Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring Banana Phone!

[Voroll]

The incidents concerning and revolving around the girl, Akala, and her fiendish cohorts, caused many a great deal of psychological trauma. Few sustained injuries as dangerously near-fatal as @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda]’s shot of condensed, charged energy to the head after everyone seemingly awoke from a dream-like state of sand and parties and war.
It was a personal injury – despite not being inflicted on anyone other than him – which many of the Confederacy’s personnel felt. None more-so than his ‘brothers’; the Force-Dead Dreadguard. They had been through thick and thin, battles and operations of both public and possibly clandestine nature that built up a bond of brotherly love and created a tightly-knit family.
Just like a family, each member had their own unique personality. Each brought something different and new to the table. Each had feelings (not that anyone who used the Force could tell) and each had dreams. Galaar could have a multitude of them, yet all were seemingly splattered across the floor, like blood from an open stab-wound, when that bolt hit.

Every now-and-again, when Voroll had the time spare, he would try and find out where his friend had been taken. The facility’s location had been hidden from Aspirant-level terminal access and only those deemed on a “need-to-know” basis were authorised to travel there. Unfortunately, the Empath was not as comfortable around the rest of the Dreadguard as he was with Galaar, leaving him to only pick up titbits if the downed-solder was mentioned at all.

News travelled quickly through the Confederacy, especially through the Templar HoloNET channels, and news of many members had been mentioned over such channels regarding defecting and leaving for an undetermined place in space. Of course Voroll had no intention of following those who did leave, but his interest spiked when his friend’s name had been mentioned via a third party Templar whose name escaped the twenty-one year old.
That came as a shock. Honestly, Galaar was not known to Voroll as well as could possibly be done, but regardless of that he was still one of the few people in the entire East of the galaxy whom the Empath considered a friend. He needed to see what had happened.

When he got back to his apartment on Bothuwai, Voroll flicked his gaze over numbers on small, square flimsi sheets stuck to his wall over the holographic communications device in one corner. Written, rather roughly, on them were the frequencies he had needed during his time here. Some were more personal than others, Galaar’s included. He hoped that the clone still used it, despite these rumours of him defecting for another government.
The frequency had been entered and a small pod rose from out of the highest point on it and took a scan of him. He walked to the centre of the apartment, where a large blue square was displayed. It fuzzed as the frequency was dialled.
“Come on… answer…”

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

The Holo-Link would go through and on it a fuzzy image of Galaar, in his full armor but with some changes standing on what seemed to be a command deck of sorts. There were people in mismatched uniforms entering and exiting the three dimensional image now and again. The changes to his armor were rather clean and simple, instead of the old dapple camo it was replaced clean detail. The man was unhelmeted, his scarred face peering directly into the cam.

"This is a frequency I hadn't expected." His expression was entirely serious and then suddenly turned to that goofy, karking grin that he normally wore as if he didn't have a care in the world and was thinking of nobody save the person he was looking at. "Vo'ika, you honor me with you call. I figured that you'd be on the task force to find intelligence about us since we got up and left. Me'vaar ti gar?"

That, was the Mandalorian way of asking how are you, and it literally translated so. Another point Voroll would likely notice was the fact that Galaar had only two weapons on him right now, his Deecee and a lightsaber hanging from his armor's utility belt.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

When the image of the scarred clone appeared, typically blue and occasionally fuzzing, a smile flashed across Voroll’s face. Sudden relief filled his body: the fact that @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda] still had this frequency in use was lucky enough, considering what it could possibly lead to. But then just as quickly as the heavy weight fell from the Empath’s chest it was replaced with something just as familiar. Fear. What would actually be said between the two? Who could be intercepting this and would Voroll be held responsible for it?
Of course none of this the recipient of the call could see, nor know, and the Esselian did not intend to bestow upon his friend this information.
“How could I not call you?” He started. Of course Voroll did not call him at all when he was recovering in the medical facility, despite his wishes to. Now could be a time for sarcasm, but considering the circumstances, Voroll thought against it. “I’m so glad I haven’t been issued any orders of the sort. I genuinely don’t think I could do it.” He paused, stepping to the side a little. It was then where the lightsaber had been spotted at Galaar’s belt. Head cocked and blue eyes shot back up to meet the brown, in an unasked question.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar's smile went from its goofy, standardized variant to a more genuine one with concern but happiness to see an old friend. "Give me a second... I'll transfer this to a secure link and move to my quarters so we don't have to worry about lazy chakaars spying on us, eh?" Galaar turned and audibly shouted a couple orders before the connection cut out.

A few moments passed by before another link began buzzing Voroll's holo-pad. If Voroll answered, it would again be Galaar with the same smile on his face. "I'm glad you called, ad'ika, I meant to get in contact with you but all of... This di'kutla roba meat popped up on my plate and I had to clear it." The clone stretched his neck and plopped down on what seemed to be a sofa of some sorts. He was obviously in a Captain's cabin.

"The lightsaber is an all friend's by the way, from the Order, back in the Clone Wars. Regardless... I could send you my position and you could take a shuttle out here, we could grab some drinks. 'Less you do prefer holographic images of me." It was a joke, a bad one but a joke none the less.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

When the communication was dropped – for that brief minute while @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda] changed to a more secure channel and for more private talking-space – Voroll strode over the Wampa-fur rug on the floor to check his appearance in a mirror. It was something he did a lot: check himself in shiny things. He liked to keep himself well-groomed and well-kept. Some may call it vain, whiles others may agree with him.

He moved back over to the centre of the room, fluffed rug underfoot. Of course he only wore thin socks at home, leaving his boots by the door. And it felt nice to have something as comfy and furry on the floor instead of hard, cold stone and metal. It was even better than just wearing boots or shoes altogether.
He waved his hand dismissively as Galaar mentioned about his own lack of calls, it had been an error on both their parts.
“That’s hardly your fault, you’ve been quite busy over the last few weeks.” He smiled, standing fully, watching the clone sat on a sofa. Although there was no strill, something that Voroll had come to expect at Galaar’s constant side. Maybe he was just out of shot, asleep on a cushion somewhere. Or maybe it was just not allowed on the sofa. “But if the government’s monitoring Holo-communications, you’d give yourself away? You did say there would be a task-force after you.” He turned a little, looking to the window behind the large, blue hologram. From the full-length windows Voroll could see an entire city-scape. It calmed him to see as much as he did and to see it constantly busy. “Unless you’d risk that?”

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar understood Voroll's caution, he even welcomed it. A security-wise friend was normally the best sort to have around... But the clone shrugged this time, the two were friends, yes but they had never had any contact with each other off the battlefield.

"I doubt they'll send a task force after me actually... I only did what was in my rights as a living being. As one of the Mando'ade." Galaar remarked and rather passionately too, as if on some personal crusade of his own design.

He paused, for what to him, seemed like hours. he never liked Holo-Calls, he always preferred meeting face to face an instinct that his old training sergeant Waylon Vau had imbued in his very being. "I'm in Omega space right now, along with the flotilla. I'll ping the exact coordinates... To answer your question: Of course I'd risk it. Friends are typically worth risks."

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

“That may be true, but did you not just up and leave?” He did not know what had actually happened and maybe these questions would be answered shortly, but maybe they never would. Regardless, the offer to fly off into… Omega space? As in, the Omega Protectorate? It was tempting, to say the least. Now with the new starship, Fanny, space could be traversed quicker and easier, with less payment. And a flotilla. Now that was interesting.

The co-ordinates did ping, but came through on a smaller handset, which was linked to the main apartment’s device. The datapad, which was not on Voroll’s person, made a bleep from the other side of the room.
“I think I’ve just got them.” He smiled again and turned to walk over to find it. The holo-call continued even while the Empath disappeared out of shot, and then he came back, datapad in hand he did not check them, since they made little sense to him. Droids were for that sort of thing, plotting co-ordinates. “I’ll set off shortly. Should I need to pack anything?” He smirked into the projection device and leaned slightly on one foot.

@[member=Galaar Tal'Verda]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

"Anything you want Vo'ika, mind you I'm not asking you to leave the CIS, that's not what our government is about at all. You're free to come and go once you arrive. Oh! Actually, on the packing thing, some booze of any sort would be remarkable. We lack drinks here at the moment."

Thank dead Mando gods I still have friends out there.

In all honesty, Galaar needed as many friends as he could get. As put together as the clone seemed he was one step away from a mental ward at any given moment, especially with the hallucinations he had been having as of late. At least this wasn't one.

"I'll have the hanger cleared for your arrival, ad'ika."

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

“You’ll have to tell me about this government you’ve created. And the flotilla. Actually, you’ll probably need to tell me everything, whether you want to or not.” He smiled and turned to face to the left, into a large open-plan kitchen. There he kept a cupboard filled with bottles of alcohol. He pondered to himself for a moment, despite staying in shot. He thought of all the alcohol-deprived beings on a group of starships with no planet to call their own. “Kark, really?” His head turned to look back to the holographic Galaar. “But then again, I guess most of you will have to be flying some form of starship and… I doubt that can be successfully done while drinking right from the bottle.” He walked out of shot, leaving only the fur – which appeared blue – to be projected into the cabin of the Captain. “You’ll have to ration it out!” His voice still projected, although it had faded somewhat. Hopefully evident that he had gone to collect something.
This was proven when he reappeared holding numerous bottles of various forms of alcohol. Many of which were coloured, some were clear and others were dark and black. They were big bottles, and open. Voroll liked to drink.

He had managed to pack the bottles into various bags, one of them a rucksack and at least two others were typically used when going on holiday. Filled only with the bottles. If this were the only genuinely good thing he did: provide alcohol to the poor souls in need of it, then Voroll could live happily. After finding the fanblade starship docked close-by, he mumbled to himself, wondering if he had ended the call or just left Galaar waiting for his return. Hoping for the former, the twenty-one year old loaded the starship full of the ‘supplies’, entered the co-ordinates and set off. Of course he did not enter hyperspace while still in the atmosphere, since that could cause catastrophic damage to the world.

When finally Fanny fell out of hyperspace near the co-ordinates, Voroll dialled the frequency that Galaar had previously called from. Hopefully he had not moved from the cabin.

@[member=Galaar Tal'Verda]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

"Oh, I do enjoy long conversations." Galaar stated over the comms before Voroll left to take his multi-hour journey across the stars. It was a joke of course and Galaar was indeed rather happy.

The first sight Voroll would likely see as he dropped out of hyperspace as a collective of ships hovering over a Protectorate world. There were two frigates and several corvettes a seemingly unimpressive flotilla. However, what made it stand out was the fact that each ship had its own colors and symbols painted across it, there was little uniformity and only a couple of the ships were of the same model.

One ship in particular would stand up, a grey, old star destroyer frigate. It was an Ardent-Class, famous for its service under Thrawn, Pelleon and other New Republic Admirals, Voroll would almost more than likely recognize the ship. For it was formally owned by the Fel Empire, it was the flagship of the now disbanded Pheonix Legion. It was the Thundering Spire, it only had one new attachment, a giant strill painted on each radius of the hull. That had to be Galaar's ship.

Voroll would get hailed by two fighters that pulled up beside him, one a retrofitted X-Wing and the other, an old Nubian. They would direct Voroll to the right hanger, in which Galaar was awaiting before going back to their patrols around the flotilla. If two words described the fleet assembled they would be Mandalorian and Jury-Rigged.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

The triangular design of the Ardent-Class Fast Frigate brought back some memories, especially since this particular one was one of the few that Voroll served upon before the fall of the Imperium. He had served along with Ius Company and Phoenix Legion who used it for deployment across the small sector of space that the Fel once occupied. They were good memories, happy and very heart-warming. Those were Voroll’s first moments in the outside galaxy, in the fledgling footsteps of the wider world and all that it contained. It was the birth of his adventures.
It had now painted on it, what resembled, the dog-like creature that the Mandalorians called Strill. Of course Galaar captained this particular ship. The strill was his animal, so it would make sense that two mismatched fighters directed him to the hangar bay of that particular ship.

He retracted the fans as he closed in, and spun the ship so that he did not need to when he eventually took off. The engine shut down and the ramp was lowered. He decided to keep his blaster rifle and lightsaber hilt in the fighter with the logic that he would not require either of them on his person since he would be seeing a friend. Loose-fitting, comfy, clothes adorned his body, much like the popular fashions of Bothuwai at the time. Rucksack on, travel-cases pulled behind him; one in each hand, he stepped down into the recently-cleaned hangar bay. He smiled to the man he had not seen in what seemed like half an orbit. He would have waved, if hands permitted it.
“It’s nice to see you’re not dead.” He laughed a little, remembering the blistered wound at the side of Galaar’s head during the Akala incident.

@[member=Galaar Tal'Verda]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar stood a little away from the landing fighter with his arms crossed and grin on his face. He was clad in his Katarn armor still, minus the helmet. The armor had also been changed, instead of its old dapple camo it was now adorned with blue detail lines around the joints and down the center of the chest plate, while still bearing the Mandalorian Mythosaur skull, the Fox on the right shoulder, and the hawk on the left, it was polished and buffered and looked like it had just come off the racks.

The whole ship buzzed with electricity, people in mismatched uniforms and some without them at all hustling around the hanger and all of it was enveloped with a sense of purpose so tangible it could be felt by any force user in the air.

"Su cuy'gar." Galaar stated and then wandered up to Voroll to give him a firm squeeze on the arm. It was a traditional Mandalorian greeting. "Ehh... Apparently I'm hard to kill! Every chakaar that's tried has seemingly failed, even my vod." The clone was grinning ear to ear, a contradiction to his physical appearance. His face, while still scruffy looking very similar to as it had when he was shot, no sign of a head wound at all.

"Either way Vo'ika! Welcome to Liberty Concord and my ship. I trust you had a safe and easy journey?"

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

The polished armour, at least to Voroll, was the symbol of change. Although he did not know whether it would be positive or negative. It was a nicer design than the previous set. Simpler. But it looked as if it could have been a completely different person, if it were not for the four scars running down his face. Something that the Empath did not know about @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda] was how those came to be, but never once were they mentioned – so never once were questions raised.

As he strode across the hangar bay, the smile was retained. Sure, it was nice to see an old friend after a long period of not, but it was also nice to know that everyone in the same room wanted to be here. They enjoyed being here and doing what they were doing. Most of all, they retained their identities, evident from the clashing colours of differing uniforms and armour sets.

The squeeze of the arm was firm, just as he had expected from the Mandalorian. But it was something that Voroll few times ever experienced: a handshake quite like it.
“Su cuy'gar to you, quite literally!” He returned the phrase, having brushed up on bits of Mando’a in free time and during the journey. Voroll had said hello twice, but that did not bother him in the slightest. He turned, completely around when Galaar formally introduced him to the Liberty Concord flotilla, and the Thundering Spire. He spun and smiled. “Unfortunately I was attacked by ravenous… or chakaaryc’e.” He stopped after saying it, smiling and hoping that his pluralisation of nouns was correct.
He unzipped one of the cases he carried and showed Galaar the mass of half-empty bottles. He did not open the entire case, since the cargo would fall out and possibly smash onto the floor. But he smiled as he displayed them.
“I brought presents!”

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

The Mandalorian couldn't help but smile wide as his friend spoke his language, the language. "Mandokar." He stated after Voroll did, he wasn't sure if the Empath knew but it mean that he had the 'right stuff'. He had what could make a Mandalorian, and he met it. Each time he had met Voroll the man managed impress him some way or another.

This time Voroll would impress Galaar with his generosity, the Templar had brought a whole case full of various drinks and called them presents. They were indeed such, they would go along way for moral, Galaar's in particular. "Dead Mandalorian Gods Vo'ika. I'd think you were trying to give me alcohol poisoning." After word he winked, indicating it was a friendly joke. The clone then offered a hand to help Voroll by taking a case before turning to exit the hanger.

"I'll have it cleared so you have full access to the Thundering Spire and possibly the rest of the Flotilla if I can wing it. You're a guest after all. I'll give you tour as well if you'd like." It was obvious that Galaar trusted Voroll with the whole deal, regardless of the fact that they may have been being hunted by the very faction the Templars are connected to.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

Mandokar? It sounded like a good word, despite not having spotted it in the translator before. It contained Mando, so surely it could not be anything bad since a negative involved either dar or some form of prefixed – and hyphenated – n. If it had been anything negative, Voroll decided that @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda] would have not smiled as much as he did when it was said.
It was something, again, that Voroll would have to look up.

The response about the alcohol broadened Voroll’s smile. So much so that his eyes began to squint; the muscles pushed upwards from the unopened smile.
“Only if you drink this all to yourself within the next few days,” he laughed a little, continuing. “Plus, this is my entire ‘collection’. Most of it is cheap stuff but some is more expensive. I have none back on Bothawui now, so expect me to arrive when I need a drink.” His smile retracted a little and while his tone did not change from the completely joyous one, the over-arching feeling that he was being really quite serious began to shine through.

Then the conversation seemed to turn to a more serious note. Although Galaar may not have realised, or intended to, Voroll suddenly felt very wary of his presence here. He had no issues with seeing a friend who had, to some, deserted the military for his own freedom. But he had issues with how these freedom-seekers would perceive him being here at all. If they would be cautious of him, considering the fact that the Templar still remained just that. He also had dreadful thoughts of what might happen when he returned to the apartment Confederate space; if the government had actually listened to his call or if they would be oblivious to his ‘collaboration’.
“As kind as that is, Galaar, you can’t give me access to the entire flotilla. I pose too much of a security risk, especially with this bounty.” He handed one of the cases to the Mandalorian and followed him out of the hangar bay into the ship filled with memories.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

"You don't have to leave it here... You can always take it with you." Galaar responded rather quickly to Voroll as he explained it was his whole collection, he couldn't help but smirk at the man. "Never knew you drank that much, worse than Death Sticks Vo'ika." He gave the young Templar a friendly bump to the shoulder to show it was most certainly a joke. In all reality, the clone likely drank more and he knew it. He just hadn't any as of late.

Then matters most certainly did shift serious as Voroll denied the idea of having full access. It confused him and made him worried, however, the mention of a bounty nearly made him freeze as if he had just seen a ghost. "Har'chaak... They put a bounty on us? Us? Its rather dangerous for you to be here..." His voice lapsed off as if he meant to speak but couldn't find any words but the ones that had just strayed from his lips. It saddened and shocked him as if he had just been hit by a thousand PEP blasts in one swoop. It wasn't the bounty that did so, it was the fact that he was endangering Voroll, his friend, his comrade but also the fact he would never get to see the clones in the Confederacy again... He'd never see Scythe, Nine, and Kage... His dear adopted White Job brother and even Isley. Is'ika.

"I never meant to endanger you. We just wanted freedom, we wanted what we were never given before. Most of us aren't even soldiers, about 50,000 of our current numbers are refugees that had joined."

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

“It would see no use if I kept it all. At least this way some other people get to enjoy it more than I can.” He smiled, even with the nudge, glancing over to Galaar every so often. “The only difference here is I never made any money from alcohol.” He laughed, quietly and not for very long, giving off the impression of highly questionable truth. Although Voroll had gotten rather adept at slipping in things like that; whether it be sarcastic or genuine reality, conversations seemed to just breeze over it.

When @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda] started to get more serious – as evident from his pitch and tone rather than the recognition of emotions – Voroll tried not to let the sentiment linger. If nothing of that bounty was mentioned, the conversation would not need to be changed. So he skipped ahead a little bit, leaving the Captain of this starship to catch up of his own free will.
When he reached the end of the hallway, one which seemed to confuse the memories he had of serving on this vessel when it was commissioned in the Fel Navy, he turned around and smiled to the scarred Captain.
“Everyone wants to be free, Galaar. But come on, I want to see the observation deck.” His smile seemed to become a permanent feature on his face while in Galaar’s presence.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Voroll switched the subject before he could dwell on it. He was normally good at avoiding hitting those emotions regardless, but the fact that a bounty had been placed on them left a cold, bitter taste on his tongue. The taste of betrayal.

He shook his head though to clear it like a rattling bowl of dirty water before following after Voroll towards the Observation deck near the bridge. It wouldn't take them long to arrive and one they did, the Clone was smiling again. Voroll's attitude was intoxicating in its carefree nature, something Galaar normally was and because of such. It made it easier to be himself.

The deck offered a view of the galaxy, unblocked by any object save a couple frighters and fighters of the flotilla milling about. The collage of stars made a rather soothing picture and the room itself was calm, other than a few soldiers here and then going about tasks or spending their freetime. Galaar strode to stand next to Voroll and grin out at the stars. "Har'chaak. I've been to so many worlds and the galaxy never ceases to amaze me. Back on Kamino, if I ever had free time, I used to research random worlds. It was a rare treat like caf or an ujj cake from the Cuy'val Dar." It was the little things that mattered to a man like Galaar, he had spent all of his life as a soldier one way or the other. He never had the chance to enjoy holovision, kids games, restaurants, or even leisure reading. His hand went to rest down on the saber on his belt, brushing it before letting the hand fall slack and his gaze to shift to Voroll.

"What about you? What was your childhood like, Vo'ika. Slanar bat."

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

The case rumbled along on its wheels – something which Voroll was never too sure about; having wheels on a case instead of it using repulsorlift technology. Although he had only bought them from a cheap shop back on Esseles before he moved from his parent’s house and into the city to begin his life. It did not really bother him, though. It was a much cheaper option and they had remained in good condition for a number of years. Although he wondered if the rumbling and occasional clinking of bottles inside bothered his companion, @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda], since he also pulled one along. If the noise did not, would the vibration of the handle? Every small dent in the flooring, or rise, pushed or pulled the handle shook it numerous times.
But then again, starship interiors were designed to be smooth and flat, probably for reasons like this.

When they finally reached the observation deck, it was peaceful and quieter than the rest of the busy frigate. It probably offered one of the few reprieves that this new system could allow, after hopping from sector to sector to avoid being caught up by potentially-dangerous authorities and to provide the security and safety from those who would try to take up money for the capture of the Concord’s leadership.
Just like everyone else who arrived, Voroll left the bags he carried somewhere near the door, allowing the complete freedom from their weight on both his shoulders and arms. It was like troubles had been deserted and he was suddenly almost-weightless.
For that brief moment before he became used to the lack of weight, he realised how these people must have felt when they had heard of this flotilla; to drop the ‘shackles’ of governments breathing down the back of their respective necks. To be away from ever-present eyes and laws that may not make sense, nor be fair. To be uplifted with souls sharing the same desires – to be floating through space, with no weight pushing down ones shoulders, anchored to a planet or small group of them.

But when he wandered past them (when walking through the hangar bay and through the corridors and even now), they did not feel like that. They were hard-worked, tired and stressed. Each refugee, as Galaar called them, had laboured for everything that could be done to provide some shelter and… refuge… for like-minded beings all across this galaxy. They had toiled, and still would, against governments and organisations who disagreed with them, what did not share their views or their wishes. But they were certainly not broken, nor too tired to carry on.
It had obviously been difficult for these people. The Liberty Concordants, which Voroll liked to think of them as.

He strode up, catching up to his friend staring out of the large screen that probably covered half of this room. Whether it was some form of reinforced glass, or just some images projected across the face of the wall were unknown to Voroll. Of course the latter would be easier to handle, since there could be no break-ins, no need to replace the windows if they were damaged or cracked. But seeing real images were more magical than seeing live-feeds of them.
The urge to grab a space suit and just float outside of an airlock with Galaar started to grow. It would be more real to see the stars in person. To aimlessly float through the stars with little but their own presence there to disturb it. Galaar’s voice pulled Voroll back into reality. It was a dream that maybe, one day, would come true.
“Surely just researching a world is not as good as actually seeing it, or actually going there?” He said, between Galaar musing and his question. “My childhood…” after a pause he continued, “It was, extensive, to say the least. Sometimes I miss being a child: the ability to just do whatever, pretend whatever and dream as much and as silly as I could. But it’s good to grow up.” He knew that Galaar had turned to look at him with those deep brown eyes. When finally Voroll had finished talking, he glanced at the Mando, smiled and started to laugh a little, before looking properly. Eyes locked.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

He watched as Voroll's eyes connected with his, they locked together, stuck there. A wave of emotions soon flushed over Galaar with a torrent both good and bad memories as if his head was just dipped back water and the reflections within it were all his own. Needless to say it scared the ever living kark of the clone despite how much he didn't want it to. He felt as if he were falling in his own head without anything at all.

Then he returned to reality and the first thing he saw was that Voroll's head was gone with his body and replaced by last image he saw before frozen in carbonite by those slagging droids. He saw the terrified face of his brother and the droid behind him with its spider like appendages dragging him away; to add insult to injury he could even hear the shouts and voices. What Voroll would see his Galaar blank out, his eyes dilating before coming back too and a pale color flushing his face.

Galaar turned back toward the window suddenly, collecting his thoughts and trying to process the mental cataclysm that had just occurred. Even his worst nightmares were never that vivid and without thought he leaned head and forearm against the glass and gave a deep, hollow breathe. Oyxgen filled his lungs again like a cooling fluid over a horrible wound and color returned to his tan complexion.

"I'm sorry... I, har'chaak!"

His fist rather abruptly slammed into the glass. Anger in response to the fear, and pain in response the missed moment and his guilt to the man next him.

@[member="Voroll"]