Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Full Circle


Location: Bonadan - The Vergeworks - Sector 9G


Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

They moved unlike anything he'd ever seen. They were tall, easily towering over Ace, and they were built like statues with violence carved into their frames. Each one gripped a long, black staff, crackling with violet energy that made the air buzz and the hair on Ace's arms rise. Their footfalls were quiet. Too quiet. Not like droids he'd seen before.​
They didn't scan for threats, they already knew who their targets were. Him and Rheyla. And worst of all? They didn't look designed for restraint. Whatever these things were, they weren't made to keep the peace and they weren't built for patrol. They were built for something else. Something... harder to survive.​
They moved with the kind of precision that didn't come from software updates or street mods. He recognized this was legacy programming... old and tested. The kind of tech that was meant to match people like him. No wonder Tessk looked so confident.​
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It moved like bladed wind. The first swing nearly took his head off.​
Ace was barely able to raise his lightsaber in time. The electrostaff cracked against the glowing blue blade with a jolt that buzzed all the way down his spine. The force of the hit staggered him, feet skidding across the durasteel floor. He countered with a sharp step in, slashing toward the droid's midsection, but the strike bounced off the reinforced staff with a hiss of deflected energy.​
It didn't slow. It merely pressed forward with machine precision, every strike faster than the last, spinning, jabbing, sweeping wide. Ace ducked one blow, then twisted to block the next. His lightsaber sparked, arms straining with the effort. The droid advanced again, driving him back with brutal, methodical aggression.​
Ace's precognition flickered with warning, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't reading the droid, just reacting. And he hated it. His foot caught on a loose bolt but he recovered fast, pivoting on instinct, but it didn't matter. He was being walked down. Forced on to the backfoot.​
This is nothing like sparring with Pisti Caleida Pisti Caleida , he realized, breath hitching. The rhythm was wrong. The flow was gone. It was just survival... like always.​
Ace grit his teeth as the staff came in low. Hhe leapt over it, barely clearing the sweep, and landed in a roll that brought him closer to a stack of crates. He used one for cover, pausing just long enough to breathe.​
You're House Verd, the thought spat. I shouldn't be struggling with a droid!
He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing behind the glow of his blade. The MagnaGuard didn't taunt. Didn't hesitate. It simply adjusted its grip and charged again. Ace stepped in. His lightsaber met the staff mid-swing with a crash of energy and momentum, the impact flaring bright between them. Sparks flew as the blade and staff locked, humming, grinding, vibrating with kinetic pressure.
Muscles strained against the droid's mechanical strength. It towered over him, unrelenting, pressing its advantage like a machine designed to kill Jedi. He clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the soulless photoreceptors staring him down... and for a heartbeat, doubt flickered in his chest.
But then, a memory surfaced. "Ya put too much faith in that lightsaber of yours. Gotta see yourself as the weapon, y'know?" It was Pisti's voice. Upbeat but calming.
Ace's grip shifted and his stance changed. And just before he moved, he dropped his lightsaber.
 
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The second droid turned as she entered.

No hesitation. No scanning. Its photoreceptors locked onto her like it had already clocked her threat level. She barely had time to curse before it moved—fast. Too fast for its size.

She fired centre-mass.

The bolt hit. The droid flinched, but that was it.

Her brow twitched. “Great,” she muttered, having no idea what the hell she was about to fight, was. “One of those droids.”

Then it was on her.

The staff came down like a hammer. Rheyla threw herself sideways—rolled, hard, her shoulder crashing into a crate. The staff struck where she'd just been, exploding the floor in a spray of sparks. The blast lit her silhouette in harsh staccato, smoke still rising from her cloak.

She pushed off the crate and snapped off another shot. No hesitation. No fear. But the second bolt barely scorched the plating. The thing barely noticed.

"What in the kriffing hells are you made of?" she hissed.

It answered by charging.

She moved again—quick footwork, sharp pivots, cloak snapping behind her as she ducked a sweeping arc. The hum of its staff buzzed through the air, close enough to singe. Too close. This wasn’t a cheap enforcer droid or scrapyard leftover. It was smart. Aggressive. Relentless.

Rheyla grimaced.

Fine. Up close, then.

She holstered the blaster mid-stride and slid under a wide swing, twisting into a crouch as she drew her vibroknife. A short, curved thing—meant for bone work, not droid plating—but she didn’t need to carve it apart. She just needed to hurt it.

She surged upward in one clean motion—knife slashing across the droid’s arm joint. Sparks flew. It jerked, but didn’t slow. A split-second later, the staff caught her shoulder—not a clean hit, but enough to throw her off balance. She grunted, stumbling two steps back, boot scraping across metal.

“Okay,” she growled. “That ticked.”

The droid advanced again—still methodical, still silent.

This time, she didn’t run. She baited.

Let it close.

She feinted left, then dropped low and drove the vibroknife up, straight into the joint under its arm—where plating met servo. It twitched. She twisted the blade, feeling it catch something important.

The droid jerked back, but Rheyla was already moving. She rolled clear, pulled her flash charge, thumbed it, and let it drop.

BOOM—a burst of searing white light.

The droid staggered. Its photoreceptors flickered, scrambled.

She was already behind it.

Another bolt—this time fired point-blank into the exposed wiring behind the neckplate. The impact rocked its frame.

It collapsed—sparking, twitching, but not moving again.

Rheyla stood over it for a second, breathing hard through her teeth. Then spat a curse and holstered the blaster again.

“Whoever built you had issues.”

She shook her shoulders once, exhaled slow, and turned toward Ace—jaw set, eyes hard.

Then the air was ripped from her lungs.

A violent crack split the room—louder, heavier than any blaster—and something slammed into her chest with the force of a freighter at full throttle.

Rheyla flew backward.

Her boots left the floor. She didn’t fall — she was launched. Armour took the hit, but it didn’t matter. Pain exploded across her ribs as her back hit durasteel with a thunderous clang. Crates scattered. Her breath vanished. Her vision popped white at the edges.

She hit the floor and didn’t get up right away.

The world rang.

Her limbs twitched, but her lungs refused. Like her body had forgotten how to breathe. She was gasping desperately for air. A sick, electric ache pulsed down her spine. Her fingers twitched. Her blaster had skidded away.

She blinked hard. Grit in her eyes. Smoke overhead. She could just barely make out movement through the haze—Tessk lowering the bowcaster, calm as you like.

That karking lizard shot her.

She groaned low, forcing her elbow under her. Body protested. Bones protested harder.

"Motherf—" she choked, coughing once as her lungs finally remembered their job. Her voice came ragged and hoarse. "Okay. Bowcaster. Good to know."

 

Location: Bonadan - The Vergeworks - Sector 9G


Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

The lightsaber clattered to the floor. The droid didn't pause, it reacted exactly as it was programmed to, calculating the dropped weapon as an error. An opening. It moved to exploit it and the electrostaff swung down like a hammer.

Ace sidestepped sharply. Not back, but in. He slid under the the attack with a half-turn that brought him face to chassis. His shoulder slammed into the droid's side, unbalancing it just enough - using its own momentum against it. Ace dove past it, rolled, and snatched his lightsaber from the floor in one fluid motion. The weapon reignited with a crisp snap-hiss behind him, but he didn't attack yet.

The droid corrected, recalibrating before it began its advance again. It was fast, fluid and deadly - displaying the same patterns, the same angles. It was built for Jedi. Expected Jedi - from a bygone era.

But Ace? He wasn't a Jedi nor did he fight like one. He angled himself sideways as the droid charged again. He didn't dodge, he allowed it to commit. Then, he fainted at the last possible second - lightsaber swinging right with purpose. But his actual move came left. Ace's foot caught a loose coil cable running along the ground. He hooked it around the MagnaGuard's ankle plating as it passed.

Its foot caught, but it barely sumbled. It was enough. Ace vaulted up, lightsaber reversed in hand, and drove the hilt up into the droid's chestplate, wedging it inside. Using it as leverage, he pushed himself up and over the droid's shoulders, twisting mid-air and landed behind it in a crouch. In the same breath, he slashed upward into the back of the droid's neck joint.

The blade sank in. Severed wires hissed and its photoreceptors flickered. It dropped, Ace stood slowly, chest heaving, blade still humming low at his side. Sweat slicked his brow and his knuckles were white on the hilt, but he was focused. Tuned in.

Then he heard it. A loud crack. Ace's head snapped toward the source and his stomach dropped.

"Rheyla!" he called out.

She was hurt bad, the smoke from the shot was still fuming. Then his eyes locked on to Tessk - wielding a bowcaster. Something in him snapped. The air around him tightened, like the pressure had dropped. He didn't say anything. The hum of his saber deepened, vibrating through his fingers like it felt the shift in him. No grace now. No control. Just motion.

Ace closed the distance like a bolt from the void, boots hammering the floor, Tessk barely had time to reset the bowcaster. He fired, Ace batted the bolt aside mid-sprint. Not deflected. Smashed. Like he wanted it to hurt.

"Karkin' coward!" he yelled, venom in his tone.

His lightsaber came down in a brutal arc, pure momentum behind the strike. Tessk brought the bowcaster up to block, but Ace carved right through it... and Tessk's chest. He was dead in an instant, dropping lifelessly with a deafening thud.


"You shot her in the back..."

Tessk didn't respond. Ace stood there, chest heaving. His blade still hummed in the void of silence. Its glow casting harsh shadows across the room. The body hadn't moved. The only sound now was the crackling of scorched metal. Smoke from his chest curled upward.

Ace's eyes dropped slowly. To the burn still smoldering in Tessk's chest. The bowcaster lay in pieces at his feet, split clean in half. The Trandoshan's eyes were wide, but empty. Lifeless.

"Tessk, get up." the rage drained from Ace's face like a tide receding.

Then he realized. He stepped back, just once. His fingers loosened, the lightsaber dropping from his hand and clattering against the floor. He didn't even register the sound. It wasn't meant to end like this... he didn't want to kill anyone. Not even Tessk. He... he just wanted him to call off the bounty. Maybe explain to him what had happened on the docks almost a year ago.

Ace stared at his hands, still trembling, still curled as if the lightsaber hadn't left them. For all his training, for all the things he'd done to avoid this moment, it had still come. He didn't mean to, but he was angry and Rheyla was hurt... but Tessk was dead. And it was his fault.

He had crossed the line.

Rheyla Tann Rheyla Tann
 

She didn’t see the kill.

She was still coughing smoke and pain, one hand braced against the floor, ribs screaming with every breath. Her ears were ringing. Her vision stuttered with each blink. Somewhere across the room, the fight was still happening—she could hear it in the distant clash of energy and the low, furious hum of Ace’s lightsaber.

Then silence.

Followed by a sickening thud.

She groaned and forced herself up, knees trembling beneath her. Her side flared white-hot with pain, but she bit it down, spat blood onto the floor, and stumbled upright.

Her blaster was somewhere behind her. She didn’t care. She moved forward, slow but deliberate, boots dragging as she rounded the ruined crates.

And saw him.

Ace stood over the Trandoshan’s body—what was left of it. The bowcaster lay in ruined pieces beside the corpse. Smoke still curled from a cauterised gash carved straight through Tessk’s chest. Ace wasn’t moving. His sabre was on the floor. His hands were curled like the weapon was still there. And his face—

She didn’t look at Tessk.

She looked at him.

The droid was down. The Trandoshan was dead. Smoke curled in the air, clinging to scorched metal and skin.

But Ace—Ace looked like he’d just had something ripped out of him.

Rheyla knew that look. The kind that came after everything fell apart. The kind you didn’t learn in training, didn’t see in drills. You only got it by surviving what should’ve killed you.

She said nothing.

Just stepped forward, pain in her ribs flaring with every movement, and crouched to pick up his lightsaber. She didn’t ignite it. Didn’t even look at him as she held it.

Then, with a quiet grunt, she rose to her feet, stepped in close, and pressed the sabre hilt into his chest—firm, not gentle.

Her other hand found his arm. She gripped it. Not hard. Just enough.

“We’re not done.”

No lecture. No comfort. Just truth.

She pulled. Not to drag him—but to remind him his legs could still move.

“Come on.”

And without waiting for permission, Rheyla turned toward the stairs—half-limping, half-moving, her hand still around his arm, keeping them both on their feet. Kriff, she's gonna feel this tomorrow.

 

Location: Bonadan - The Vergeworks - Sector 9G


Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

His mind was a haze, eyes entranced on the still rising smoke. Tessk... he was really gone. Ace had killed him in cold blood. His mind wandered to Pisti, to her lessons on the Force and the Dark side, how dangerous and easy it was to start down its path. One of its many gateways was giving in to anger, and he'd failed miserably.

Ace wondered what she would think, would she stop training him? Disown him? Shame hung over him like a cloud. Maybe she was right, maybe she shouldn't have trained him. Maybe... he was too much like his father. That thought terrified him more than most.

Rheyla, her touch, her voice snapped him out of his inner drowning. He blinked once, glancing down at the lightsaber she'd planted on to his chest. Then her hand on his arm. Ace claimed his lightsaber before blinking again, face still blank.

She was still hurt, and even though she wouldn't admit, she needed him right now. And he needed to make sure they'd get out okay. Ace fell in beside her, silent, and their steps echoed through the hallway. The adrenaline had faded. All that was left now was the ache. The kind that ran deeper than just bruises and smoke burns.

Rheyla's grip stayed loose on his arm, just enough to ground him. Keep him from floating back into that haze of spiraling thoughts.They followed the corridor down, past the control room, past the wreckage, and through a blast-scored door that must've been sealed when they first arrived.

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The air was cooler here, less choked by smoke and ion residue. It was a hangar. Then he saw it, tucked into the far corner, nestled between rusted fuel lines and half-dead floodlights, was a ship. Sleek. Angular. Retrofitted with aftermarket smuggler mods. It had been modded so much it may as well have been custom made. It looked Corellian though.

Despite it all, Ace knew that silhouette. It was Tessk's transport.

"Rheyla... hold on." he said in a low tone.

He didn't wait for her answer. His legs were already moving. Ace took charge, pulling Rheyla close and slinging her arm over his shoulder. As they approached, the ramp lowered.

Inside, the ship was lived-in. Worn leather seats. Scuffed panels. A cracked holotable still projecting static. There were half-eaten ration bars in the galley. A real fixer upper. He glanced around quickly, recalling the layout from the one time Tessk had let him aboard. Cockpit forward. Crew quarters portside. Medbay... starboard.

He guided Rheyla down a narrow corridor, shoulder brushing hers to keep her upright. He tapped a panel, and the Medbay door slid open to reveal a cramped but functional space, supplies still in their brackets, a wall-mounted bacta patch kit, even a fold-out gurney.

He helped her inside, guiding her to sit. His hands hovered over the controls, activating the diagnostic pad without thinking, fingers moving like they'd done this before.

"You gonna be okay, Bluebell?" he asked, maybe to see if he'd feel something trying to get a rile out of her. Nothing. "Need me to stay with you?"

Ace glanced around for a moment, taking in the freighter's interior. Maybe he'd keep this, not like Tessk was going to need it anymore. And... having his own personal transport with a place to sleep? Wouldn't be so bad neither.

Rheyla Tann Rheyla Tann
 

Rheyla didn’t like being carried.

In fact, she hated being carried.

So when Ace moved in close and slipped an arm around her, she stiffened instantly.

“What do you think you’re doi—”

He slung her arm over his shoulder.

“Put me down,” she snapped, scowling. Tried to twist out of it.

But the motion pulled at her ribs like fire. Her breath caught, sharp and tight, a low curse hissing between her teeth as the metallic taste of blood rose in her mouth again. She staggered, jaw clenching.

When Ace didn’t say anything. Just kept moving.

She let him.

Hated it.

Didn’t stop him.

Her glare stayed sharp, but her weight leaned in—silent, steady, bitterly begrudging.

The ship was familiar enough. Smuggler’s build. Nothing fancy. Not worth thinking about.

Her gaze flicked once toward the burn mark on the hangar floor where Tessk had gone down, then snapped forward again. That was done. Over. Finished.

She sat when Ace guided her down onto the gurney, one hand bracing against the edge, the other curled tight around her side. Pain rippled through her chest with every breath, but it was dulling now—more manageable. She glanced up at him as he fussed with the diagnostics. Saw the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The weight hadn’t left him yet.

Then came the name.

Bluebell.

Her eyes narrowed. Her brow twitched.

“You’re really pushin’ your luck, Sparkleboy.”

But there wasn’t any real heat behind it. Just tired air and the usual rhythm—sharp, dry, reflexive.

She wanted to hit him for calling her Bluebell. Fist twitched like she might.

But even thinking about swinging brought a warning throb through her ribs, like her whole body was ready to punish her for the idea. A single strike would feel like a lightning bolt up her spine.

So she didn’t.

Didn’t swat him. Didn’t shove.

A slow exhale, shoulders sinking. Defeat, disguised as composure.

He asked if she needed him to stay.

She didn’t answer right away.

Her eyes drifted around the medbay—old panels, older scars. A dead man’s ship. The quiet after everything had gone loud.

Then, finally, her voice came—low, even.

“You should figure out how to fly this thing.”

A beat. Her eyes didn’t meet his.

“See if he left a manual somewhere.”

No explanation. No thank you. No talk about Tessk, or the shot, or the look that had passed through Ace’s eyes after. She wasn’t pushing him away. Not exactly.

But she didn’t want him watching while she patched herself up, either. That was too close. Too seen.

She just looked at him for a moment. A long, steady look. That was all.

Then she sat on the gurney, closing her eyes for the first time since the fight started.

 

Location: Bonadan - The Vergeworks - Sector 9G


Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

Rheyla's reaction to the nickname told him everything he needed to know. She said she didn't need his help, in her own way. Ace's gaze lingered on her for a moment, searching. He wasn't sure what for, but, Ace didn't learn anything new. She was still guarded, afraid of being vulnerable. Seen. Now more so than ever before.

Ace didn't hover, stay longer than he needed to. He respected her boundaries, understood them, even related to them to a degree. Without a word, he took a step back before turning and making his way to the cockpit.

The cockpit welcomed him like a ghost of old memory. Still warm. Systems blinking on standby. It hadn't gone cold yet, like Tessk was still meant to come back. Ace sank into the pilot's chair, shoulders tight. For a long moment, he didn't touch anything. Just stared blankly.

Tessk's coat was still thrown over the backrest. A half-drained mug of something bitter sat in the cupholder, congealed. The seat still smelled like smoke and grease. Ace ran a hand down his face, then he reached forward and rested his arm on the control yoke.

"Dammit, Tessk..." he muttered with a sigh.

He looked out through the cockpit's forward viewport, toward the hangar's blast doors. Freedom... real freedom, was just ahead. His fingers flexed around the yoke, like his body expected motion even if his mind wasn't ready to follow. He didn't ignite the engines yet, he just... sat there.

The quiet hum of standby systems filled the space where Tessk's voice used to be. This ship was a coffin now. A casket dressed in smuggler mods and synth leather trim. Leaning back, Ace's gaze flicked toward the small dash console. A flicker of curiosity, or guilt, pushed him to activate the logs. T

he system stuttered, then blinked to life. Old nav points. Cargo manifests. A few encrypted files. His name popped up in one of the flagged memos. He didn't open it. Not yet. Maybe for now, this wasn't his ship. Not yet. But Tessk wasn't coming back for it either. And if Ace didn't take it? Someone else would. Some scavenger, probably. And Tessk… for all his faults, didn't deserve to be forgotten that fast.

Then there was the issue with the bounty. With Tessk dead, the bounty on him was still alive and active. But, Ace figured that Tessk's death would be discovered soon and that would be a definitive end to the bounty. Can't claim a reward from a dead man after all.

He stepped back into the corridor, pausing to glance toward the medbay door. Still closed. He'd give her time, but the realization was already crawling into his gut like gravity. They weren't going back to how things were. Not after this. Rheyla had seen what he did. And Ace… he had felt what it cost.

Eventually, he found himself back in the cockpit. he pilot's chair creaked as he sank into it once more, Tessk's coat brushing against his shoulder. This time, he didn't hesitate. Systems warmed. Lights flickered. The engine's low hum rolled through the deck like a pulse. He didn't look back toward the medbay. Just forward. Past the blast doors. Toward the next step, whatever it was.

With a steady breath, Ace reached for the throttle. And took off.

Rheyla Tann Rheyla Tann
 

The door hissed shut.

She stayed still.

The ship wasn’t moving—not yet. Just humming around her in standby, like it was waiting for someone else to decide what came next. That was fine. She wasn’t in a hurry.

Her ribs were screaming.

Rheyla shifted, eyes half-lidded, breath shallow. The gurney creaked under her weight as she slowly peeled herself upright. No theatrics. No groans. Just the hard-won quiet of someone who’d done this too many times before.

First, the gauntlets.

She unclasped the wrist locks one by one, her fingers stiff and slow. The reinforced beskar slid off with a soft clunk, laid carefully on the tray beside her. Then her thigh guards—mismatched, scraped from years of hits and scrapes. They came next, eased off with gritted teeth and quiet curses.

Finally, the chestplate.

Her cloak had taken most of the cosmetic damage. The left side was scorched, blackened where the bowcaster had struck—fabric seared through, edges curled and brittle with heat. But the green beskar beneath was still solid—unmarked. Unbroken.

She pressed her fingers under the rim of the collar and braced herself.

The pressure across her ribs made her vision spark. The moment she tried to lift the chestplate, her lungs protested like they’d been stabbed. Her hands trembled.

She didn’t stop.

Bit down, sucked in a slow breath through her nose, and forced the plate over her head.

The movement ripped a raw curse from her throat.

She staggered. One hand caught the edge of the gurney, the other pressed hard against her side. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she held. Didn’t cry out again. Didn’t drop the armour. Just set it down with a sharp exhale.

Her undersuit clung to her like a second skin, soaked in sweat and smoke. She peeled it back layer by layer, down to the waist, the air biting cold against bruised flesh.

The skin along her ribs was ugly—deep violet-blue bruises spreading wide. The bowcaster’s kinetic force had done its job. No breaks, maybe, but close. A swelling knot just under her left breast told her everything she needed to know.

She spat into the waste bin. Still that iron tang in her mouth. Not much blood. Just enough to taste.

Reaching for the scanner, she passed it gently across her torso. Red light blinked. Muscle damage. Likely hairline fracturing along the seventh rib. Nothing internal. Nothing that would stop her.

She’d had worse.

She opened the medkit. Found the bacta patches. Peeled one open with her teeth and pressed it flat over the worst of the bruising. The cold sting made her shudder. She pressed another against her shoulder where she’d landed hard.

Then the spray—numbing agent, bitter and sharp. She sprayed her side in short bursts, feeling the edge dull to a manageable throb.

It would hold.

It always did.

Rheyla sank to the floor, head tipped against the wall, looking up toward the ceiling. One arm across her middle. The other hung loose at her side.

She’d seen stars explode. Watched people she loved burn. Ended men with her bare hands. This?

This was just pain. Pain was honest. Pain she could handle.

And she was damn glad Sparkleboy wasn’t in here to see it.

The silence hummed around her, broken only by the pulse of the ship stirring beneath her. She felt it first in her lower back, where the floor vibrated faintly—then through her ribs, like a low, steady rhythm. The engines. Spooling up.

She let her head rest back against the wall for a second, lekku slack, lips parted. Just listening.

It was a good distraction—distant, mechanical. Comfortably impersonal. And the bacta patches were working now. Dulling the worst of the fire in her chest to something bearable. Her breaths came easier. Her fingers didn’t tremble so much. The pain hadn’t left, but it had quieted.

But then the ship shifted.

The pitch of the engines rose.

Her eyes opened.

“…wait.”

That was the throttle.

Her brows knit. “He’s flying?”

She sat there another second, trying to decide if she was imagining it. But no—the low thrumming beneath her had changed. The freighter was in motion. Not just warming up. Moving.

She blinked once. Then hissed from the dull but deep pain, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Dragging herself up wasn’t pretty. The bacta helped, but the bruising was still deep, muscles stiff with resistance. She moved slow, piece by piece, jaw tight the whole time. Shirt first—tugged on carefully with a wince. Then armour, layer by layer. Chestplate. Gauntlets. Thigh guards. Each piece clicked into place with a hiss or snap, heavy and grounding.

She paused after the chestplate, exhaling steady.

No scorching on the beskar—of course not. Just soot. The cloak, though, still smelled like cooked fabric. Probably half-slagged on the inside. But that could wait.

She pulled it back on anyway, because that’s what she did. Everything back where it belonged. Or close enough.

Then she stepped into the corridor, one hand braced briefly on the frame as she straightened.

The ship rumbled beneath her, full of life. She followed the sound. The limp was subtle but still there, every step a quiet reminder. Ribs, side, shoulder. Sore in places she hadn’t even noticed yet.

But more than anything, she was… confused.

Not angry. Not really.

She hadn’t actually expected him to take her seriously. When she told him to go look for a manual, it was to get him out of the room. Distract him. Give her space.

She didn’t think Sparkleboy actually knew how to fly. Last time she caught him in a cockpit, he was flipping switches on her ship, frantically trying to get it off the ground while bounty hunters were breathing down his neck. He didn’t even make it off the pad—she’d stopped him before he could blow out the repulsorlift coils.

So feeling the freighter actually lift off now?

That was new.

And a little disorienting.

She reached the cockpit door. Paused there a beat, brow still faintly furrowed, then leaned against the frame.

“…Well. Colour me surprised.”

Her voice was dry. Flat. But not unfriendly.

She looked at him for a long second—eyes flicking from the controls, to the view ahead, then finally back to him.

“Since when did you know how to fly, Sparkleboy?” Rheyla asked with a bit of a wince from the dulled but still very much present pain.

 

Location: Bonadan - The Vergeworks - Sector 9G


Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27
The control yoke shook lightly in his hands, along with the rest of the ship. She cruised through the sky, and handled well surprisingly. Well, he assumed she handled well. Ace's experience with flying wasn't much to write home about.

Below, Bonadan's skyline stretched out like a jagged circuit board. Layered towers, rusted spires, and landing pads stacked in a mess of corporate chaos. The skylanes buzzed with freighters, couriers, and industrial traffic, lights blinking like stars on a leash. He kept to the outskirts, away from the regulated corridors, skimming low where the air was thinner and the lanes were less crowded

Ace sensed Rheyla before she said anything. He stayed silent, letting her speak when she was ready. She seemed like she was back to her normal self, sort of. He could hear the pain in her voice.

He smirked, eyes remaining ahead "It's nothing fancy. Just basic stuff." his words hung for a moment before he continued "Smuggler named Red showed me a few things back when I was a kid."

Ace had never told anyone that, it sort of just... slipped out. Weird. Red had shown Ace how to take off, dock and fly a little. If it ever came to a dogfight, performing aerial tricks or evasive maneuvers though? He'd be out of his depth.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice low but tender. "Sorry you took a hit back there."

He didn't know what to say really. Ace still felt guilt and remorse over what happened. He'd asked her to come, challenged her to, and she got hurt. Maybe he should have looked out for her better, dealt with that killer droid faster. Something.

Whether Rheyla answered or not, Ace followed up with another question "Where's your ship docked at? I can drop you there."

Rheyla Tann Rheyla Tann
 

She studied him for a beat longer.

His answer wasn’t what she expected.

“Just basic stuff.” Sure. But the way he said it—like it wasn’t supposed to mean anything—only made it mean more. Then he added the name.

Red.

Not a name she recognised. Not one he’d mentioned before.

Her brow twitched, barely noticeable, but there. A flicker of thought behind her eyes. She didn’t ask. Just catalogued it. Quietly.

People didn’t drop names like that unless they mattered.

Instead of prodding, she let her head ease back against the cockpit frame. Eyes half-lidded. She wasn’t comfortable, not by a long shot, but she’d settle for stable. The hum of the engines helped. That and the fact they weren’t currently spiralling into a building.

So far, so good.

He didn’t push either. Just asked if she was alright.

She glanced at him, then down at her gauntlets. Her fingers flexed faintly where they rested on her knee. The bacta was holding—but barely. A hard turn would probably knock something loose.

“…I’ve been worse,” she said. Flat. Honest.

Another pause, and she added, “It wasn’t your fault. I could just have said no” No sharp edge. No smirk. Just a pained calm. He’d asked her to come, yeah. But she’d walked into the fight. Like always. And she’d taken worse hits for less. She could feel him looking. Not staring. Just… present. Listening. Like he wasn’t sure if she meant it.

"Don't look at me like that, Sparkleboy, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself," She smirked, but immediately regretted it. “Bay 23,” she said after a breath, leaning against the doorframe with a faint wince. “Upper ring. Just past the Freeport Strip.”

She shifted, then let her back rest fully against the frame as her legs gave out beneath her. With a quiet hiss through her teeth, Rheyla slid down to the floor, one arm wrapping lightly around her ribs.

“You know the one—black hull, mismatched engines, smells like burnt caf and bad luck.”

Her gaze flicked up toward him, lekku twitching faintly, watching him fly the ship, but keeping quiet.

 

Location: Bonadan - The Vergeworks - Sector 9G


Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27
Rheyla told him it wasn't his fault. Was he that obvious? Well, Rheyla was gifted in her own way. She didn't need the Force to know how people were feeling, she learned to read people in her own way. The little micro-movements in posture only she could catch, the small changes in expression, the words you didn't say. to her, maybe he radiated guilt.

Regardless, what she said hadn't brought him any comfort. For a moment, he turned and cast her a glance - he didn't say anything but his eyes said everything. Remorse. Sympathy. All of it. She caught on too, told him not to look at her like that, justifying she could take care of herself. Ace remaind silent, turning back around to look ahead.

You shouldn't have to do it alone he thought to himself None of us should.

Bay 23 was where she was docked. Past the Freeport Strip. Ace smirked to himself quietly, a twinge of nostalgia panged in his chest. Freeport Strip, that's where Red used to frequent whenever he wasn't at 9G. Would take Ace to the cantina, tell him of his latest smuggling adventure. Ace loved the stories, but loved spending time with Red more.

Then he stopped coming to Bonadan.


"Yeah, I know it." He finally answered "Ugly thing, looks like its one flight away from falling apart." Ace added, smirk unwavering.

To a mechanic like Ace? The Scourhawk was a technlogical marvel, but not the way you'd think. It looked over a millennia old, hadn't seen any sort of maintenance in that time either, and a touch away from blowing up. That was just on the outside.

Its sublight nacelles were scorched, the repulsors lagged half a second behind input, and one of the ventral stabilizers looked like it was glued on with hope. Carbon scoring lined the hull like a second skin, and the hyperdrive hummed like it was held together with parts that had no business being in the same room, let alone the same circuit.

Yet, despite it all, she still flew. Somehow. It reminded him of Rheyla a little, now that he really thought about it.

As they neared Bay 23, Acier began the descent. Recalling all of Red's lessons, he eased off the throttle, angled the repulsorlifts, and feathered the lateral thrusters to level their approach. The freighter dipped smoothly, engines whining as he guided it down toward the landing platform where the Scourhawk waited.


When he docked, Ace turned around in the pilot's chair to speak to Rheyla.

"You didn't have to help me out back there. So... thanks." he paused, deciding on whether he was going to say what was on his mind or not.

Before she left, he stopped her, calling out to Rheyla.

"Give me your contact information. I still owe you food, right?"

Rheyla Tann Rheyla Tann
 

The Scourhawk sat like a wounded beast on its pad—scarred, asymmetrical, and somehow still upright. Rheyla stared at her ship through the viewport for a moment, expression unreadable.

“Ugly thing,” he’d said.

She didn’t disagree.

But something in the way he said it made her glance sideways again, just long enough to see the smirk that hadn’t quite reached his eyes.

He’d flown smooth. Not perfect, but better than she’d expected. And for once, she wasn’t bleeding out in the back.

Progress.

The freighter settled with a low hiss as the docking clamps engaged. She didn’t move at first—just breathed in the quiet, watching the light shift on the floor.

When he turned and told her she didn't have to help him out, she scoffed softly through her nose. “Don’t get used to it.” But the words didn’t have teeth. Just a frayed sort of weariness, like the fight had bled most of the sharp out of her for the time being.

So… thanks.

That earned him a longer pause. Her eyes stayed on the console lights for a beat, then dropped to the floor.

“…You’re welcome, Sparklyboy,” she muttered.

Simple. Honest. And only a bit of cheek.

When he asked for her contact info, her brow ticked up faintly. “You really keeping score on dinner after all that?”

She made a show of considering it. Then reached into her belt pouch, pulled out a small, battered comm tab. Flicked it once, scrolled through the presets, and tapped her ID code over.

“Don’t lose it,” she said, offering him the chip between two fingers. “It’s not like I give that out to just anyone.”

A pause.

Then her voice dipped just a little, dry as ever.

“…And if you do try calling me for anything other than food, I’m blocking you.”

She pushed herself up from the floor with a quiet grunt. Still stiff. Still sore. But upright. One hand braced briefly on the wall as she passed the threshold—then she was gone, boots echoing down the corridor, back toward the Scourhawk.

 

Location: Bonadan - The Vergeworks


Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27

She told him not to get used to it. Ace smiled at that, but it still didn't quite reach his eyes - it was more reactive than genuine. However, what came after had completely caught him by surprise. Ace blinked twice.​
“…You’re welcome, Sparklyboy,”

There was no bite, no sarcasm or Rheyla's usual tone behind what she said. It was actually... genuine. She must've been hit harder than he'd initially thought.​
Ace leaned back and folded his arms when Rheyla attempted to keep him on edge with giving him her ID code. If she didn't wanna give it to him, he'd be saving credits anyway. Eventually, she would 'relent', and ended up handing over her details. Not without something snarky added to it.​
Taking the chip, he looked at her with a raised brow "Must be lucky, huh." He said, tone dry and coated with sarcasm.​
“…And if you do try calling me for anything other than food, I’m blocking you.”
"...What?" he responded, puzzled.​
She didn't say anything as she left. Ace swivelled the pilot's chair back facing the viewport, scratching his temple. Genuinley confused he wondered what she was even talking about. Weird.​
Rheyla was gone now. He didn't take off straight away, just sat there. Thinking. His fingers traced over the ID chip she'd giving him, mind replaying tonight's events. Tessk's body was so clear in Ace's head, it almost felt like he was back at the Sunspot plant right now. He could still smell charred flesh and smoke, hear the ominous humming of his lightsaber, and see the Trandoshan's lifeless body below him.​
Ace shut his eyes tight and shook his head, hoping to shake the imagery out of his head. Sighing, Ace then scanned the cockpit - hoping to distract himself in some way. Guess this freighter really was his now. It was surreal in a way, finally something to call his. Not only was it an easier method of transportation, but a mobile home now too. There was no need for motels anymore.​
Guess all there was to do now was name the freighter. He thought back, Red's stories, the Freeport Strip, the foxes that darted through the shipyards at night. Always quick. Always watching, but never caught.​
Ace smirked, for real this time. "Flickerfox."
He typed it in. Watched it blink across the screen. Then leaned back again, arms folding behind his head, eyes on the stars through the viewport. Yeah, that felt right.​
-END-
 
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