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Private Parting Ways

"The Misfit. One and only!"


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Somewhere In Wild Space | Aboard The Mothership
Tags: Jos Krayt Jos Krayt


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The black canvas of a duffel bag shuffled as the misfit, clad in his armor, hastily went about packing only the bare essentials into his bag inside the well lit space of his quarters; mostly weapons, their ammunition, spare and casual clothing alongside a few other essentials he would need. He had swept clean his room aboard The Vhipirheim. He would leave his quarters in the same state they had given him, nice and clean.

Only difference was boxes of all sizes were lying beside the young Mandalorian’s workbench, filled with all sorts of his personal belongings.

Most of which were tech.

His personal console’s holo-drives wiped clean, its high definition screens were all packed up; the graphics card for his private desktop terminal extracted from its tower, was stored away in another box. He was leaving behind everything he would not be able to carry inside his duffel bag. He no longer had a use for them anymore.

Just like he felt his Clan no longer had a use for him.

Cast away, belittled, his efforts mostly unappreciated; and in the off chance someone did appreciate his skills, it was weaseling. Insincere. He never understood the reason behind the treatment he got from what he viewed as his peers, no matter how long and hard he theorized to come up with a plausible answer for an inquiry so simple, yet its answer so difficult to find:

Why?

Even those not a member of his clan, yet shared the same Mandalorian Creed with him, treated him about the same as the former. Perhaps they did not ever see him as their peers to begin with.

Was he still that young boy to them, to his fellow clan mates, despite his accomplishments, his deeds? The sole survivor they found, hiding in the vents inside a ship drifting unopposed in space, wholly ransacked by pirates, whom his parents lay murdered by them in the bridge? Helpless? Alone?

His head bowed as he stood before his duffel bag on the workbench, The Misfit momentarily came to a pause at the notion in his mind, before tucking away a spare blaster pistol into his bag and continued packing up. It no longer mattered. He had felt like an outsider in an environment that was supposed to be his home, and for a long time.

And he was alone. He was the only one that did not fit in. The Misfit. One and only.

He did not blame them, still. The only possible explanation he found to his troubles was that, somehow, he was the problem. He was the odd one out, after all. Nobody else really got the same treatment he got. The solution to that problem was simple, then.

Parting ways.

The duffel bag’s zipper whizzed sharply as he zipped up the bag. Lifting the bag up, The Misfit carried it over his left shoulder, as he shut the door to his quarters behind him after flicking off the light switch to his room. He left his quarters without a moment’s hesitation, not bothering to leave as much as a note behind. His head bowed down as he walked at a brisk pace down the well lit, empty corridor, the kid bitterly smiled underneath the armored, featureless visage of his helmet; how long would it take for someone to notice he was gone, he wondered.

<A week,> he thought to himself, betting on it as he made his way to the hangar bay of the ship, taking the fastest route there, having committed the entire layout of the ship to his memory. Everyone was either drunk or asleep at the time with only the night crew operating the beautiful vessel from the bridge at the moment; he perceived his chances of being seen by others to be very low, but leaving nothing to chance as was in his nature, he remained on his guard, frequently glancing back from over his right shoulder as he moved.

And even if he was seen, nobody would pay him mind, stop him and ask him what he was up to. He had an excuse ready just in case they happened to do that, anyway. He had carefully planned out all of this for a while.

Now was the time to execute.

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"It's an odd time for a trip away, don't you think?" The calm, digitized voice spoke up from an adjacent hallway leading to the hangar bay. The Kel Dor emerged from his spot in a doorway, dressed in his black robes. For others, reading a mask was useless to recognize emotion. But for any Mandalorian, it was as good as seeing another's face. Whether it was a T-visor on a helmet, or the rebreather of a Kel Dor.

And Kayl would see concern and worry as clear as day on the Kel Dor's face, despite his calm and composed voice.

"I could feel your frustration all the way from the bridge." He muttered as he approached the boy and placed a hand on his back. "I hope you don't mind if I join you." He started to walk with Kayl to the mothership's massive hangar bay, remaining silent for a few moments, taking in the boy's emotions.

"What is troubling you, Kayl? Your heart is heavy, and it pains me to see you like this." He asked him as he looked at him.

Kayl Krayt Kayl Krayt
 
"The Misfit. One and only!"


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Somewhere In Wild Space | Aboard The Mothership
Tags:
Jos Krayt Jos Krayt



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No plan survives first contact intact.

The young Misfit would be reminded of that fact upon hearing the familiar calm voice of his Clan Chief, calling for him by a doorway left ajar to his front, just a few yards down the hallway leading up into the hangar bay; in the final stretch of all places.

Of all the others aboard the ship, he had stumbled into him. At the Alor’s inquiry of the choice of time to depart for a ‘trip’, the young Mandalorian looked up from the floor to meet his gaze as he came to an abrupt halt.

The concern on the Kel Dor's features were unmistakable.

At the unexpected encounter with the Alor, he parted his lips to speak, to voice the excuse he had planned to say when confronted by somebody, but could not follow through with it as the Kel Dor continued, approaching him as he spoke.


"I could feel your frustration all the way from the bridge." He muttered as he approached the boy and placed a hand on his back. "I hope you don't mind if I join you." He

<”N-no,”> a synthesized mutter came out The Misfit’s helmet annunciator as his response. What other choice did he even have? He couldn’t say “yes I would mind” to him, to the Clan Chief, no less. That would have been disrespectful. As he continued to make his way to the hangar at a noticeably slower pace, now accompanied by the Kel Dor, the kid remained silent for a moment. Pondering.

He could sense the frustration within him… He was not aware he possessed such ability. He would have tried to plan for such a detail if he was aware of it prior to the execution of this plan. If that was indeed the case, then, what was the point in trying to hide the truth from him? Not only was the kid unaccustomed to lying, doing so was a waste of effort as it was highly likely to not yield the results he’d sought from such an endeavor.


"What is troubling you, Kayl? Your heart is heavy, and it pains me to see you like this." He asked him as he looked at him.

<”Does it? Really?”> he asked genuinely, his voice bereft of a confrontational tone as he stopped and turned to look at the Kel Dor beside him. <”Because I do not perceive that to be true… Who am I to you?”> he raised a rhetorical question with some difficulty, his voice sounding slightly somber. Conflicted. He felt conflicted now. A part of him felt he did in fact care about him, that he was in fact pained to see him like this, but his calculating mind said otherwise. He was but a single Krayt in a clan, thousands strong. And seeing as he held no significant spot in the hierarchy, logic stated that the Alor barely even knew him. It was surprising he remembered his name to begin with. <”Nobody.”> bereft of contempt, the kid answered his own question without waiting for his response a moment after raising the rhetorical question at Jos. Turning around slowly, the kid continued down his path towards the hangar bay at a slow pace.

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Jos came to a halt at Kayl's question, taken back by it entirely. For a moment he was deathly silent as he took in the boy's emotions. Guilt gripped at the Shaman's heart as he realised what was plaguing Kayl's mind.

"Do you remember when you received your own computer terminal?" He asked him gently. "It was not much in my own eyes. I felt that giving you something else would have been far more precious. But seeing the happiness in you when you learned to operate it and build it up, that was precious. I might not have given it to you myself... I might not have been the figure you needed... but that does not mean I do not care for you, Kayl." He continued to walk with the boy, his gaze on the floor in front of them.

"I do care about you, Kayl. We all do. It might not seem that way, but you are as much family to me and the rest of the clan as anyone else." He looked up at Kayl. "However... I do see my own mistake. In tending to the clan, I try to treat everyone equally. But in doing so, I failed to notice the schism that has been forming between you and your brothers and sisters." He came to a halt again as he placed a hand on Kayl's shoulder. "Please... take off your helmet."

He waited, hoped, for Kayl to do as he asked. He wanted to see the boy's face. "You know this clan. You know what we are willing to do for our own, no matter who they are or how important they are... and I can guarantee you, you matter to us." He reassured him with a warm voice.

Kayl Krayt Kayl Krayt
 
"The Misfit. One and only!"


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Somewhere In Wild Space | Aboard The Mothership
Tags:
Jos Krayt Jos Krayt



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"Do you remember when you received your own computer terminal?" He asked him gently.

A bitter grin emerged underneath the faceplate of his helmet at the Shaman’s inquiry, rekindling many happy memories from the past. Of course he remembered. How could he forget? When he was little, not so long after he was taken in as a Foundling, whenever he had spare time left from training for his Verd’goten, he would satisfy his curiosity for tech. Researching, learning the ins and outs of the terminal, grasping the fundamentals of slicing, and building on top of that foundation of knowledge he himself had made.

As the Kel Dor catched up to him with ease, walking beside him once more, the young Misfit remained silent, taking in his words.


"I do care about you, Kayl. We all do. It might not seem that way, but you are as much family to me and the rest of the clan as anyone else." He looked up at Kayl. "However... I do see my own mistake. In tending to the clan, I try to treat everyone equally. But in doing so, I failed to notice the schism that has been forming between you and your brothers and sisters." He came to a halt again as he placed a hand on Kayl's shoulder. "Please... take off your helmet."

Feeling the Alor’s hand over his left shoulder, the young Mandalorian came to a stop. At his kind request to remove his helm, the kid obliged wordlessly in response. Raising his left hand, to the rim of his helmet, the kid pulled it off free; The Misfit’s young and sorrowful features turned to look at the Kel Dor, holding his gaze as the wise Shaman continued to speak.

"You know this clan. You know what we are willing to do for our own, no matter who they are or how important they are... and I can guarantee you, you matter to us." He reassured him with a warm voice.

His gaze shifted onto the floor beneath their feet as he listened to him in silence. When the man said what he had to say The Misfit shook his head at the Kel Dor’s notion. Swallowing his spittle hard, the kid looked to the Shaman’s visage, raising his gaze from the floor. What kind of family-” the kid came to an abrupt pause as he shifted his gaze away from him for a moment, taking a brief glance at the hallway whence they came. He was trying to muster a bit of courage to continue before looking back at the Shaman before him; he spoke with a hurt voice as his own words cut him to the bone.

”What kind of family treats their own worse than an outsider? Cast away, mistreated, belittled, humiliated, insulted… I’ve humored it for so long. I’ve treated them,” his left hand grasping his helmet still, extended forth towards the hallway they walked down, broadly gesturing at the ones they referred to as family. ”The way I wanted to be treated! I’ve grown used to… to-to their insults, to the humiliation. It wasn’t ‘tough love’ they gave me… their treatment. I have the intelligence to differentiate between ‘tough love’ and actual insults and abandonment. Every time I tried to be a part of the family, I’ve been pushed and shoved away, like the misfit I am! his features contorted with hurt and anger, but not directed to the Kel Dor, nor towards any member of his clan.

He was angry with himself moreso he was with them. He hated the unfairness of it all. He was the problem; that was the only reasonable explanation he could find, as much as he regarded the subject from multiple points of view. No matter how hard he tried, he just could not fit in with the rest of them. He was always the odd one out amongst them.

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the years worth of hurt from rejection, the kid stumbled slowly backwards a few steps, resting his back against the metal wall behind him in the hallway. He gently slid down onto the ground. ”I do not matter to y… To them, he said after a moment passing in silence, massaging his brow with his free hand. ”There isn’t a single soul among them that would feel sorrow if I were to just…” he fell silent, daring not to finish his words. He could not find the courage to finish it, to voice that thought.

”Is it too much to ask to be accepted for who I am? To be treated like family? he asked after a moment, with a heartache sharp and piercing deep into his chest, looking up at the Kel Dor’s visage. He did not expect an answer. With a long, shaky sigh at the wake of a deep breath, the young Mandalorian slowly rose from the ground and back up to his feet. ”I do not ask, nor want you to make this right. This is my fight, and I am not about to ask anyone to do it for me... But I am tired of fighting! I tried for so long I just… I want to belong!” The Misfit shook his head slowly, eyes closed. Taking another deep breath, he looked at the Shaman, explaining his intent. ”This, is… not my home. It’s yours and theirs, but not mine. And I intend to find a place where I can actually call home, wherever that may be. Somewhere, anywhere I feel like I belong to; somewhere I’m not treated this bad.”


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The boy's words tugged at the Kel Dor's heart as he listened to him pour all of his pain out. He never noticed any of this. He never realized how Kayl was treated, when he should have been the first to realize. It shouldn't have been needed for Kayl, or anyone, to voice these things aloud. He should have noticed this from the beginning. He wanted to blame Shai for it all. She was, after all, partially the reason why the clan was as it was. But she was also quick to pick up on this kind of thing. Taking over from her as Alor was a massive responsibility.

"You are not a misfit, Kayl." He regretted the words the moment he said them. But it was too late to turn back now. "You and me... we're not like them. We're not the loud and boisterous kind... but none of that matters. They might not realize it, but you are stronger than most of them. You can do what nobody else can. Please, Kayl... stay. Some fights are not worth taking on alone." His low voice pleaded, but he knew that it was no use. They eventually reached the hangar, but instead of leading Kayl to any other craft, he led the boy directly to his personal Basilisk. "I understand that it does not feel like it... but this ship is your home. I have made a grave mistake, and the others will realize it quickly as well. But... your room will remain as it is. If you ever wish to return, the hangar doors are always open."

Jos looked down and unclipped his holster along with his personal weapon. "It is not much, and it is meaningless now... but take this." He held the special pistol out with both hands to Kayl. "It will serve you well. The Basilisk too. But I mean it, Kayl..." He stepped forward and placed both hands on the boy's shoulders. "I hope that you find it in your heart to return to us. To me." He offered gently as he pulled him into a tight embrace.

Kayl Krayt Kayl Krayt
 
"The Misfit. One and only!"


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Somewhere In Wild Space | Aboard The Mothership
Tags:
Jos Krayt Jos Krayt

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"You are not a misfit, Kayl." He regretted the words the moment he said them.

The young Misfit’s brows knitted at a sharp and impulsive reaction at the Shaman’s words, but as soon as the expression emerged from his features, he softened up upon realizing the Alor’s intent. One brief glance at the Kel Dor's feature was enough to decipher the man's true intention. Even if he lied to him about that, he meant good; he tried to placate him. It was a very kind and a commendable gesture.

But his words were far from the truth; he knew that, just as well as the kid himself. If he was not a misfit, if he had managed to fit in with the rest of their brothers and sisters, then they would not be having this conversation to begin with.

He hated the fact that he bumped into him. He was supposed to slip at the dead of the ‘night’, when everybody was either drunk or drugged off their minds or deep in slumber, without anybody noticing his departure.

The Misfit gritted his teeth in silence as he turned away, walking at a slow pace towards the hangar bay. He felt the painful burn of shame for what he put the Kel Dor through now.

"You and me... we're not like them. We're not the loud and boisterous kind... but none of that matters. They might not realize it, but you are stronger than most of them. You can do what nobody else can. Please, Kayl... stay. Some fights are not worth taking on alone." His low voice pleaded.

Accompanied by the Alor as he continued to speak to him, to try and convince him to stay ‘home,’ they covered the remaining stretch of the hallway leading up to The Vhipirheim’s massive, spacious hangar bay in short notice; the blast door drew back into its housing with a gentle hiss of its hydraulics and soft mechanical clicks, allowing them passage.

The kid listened to him respectfully without interruption and bereft of rash, impulsive behavior till he finished. ”I know, we are different from the rest of our kin, but you’re also different from me as well. I do not have the respect others have for you. You are our leader, someone we all look to for your leadership. And me? Who am I compared to you?” The young Mandalorian asked another question, not expecting an answer in return; that was already clear as day. He failed to see whatever it was the Shaman saw within him. He did not believe he was stronger than most of his kin.

He didn’t even believe he was strong to begin with.

And maybe that was the issue. Perhaps that was the source of his problem for mistreatment; the more he theorized about it, the more he believed that, maybe, he still was the same scared young boy hiding in the vents of a ship left floating in space to them.

Feeling that the Kel Dor was leading him towards a section in the hangar bay, the kid had no other choice but to follow him. It wasn’t long after they came to a halt beside the Alor’s personal basilisk war droid.

"I understand that it does not feel like it... but this ship is your home. I have made a grave mistake, and the others will realize it quickly as well. But... your room will remain as it is. If you ever wish to return, the hangar doors are always open."

The kid heaved a shaky breath as a bitter grin took hold of his young visage. ”Don’t,” The Misfit pleaded to the Shaman, slowly shaking his head. Don’t. You are not to blame,” the kid broadly gestured behind the Kel Dor with his right hand, referring to their kin with the motion. ”They aren’t, either. I just… don’t fit in, is all.” The Misfit kindly stated, hoping the Shaman did not blame himself or others for this rather inevitable outcome.

He had tried, tried and tried to be accepted amongst them, until giving up now. It all seemed futile now. His logic stated that, trying to continue with the Shaman’s help now, going back, would not change anything; quite the contrary, it would make things far worse than what they were now. The Kel Dor watching over him, as if he was some ‘Foundling’ in need of protection from a ‘grown-up’, he would appear even weaker in their eyes.

Maybe even his image and sense of command could be placed at risk. He could not allow the Alor to jeopardize those for his sake.

An intrigued glint shined brightly from the kid’s eyes as the Kel Dor’s visage looked down, freeing his leather holster from his belt, and held it out towards him along with the sidearm of his choice holstered in it.

"It is not much, and it is meaningless now... but take this."

"It will serve you well. The Basilisk too. But I mean it, Kayl..."

The kid stood silent for a moment, his mouth left agape from the unexpected, heartwarming and kind gesture. Did… Did he really care for him?

Bemused as to how he should respond, he accepted the blaster the Kel Dor held out towards him. The Misfit remained silent, his widened, confusion laden dark brown eyes looked at the Shaman; the kid barely stifled his tears as the Alor placed his hands over his shoulders and pulled him into a tight, caring, heartfelt embrace at the wake of his words.

"I hope that you find it in your heart to return to us. To me."

The young Misfit hugged back the Kel Dor in kind with an embrace as tight as the Shaman’s the moment his arms wrapped him into a hug.

He truly did care! It wasn’t just all talk!

His eyes clenched shut to hold back tears as he shuddered briefly to the core at the Shaman’s genuine, heartfelt gesture towards him. A single glistening tear slowly ran down his right cheek as he remained in his embrace for a long time. I promise- the kid paused as he swallowed hard and cleared his throat gently before continuing. ”I promise I will return them to you when I’m… when I’m back, he said, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible, despite the mixed torrential feelings of confusion, anger, and love within him.

"Thank you." The kid would gently pull back from the Shaman’s embrace after a few moments following his promise. Hurriedly slipping on his helmet as he did so, to hide his tears from him as best he can, regardless whether it was a futile attempt to hide it from him or not, the kid slowly approached the Shaman’s basilisk war droid, stowing away the dark gray duffel bag into its small cargo hold in silence.

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Despite his attempts to convince Kayl otherwise, he knew that there was no chance of stopping the boy from leaving. He listened to him carefully, yet he found himself without any argument against what he said. It was the truth. He held the respect of his clan as a Shaman and a good leader. He didn't have the charisma Shai had, or the grand reputation, but he knew how to keep them in line and how to demand their respect. Something Kayl lacked entirely. Standing up for the boy as well would only worsen the situation.

But as he handed him his pistol and pulled him into a hug, he knew that it managed to carry some weight to the situation. A small beacon of hope. A torch in the darkness. It wouldn't keep Kayl from leaving, but it was good enough for him. He felt the boy's emotions well up as they pulled back, though the Kel Dor merely gave his shoulders a firm squeeze. "I await your return, Kayl." He muttered as he stepped back, letting Kayl board the Basilisk and take off.

A hand raised as he stared up at the cockpit, one last gesture of farewell as he watched.

"May the Manda watch over you, Kayl Krayt." He muttered gently as he watched the boy take off through the open hangar doors.

Kayl Krayt Kayl Krayt
 
"The Misfit. One and only!"


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Somewhere In Wild Space | Aboard The Mothership
Tags:
Jos Krayt Jos Krayt

enclavetest.png


"I await your return, Kayl." He muttered as he stepped back, letting Kayl board the Basilisk and take off.

The Misfit’s armored visage dropped at the Alor’s words as the Shaman gave his shoulders a firm squeeze. <”We will meet again,”> the kid replied with a heavy heart, knowing he might not be able to keep such a promise. He did not know what fate had in store for him in his pursuit of finding a place he would not be alienated for who he was. Regardless, it stung him deep to say his goodbyes to the Shaman, now having learned that at least he cared. The kid’s calculating mind never humored the idea, mostly due to the lack of data needed to grasp the regard the Shaman harbored for him.

Perhaps all of this would have been more bearable if he had discovered that sooner, but he had made his decision.

And for better or worse, he was long past the point of no return. He would not go back on his own plan now.

With a slow nod of his head, the kid regarded the Shaman for a brief moment before slowly turning towards the Basilisk War Droid behind him; a marvel of technology belonging to their people, its core design dating millennias back.

It wasn’t long after The Misfit climbed into the cockpit the marvelous machine’s powerful ion engines whirled and eventually howled to life as the kid gave more power to it. Taking one last glance over the shoulder at the Shaman after the canopy closed shut, the kid returned his kind gesture, waving back at him before he raised the collective of the engines.

Generating the power sufficient enough to gain lift, the young Misfit then skillfully steered the Basilisk out of the open hangar bay and into the endless void; soon enough, the glow of the Basilisk’s engines would disappear from the Shaman’s sight completely as the young Mandalorian steered the Basilisk clear of The Vhipirheim before engaging the preparation stage of performing a jump with the Basilisk’s hyperdrive.

As he punched in the coordinates and fed the hyperdrive controls with data to calculate the jump, a brief moment’s hesitation gripped his heart; was he about to make a big mistake? What fate awaited him in this quest to find a place he felt he belonged? Did his years-long frustration and anger at the unfairness of the treatment he got, clouded his judgment?

Only taking a step forward could he learn whether he was right or wrong.

And so he did.

At the blink of an eye, the young Mandalorian translated into hyperspace, marking the start of his self-imposed exodus, hoping to find what he sought, and perhaps one day see Jos again.

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-=End Thread=-​


 

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