Private Off-Duty

[Mauve]

Attire

Music
​

The eye-watering neon lights of Nar Shaddaa flickered in the persistent night. Mauve waited in her skytower condo, overlooking the city below, a hand on a hip.

She’d no idea if CT-312 would actually answer the call. Technically, she had no right to “borrow” the woman for a “mission.” Especially since there was no mission. Well. Not one the bodyguard would understand.

Should she feel guilty for the manipulation? Terrible at how she toyed with the emotions just to get what she wanted? Maybe.

Mauve drained the glass of Perlemian Red and poured herself another, staring listless at the sea of lights below. Wondering if she would hear the chime of her doorbell announcing an arrival, or if she would spend another evening with the bottle. Not the worst outcome. There was a new episode of Love In the Core.

CT-312

 

[CT-312]

//: Mauve //:
//: Skytower Condo, Nar Shaddaa //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:​

CT-312 disregarded the stares she received from passerby and the residents of the Skytower as she made her way into the turbolift. Let them look. It wasn’t anything new to her. Civilians always stared. Even those who contracted her. CT-312 knew she stuck out like a sore thumb. Armor didn’t belong here. Not in the middle of polished floors and soft lights. Especially not hers. Camouflage plating dulled by dust and wear, out of place against all the glass and chrome of this place. Or maybe it was her weapon being openly carried. Either way…

Her gaze stayed forward. Posture rigid. The weight of her gear settled on her shoulders as naturally as breathing. The mission briefing flickered on her HUD.

<:// Location: Skytower Condo, Nar Shaddaa //:>
<:// Assigned: Quinn Varanin //:>
<:// Temporarily Reassigned: Mauve //:>
<:// Solo unit. CT-312 requested. //:>
<:// Instructions: N/A //:>

Just a name. Mauve. CT-312 sighed, a slow exhale fogging the edge of her visor. 'Lent out by the Princess.' She reminded herself. For a mission. No details. Just a destination and the implication of duty. Such as it was.

'...Mauve...’ The name clicked. The host of that art gallery, the one from a while back. Also the host for the First Galactic Kaggath Tournament. CT-312’s memory recalled, piece by piece. Why Mauve? The woman had her own bodyguard— Antar. Why request a Scout Trooper when she already has protection? He seemed plenty capable enough.

She recalled seeing the Princess speaking with Mauve. The conversation hadn’t been hers to overhear, but she now wondered what promises might’ve been exchanged. ‘Doesn’t matter.’ CT-312 dismissed the thought just as she dismissed the stares. It is what it is.

The duffle bag in her grip felt out of place. Her fist clenched the strap for a brief moment, before relaxing. The Princess had insisted on bringing a change of clothes, just in case. Civilian attire. The idea of it was uncomfortable. But CT-312 complied. Tsk. Orders were orders and it was still within protocol. ‘Camo and armor probably isn’t Mauve’s style.’ she thought dryly.

Her eyes looked at the address again. Confirming. ‘Civilian residence?’ Personal. It felt strange. The Scout was used to drop pods in the middle of combat zones, not skytowers and private condos. Maybe the city was too crowded for anything else. Subtly shrugging her shoulders. Too many eyes and ears around, perhaps.

A soft chime snapped CT-312 back to her surroundings. The door slid open as turbolift reached its floor. As she stepped out, boots muted on plush carpet. CT-312 paused. Looking down. ‘...’ Dirtied combat boots and fancy clean carpet didn’t go together. Taking a sharp inhale, she continued until she reached the door ahead matching the coordinates. Standing still for a moment, drawing in a steadying breath beneath her helmet.

“Let’s get this over with.” CT-312 muttered to herself. A mission is a mission.

Pressing the doorbell. Waiting. No response.

For a fleeting second, she entertained the idea that maybe Mauve wasn’t home. A handful of seconds passed on by. Then, out of caution or habit CT-312 rang it again. A beat of silence hung in the air as she waited.

 

[Mauve]

The door hissed open in front of CT-312, revealing Mauve leaning against the frame, a glass in her hand. Lilac eyes roamed over the trooper's armor and Mauve arched a brow. She poked the trooper in her armored chest with the tip of one lacquered fingernail.

"My knight in camouflaged armor. Almost didn't see you there."

Her lips curved into a smile.

"I should tell you before you come inside... I lied about your mission."

She looked toward the ground, eyeshadow a scintillating shade of deep purple.

She trailed her nail up over the trooper's armor, until her hand rested loosely on a pauldron. She looked into the emotionless visor, her own reflection staring back at her, coquettish.

"You're not here to... to be my bodyguard..." her bottom lip pushed out in a pout, "You're here because I wanted to see you. That probably sounds silly."

Mauve looked away again, eyes downcast. "I'd understand if you just left..." A soft little, sad little, stupid laugh left her lips and she pushed away from the trooper and turned, retreating inside the condo, where the lights shone a low red across the shape of her. A half-turn of her neck. Eyes looking over one shoulder.

"So... are you coming inside?"

CT-312

 

[CT-312]

//: Mauve //:
//: Skytower Condo, Nar Shaddaa //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:​

At the hiss of the door, CT-312 immediately snapped at attention. Back straight, eyes forward. Silent and still. As she opened her mouth to report in. Nothing came out. Eyes blinked once. Twice. Mouth closed. She hadn’t expected to see Mauve leaning against the frame, glass in hand. A picture of effortless confidence and something more… calculated beneath the curve of that smile.

The tap of a lacquered nail against her chest plate drew CT-312’s gaze downward. It echoed louder than it should have. Jaw clenched. Silent. This wasn’t protocol. CT-312 could feel the touch through the armor, as absurd as that sounded. Her muscles tensed beneath the plating. An instinctive flicker of unease rippled through her.

"My knight in camouflaged armor. Almost didn't see you there."

She remained silent. Visor blank and unyielding. ‘...That’s a first.’ remembering the countless camouflage remarks over the years. CT-312 finally opened her mouth, “CT-312. Reporting for duty. Ma’am.” making a point to emphasize it. Duty.

Then came the confession from Mauve. The Scout stiffened a fraction. A barely noticeable shift. Her brows furrowed beneath the helmet. The words hit harder than they should’ve. Processing. Her grip clenched on the duffle bag.

As Mauve’s hand moved. Nail tracing upward, skimming over metal. Slow and deliberate. CT-312’s fingers flexed at her sides. Resisting the hard-wire urge to intercept the hand. To create space. She hated being touched. Unfamiliar. Too close. Too soft. Touch wasn’t part of the life she knew. Only orders, missions, and firefights. Not this.

Mauve’s hand came to rest on her pauldron. It took every shred of discipline CT-312 had not to shrug it off. ‘No.’ Not to snatch Mauve’s wrist. But she didn’t. ‘Be respectful.’ she reminded herself. Remembered that the Princess had lent her out. CT-312 wouldn’t disgrace her. The Camo Scout held still. Forcing herself to bear it, even as every nerve under her skin screamed and protested.

Instead, CT-312 focused on observing Mauve through her visor. As Mauve watched her reflection, she watched the woman’s eyes. The pout. The play at vulnerability.

CT-312 was unamused.

"You're not here to... to be my bodyguard..." her bottom lip pushed out in a pout, "You're here because I wanted to see you. That probably sounds silly."

It did sounded silly. Silly like a joke. CT-312 said nothing. Instead, only a slow blink. Recalling when she observed Mauve’s and the Princess’s interaction at the art gallery. The Scout learned a little bit of wordplay. Not fully grasping it. But the words Mauve spoke of just now. Sounded dangerous. It sounded like a distraction— and CT-312 hated distraction.

Eyes kept focus on Mauve as she pushed herself away, retreating back inside the condo.

"So... are you coming inside?"

For a moment, CT-312 stayed where she was. Boots rooted. Every part of her training told her to disengage from whatever this was. To report back to the Princess. Walk away. But she didn’t move. Instead, her thoughts churned. The cracks rooted in the soldier's mind unbeknownst to CT-312 splinted a fraction more. She wanted to know what Mauve was really after. ‘A mission is still a mission.’ she reasoned. Even if it’s wrapped in a lie.

Finally stepping forward. Crossing into the space. CT-312 stopped just inside. Unwilling to rack grime onto Mauve’s condo floor. Her visor scanned the space. Windows, exits, the bottle on the table. Half full, maybe more. Maybe less. ‘No threat.’ Not the kind that showed itself at least. Eyes on Mauve. The Scout cut to the chase.

"Is this a test?" CT-312 spoke in a tone clipped and precise. "Does the Princess know your intentions?” A brief pause. "...To clarify Ma'am. There are no orders?" She needed confirmation. "No mission?" To make sure. If there were no orders. No mission. What was she doing here? That was her purpose. There would be no point for her to stay around.

“If that is the case” CT-312 spoke in a steady voice. “I am free to go. That’s what I am hearing.”

 

[Mauve]

The door slid shut behind CT-312 .

“You can leave… if that’s what you want,” Mauve said, with a slightly hurt look.

“It’s not a test though. I thought-“ a laugh, short and breathy, “I don’t know. I thought you might appreciate a real night out in Nar Shaddaa.”

Mauve got out a second glass from a cabinet and filled it with wine.

“Ever the bodyguard, never the princess, you know? Wouldn’t it be nice to be a princess for a night?”

Mauve paused, looking at the contents of the glass. “And honestly, I wouldn’t mind the company. So the mission…” she held up the glass, toward CT.

“…should you choose to accept it… is to spend the night out on the city with me. There’s a place I think you’ll love.”

She pointed her other hand toward the door to the bedroom, where a black garment lay on the bed.

“I have a dress laid out for you and everything. And shoes.”

Mauve shrugged, the glass still held out before her. It trembled slightly.

“But you can go if you want. I just thought it might be… fun. But call me ma’am again and I will kick you out regardless.” Laughter in her eyes, even if there was a nervous tilt to her lips.

 

[CT-312]

//: Mauve //:
//: Skytower Condo, Nar Shaddaa //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:​

The door hissed closed behind her. CT-312 noticed the sound. No retreat. She remained still. Her helmet tilted ever so slightly as Mauve’s voice carried through the apartment. The Camo Scout stood there, still as a post, listening. Registering one after another, slowly sinking into increasing confusion.

“You can leave… if that’s what you want,” Mauve said, with a slightly hurt look.

Want.

That word lingered in CT-312’s head like an echo. What is it you want? It was Imperator Lirka’s voice, cold and penetrating. She blinked, the memory sharp and intrusive. ‘...Want…’ Her jaw tightened. Staying silent. Relieved that Mauve spoke again. Cutting her thoughts suddenly.

‘A real night out?’ Her brows raised behind the visor. ‘Real?’ What other kind of night was there? Were people living through imaginary ones? CT-312 didn’t understand. Civilians and their word games. Their vague twisted language. ‘Why can’t they just be direct.’ Her expression behind the helmet was beginning to scrunch. The Scout let out a quiet sigh, one she could only hear. She still didn’t move. Watching silently as Mauve filled a second glass of wine.

Her helmet tilted again. Yes. CT-312 was assigned escort or bodyguard. That was the current mission and duty at the time. ‘Princess?’ No. That wasn’t for her. That was Quinn Varanin . Why would she want to be that? Quinn is Princess. CT-312 wasn’t created for that kind of role. She barely knew how to be anything outside her kit. Confused. ‘Ah.’ It had to be a joke. Mauve was teasing. Just like the Princess did sometimes. Speaking in riddles to confuse and prod. ‘Funny.’ She’d learned not to challenge them too directly.

A glass was extended toward her. CT-312 stared at it. ‘Does she want me to take one?’ Protocols conflicted in her mind. What was the protocol for… this? Be polite. Raising a gloved hand in a brief polite refusal, she gave a small shake of her head. “Thank you. I shouldn’t.” A subtle gesture. Non-threatening.

Then came choice again. CT-312’s thoughts stalled. ‘Company for the night?’ Did Mauve mean escort in the civilian sense? ‘Escort?’ Her thoughts were starting to become tangled. The wordplay was getting slippery. If Mauve wanted an escort to accompany her somewhere, she should’ve said so directly. Maybe she wasn’t used to giving orders to Troopers. Nervous? Possibly. Or maybe just out of her depth.

The mention of a place. ‘Objective?’ Maybe that was something CT-312 could finally understand. Her attention shifted to the bedroom. Her jaw locked instinctively. ‘No.’ To the garment laid out. A dress. Shoes. Her stomach clenched slightly. The last time someone, Quinn, tried to put her in a dress. CT-312 tried to escape through the lock window. The dress did not survive.

Yeah. No. Never again.

“I brought a change of clothes.” She said flatly, lifting up the duffle bag she brought. CT-312 stepped more into the room. Kneeling down, unzipping the duffle bag with mechanical precision. Without hesitation, she began unfastening her chest plate in the middle of the room. Pauldron clamps disengaged with quiet clicks. Armor slid free piece by piece. This was nothing to the Camo Scout. Life in the barracks, in the field—changing gear fast, under fire, or around others. It was routine. Changing in the open was normal. Necessary. Half undressed, CT-312’s black undersuit hugged close to skin. Her helmet still worn, lower half in place.

Then— CT-312 froze mid-movement. The Princess did say something about privacy. ‘Right. Civilians.’ She looked up at Mauve, nodded once. “Apologies.” simple and flat. Gathering up the rest of her gear. She stepped toward the bedroom to finish changing. When she returned, the lack of armor was odd. Civilian clothes. Leather jacket, white fitted shirt, dark slacks, and white sneakers—minimalist, but enough to pass. CT-312 reached to adjust the tie, but stopped. Remembering the Princess’s orders. No tie if I’m not there, 312. She didn’t know why that was an order, but it was. And orders were orders.

CT-312 undid the knot, slid the tie off, and folded it neatly into the duffle bag alongside her armor. Her hands hovered awkwardly for a moment, fingers flexing slightly as she adjusted herself to wearing plain clothing. She looked up at Mauve. Helmet off now, face still half-covered in the lower mask. Eyes unreadable.

“...Why me?” CT-312 asked in a low voice. Uncertain, not suspicion. Just honest confusion. “There are better soldiers. Better conversations. People who understand all…" She gestured vaguely towards the wine, dress, the city lights through the window. "this." A low sound escaped her. Barely a breath. Dry and amused. “Also.” CT-312 added as she glanced at Mauve with a faint tilt of her head. “You need to be better at giving direct orders. Soldiers don’t do well with riddles.”

She paused. Glancing down at the faint trail of dirt her boots earlier on had left behind. CT-312 blinked once. Then looked back at Mauve. “...Where do you keep the broom?” She asked plainly. “Or vacuum. I’ll clean before we go.”

 

[Mauve]

"Oh."

Teeth scraped across a lower lip. Her mouth felt dry. She set the second glass of wine down, took another sip of her own.

Violet eyes drank in those features. The dark hair, blue eyes. The mask. They were roughly the same height. Mauve taller in her heels.

The Watcher from Rodia. I knew it.

The trooper seemed to have next to no understanding of social cues, let alone graces. If Mauve admitted she enjoyed the view, did that make her truly awful? 312 did not understand. That was becoming more and more obvious. Mauve felt a slight tightness in her throat. She smiled through it.

"Don't worry about the dirt. There's a butler droid around here somewhere. It will take care of the mess."

Mauve tapped a finger on the glass, thinking.

"You're right. I should be more direct with you. I asked you here because I think people see you like an object. A toy soldier. I know what it's like to have people look right through you... to- well. I just know what it's like. And I think you deserve a night without being anyone's toy soldier."

The Zeltron took a step forward. The scent of jasmine suffused the room. Mauve reached out, slowly, and put a hand on CT-312's arm.

"So yes, you can leave. If you stay, your mission for tonight is to be free of responsibilities. And if you're saying I have to order you to have fun, well, I'm not above it." A coy twitch of the lips. "Besides, I still owe you a drink from Rodia."

CT-312