daddytoonestrangertomany

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

Don't mind him slumping against Jango like an exhausted oversized child. He needs back rubs and cuddles.

"Missed me much?"

Jango leans into the surface with a dignified slouch — undoubtedly exhausted from a recent hunt. He reaches to take hold of Fox's head, guiding it to fully recline on his shoulder as his arm slithers around his waist to pull him much closer so his back won't strain.

If there's one thing Jango takes pride of, it's propriety and posture. Specially at his age.

His hand would remain over his waist, lingering more than it should. Jango turns his head slightly towards Fox's direction, contemplating on whether to pull him in for hold or let him rest. As much as the first option is indeed tempting, he'd vow to tread lightly with a Fox today seeing as he's made progress as opposed to whisking him away from his opposed when he deems necessary.

@cc1010fox

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

"You could pass as an Alpha. Or a Null." He had always liked them. Unsurprisingly.

"Could. But I'm better."

Jango replies unceremoniously — either it was the proposal that there would even be a form of comparison, let alone competition; or the fact that he's found himself in a more exhausted mood lately. @cc1010fox

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

"I can understand that. Er... Sorry." He hadn't taken to drinking with Kel Dors before — Trandoshians, Duros, Weequays, Palliduvan, among other species who frequent taverns or are prominent in the bounty hunting business, he'd have the pleasure of sharing space. He knows enough they can't thrive on certain atmospheres.

"Reading is not always progressive." Jango replies, pouring himself a drink and taking it in a single toss. He fills up Plo Koon's glass by slipping the bottle's neck through the slit and with his skilled precision, leaves no room for spill.

"I just shot a runaway clone on the knee to stop him from fleeing after refusing to discuss how I could help. Not the best, I know." He wanted to ask for tips maybe, any wisdom Plo could impart because clearly, he cannot go about shooting clones who either want to kill him, afraid of him, or are skeptical of his motives to be a 'dad'.

"I take it that's not the way, huh?"

"Perhaps you and I should give it another go, Jedi. Though I'm not entirely sure if a drink would be a good start."

~ @daddytoonestrangertomany

Plo looks up to Jango and nods. "You are always welcome here." He smiles. "Perhaps just the two of us and a comfortable atmosphere."

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

Bad enough your my donor. I know, kid.

And yet another reminder of why he should have aimed the gun the other way and have gotten over it. But of course, Boba wouldn't like that. The voices in his head would also find it an act of cowardice — at least half of them while the other would cheer in lieu of redemption.

Jango retains his stoic glare and airs his signature verbal affirmation of silence. He kept the gloved hand within reach knowing the wiser decision is geared towards an offer from a hunter who has better accommodation in his ship, supplies, and an ironic form of security from predators considering Jango just shot him.

Gotta work on your parental acclimation Jango. Shooting your kids may not be the best option.

"I don't think I need to remind you that you'll die out here." It wasn't a threat nor was it a statement simply said, at least for him it was an explanation; an elaborate and softer attempt not limited to him tackling Alps and hoisting him over his shoulder.

"Put the gun down, Alps." He takes a step closer — close enough that he is very much not opposed to activating the magnetic features of his gloves to yank the pistol from him. But as the book of parenting that he had stumbled upon says, patience.

"It'll get colder." He inclines his head as if to make a point over the shot knee and the dangers of it being exposed to the cold. @toebeansandotherbaes

@daddytoonestrangertomany

Alps trudged toward the town in the valley, the crunch of melting snow under his boots. It was a small town, one he visited at least monthly to pick up supplies. There was no spaceport, not since the separatists failed their takeover of the planet for the rich minerals in the mountain mines, and Alps was, on some level, okay with being left behind.

Sure he missed his batch, the cadets that the Kaminoans clones from him and then so viciously denied him contact with before his deployment, but he hoped and prayed that 99 would look after them and protect them.

Besides, missing an arm would put him into a position of being less than optimal for the use of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Alps shook his head and shifted his grip on his bag and looked over the town with a smile at least he was alive.

He greeted the locals and walked into the general store trade post, none the wiser of the stranger in town.

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

WIth not even a fraction of a second, the esteemed Westar-34 hummed sweetly onto Jango’s core — enough to assuage the seething vexation of being overtly indecisive on fulfilling the bounty and Alps being understandably ornery.

Shot clean and purposeful —just enough to graze the side of the lower leg and propel the pain within the shin area to send him down on a knee. It didn’t matter whether Alps would draw his own pistol or whatever weapon he’s managed to harbor for survival, Jango still had the upper hand; he had armor, a quicker hand, and a good pair of legs to sidestep should Alps throw a counter.

The ebony vizor burned across where he stood — glaring with but a hint of annoyance and a whole lot of exhaustion, really. With Alps still at gunpoint and the crowd baked in the silence and tension, Jango spoke in his usual brooding manner. “Never said it was an order, kid.”

A moment more and Jango spun the pistol back into the holster. He took a step forward and held a gloved hand out. “Consider it a mandatory invitation.” He pauses, scanning the man’s reaction before he manages to have willed every bit of repression within him to utter his name. “Alps.”

@daddytoonestrangertomany

Alps trudged toward the town in the valley, the crunch of melting snow under his boots. It was a small town, one he visited at least monthly to pick up supplies. There was no spaceport, not since the separatists failed their takeover of the planet for the rich minerals in the mountain mines, and Alps was, on some level, okay with being left behind.

Sure he missed his batch, the cadets that the Kaminoans clones from him and then so viciously denied him contact with before his deployment, but he hoped and prayed that 99 would look after them and protect them.

Besides, missing an arm would put him into a position of being less than optimal for the use of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Alps shook his head and shifted his grip on his bag and looked over the town with a smile at least he was alive.

He greeted the locals and walked into the general store trade post, none the wiser of the stranger in town.

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

It'd be too late to make remark now. Had he knows the General had specialized mask for consumption, he wouldn't had blurted a drink in the General's quarters. But then again, he isn't exactly too keen on getting drunk unprotected — that he couldn't, but he's already merited proportional displeasure from the clones that endangering a much loved Jedi might just amplify that.

"Keep it." He replies awkwardly; not wanting to impose further. He remained by the door and found himself a spot to sit on the floor. He took out one of his pistols and placed the mouth to block the door from fully closing. A small slit enough for a shot glass to be pushed in and out.

He poured the fine, clear, liquid onto the small shot glass and pushed his hand through the slit, handing Plo the drink first. "Kel Dor safe." He adds, still unsure how to start.

"Perhaps you and I should give it another go, Jedi. Though I'm not entirely sure if a drink would be a good start."

~ @daddytoonestrangertomany

Plo looks up to Jango and nods. "You are always welcome here." He smiles. "Perhaps just the two of us and a comfortable atmosphere."

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

"What's the closest coordinates that's Dorin-like?" Jango held a gloved hand over the side of his helm to scan for the nearest area that they could partake in a conversation or a learning experience as a certain friend had advised him to. He's still pretty keen on rectifying his stand among the clones.

The soft mechanical beep within the bucket displays a marked location of a private quarters — made sense considering Kel Dors need sleep to. Does that mean he'll need a mask? Can he sit against the door from the other side?

"I'd prefer a drink, really." He does — otherwise, he wouldn't exactly know how to start. "You room sounds cozy. I can be at the other side of the door. You do drink, right?" @104th-plo-koon

"Perhaps you and I should give it another go, Jedi. Though I'm not entirely sure if a drink would be a good start."

~ @daddytoonestrangertomany

Plo looks up to Jango and nods. "You are always welcome here." He smiles. "Perhaps just the two of us and a comfortable atmosphere."

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

“Alps.” Jango  nods as if his name required approval — obviously not, but he did so anyway. Not that he didn’t hear Alps remark over his sentiments towards the clone and his lack of discretion when hauling Boba to his side and prioritizing him over every single one of his copies, in spite of Boba being one too. Boba is his son; unaltered, pure, and exclusively his.

He remained silent for a brief moment; contemplating on whatever dilemma had now prevented him from pulling the trigger and completing a bounty; a matter between profession and personal. 

“This ain’t a place for you.” Jango states simple — devoid of any form of affection or emotion for that matter; but perhaps, if one would squint really  hard, remorse and hope. “My ship’s nearby. Pack your stuff.”

Not waiting for an explanation or an answer as it didn't matter; Alps were coming one way or another. Be it if he had to drag him to the ship or he’d come peacefully is his choice. One thing’s for certain, he’s not leaving empty-handed.

@daddytoonestrangertomany

Alps trudged toward the town in the valley, the crunch of melting snow under his boots. It was a small town, one he visited at least monthly to pick up supplies. There was no spaceport, not since the separatists failed their takeover of the planet for the rich minerals in the mountain mines, and Alps was, on some level, okay with being left behind.

Sure he missed his batch, the cadets that the Kaminoans clones from him and then so viciously denied him contact with before his deployment, but he hoped and prayed that 99 would look after them and protect them.

Besides, missing an arm would put him into a position of being less than optimal for the use of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Alps shook his head and shifted his grip on his bag and looked over the town with a smile at least he was alive.

He greeted the locals and walked into the general store trade post, none the wiser of the stranger in town.

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

“Misery isn’t stationed in one place, kid.” Only if he could have worded his response in a way that consoled his own resolve — maybe, just maybe, he could have saved two birds in one stone. Keep telling yourself that too, Jango. “Shouldn’t matter what you hear. I take it you’re doing a fine job… Commander Fox.” Be it so whether he did or not, Jango couldn’t shake off the feeling that he is partially at fault — to exist for either misery or death; the context of his deal with Tyrannus. 

He knew of his name as much he knew of his reputation; as much as he knew the weight the Corrie boys carried. It didn’t matter then but it sure as hell mattered now. 

“You’ve a bounty on your head.” He stated simply; regrettably realizing that it is such a contrast to the point he was trying to make. “Rule of the Fetts is to make it more of a deal.” With another huff, Jango reached for his bucket — tucked under his arm as he approached the sat Fox. “I’d say this more with a heart, but I’m not one to lie.” Jango adds, taking Fox by the chin and moving his now tilted head left to right — as if an impromptu inspection. He then unceremoniously ripped Fox’s shoulder plate and discarded it on the ground.

Not entirely pleased with the sight, a quick draw and his prized Westar-34 sizzled as the discarded shoulder plate flew a mild distance and burned a sooted mark right over the insignia; Jango’s trademark gunspin that then holstered the pistol with graceful precision. 

“I’ll give it a week before you’re much behind for them to care. I’ll be sure to bring you back just in time for them to not bother with a replacement.” It wasn’t the softest — truly it was not; but the reality of it all, no one would truly miss a missing clone as much as a dead bounty hunter.

“Now come on.” He threw his head to the side — a motion for Fox to follow; arm stretched open for a carry. “If you pull that “promise” osik again, I’m gonna have to keep you.”

There is truth that with age comes wisdom and patience — though in this case it was just resigned defeat. Jango was tired; tired from a previous hunt that spanned an excess of two, restless days under the necessity that it was meant to look like an accident. It was no difficult feat, but the target was among a largely populated crowd of loyal subordinates, he had to plan which wingman had to be blamed for the target’s fall. 

He was in dire need of a drink. One that would get him absolutely shit-faced just so he can sleep for more than two hours in the ship without the constant fit of nightmares and worry over the nanny-droid that would turn against him and harm Boba. It wouldn’t dare — it would have at least half a mind to know that Jango also was in dire need of a hard-hitting, hand-to-hand combat.

With an ever more deflated sigh, he picked his helm and placed it beside his hap. Gloved palms briefly over his disgruntled, exhausted, face before running it over his crown and back to his nape — letting it hang there while he looked at Fox impatiently yet with such tenderness, you’d think it wasn’t the Prime himself.

"Just tell daddy what's wrong and we’ll figure it out."

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

There is truth that with age comes wisdom and patience — though in this case it was just resigned defeat. Jango was tired; tired from a previous hunt that spanned an excess of two, restless days under the necessity that it was meant to look like an accident. It was no difficult feat, but the target was among a largely populated crowd of loyal subordinates, he had to plan which wingman had to be blamed for the target’s fall. 

He was in dire need of a drink. One that would get him absolutely shit-faced just so he can sleep for more than two hours in the ship without the constant fit of nightmares and worry over the nanny-droid that would turn against him and harm Boba. It wouldn’t dare — it would have at least half a mind to know that Jango also was in dire need of a hard-hitting, hand-to-hand combat.

With an ever more deflated sigh, he picked his helm and placed it beside his hap. Gloved palms briefly over his disgruntled, exhausted, face before running it over his crown and back to his nape — letting it hang there while he looked at Fox impatiently yet with such tenderness, you’d think it wasn’t the Prime himself.

"Just tell daddy what's wrong and we’ll figure it out."

“You’re not.”

Was it a question truly too easy to merit an abrupt response as if it were no pertinent matter? Is it because he had memorized every intonation and cadence of all things encompassing him, Boba, and the clones that it was no more than self-indulgence or pretense to make him what, exactly — feel good? To wash the sins of guilt away by justifying his role as a father to one and stranger to many? If it were that, then so be it. But he was no stranger either — his words vicious; his temper even more so. And yet, there he felt no similar offense as he did when the Kaminoans spoke about his connection to the clones. Perhaps it was easier when they said it; not so much when he said it. 

He. Him. But not quite.

“That doesn’t make you any less of…” Of what, exactly — he was any less of a ‘son’, ‘himself’? It was a hard pill to swallow; a first if not one of the fewest. “Just because I said….” And it will always stop there, Jango. It always will. What was it that you said that has been so daunting? Were it the words you openly spat to separate you and Boba from the clones — or were it ones you couldn’t even let your mind roll through your tongue?

“I just…I can’t. I can’t fly by here every night and see that look on your face. That…. That….” His hand motioned something incoherent towards his own face —an undertone of himself. “That’s not yours to have. That pain.” His brows furrowed — frustration creeping in as his spare balled into a fist over his helm; knuckles digging, grating, tracing the dent on his helmet. “So what’s wrong, kid?”

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

Jango was beginning to wonder whether it was the godly work of the unknown — call it the “Force’s bidding” if you will. It wasn’t much of a core memory as it was something he’d have easily forgotten; losing his son in a sea of identical faces is a different kind of parental panic and fear. What if he had gotten the wrong boy and they decided to play their cards right? Jango was too indifferent to the clones that the fact that his son is also one could have dampened his senses. But before the thought spiraled into a depressive state of paranoia, he merely sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“If I wanted you decommissioned, soldier, it would’ve been done without my need to be here.”

Soldier. Need. Here.

He has a name, Jango. Use it. It won’t kill you.

“I’m not too particular about repeating myself, Tenten.” Jango replies — his tone flat as his hand over the bucket; laced with the other gloved hand that kept the helm from falling. 

Tenten. 1010. CT-1010 is not a name. He knows. 

“Sit.” He pauses, nodding to point at the crate across him. “And talk.”

“You’re not.”

Was it a question truly too easy to merit an abrupt response as if it were no pertinent matter? Is it because he had memorized every intonation and cadence of all things encompassing him, Boba, and the clones that it was no more than self-indulgence or pretense to make him what, exactly — feel good? To wash the sins of guilt away by justifying his role as a father to one and stranger to many? If it were that, then so be it. But he was no stranger either — his words vicious; his temper even more so. And yet, there he felt no similar offense as he did when the Kaminoans spoke about his connection to the clones. Perhaps it was easier when they said it; not so much when he said it. 

He. Him. But not quite.

“That doesn’t make you any less of…” Of what, exactly — he was any less of a ‘son’, ‘himself’? It was a hard pill to swallow; a first if not one of the fewest. “Just because I said….” And it will always stop there, Jango. It always will. What was it that you said that has been so daunting? Were it the words you openly spat to separate you and Boba from the clones — or were it ones you couldn’t even let your mind roll through your tongue?

“I just…I can’t. I can’t fly by here every night and see that look on your face. That…. That….” His hand motioned something incoherent towards his own face —an undertone of himself. “That’s not yours to have. That pain.” His brows furrowed — frustration creeping in as his spare balled into a fist over his helm; knuckles digging, grating, tracing the dent on his helmet. “So what’s wrong, kid?”

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

It took him half a day to return in spite of the bounty being a relatively easy catch. A well-executed Fett Policy should payment not be met — disposing the client took more time than the target.

With the ship's engine a halted hiss and the large ramp closing behind him, Jango — in full armor, takes in the usual rainy comfort of Kamino. Approaching the very establishment that housed not only his son, Boba, but the millions who looked just like him and Boba, he kept a steady path home — if you could call it that.

"Boba?" Jango calls out.

- Leaves a note over a box-full of sweet pastries with a note - I'll be home soon. Love, Dad. @daddytoonestrangertomany

boba opened the box and sighed before tucking in

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

"So I've heard." Cold, cool, and collected had always been the motif of his verbal stride. It would have been the same now hadn't he be plagued with reservation over this mission — an unjustified battle between 'dead or alive' or 'elusive by choice'. The payment was barely his usual, but this wasn't a bounty for the banks.

"Designation?" There was no need for small talk. He could tell as much as he knew the moment he took up the job and looked up the target. The question remains as to whether he intends to act on profession or act on personals; a lifelong separation of state that had kept him most preferred by clients. @toebeansandotherbaes

@daddytoonestrangertomany

Alps trudged toward the town in the valley, the crunch of melting snow under his boots. It was a small town, one he visited at least monthly to pick up supplies. There was no spaceport, not since the separatists failed their takeover of the planet for the rich minerals in the mountain mines, and Alps was, on some level, okay with being left behind.

Sure he missed his batch, the cadets that the Kaminoans clones from him and then so viciously denied him contact with before his deployment, but he hoped and prayed that 99 would look after them and protect them.

Besides, missing an arm would put him into a position of being less than optimal for the use of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Alps shook his head and shifted his grip on his bag and looked over the town with a smile at least he was alive.

He greeted the locals and walked into the general store trade post, none the wiser of the stranger in town.

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

Mandalorian History 101

The following is a simplified timeline of all the major events in Mandalorian history leading up to The Clone Wars. This is compiled from the section of The Bounty Hunter Code dealing with Death Watch and Mandalorian history. It is copywrite 2014, the first year of the new canon. Though the book is not included in Disney canon, it was published after TCW episodes dealing Death Watch and not been refuted by anything in current canon, so there is no reason to believe it is not accurate. 

approx. 7000 BBY - The Taung race (Progenitors of present day Mandalorians) cleanse Mandalorian space of its inhabitants and lay down roots

approx. 4000 BBY - Mandalorians fight alongside the Sith in the Great Sith War, but are betrayed - Mand’alor the Ultimate opens up the creed to their slaves and conquered people because their race is dying out - They begin a campaign for galactic conquest called The Onlaught, but it was more to fill out their ranks with new recruits - They are defeated by the Republic and the Mandalorians lay low for a time

approx. 1100 BBY - Mand’alor the Uniter brought the best and brightest Mandalorians from the throughout the galaxy home - Warriors ruled, protecting the artisans, manufacturers, and laborers who supported them, and the vassals and servants who supported them in turn - The Darksaber is forged by Tarre Vizsla (the only Mandalorian to become a Jedi)

approx. 700 BBY - Mandalorians begin to stir again and the Jedi take up arms, nearly wiped them out in the “Annihilation” - The New Mandalorians who rejected the warrior ways gain power when the Republic installed them in the government - The Aka’liit (The Mandalorian Faithful to the warrior way) lived in the shadows, giving the allegiance to the True Mandalores they appointed

approx. 200 BBY - There is a split among the Faithful – some wanted to conquer any potential threats while others argued against starting wars and living by more peaceful means

approx. 60 BBY - The Faithful chose Jaster Mereel as the True Mandalore, who wanted to implement honorable rules of conduct for all Mandalorians on how they earn wealth by bounty hunting or the red trade - Tor Vizsla, who dreamed of Mandalorians returning to their roots as conquerors, split away and formed the Death Watch, becoming the Secret Mandalore. The Death Watch used the Darksaber (an heirloom of House Vizsla) as a symbol of their authority and made a decree than anyone could challenge the Secret Mandalore for leadership and “win” the Darksaber*

52 BBY - Tor Vizsla killed the True Mandalore, Jaster Mereel - Jango Fett’s adopted father

44 BBY - The Death Watch tricked the Jedi into eliminating the True Mandalorians for them

approx. 44-39 BBY - The Great Clan Wars take place within the ranks of the The Faithful - Adonai Kryze is killed in battle - Duchess Satine Kryze of the New Mandalorians assumes the throne of Mandalore - Tor Vizsla is killed by Jango Fett in 42 BBY - The Darksaber is entrusted to Pre Vizsla, governor of Concordia and the new Secret Mandalore of Death Watch, who takes in Bo-Katan Kryze as his protege

Since the Great Clan Wars take place after the True Mandalorians are wiped out, we know that Adonai Kryze was not part of their ranks. The following quote from Tor Vizsla concerning the Kryze family suggests that Adonai was one of his men, or was at least revered by him. Considering that Tor dies shortly after this is written, it’s not a big leap to see how Bo-Katan came to be on Concordia with Pre Vizsla, his successor. 

“Meanwhile, centuries of New Mandalorian lies had left the Mando’ade weak and soft. One of my kinswomen, the Duchess Satine Kryze, had been sent offworld as a child by her father, a mighy clan warlord, and she fell prey to the lies of the Jedi. After father perished in the Great Clan Wars, she betrayed his memory by becoming the leader of the New Mandalorians. Aided by Jedi tricks, she became the newest Anti-Mandalore, whereupon the exhausted Mando’ade flocked to her banner. Some of our warriors were exiled to the moon Concordia. Others – myself included – slipped away to resume the ba’slan shev’la.” - Tor Vizsla

* The decree that one could become Mand’alor by winning the Darksaber in combat from the current Mand’alor was an invention of Death Watch (in canon and legends), so it suggests a strong tie between Death Watch and the Children of the Watch that the latter is so hung up on this “tradition” when it’s only been a thing for about 70-75 years. 

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

The current bounty was more of a moral conundrum than an addition to his ever prolific yet stagnant reputation of being the Galaxy’s finest. Not that he didn’t care about losing his rank among other bounty hunters or the perks that came with it, but he wasn’t getting any younger. It wasn’t an implication of weakness, but with enough banked on the side and more, a child to call his own — in every aspect of Boba being his own; it would be nice to retire and enjoy the fruit of his labor and trauma.

Someday soon — maybe tomorrow or the succeeding week; maybe never. All that matter was he’d be able to be free soon — liberated from his own demons through self-indulgence and false pretense of justifying his actions. After all, a child’s well-being is far more important that alleviating one’s self of their own demons, right?

The shot was clear — has been for about thirty minutes now and yet, the gloved fingers remained idle; idle to the trigger, itching for a miss. It has become beyond tolerable now; the frustration, the restraint, the insatiable need of righteousness and escape. 

Three more minutes passed and nothing. Nothing but the sound of his custom boots that withstood the cold, barren wasteland of snow. A few thrusts and the jetpack bellowed flames that had him soaring towards the village he had been painstakingly eyeing. 

A nod to passersby that indicated he was there on business. You didn’t get to be number one without making sure you had connections in places you wouldn’t even get yourself caught in. 

He follows suit of the target, Westar-34 sizzling for a draw. Jango follows suit, marching with heavy boots. He stood beside the target. He knows — of course, he knows. @toebeansandotherbaes

@daddytoonestrangertomany

Alps trudged toward the town in the valley, the crunch of melting snow under his boots. It was a small town, one he visited at least monthly to pick up supplies. There was no spaceport, not since the separatists failed their takeover of the planet for the rich minerals in the mountain mines, and Alps was, on some level, okay with being left behind.

Sure he missed his batch, the cadets that the Kaminoans clones from him and then so viciously denied him contact with before his deployment, but he hoped and prayed that 99 would look after them and protect them.

Besides, missing an arm would put him into a position of being less than optimal for the use of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Alps shook his head and shifted his grip on his bag and looked over the town with a smile at least he was alive.

He greeted the locals and walked into the general store trade post, none the wiser of the stranger in town.

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

[ That'd be greatly appreciated and thank you :) That way I can gauge how to move Jango. ]

So, would you be interested in rping with any of my clone OCS?

Kinda want to play with my Alpha oc, Alps aka Alpha-87 if you're up for it. Or if you want I have the bad batch too

@toebeansandotherbaes

[ Very much, yes. I'll have to ask for how you intend to link our muses together. I assume your Alpha OC is someone Jango would have personally trained. Is here any events you'd like to happen in the long run? ]

@toebeansandotherbaes

[daddytoonestrangertomany]

[ It's settled then. I must warn you my responses are sporadic. I'm either here all day or gone for days. :) Do you have a starter ready or do you want me to make one for you? ]

So, would you be interested in rping with any of my clone OCS?

Kinda want to play with my Alpha oc, Alps aka Alpha-87 if you're up for it. Or if you want I have the bad batch too

@toebeansandotherbaes

[ Very much, yes. I'll have to ask for how you intend to link our muses together. I assume your Alpha OC is someone Jango would have personally trained. Is here any events you'd like to happen in the long run? ]

@toebeansandotherbaes