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

[Voroll]

Blue eyes searched into the growing black pupils that were @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda]’s as the colour drained from his otherwise tanned face. It was a phrase that always seemed odd to hear, but to actually see something as close to truth as now, Voroll could understand why it did make such an impact (if only relatively) on lives.
His eyebrows furrowed when the Mandalorian walked closer to the window and leant on it. For that second he did not follow, but allowed time for whatever happened to hopefully wash away. Maybe it was some bad food Galaar had eaten earlier, or a lack of caf – since he went on about it a lot.

But then came the apology. Why did he feel the need to say sorry? Unless the sight of Voroll had made him feel physically sick.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” he started, leaning slightly to the right to try and catch a glimpse of himself in a reflection on the screen. “That would happen to me as well if I saw myself.” He laughed slightly, stepping forwards to the glass-punching thousand year old, trying to lift spirits.
It was an odd situation, where Voroll could not tell anything that was going on inside the head of this man. He had been left blind; unable to guide his way through visual and audio cues instead of just knowing. It was a strange feeling, not knowing what exactly to do or how to help. So all he could do was lean his head against the glass, too. He thought about thumping it, but decided that would hurt his fist and probably do damage to his knuckles.
Although his head stayed in the same position, it twisted slightly, so that he could see Galaar’s face and arm. Voroll’s lips pursed and eyes seemed to widen slightly, which just looked like he had pulled a face.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar looked back at Voroll as he made the face, or seemingly made one that is. He couldn't help but smile again, a much more genuine one though, one of thorough amusement and relief. One more deep breathe was expelled from his lungs before he pushed off the glass and reached out for the other male's shoulder.

"I assure you, it was not your face... You're," he paused and stuttered for a second, suddenly nervous. This was a situation Vau's training couldn't help him with; he had just broken down and was still in the same room with the emotional cause, but he wanted to be. He needed to stay, he needed to pick his fears apart to survive. "Rather handsome, Vo'ika, in all actuality." The latter was a mere whisper that left his tongue. It was compliment to his friend, companion, but also a stab at the fears that plagued his heart.

"If you were the cause, you'd know it." Humor. Military humor. Indicated by a wink.

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

Voroll’s head remained planted against the transparent surface that looked out to the stars while @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda]’s moved. The smile was more than enough to make the emotion-blind Empath feel better about the situation. At least he had done something right.

Voroll gently shoved Galaar’s shoulder in response to his words. Truly unsure of what he could have done to not leave things in an awkward silence. A smile flickered up and a laugh escaped the lips of the Templar, evident that the shove did not have hostile intentions, more jovial.
“Oh? How would I know if I were the cause?” The smile remained safe in its place. His head finally moved from the screen, leaving a flattened, slightly red imprint on his forehead after doing so. He turned and walked towards the exit, very, very slowly.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar grunted in mock pain as his shoulder was nudged, acting like Voroll had killed him for a second. Then the Empath turned to leave slowly and the clone turned to watch, responding to the last thing the man had said.

"I would get aggressive, in some way or another." He grinned, it was meant as a joke and a serious comment at the same time. He then started off after the Templar, catching up to him rather quickly.

"Where to next, Vo'ika?"

@[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

When @[member=Galaar Tal'Verda] finally caught up – just as the rucksack full of alcohol had been pulled over the first of Voroll’s shoulders – he started with a quieter voice, conscious of those refugees around the pair. After all, the two had been laughing and joking in a place that was the only space for some of these people to think, somewhat aloud (at least emotionally).
“That reminds me, I want to know what went on with you, Calico and whoever else with the Confederacy. I’ve come all this way out here, risked my future as a Templar as well. I think I deserve to know.” Despite his choice of words, a faint smile was plastered across his face throughout. It became apparent that such harsh words may be intended, and the smile made more obvious to indicate a loose juxtaposition: grating speech contrasted by a mischievous grin.

 

[Voroll]

Following a time-skip of a good few hours

Voroll had finished dressing himself, wearing yesterday’s clothes that, quite frankly, could have been worn longer than just the day before. Despite this, he had the hope that he would encounter the same people twice on the way back to his ship. He liked keeping himself looking clean and well-dressed and would usually only wear the same clothes if he could get away with it.

His head turned to Galaar after he had mentioned something peculiar; he had said Voroll’s name fully. Not shortened it and added the diminutive ‘ika to the end. His head cocked slightly and, even though he could not pick up the emotions of the man who went to find his armour, he knew from just those letters, the fuller name, that he was upset. Or at the very least less happy than he had been just an hour ago.
He did not want to hurt his friend – it made him feel horrible inside. Nor did he like to see people upset, especially if he caused it. His head lowered slightly, staring at his dark, matted, boots while waiting for [member="Galaar Tal'Verda"] to show him out. Should he have lied? Should he have told Galaar only what he wanted to hear? No. That could have made the future all the more awkward should anything further occur. He liked their friendship and enjoyed the past few hours the two had spent together, drinking and other activities. A lie could potentially destroy it all. Voroll did not want that to happen.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

The clone headed to the hanger shortly after Voroll, clad in his Katarn armor as usual. His head was a mess, a bloody mess of booze and emotion. Vau would be so ashamed- No. I'm one of Bralor's not Vau's. Lately, the man always came to him. In either violent flashbacks or abhorrent nightmares. It was at this moment that Galaar realized how similar he was to the man who tormented him the better half of his younger life. The thought physically sickened him for a moment as he remembered the beatings that he and his fellow trainees had to go through at the smallest mistakes.

Did that really make me stronger Vau? I feel pretty weak.

He was helmet-less as he entered the hanger and his strill was beside him this time. He had the best smile he could have on. "Glad you waited, Vo'ika." He was still upset, but he did his best to hide it especially because Voroll wasn't the cause... Galaar was. He strode to stand closer to his friend, Voroll would like notice the fact that he had something in his hand. He would hold it out as if for Voroll to take it, exposing it as a small datachip that would normally be inserted into a comm-link. "Here a present. This is to get into contact with Calico if anyone comes after you while I'm indisposed."

The simple tone of his voice made it sound like something was up, as if he were taking a long trip and not sure when he would return. His mouth opened again and words flowed out in the shape of a metaphorical bomb.

"I'm turning my shebs into the CIS."

[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

“You’re saying that like you half expected me to have gone already.” He uttered a slight laugh, humoured by it more than insulted. But it was difficult to insult the Empath, or so he made it seem. Since the feelings of this particular man could not be determined by usual Force-aided means, it left only words and facial expressions, maybe body language – if Voroll knew any worth knowing – to explain how someone really felt.

The datachip and explanation for said item of technology “while I’m indisposed” thoroughly confused the Esselian and to some extent scared him. Why would he need to contact Calico? What was that crazy [di’kut being the only word Voroll could think of] going to do? Surely he was not going to try and do something that would potentially leave him exposed to dangers more-so than being a clone and former-DreadGuard.
Visibly Voroll’s face dropped, all form of expression – even the confused eyebrow raise had widened on both sides – other than that of complete shock. His mouth opened, if only slightly, and his heart started to beat faster until it was racing. He knew not what to say. What could he say?
“Wh-what? No, you can’t!” All of a sudden a flurry of feelings filled the head and heart of Voroll. All interlaced and all seeming to be indescribable without another. It was a truly horrible feeling, especially since they were all his own, not those of another’s heart. “You’re still haryc b'aalyc, aren’t you?” A fair few Mando’a sprung to mind with the sudden up rise in feelings towards this.

[member="Galaar Tal'Verda"]

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

He knew Voroll would be against it, he knew it in the pit of his stomach since he was first informed of the bounty by the man the night prior and as he got into his gear in the morning. What he did not tell Voroll as that as he got rigged up, he had researched what exactly the bounty had entailed or at least skimmed through it. He knew it would bring about unwanted bloodshed between bounty hunters and Concordians.

"I was haryc b'aalyc. I've shot myself up with adrenaline now." The clone elaborated and shrugged like it was near every-day experience. He closed his eyes and opened them to try and explain himself; he owed Voroll that much.

"Its my job, Voroll. That bounty is out and I need to prevent any bloodshed. Someone needs to return the stolen hardware and someone needs to take the blame. That's my job, I've always protected Calico. I need to protect you now too and the Concord. I'm a soldier." It seemed Galaar carried the weight of the whole flotilla on his back, the whole world. He was passionate about being the protector too despite how unhealthy it must be. It was what motivated Galaar to take a blaster to the head as well. "You have the right to know that, especially after... everything. But I beg you Vo'ika. Don't stop me, don't tip Ca'ika off for at least a week."

His eyes would gaze back toward Voroll's, a pleading expression to them. He wanted to do this. He needed to. His hand would reach out and rest on the other man's shoulder again unless he prevented it. "I'll survive. I always do, I'm too unlucky to die. But this is my destiny. Jate'kara. I'm sure of it."

[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

It must be the alcohol, Voroll thought. That and the shots of adrenaline. It’s messing with his damn mind. But as much as he toiled against the thought of [member=Galaar Tal'Verda] going back to the CIS, not for redemption, but to be arrested and interrogated and probably tortured, Voroll could not shake the feeling that his friend would be okay, eventually.
Soldiers did that kind of thing; put themselves on the line for those they cared about, and those they did not. Galaar had been bread a solider, lived it all his life. He even mentioned earlier that the time he spent with the Esselian were one of the few where he felt human. Everything was drilled into him, like a machine. A living, feeling, machine – obedient and faithful and logical and going to get arrested. The thought was almost too much.

Change the thought.
But it was no use. At first Voroll felt like he had a lump of food stuck that had not been swallowed properly, in the middle of this throat; catching on every breath and every sound he made. But he had not eaten in over 12 hours. There was nothing that could be stuck there. Then his hands started to shake, not violently, but enough to notice. Then, his vision blurred and images distorted. Colours remained the same but the face of Galaar had shifted and moved, as if edited by software.
He tried to speak. He tried to tell Galaar, oya, good hunting. He attempted to speak Basic, but nothing happened.
He wondered if he was crying, which was verified after his hand moved to his eyes only to catch the clear, tears filling beginning to overflow from the lids and ducts and run down his cheek. Galaar’s hand, by this point, had been placed on Voroll’s shoulder, who moved in close to embrace the taller, armoured man.

A mixture of emotions surged through his body, making him feel alive, more than anything. He was angry and sad, but the worst part of this entire situation was the fact that he was crying. Actually crying. He did not want to let go, knowing that it might be the last time the two see each other, despite being in the same area of space. He did not want to risk the future of his friend while he was there, present in the same sector, the same planet or maybe even the same building.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

On instinct the clone wrapped his arms back around Voroll's shoulders as the Empath embraced him. On instinct and the fact that he saw tears before hand... He could feel his own heart beating, thudding against the cavity of chest and armor like a drum and once more, he could have swore he saw a shadowy familiar figure across the hanger, staring at them with malevolent eyes. Galaar was scared, scared in a way he had never been before except with his brothers. He was afraid of losing the man who was now seemingly tearing up against his chest.

He closed his eyes, trying to force back the stream of emotions that was boiling under his normally calculated eyes. Galaar was good at what Vau taught him, he was generally emotionless except for snide humor with any one other than his brothers. He was failing here though, he had failed holding his emotions back the minute Voroll stepped foot onto the ship. However, he still couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing.

He went to open his eyes again and the shadowy, hallucination was closer, standing right behind Voroll. He wanted to panic; he wanted to let the fear take hold and fight it. But instead for once, he submitted to the fear and if Voroll allowed he'd bury his head into the smaller male's shoulder as they embraced each other and wouldn't let go until Voroll did. "I won't let go until you tell me. Vo'ika. I promise I'll see you again. Ori'haat."

The soldier would then linger in the embrace, waiting for his friend to release first. Tears now slipping down from his eyes too. The thought of never seeing Voroll, the closest friend he had outside of the Dread Guard, outside of clan, was nearly too much for even a hardened soldier such as a Clone Commando to handle.

[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

He did not let go. Not for a good, long while. The tears had run down his cheek onto the armour and shoulder of [member=Galaar Tal'Verda] and his sobbing had stopped completely. But yet he hung there, in the arms of the armoured clone.
“Good,” he smiled, eyes glistening from the coating of tears while the surrounding area of his face faded back to a normal colour from the flush red. “Because I won’t be letting go yet.” He laughed; through his nose, the breath quick and shallow, lightly audible with a closed smile across his face. His laugh.

When, finally, Voroll felt it was a good time to let go – after spotting various beings staring at the pair, who had embraced each other for a good five minutes or so – he gave a heavy breath and gently started to push away. Although it was not a “get away from me” push, but more of a release.
His head cocked a little, tiling to the side, at the darkened lines from where tears had rolled down Galaar’s face.
“You cried?” Eyes had switched from one line to the other and then back to his ‘friend’s’ deep brown eyes. Flicking his hand mockingly at the armoured shoulder, he continued: “You big wimp! You’re meant to be a soldier, no emotion, no crying. Nothing!” When it was said he stepped back a little, imitating the flexing of muscles, despite it having little relevance to many activities soldiers undertook. Voroll’s tone had changed along with his emotional state. It seemed happy and jokey: his own humour (what he liked to call sarcasm) had made its return, indicating-at least outwardly-his acceptance of Galaar’s decision.

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

His fear still loomed over him, even if with his head buried in Voroll's shoulder. The few minutes felt like calm, comforting hours in the void of space. He didn't recognize anyone around him, slag, at the moment he didn't care who was around besides the man standing in front of him. It was a level of focus he normally only found looking down the scope of a rifle and it was nearly ecstatic to feel that somewhere else.

Voroll's humor only made him feel better, the fact that the Templar was able to joke lifted a weight off his armored shoulders. He replied in much the same manner after giving his eyes a hasty wipe. "You're one to talk Vo'ika!" The clone huffed and let his eyes linger on the eyes of his friend, his confidant, no, Voroll had more importance to him at this point than just that. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep, heavy breathe letting the air seep from him like a tidal wave of energy. The shadowy figure was most certainly gone.

"If--- No, when I get back. You want to go see a bolo-ball game, glimmick concert, anything along those lines?"

His gaze nearly immediately locked back down with Voroll's with a small grin pursuing his lips.

[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

Out of the all the time spent together, most of it Voroll had been either laughing, smiling, or just staring into [member=Galaar Tal'Verda]’s eyes. After so long it had begun to take a toll on his face; aching the muscles due to so much use. Days like that were good days. Full of happiness and joy. They were days that Voroll lived to see.

“Hey, I’m allowed!” He smiled, the glint in his eyes indicating that the sarcastic tone was about to continue in its seemingly ever-presence. “I’m an Empath, I’m just displaying all the emotions of these people around me.” His hand moved around to the many beings ferrying items to and from areas in the hangar bay, going about their daily business. But as he finished his explanation he shrugged his shoulders, trying to display it not being his fault.
Voroll stepped away from Galaar, following an imaginary, small circle that lead him back to facing the armoured captain. There will be no if – which was rightly corrected – there will be a return. Just whether or not it would be in a body bag was the ultimate question. The thought was quickly shaken out of mind when a glimmik concert was mentioned.
“I’d have to take spice before I could understand bolo-ball,” his face dropped into something resembling confusion. The sport had never really been understood, which had been mentioned, by him. Although there were few occurrences when learning the rules were actually attempted, all of those times were with the Younger of the Pair’s Father back on Esseles. “Although music is always good, for anything, especially dancing.”

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

Galaar made a deep gruffing noise at Voroll's explanation with a grin. However, his response to the Empath was rather quick and had, what seemed to be, a delighted undertone to it. "We'll go out dancing then. I'll warn you though, I've never done any dancing outside of the Dha Werda." A chuckle soon left after that and he gave a grunt.

"I have a favor to ask of you though," he crossed his arms and then looked down at a certain grey dog-like creature next to him. It made a loud chuffing sound and looked back at him as it sat on its haunches. Strill were rather intelligent animals and it most certainly knew something was up. "Would you take care of Lor'ika, Cabur for me?" It was a big request, especially from a Mandalorian to a non-Mandalorian. Strill were nearly revered for their hunting prowess and stalwart companionship, just like the ideal Mandalorian.

"I can provide a data-pad on it's schedule, diet, Mandalorian commands. Ca'ika doesn't like animals very much." His brown eyes fell back on Voroll as to await the Templar's answer.

[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

The Dha Werda? Voroll did not know if this was a place, or a dance. But decided it did not really matter that much.
“You’ll be fine!” He answered, a statement that covered either of the two meanings for the name. It was said with a wave of his hand downwards, since Voroll’s ‘dancing’ was not anything notable or rhythmic in many ways. Although he did not let [member=Galaar Tal'Verda] know that.
Favours! He was not often good with favours, especially when it was something such as looking after a smelly rat-dog-thing. Voroll, too, looked down to it when it was mentioned.
His mouth opened a little, shocked by what was said about it having a schedule and a diet. He hoped it was not too specific, since his own diet was hardly ever appropriate for a man his size. When his head lifted back up to face his friend, eyes were already on Voroll, dying for a response. There was no way he could turn down the smelly rat-dog, but a number of excuses did flutter through his mind: “my starship’s too small”; “I’m allergic to animal fur”; “my landlord doesn’t allow pets”, but none seemed acceptable. Well, maybe the fact that Voroll, disappearing from Bothawui to return with CC-252 Galaar’s strill could seem a little suspicious.
“Yeah, ‘course I will. I didn’t know it had a schedule, or a diet, though.”

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

"Its more of a list of what not to feed the lazy chakaar and to take it hunting at least once a week." The clone was overjoyed. Someone whom he could trust would be taking care of his strill, which to Galaar, family. His gaze fell back on the creature which now responded with a low-pitch chirping noise. Galaar then stepped forward again, closing there distance once more to hand Voroll a small datapad.

However, if allowed he would do something more. Galaar attempted to lean in and bump to forhead's together lightly. It was a symbol of respect and affection in Mandalorian culture, reserved only for Clan Members, Lovers, and Dear Friends or joyous celebration between comrades after a long and arduous battle. It was a mirshmure'cya. The act wouldn't last more than a couple seconds and afterword Galaar would straighten back up with a minor blush under his tanned cheeks.

"Thank you Vo'ika. I owe you more than words can say." It would be rather obvious that accepting the favor Galaar asked went quite a long ways. "Ori'vor'e."

[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

Breathing a sigh of relief, knowing what not to feed an animal was much better than knowing what to feed it, which was infinitely easier than feeding oneself. Hopefully, with it being a hunting animal, it would not need much food: the thought occurred to Voroll that it would catch enough to last the week, if properly stored and cooked, if it needed cooking anyway.
Voroll seemed to look away, off into space, imagining the possibility of attempting to physically pull a kill from the rat-dog’s jaws. It did not seem to be a pleasant situation in his mind, evidenced by the quick blinking that [member=Galaar Tal'Verda] could see.

Voroll’s head moved back to its original position when the brain kiss was initiated by Tal’Verda. Enough movement to ensure both foreheads touched as they should. He expected an attempted kiss, but was relieved when it was just a Mandalorian gesture. Eyes closed for the minute that their heads made contact.
“You owe me nothing, Galaar.”

 

[Galaar Tal'Verda]

"No, I owe you a slagging lot." The clone uttered before pulling away from the contact. Every fiber in his body wished that he and Voroll could linger together for years long. However, every fiber told him Voroll needed to go soon; for his own safety than anything.

He took a couple steps back and looked Voroll in the eyes, that is, if the Empath looked back. "Stay safe Vo'ika and no matter what you hear about in CIS custody. Don't try anything that could get you killed, eh?" Voroll's safety was one of the many reasons he was doing this after all. The last thing he personally wanted as the man risking himself. "Your ship has been re-fueled and I'll have the strill delivered discreetly to your apartment. I still have buddies here and there on Bothawui."

He couldn't believe this could be his last time seeing Voroll if the CIS decided to go Galactic Empire on him. He just couldn't, Galaar was used to thinking the worst about everything but all he could think about now was the best case scenario.

"I'll see you soon. I promise."

[member="Voroll"]

 

[Voroll]

Apparently there was no argument: Galaar owed Voroll a lot. Although the Latter could not determine how much since the word slag had an incredibly different meaning, back on Esseles, than what the Former meant. Context was a great help when it came to Basic.
The touch had ended and heads parted ways, back to their respective posture, but almost immediately Voroll looked towards the taller man in the eyes, which were looking right back.
“Like I ever don’t stay safe and endanger my life?” His shoulders rose up as if to shrug the original request off as a fallacy, but the tone in which he spoke suggested otherwise. It was still humour, Voroll’s form of humour. It may have been truth, disguised as sarcasm – which seemed to be the only method of communication he chose. “I’d say the same, but you’d ignore that and are already putting your life in danger by going back.” He knew no word for friend in either Mando’a or Basic or his old Esselian dialect that would ever mean enough for how he actually felt. Words were just words, despite their ability to convey meaning. He found no word could accurately describe this meaning he searched for enough to do it justice. So he said nothing.

He turned and started to walk towards the open entrance to the starfighter that had been graciously re-stocked with fuel. The start of speech caught his attention and he turned back to hear them all.
“You better, or not even the Gods of the Moross will be able to protect you!” His voice raised among the hangar so that nearly everyone could hear him. He smiled, preferring to leave on a high note rather than anything else. Before stepping into the obscure, unlit cockpit he waved a final goodbye. The final goodbye. Possibly for a long, long time, but hopefully not.

[member=Galaar Tal'Verda]