and stressed. Just a little eensie bit. “Huh.” He exhaled when he seemed to make the connection between the pair and scratched at his hairline.

“Well, mighty appreciate you showin’ up and stickin’ round to help.” He didn’t need to state again how understaffed he and his partner were, fighting battles on multiple fronts. The exhaustion was obvious in the heaviness of his shoulders and everything else he’d mentioned so far.

“We’re set on being around for a while.” Loske offered, “I mean, we’ve got the badge already, now. Call it duty bound.

But we’ve got to start somewhere.” Maynard’s practice was more blunt force, flavoured by his outlaw days; not to be undersold. He could masquerade as well as he could blitz, evidenced on both Thyrsus and Bastion’s façades. Nevertheless, coaching whispers echoed conveniently — suggestions by Djorn, Allyson and Ryv for their investigative natures. Recency effect, get what you can from eye witnesses but evaluate the scene of the crime yourself. Being reactive could give them enough information to be properly proactive. If she was able to risk psychometery again.

“Where was the last attack?”

“Ways outta town, which gives me some hope. Harlan’s got time. S’was out in Fett territory.”

“Thanks and.. I’m nervous to ask, but you mentioned people go missing… do you know what kind of people? Any consistencies?”
Loske felt strange asking, and the obvious answer seemed to loom in front of her, faking a shape and lingering in the peripheral. Until Tanau invited it in.

“Erm, yeah.” He shifted, looking uncomfortably in Maynard’s direction then back at Loske. “Right to be nervous.” He admitted, looking downcast. “Most of the homesteads lost…”

It was the way he hesitated that made Loske’s gut knot up. She knew the answer before he said: “Kids.”

Of course, she had more questions. More curiosities. There were only two Protectors? Why? What happened? But that knot in her stomach flipped and tightened, resolve hardened. All she managed was a solemn “Oh.”
 
He wasn't sure he'd get over the blind satisfaction that came with Loske saying their name, being now the two sole people to share what was left of the Treicolt lineage. There was no surprise that came with Tanau not able to pick up on the name as one that once settled in the periphery of this very settlement. Obviously, the Treicolt Homestead had been almost two decades gone now and even when they lived around here, they were hardly a prevalent bloodline, given the short end of the financial stick and only ever coming around to the town proper to sell off their meager harvest or buy, sell and repair farming equipment.

After Loske introduced herself, he was content to observe for a moment, being that Loske was all but an extension of him in many ways, he was curious to see her immersed in an environment so comfortably familiar to him, the underbelly of the Galaxy, the knooks that the glad hands and Galactic elite so readily disregarded in contrast the lavish high rises of Galactic City and the other watering holes peppered across the civilized cosmos.

But she was ever the enquiring mind, no doubt the Kiffar nature emerging in her, the need to emphasize and understand. Tanau replied in fumbled words, clearly an uneasy subject, but one that needed to be rightfully prodded, Maynard continued where Loske seemed to leave off.

He was a bit less gentle in these topics, certainly having been more jaded to tragedy in the time the two of them spent apart, leaving more Marines to die under his command, more blood on his hands than any other stretch of his...eventful military career.

"Any casualties otherwise in these raids?" Maynard asked with an furrowed brow.

"Yeah- yeah, a couple homesteads have been totally burnt out but we're not sure if that's connected or not."

"No doubt there's some correlation, how recently was the last report? You got any good descriptions?"

"Hardly- but I think people are afraid to talk these days, not knowing whose bad side they're getting on or- difficult to handle while grieving. Last was...not more than a week ago."

"Yeah...I can understand that. You said it was Fett owned spot?"


"Last I recall, yeah, a few of the Fett Clan's have been hit."
Tanau iterated further. A loose connection, but something.

"I know the reigning Alor of the Fetts is an 'NIO' affiliate, could be politically charged but- something tells me sh*t like that doesn't mean much around here. Regardless- we'll head out to take a look...unless your friend has any better information?"

"Ah- no...like I said, we've been too busy dealing with what we got here to be investigating too much into it."

"Well, you're in luck, we work for free. We'll try our hand at taking care of something tonight, catch a lead...see where it takes us."


"Alright...thank you guys. I'll be...I'll be somewhere around here." Tanau said, offering a casual salute before taking his leave. Maynard shifted his attention to Loske for a moment before he turned on his heel, making his way back in the direction they came from.

"Best course of action is to set a trap, see if we can't get them to come to us...maybe not the most likely but...I have a spot in mind." He spoke with his tone dipped in solemn in the final words before they set down the path on foot, it seemingly wasn't a long journey, in a more overgrown wooded part of the nature surrounding Harlan before soon enough they crossed into a clearing and there emerged a homestead, abandoned...for some time now. Three buildings, a main living quarters, a barn and a storage area all constructed of worn durasteel and duracrete, the barn seemingly burnt out from the inside with a field of abandoned grain wildly growing nearby.

The place had a solemn aura about it, one seemingly rooted in The Force around them.

He was silent once they came into the sight of it, standing still for a moment as he took in the view with narrowed eyes. He began a slow approach, the brush of the earth audible beneath each footfall as he approached the main living quarters, an average sized, single storied family house.

The metallic door managed to screech open in a jarring throe of the mechanism within before he stepped through. The interior was in astray, seemingly abandoned at a moment's notice.

The lights barely managed to flicker to life in line with the atmospheric settings established within the building. Every step seemed measured, slow, calculated in how Maynard made his way through this place, seemingly familiar with every surroundings, glancing toward the dinner table set aside before turning to make his way down a corridor into another wing of the house, flanked on both sides two doors each. He seemed to ignore the first row before turning to the right and facing the closed entrance way, willing it open with a press of a button. Within, the identity of the homestead was wholly unfurled.

Artifacts of Maynard's childhood, dusty scale models of starships, long dead holopads, worn metal furniture. Seemingly kept pristine in its place, him having not seen or interacted with this space since he left to be inducted into the Jedi Order as a padawan.

He took up one of the models, The Outrider fittingly enough, seemingly crafted from scrap metal to its likeness.

"This should work...we can get an audio track to play some noise to attract our would be kidnappers, lay up a Fett sigil and keep the lights on...should be enough to get some attention, assuming they're keeping watch of the country side." Maynard suggested, managing a pragmatic suggestion in a space steeped in sentiment.

"Last I was here was when Ryv went on his excursion in Mando space, after escaping capture from the Sith...no doubt some echo in The Force led him here but...this is where the tale of Maynard Treicolt began." He said, closely inspecting The Outrider in his hand before peering to Loske.

"A lot of memories here...a few good...a few really bad ones but...yeah. It's home." He said before stepping out from the bedroom, making his way down the corridor into the main area before he peered out the worn transperisteel panes looking toward the burnt out barn and overgrown features of the area.

He was afraid for a moment that she might utilize her innate psychometry to read from the homestead itself, pick up on more of Maynard's life...but ultimately, there was nothing to hide.

This was home.

Loske Treicolt Loske Treicolt
 

Children were disappearing. Being taken from their families. Their homes were being set aflame and reduced to cinder –– for no obvious reason. The more Tanau said, the more Loske’s stomach tightened.

While they walked, she listened and sorted through it all. Part of her was consumed with the reality that if they hadn’t decided to work independent of The Alliance, this would be a struggle that went untouched and unsolved. Or exploited for all the wrong reasons. And how many other planets were suffering through something similar?

"Best course of action is to set a trap, see if we can't get them to come to us...maybe not the most likely but...I have a spot in mind."

“I’d almost prefer to see what’s already happened before we set a trap, get some sense of what to expect.” Loske countered, falling in step while Maynard re-travelled through familiar streets and she absorbed everything that was new. Her mouth twitched slightly, amused by the realization that their dynamics seemed to fill each other’s needs for each situation they found themselves in. He the hunter, she the tracker.

But, as much as she believed in their ability to thwart an unknown foe, she was just starting to get back on her feet. She hadn’t been involved in a conflict since she’d been consumed by Shursia. Unthinkingly, she flexed her hands by her sides. Before he could remind her of how much memory sharing had sapped from her last time, she continued: “It might even be less strenuous to read through an object’s perspective. Inanimate objects are less emotional...and I’m less attached to them.” Despite the news of the missing kids, and the reflection of her nosebleed and near-faint reaction to her last psychometric travels, she forced a roguish smile through.

A smile that drew into a thin line as Maynard retraced his steps too knowingly, walking as though he’d travelled this route a hundred times. Some parts were overgrown –– but he didn’t need to see a path.

As soon as the silhouettes of the tri-homes filled the scene, it felt colder. As if parts of the air crystallized with a chill, only to be blown away by a rolling, dusty breeze that recalibrated to the natural warmth Concord Dawn had to offer. If The Force didn’t have a sense about it, their bond was certainly taut on one end — as though he’d taken in a deep, spectral breath, and was holding it until he knew it was safe to breathe again.

This must have been his home. It had to be. The more they walked, the more certain she became. When the lights flickered on, and they paused at the small room, she was validated.

Loske kneeled so she might see the little models eye-to-eye, reaching out to carefully brush one and rotate it slightly, dusting off some of the film that had collected over the now worn and chipped paint. When he was a child it might have been the most brilliant of blues. All these little trinkets, tiny remnants of a lost childhood, were precious and enamouring. That this might have been the place where his humility and hope was born, whittled and shaped. Where his attention to detail, the necessity to be useful, candid observation skills, and hard working ethic all started. In this little room where he could pass the time as he pleased, when all the chores were done.

"Last I was here was when Ryv went on his excursion in Mando space, after escaping capture from the Sith...no doubt some echo in The Force led him here but...this is where the tale of Maynard Treicolt began."

“We’re always so drawn to you…” She teased, pinching the sides of a clunkily formed rendition of a HWK-290 light freighter. “And you didn’t take any of these back to The Core?”

As he might have guessed, she wanted so badly to dive into the threads of the past, touch on the small starships and see his happy, boyish face smiling down at them, making that same stupid Psssssshh- BOOSH sound effect while arcing them through invisible fleet battles and hyperlanes. Or his triumphant expression when he’d finished tweaking, and the model’s final touches were complete. Were it anyone else, she might have. But ever since Muunilist, she always asked first. Her yearning to just understand more and more, keep evolving her appreciation, was overwhelming and she felt as though she were overflowing with an acute sensation she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

On the bright side, she was happy to discover that her abilities weren’t fritzing out randomly at her desirous whims; and she retained some level of control.

"A lot of memories here...a few good...a few really bad ones but...yeah. It's home."

“I love it when you talk about the few good.” She lingered a little longer when he left the bedroom, dusting off a few more monuments to her husband’s boyhood, turning them over in her hands with a sort of delicate fondness. It was funny how time chose to preserve some things and not others. Parts of the home looked untouched by time, others had been destroyed beyond recognition; charred with blaster bolts, fire, and other devastations.

While he took in the view, she drew up next to him and slipped her hand into his, giving a gentle squeeze. He never once mentioned wanting to forget all that had happened to him, only ever seemed to want to remember without all the pain that came with the recollection. The way he spoke now, putting new purpose into the homestead, felt as close as he’d ever come to that.

For a few moments, she forgot about the attacks on Fett territory, the children taken from their homes. Her imperfect desires to have him fulfilled inserted themselves before practicality.

After all..they could do that now.

“We don’t have to do this here.” Her negotiation was soft and gentle, still stewing over her own reactions. There was a throb to her voice, like a heartbeat. It was strange to be here, just the two of them, in this abandoned and ravaged homestead. A place where his parents worked hard to set up a family, and for whatever faults they might have had, Loske wished she could have met them. Shared a meal around that long-since abandoned dinner table. At least meet his mother. If only to boast about the man her son had become, everything he’d accomplished. Even his father would have had to feel some sort of pride…...alas, she’d never know. She’d only have to find solace in the hypotheticals.

She let the thought sit in the air for a few moments, untouched by the silence. She wanted to say something more, something about how his mom would have been proud to see him come home but...maybe that wasn’t true.

“There are other ways to surprise bad guys.

And..”
She said, and left it at that for a few seconds. Her unease couldn’t find any further words that fit –– maybe they’d come in time or maybe she’d come to peace without having to speak them.

That didn’t happen.

A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, the numbers of their opposition still unknown. Surely it wasn’t just the three they’d seen at the town centre earlier. “We still don’t know how many we’re facing.” It’s not that numbers themselves were daunting, Maynard was responsible for fighting off tens at a time –– she’d done the same. And she had little doubt that her manufactured instincts would weaponize at the first opportunity. It just… this place felt like it should be sacred.

But that wasn’t her choice to make.

She just wanted him to know he could make it, without any expectation otherwise.

Behind them, from the room they’d just come from, Loske heard the sound of straining metal and a small struggle. Like something was putting effort into getting unstuck from the strangely well-kept furniture. Every muscle tensed in reaction, even her feet shifted slightly. Maynard’s suggestion that their unknown enemy –– the incinerators of homes, the takers of children –– might be keeping watch of the countryside flashed in her mind.

That flicker of fear was near instantly doused when a small, four-legged, flat-faced, whisker-laden creature rounded the corner of the bedroom in a startled rush. It eased from its scurry quickly, composing itself with a shake and adjusting whatever direction it had intended before, to instead saunter toward them. Despite whatever stoicism the feline was trying to display, there was an offness to its saunter. On closer inspection, the noise of the struggle they'd heard would have been the cat's attempt to retract its claws from getting tangled in the overhang of the dusty bedsheet. And now a small patch of blanket was trailing along with it.

“Oh,” Loske laughed, deeply relieved, “They have spies everywhere.”
 
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He should've assumed Loske might've thought it better to go through the full breadth of what this 'mission' might have required. Investigation of prior history, determining suspects, chasing leads from there. Maynard clearly was in favor of skipping over several parts of this process and biting right into what might seize results earlier on. Or- nothing at all.

"Wasn't around long enough the last time around to revel in the sentiment. I was here to get Ryv, we got attacked and...that was the end of that." He'd gone unconscious and before he knew it, he was aboard The Renegade jumping back to the Core. At that stage in his mental development and maturity, it might have been for the best. In a perilous pit of self doubt and impeding loathing inflicted unto himself.

Now, instead of seeking vindication in his peril in the past, he was able to shed a rose tint over these memories, detached from the strife that came with his time as a Jedi, his time as an officer in the GADF. Though his hands were all but stained a deep red from the blood on his hands, the leadership lessons were invaluable. He had a hunch they'd be utilized again soon enough.

"But- times are different." He said, pocketing the model in his hand into a leather pouch lined along the belt fastened around his armor.

"There's always a few good...it's still a shame that- you were robbed of that. An upbringing, the ability to live and learn the tough lessons and being able to revel in the best times, the innocence, wide eyed excitement. I'm sorry- for that." Maynard said, apologizing for something he played no part in inflicting on her and every part in offering her the best he could possibly in returning that semblance of self, of humanity to her. That she deserved, certainly more so in the wake of Shursia.

"But I didn't pick here because of sentimentality...I picked here...because it works. Far as whoever it is is concerned, the Protectors can't stop them and no one else seemingly cares, so I doubt they're all too suspicious. This is a place they likely haven't scouted out, from outward appearances meaning as well, ain't a place they've hit already. As far as they know, when the sun dips down, lights come on here, it's squatters or refugees. Ripe for the taking. We'll rig audio up right so they're convinced of life inside and...well we know what to do from th-" And just before he could conclude his thought he heard the clamor of the invading presence just behind them and with a snap, quick time reaction he drew the pistol from his holster and burst back into the bedroom. But down his sights wasn't any bandit, or Sith cultist, or Mandalorian raider.

In actuality, one of the most effective apex predators engineered by nature's design. One of the most deadly and effective killers of the animal world.

A cat.

He offered up a note of amusement from the sight, at the shrunken predatory pupils of the small animal peering back at him before he let the blaster drop back into the holster with an equally smooth, practiced motion. While there seemed to be a little of that spacer, frontier swagger in the movements with the weapon, so too was there that clinical, engineered training that came with the Marine Raiders.

"If this is what we're dealing with, we're in grave danger." Maynard remarked with a faint laugh, looking over the small feline predator dragging the patch of cloth in its wake. He made a clicking noise behind closed teeth, to try and get the cat's attention. Seemingly successful as the cat's attention snapped to him. He shifted his eyes away from the cat, just evading eye contact before offering a gloved hand toward the feline. It tentatively approached the offered hand, the subtle motions showing the animal that Maynard wasn't a threat or predator toward it and managed to take to him tentatively, enough to let Treicolt reach forward and pluck the patch of blanket from its hind claw.

"Saw these kinda strays all the time around here, I wonder how long he's been hanging out here." Maynard remarks before glancing back toward Loske.

"Well - I gave you Ghost, 'bout time you come up with a name for something." Maynard teased her.

"It's pretty cute, I'm not gonna lie...'lot more endearing than Buddy...or Frank." He clearly had some innate sympathy toward the animal.

"There's probably room for one more on The Renegade...right?"

Loske Treicolt Loske Treicolt
 

Drawing comparisons between his childhood and her creation was almost startling, and she involuntarily tightened. If they were to take some sort of nostalgic walk through her home, it would have been scalpels instead of models, tubes instead of bedding. Harsh. Cold. Scientific rather than sentimental. Her face softened though when his tone turned apologetic, and she shook her head. “Thank you.”

This was the terrifying and wonderful thing about circumstance. If she’d had everything he did, would they be standing here now? Together? One small change in the fabric of time could undo an entire tapestry. She leaned over and gave a small, punctuated kiss at the corner of his mouth, cupping the other side of his jaw with her palm. “But the present and future we have together more than makes up for anything that could have been.”

Maynard drawing his pistol on instinct, not even reaching for his lightsaber, felt like something. She wasn't sure what..yet..but it was like another decisive step further away from the life they'd shared in The Core. And one more gesture that resonated with the dustball planet even further. It might have been muscle memory associated with the homestead but..whatever it was... she liked it.

She helped complete his sentence, gesturing at the pistol slung around his hip. "Whatever we do from there, I'm making sure I get one of those by the end of the night." It had been a long, long time since she'd depended on a firearm only. As soon as she'd entered Cedric's tutelage, it was lightsabers and The Force only for the most part. Blasters had become obsolete with her newfound affinity for the metaphysical. She nodded to herself, reckoning that the weapon would help tie in some of her aesthetic further with the planet was to be their home. Everything she was wearing was from The Core: Her oversized leather jacket, and adjusted strike team armour. Well. Maynard's. It was too form-fitting for him, and hers had been disintegrated by Shursia. It's malleability let her tweak and resize it enough to fit her newfound desire to be a bit more exposed. She'd spent so long with her skin covered by a foreign substance, that she wanted as few reminders of that as possible. And there were...absolutely zero objections from her husband.

As soon as the feline had full mobility of all four of its paws, it seemed to warm infinitely to the pair. Quite easily, it seemed to abandon apprehension and be content with the affection the wayward Jedi were willing to offer it.

"Well - I gave you Ghost, 'bout time you come up with a name for something."

“A na––” she made a face that looked shocked at first, then fell into something a little more smirkish. “Alright, Frank Two.”

"It's pretty cute, I'm not gonna lie...'lot more endearing than Buddy...or Frank."

“Don’t let them hear you say that.” She continued, coercing the creature to move from Maynard to her. It seemed quite content to...ignore that plea and opted to no travel to her arms, but was fine to let Loske scratch at the top of its head and under its neck.

It was a slender thing, tawny coloured with a few scratches here and there on its ears and on the small rise of its nose. Happy with the attention, it arched against Maynard’s shin before Loske opted to try and pick it up. At first, he wasn’t pleased, and resisted with a lean that communicated it preferred to be on the ground. Eventually though, after Loske parroted the same clicking sound Maynard had made earlier, it allowed itself to be cradled, though remained somewhat tense while Loske subtly checked to confirm it was a he.

Another living thing aboard the Renegade, it was like a strange..temporary solution toward the Triocolt they wanted so much for. And in that instant, she realized they’d never really talked about potential names for their kids. Which...given all their disappointing circumstances..might have been an okay thing.

The little cat was like a little survivor, and in a weird way, it made her think of her own lotus-like friend: Amea Virou Amea Virou . Maybe it helped because she also associated it with Hoshi...less an aimless critter.

“I’m kidding..maybe...Amos? I mean, he can have a whole spare room if he wants.” The cat just stretched in response, forcing Loske to adjust so it didn’t spill out of her arms. "Might need it, if he has friends around here." As if expecting a few more cats to appear, she glanced back in the direction of the room it had emerged from.

But –– back to the attack. And now they had a little cat to consider through the set up. Maynard’s reasons for this location were sound, and if they could keep the execution under control the homestead may still survive.

“Right, Am?” She asked, testing for a reaction to the nickname and brushing at the whiskers of the stray who was tenuously accepting all the interaction. It shivered, shaking off her touch. “You gonna stick around and help us set a trap for tonight, too?” He barely meowed in response, but even though the question was asked to the cat, it was targeted at the hunter.

“Alright, I guess we can get Buddy or Frank to pull some files for the audio, something that sounds convincingly like there’s more than just two people squatting in here, and'll draw enough attention to even get them here.” She simpered. Somehow, despite how seemingly unprepared they might have been, this made sense with the rhythms of their life. It had been only maybe a week since Serenno, and here they were, poised to get in the action again.

Get in the action, and get some answers. Find some stolen kids.

The weight of broken families entered the room again, despite the cat having disrupted it earlier, and settled on her shoulders. She frowned. “We’ve got a few good hours. Best get started, I guess.

But before we do..I..on the worst case scenario, how far are you willing to go with this place? You've evaluated this very pragmatically but.."
she chewed on her lip while the cat squirmed in her arms, and she moved to hand it over to Maynard, less in her care. "It was still your home. Times are different yes but..did you.." how did she say this. For a moment, she bit the inside of her bottom lip, sucking it between the rows of her teeth. It had always been Concord Dawn. Building something together on Concord Dawn. That was the dream. But now they were here, the details could become a little clearer.

"Was this...here... where you imagined we'd start our home together too?"
 
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He offered a crook of his lips in amusement to her remark of the pistol. It was always more natural, to draw the gun over the saber. Even if it might not have been the most measured or practical option, it was a natural movement, second to walking, breathing, swimming. That was what years spent doing...this engrained into him.

"Maybe our 'friends' will be kind of enough to leave one for you. It doesn't beat a saber but...you'd be a fool not to run around the Galaxy with iron on your hip. You never know." He said, he truly invoked his origins in that statement, angling his voice back into the inflection that he'd acquired living under this very roof. He offered a smile to himself at the realization.

If he expected anything to bring that back out of him, it was home. He'd spent too long 'gentrified' in service of the Core Based Galactic Alliance. A far cry from where they roamed now.

"Oh those two know I love 'em." He replied in reference to Frank and Buddy, their ever colorful droid companions.

"Amos...isn't actually that bad, figured you might have stuck to your guns on 'Frank 2' given your track record." Maynard commented, she'd never been known for clever nick names. Hell, her last callsign was...'Blue', granted of course, it wasn't her call to decide it but, it was certainly a form of foreshadowing.

When his frame of mind focused on the mission before them his tone and expression seemed to drift into solemn again, as if reminded of their surroundings. He looked toward Amos after the cat had drifted toward Loske, looking into its eyes as it looked toward her before nodding in considerations with her inquiries.

She eventually conceded to taming the cat's squirming and offered it back to Maynard who took it into his hold with a mix of carefulness and confidence in the action. Amos peered up to him curiously just as Maynard matched his gaze only for him to look away, to let the animal feel more comfortable in his hold. If he knew any behavioral indicator of felines it was that they didn't much care for direct eye contact, in their perception it meant that Maynard was a predator. The visible indifference however, showed he meant no harm and allowed the cat to ease into his embrace. He offered an idle pet through patterned fur in contemplation.

"No..." Was all he could muster in response to her inquiries.

"It- it's special to me, no doubt but...it fulfilled its purpose. It was where I was raised up...there's memories here which...I won't ever forget. Even the small stuff. Waking up to breakfast, seeing the sunrise, helping out with the harvest, stuff like that. But- it was just as easy to leave. You said it best, home is with you...it doesn't matter, the where. After we've gotten the use we can get out of it...I think it's best we leave it be." Maynard admits.

"I'd rather make something that's just- ours. New memories. As much as there was good here, there was plenty of bad." Maynard remarks.

"But unless you wanna find out anything else, we'd best start preparing what we can, and get our new little buddy here stored on The Renegade."

Loske Treicolt Loske Treicolt
 
You put me on the spot.” A single click against the roof of her mouth indicated her feigned annoyance at his lack of faith in her creativity. “Don’t tell Amea I remixed her name for a cat. I honestly don’t know if she’d be offended or honoured.”

After we've gotten the use we can get out of it...I think it's best we leave it be."

"I'd rather make something that's just- ours. New memories. As much as there was good here, there was plenty of bad."

She might have predicted his steadfastness in the choice to use his childhood home to set the foundation for his prodigal return. Still, she would have regretted not being super sure and giving him the opportunity to change his mind. There was a sort of relief to giving into destruction, and while he spoke she could see the softness around the corners of his eyes and the slant of his brow.

Memories were a curious thing. She’d always appreciated them, yearned for them, cultivated them, dwelled in them, but now after losing so many and slowly getting them back, she was perplexed by them. Were they something had, or something lost? The good and the bad, all ghosts neutralized in reflection. Haunted by feelings of things remembered –– but the opposite of haunting was something very lonesome and unrealized and unlearned. All that was unsavoury of this place made his resolve to be a better version of self. Tough times didn’t last; but tough people did.

And she knew none tougher than Treicolt.

“Okay.” Loske agreed readily, gently brushing his arm and giving a small peck on his cheek. Careful not to squish Amos or make him uncomfortable between them. Stepping back again, she flashed a toothsome grin, welcoming the reflections he’d imparted to her before that blossomed serendipitously in her mindscape, grateful for the word association even if there was a latency only she was aware of. “We’ll find somewhere where the soil makes for a less frustrating harvest.”

While the would-be clone knew very little about making a home from the land, it was one of the peculiar benefits to being a test tube creation: Accelerated learning. If Frank could download a library on agriculture and harvesting, all she had to do was be exposed to it once or twice to make it known. Or just..listen to whatever instruction Maynard was willing to offer. Probably a bit of both.

"But unless you wanna find out anything else, we'd best start preparing what we can, and get our new little buddy here stored on The Renegade."

Loske shook her head no.

“Only what you want to share.” She glanced once more out toward the view they’d been appreciating before the cat –– now Amos –– interrupted. “And to be honest, I don’t want to open up more wounds before we pour gasoline and fire.”

A soft buzzing sound, like a constantly rolling ‘r’ hummed from Maynard’s arms. Amos’ curious gaze closed contentedly.

Despite the small spark of jealousy that the cat seemed to like him more than her, she titched a grin and indicative nod. “The things from here that want to be remembered seem to find a way to permanence.”

And everything else....was ready to contribute to laying the foundations for a convincing Fett squat site. The pair went about making the few required adjustments they could without supplies before setting back for The Renegade –– where they were accosted by the surprisingly territorial salutations of Frank:

What is that.

In a rush, he whirred forward in a bold front at Maynard’s legs, stopping short of knocking into him just to get closer to the thing in his arms.

“It’s a cat, Frank.”

Remarkably, Amos saw little necessity in clawing and scraping at its human transport, and remained content in the protection of Maynard’s arms –– brave enough to lean forward when Frank parked in front. While the astromech’s photoreceptors zoomed in and out –– almost accusingly and dubious of Loske’s explanation –– Amos swatted at the triangle-faced droid.

“His name is Amos and uhh, he’s going to spend the night with you and Buddy.”

The photoreceptor, extended, almost wilted.

“Indefinitely..but starting tonight.”

While Frank made some indeterminate beeping sound, Amos hissed.
 

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