keztis

[keztis]

             OPEN STARTER ::. canon/legends/ocs/duplicates/whatever — all are welcome !! if i get more than one reply, i'll move our thread to a new post !! xoxo

              𝙺𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚂  𝙳𝙸𝙳  𝙽𝙾𝚃  𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝚁  𝙷𝙸𝙼𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵  𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙴  𝚃𝙾  𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙲. there had been a time during his formative years at the jedi temple, when moments of uncertainty or unexpected challenge could scatter his thoughts like kreetles spooked by daylight.  the other masters had noticed; cal had seen it in their glances, heard it in the silence that followed his more excitable missteps.  even his own master’s stillness had seemed somehow louder in those moments, as though disappointment could broadcast through silence alone.

but that had been before the purge.  order-66 had changed him. bracca changed him.  years of hiding in plain sight taught cal how to school his expressions, to bite down on every twitch and flinch that might blow his cover.  he’d learned to adapt, to breathe through panic instead of give into it.

       well, mostly.                that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still scream mid-freefall or pitch a petulant whine to BD-1 about their impending doom when things got too tight.  growth had its limits.

still, he’d come a long way.  at least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he drifted through the congested marketplace, a melting pot of beings from every corner of the galaxy, their voices a cacophony ricocheting off the durasteel walls of a space station whose name slipped from his memory. he shouldn’t be here. he was overdue for departure—hours past, in fact—after refueling the mantis.

this wasn’t imperial territory, but lingering too long in any port was an open invitation for trouble—and trouble was the last thing cal needed right now.

              ❝hey, excuse me, uh—sorry to interrupt.❞   ducking his head, cal rubbed the back of his neck, playing up the awkward traveler act.  best he didn’t give anyone too much of himself to remember.   ❝you haven’t seen a small droid, have you?  white, bipedal, about this tall—❞   he gave a rough approximation with both hands, avoiding specifics.  if anyone knew the empire also wanted a certain specific explorer droid model with a white paint job, he didn’t want to tip his hand.   ❝if he passed through here, i’d like to know.❞

[keztis]

not sure how i deleted a chunk of my own open starter but i did. somehow lol and i didn't even notice until now! guess i'll edit and repost tomorrow when i'm more alive. this is what i get for tryna write and post after a doc's appt 🥴

[keztis]

holy shit, didn't mean to die on y'all but. ahem. prob gonna write some open starters since my unwanted, very-much-forced hiatus kinda sorta sent me spiraling straight into the sun and it feels like i don't even recognize my dash anymore lol anyway, hope everyone's been well 👀 xoxo !!

[keztis]

probably should've mentioned it's that time of year again, in which my family gets together for family reunion(s). i always, always get super stressed during this time bc of the chaos that is my large family—like to the point of losing sleep lol—so i've been insanely MIA as a result!! very sorry for the radio silence, hope to get back on schedule soon, across all my blogs!!

[keztis]

PROMPTS FOR THE FORCED PROXIMITY TROPE *  assorted dialogue for the moments and circumstances that force two characters to spend time together, adjust as necessary

who said i agreed to any of this?

i said i would help you. i didn't say i would be nice to you while i'm helping you.

you scratch my back and i'll scratch yours.

oh no. don't tell me it's locked.

i was hired to protect you. that's my job.

i'm actually starting to tolerate you, believe it or not.

i don't want to be stuck here with you.

i'll work with anyone but you.

i'm not letting you sleep on the floor.

they're forcing me to work with you and i don't like it.

how long do you think we'll be stuck here?

is that the only tent we have?

i think we're snowed in here. we'd better find a way to stay warm.

it's going to take a few days for them to reach us.

you sleep in that room, and i'll take this one.

you can't get rid of me that easily.

i'm just going to come right out and say it - i hate being here just as much as you do, but we have to make this work.

don't get any ideas.

i'm going to see if they'll switch my room.

until you came along, i had this under control.

if we're going to survive this, we'd better work together.

why did they sit me next to you?

i'd like to be as far away from you as possible.

out of all the people in the world, i had to get stuck with you.

guess you're just gonna have to get over it.

i thought you were worse than this.

i'm not going anywhere, and neither are you.

you're not exactly my favorite person to be around.

well, get used to it. i'm not leaving.

i told them i don't need a bodyguard.

i never wanted to spend this much time with you.

all this time spent together has really opened my eyes.

you're not as bad as i thought you were.

we might as well try to get along.

i guess i should learn a little bit about you.

i think that means we're the only ones left.

there's no way i'm sharing a room with you.

you again? i've seen enough of you already.

i thought [name] was coming. why are you here?

they're counting on us to save them.

since we'll be here for a while... might as well make the best out of it.

i think we can set aside our differences for two minutes and work this out.

honestly, i think i was wrong about you at first.

there's absolutely no way i'm working with you.

fine, but you're sleeping on the floor. i'll take the bed.

as your bodyguard, i'm supposed to stay with you at all times.

i think we're snowed in for a while.

you could always sleep on this side of the bed.

we have to at least pretend we like each other.

the whole point in having a bodyguard is for me to keep you safe.

i don't like asking for your help, but here i am, asking.

you and i are the only ones who can deal with this.

you don't have a say in the matter.

looks like we're stuck here.

just sleep in the bed with me. i'll even make a pillow wall between us.

i'm not sharing a tent with you.

i need you to stay out of my way.

could you at least "guard" me from over there? why do you have to stand so close?

[keztis]

              𝙷𝙸𝙶𝙷-𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙺,  𝙷𝙸𝙶𝙷-𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚂𝙸𝚃𝚈  𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚂  𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙸𝙼𝙼𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴  𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 and tactical assessment weren’t statistical anomalies.  serving as a companion to not one, but two jedi exhibiting a consistent pattern of behavior categorized as “recklessly curious” had resulted in an extensive, ever-growing emergency response log.  regarding cal kestis specifically, BD-1 had long since initiated a standing internal directive default: prepare for worst-case scenarios.  this wasn’t a negative reflection on his human companion, but a practical adaptation to cal’s behavior profile.  BD-1 understood, perhaps better than most, the impulse to seek answers.  it was a compulsion BD-1, himself, recognized—an algorithmic core function.

the difference, of course, lay in protocol structure.  BD-1 possessed embedded self-preservation subroutines within his directives, whereas cal kestis, by all observable metrics, did not.  no other entity was more acutely aware of this discrepancy than BD-1, who had a front-row seat to the many hazards his companion blundered into without hesitation. . .

today presented a recent anomaly that BD-1 struggled to categorize.  cal’s risk tolerance remained unchanged, as did his propensity for navigating koboh’s rugged terrain with minimal forethought.  all behavioral indicators aligned with baseline.  but something had changed.

cal had become distracted over the past several weeks, exhibiting an increase in dissociative behaviors: visual fixations on distant or non-existent focal points, delayed responses, and prolonged periods of silence.  BD-1 cross-referenced this behavioral shift with existing health records.  hormonal fluctuations: unlikely.  sleep cycle irregularities: persistent but stable.  non-invasive psychological scans revealed emotional metrics had elevated, but weren’t anomalous.  nutritional levels remained below optimal, but unchanged from standard.

results: inconclusive. before BD-1 could conduct further analysis to isolate the cause, the chain of events that followed their descent into koboh’s forest proceeded with unprecedented volatility.

initial contact: stormtrooper patrol.  secondary threat: reinforcement squad.  tertiary complication: two nesting mogu. 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝙻𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙻: 𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝙷𝙸𝙶𝙷. escape route intersected with a bilemaw den. 𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: 𝙸𝙼𝙼𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴. parental defense response triggered.  cal’s actions: evasive maneuvers, sustained combat. final phase: raider ambush.  heavy resistance.  extended combat duration.  environmental traversal attempt—cliff ascent.  cal’s grip failed. 𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙰𝙲𝚃 𝚅𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙴𝚇𝙲𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳𝚂. result: unconscious state.

while waiting, BD-1 secured the perimeter, initiated a low-priority camouflage protocol ( sticks and leaf debris placed over cal’s prone form — insufficient, but better than nothing ), then departed to seek help. . . . \\ @d4gangera

he hadn’t stopped running calculations since. what if cal woke up to find BD-1 absent?  would he attempt to locate BD-1 despite injury?  would he perceive BD-1’s absence as abandonment?  anger and fear were frequent emotional responses in human trauma scenarios.  BD-1’s processors cycled faster, extrapolating scenarios: cal going after the raiders, wounded and alone; cal succumbing to internal and external injuries; cal dying in the interval between BD-1’s departure and return.

that possibility—destabilized his processing loop.

the little droid burst into pyloon’s saloon, his high-pitched beeps shrill with alarm, but with the din of shouting patrons, clinking glasses, and music thundering from the stage swallowed his cries whole, no one even looked up. undeterred, BD-1 launched himself onto the bar with a metallic clink, tiny legs knocking against a glass before he steadied himself.  bode: absent.  greez: absent.  monk: swamped behind the counter, arms full of steaming plates.

       BD-1’s head swiveled. there—dagan, settled on the couch against the back wall, partially obscured by a cluster of patrons.  BD-1’s optics flared. dagan gera could help cal kestis. he bounded off the bar, over heads, drinks, and one very confused twi’lek, landing with a thunk on the small round table in front of dagan.

<<BD=𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙! cal=𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎!>> the droid trilled, hopping frantically in place.  <<cal=𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞!>>  when dagan didn’t react quickly enough, BD-1 let out an impatient squeak, spinning in a tight, frustrated circle on the table before leaping directly into the jedi’s lap.

<<BD=𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙! cal=𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜!>> this time, his binary cracked at the edges, distorting almost into reedy whistles as he began butting his head into dagan’s chest.  <<cal=𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍!>>

[keztis]

              𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽  𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙴  𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃  𝚂𝚄𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳  𝙰  𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿  𝙰𝚃  𝙿𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙸𝚂𝙸  𝙾𝙽  𝚂𝚄𝙻𝙻𝚄𝚂𝚃 , kestis wasn’t sure what to think.  the name meant nothing to him, but the planet itself did—imperial-controlled space was hardly the ideal route for a casual detour.  and with merrin’s injury still demanding fresh bandages each day, the idea of venturing into hostile territory felt less like a necessity and more like a gamble.  she wasn’t in any condition to face the risks they might encounter, and cal wasn’t about to put her in more danger.

but cere had an answer for everything: a safe house in the city, a chance to resupply, the simple fact they were long overdue for a break, and the safe house was under partisan control.  that, more than anything, silenced his objections.  if the partisans had a presence here, then this was more than a pit stop; it was an opportunity.  maybe saw gerrera had new assignments, new ways he could contribute beyond waiting in silence for the next call to action.

it’s worth it, cal had told himself, gripping onto the thought like a lifeline, though he couldn’t quite shake the restlessness settling into his bones.

piringiisi was not what kestis expected. the city sprawled beneath the surface, a subterranean resort famed for its geothermal springs and mineral-rich mud baths.  according to cere’s experience, and the natives of sullust, these springs held remarkable restorative powers.  they could speed up the healing of merrin’s injuries, and possibly even ease some lingering pain cal himself carried from his own old wounds.  nerve damage, muscle soreness, the scars of past conflicts—perhaps this place could undo some of it. . . . \\ @kniightsiister

it was enough prospect to make the trip worthwhile, and with the possibility of connecting with saw again, it could even be the opportunity cal had been waiting for.  it should have felt like an unambiguous victory. and yet. . .

cal liked to believe he was open-minded.  it was a point of importance to him, the ability to accept the unfamiliar, to respect the myriad ways sentient beings across the galaxy structured their lives.  so long as there was no harm done, he had no quarrel with custom or tradition.  however, for the first time in years, cal found himself reconsidering that conviction.

the sullustans were a gracious people, warm and accommodating, and those who operated the underground resort—along with the secret partisan safe house hidden within it—were no exception.  the problem. . . lay in their bathing customs: the sullustans divided their hot springs by age.  the result was that merrin would have only him for assistance.

  ❝uh—so, this whole bath situation.❞   cal stood in one corner of their room, fumbling with the buckles of his shirt as he darted a sideways glance toward merrin, who remained kneeling on the floor behind him, inspecting the fabric of her robes with apparent disinterest. ❝you’re okay with this, right?  i know you lived with your sisters, and you’re probably used to things like this, but, um. . .❞   well, the jedi temple had communal baths as well, but the jedi had segregated by gender.  this. . . this was entirely different.   ❝are you sure this doesn’t bother you?  i mean, sharing a, uh, bath, together.❞ he grimaced at his own phrasing. ❝it’s just. . . we’ve never done this before, and i want to make sure you’re—y’know, comfortable.❞

[keztis]

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: on an average day, what can be found in cal's pockets?

              𝙰  𝚆𝚁𝚈  𝚂𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙴  𝚃𝚄𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳  𝙰𝚃  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚁  𝙾𝙵  𝙺𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚂’𝚂  𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙷 as he began searching through his pockets. ❝i try to travel light, but there are a few essentials i always keep on me.❞

first, he pulled out a few credits, glanced at them briefly, then discarded them onto the table.  too obvious, not worth the explanation.  next, he presented a small handheld repair torch, its casing scuffed and worn from years of use.

       ❝this,❞ cal said, holding it up, ❝has been with me since my scrapping days on bracca.  old, sure, but it’s never let me down.  you never know when something’s going to break, need patching up, or just require a little fine-tuning.❞  he gave the torch a quick spin before setting it down.  ❝there’s a compartment in the grip for connectors and spare components.  doesn’t take up much space.❞

he reached into his pockets again, this time producing a few pieces of scrap metal, holding them up between his fingers.  ❝oh—right, these.❞   BD-1 perked up beside him, his audio receptors flicking toward the pile.   ❝BD has this habit of sneaking junk into my pockets when i’m not looking,❞ he explained with rather fond exasperation.  ❝says they ‘might be useful.’  and, yeah, okay—sometimes he’s right.  but most of the time, i sound like i’m smuggling half a droid in my jacket.❞

       BD-1 honked indignantly, jumping around to face cal as though prepared to argue the point.  snorting back a laugh, the young jedi knight dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a communicator.  ❝and, of course, this.  greez is constantly on my case about answering it more.  i keep telling him it’s hard to pick up when i’m in the middle of fighting for my life.❞  he dropped it onto the table with a casual shrug.   ❝it’s an ongoing debate.❞

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: what seemingly insignificant memories have stuck with you?

              ❝𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙽𝚃?❞  𝙺𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚂  𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳 , his brows furrowing in slight confusion.  the phrasing didn’t sit quite right; it struck him as wrong, like a circuit forced into the incorrect port.  if a memory wasn’t significant, why would it linger?  his thoughts drifted, unmoored, until an old face surfaced.

❝prauf,❞ he murmured, a rare softness invading his gaze, ❝my old friend.  he. . . had this terrible sense of humor.  one of the worst jokes he ever told me—something about a sullustan, a wookiee, and an imperial officer walking into a cantina.  i can’t even remember the punchline, but i remember how he laughed.  he couldn’t get through the joke without cracking up halfway through.  that’s what stuck with me.  just him—alive, laughing over nothing.❞

verdant green eyes grew remote as the memory drew him into a time when life had been simpler, even if no less painful.  it wasn’t just prauf’s laughter he remembered, but the sound of it cutting through the monotony, the endless despair.  but nostalgia, cal had learned, was a double-edged blade, and he quickly shouldered it aside.

        ❝sorry.❞ cal brought up a hand to cup the back of his neck, grounding himself in the action.   ❝didn’t mean to make it heavy.❞

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: are there any types of weather that you’re afraid of/dislike?

              ❝𝙸  𝙳𝙾𝙽’𝚃  𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆  𝙸𝙵  ‘𝙰𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙳’  𝙸𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃  𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳,❞ kestis began slowly, ❝but. . . i don’t like fog. it messes with your senses—makes you question what you see, what you hear. makes you doubt what’s real.❞

the memory of dathomir crept back, unbidden and vivid.  he could still picture the endless shroud of mist, so thick it clung to his body like a living thing.  he’d wandered through it with BD-1 perched on his shoulder, his senses stretched to the limit, driven outward by unchecked unease.  indistinct shapes—phantom silhouettes—seemed to move in the distance, always flickering just out of reach.  BD-1 hadn’t sounded an alarm, but that small comfort had done little to settle the erratic drumbeat of his heart in his chest.

❝i’ve seen strange things in foggy places.❞ denial encompassed the memory, enkindled by a bizarre sense of finality.  ❝shadows, tricks of the light.  but some. . .❞ he trailed off, testing the thought.  ❝weren’t tricks.  some were ghosts.  things i’d rather not talk about.❞

𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: how loosely or strictly does cal use the word ‘friend’?

              ❝𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂  𝙾𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚂𝙸𝚃𝚄𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽.  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽.❞ it wasn’t the most satisfying answer, but it was certainly closest to the truth.

❝i use ‘friend’ pretty loosely,❞ the young knight admitted after a moment.  ❝sometimes, it’s just a word.  a way to smooth things over.  if i cross paths with a sleemo who doesn’t immediately shoot first, or if a local decides to give me directions instead of trouble, calling them a ‘friend’ gets the job done.  keeps things simple.❞ he leaned back slightly, arms crossed, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm against his sleeve as he mulled for longer.

❝but the meaning of that word—it’s changed a lot since i was a youngling.❞  cal carded a hand through thick, unruly locks, faltering midway between regret and sudden annoyance.  ❝it’s. . . complicated.❞

[keztis]

              𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝙷𝙴  𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙴𝙳  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝙰𝙽  𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚈  𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙴 , kestis pressed himself against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest, its rhythm erratic as it reverberated in his ears.  desperate to regain some semblance of control, he concentrated on his breathing, forcing air through his nose in shallow, measured attempts to slow the frantic pace of his pulse.  bright green eyes darted around, scanning the stark, clinical office before him.  white walls.  a sleek black desk, starkly illuminated by evenly spaced lighting panels overhead.  the kind of harsh, perpetual brightness that imperial architects seemed to favor—a glaring rejection of natural light, of repose, of humanity itself.

yeah, that checks out, cal thought, a grim smile twitching at his lips before he glanced down at his hands and pulled up his sleeves to inspect his wrists under the unforgiving lighting.  no marks.  no indentations of chains or signs of captivity. he rolled his shoulders, testing his range of motion.  his body felt intact, his thoughts clear.  nothing suggested the kind of torture that could explain the jagged gaps in his memory.

             but the blanks were there. \\ @tapalslegacy

cal let out a breath, glancing around again, his mind struggling to bridge the incongruity of his surroundings with what he knew—or rather, what he didn’t know.  it wasn’t every day he woke up in someone else’s massive bed — the lavish bedroom of a high-ranking official, now that he thought about it, with BD-1 hibernating on the pillow beside him. so, how did he get there?  who brought him there?

with a shake of the head, cal scrubbed a fist over his brow, knuckles white with pressure.  he was an intruder here; that much was obvious.  and this was an imperial base, wasn’t it?  at first, he hadn’t realized, distracted by the greenery and vibrant artwork that adorned the walls as he crept through the unfamiliar hallways in search of an exit.  it wasn’t until he saw the unmistakable presence of stormtroopers that the reality of his situation shifted from uncomfortable to downright nightmarish. . .

BD-1, whose squirming against cal’s back had grown more insistent, jabbed his mechanical toes into the young knight’s shoulder with quiet, determined force.  cal, however, barely registered it, his attention torn between rampant thoughts and the need to listen if someone had followed.  when BD-1’s internal mechanisms emitted a faint, rising whir—an unmistakable precursor to his thrusters powering on—cal snapped upright and cast a look that combined apology and confusion into a slight pout.

attuned to the unspoken, BD-1’s audio receptors tilted downward, and he nudged his head against cal’s forehead, a small but meaningful gesture of understanding.  cal allowed himself a light pat on the droid’s head, though the moment lasted only seconds before the sharp clatter of boots against the polished floor echoed in the corridor beyond.  both froze.   from his vantage point near the doorway, cal caught the vague flashes of white helmets rushing past.  their pace was brisk, their formation tight—far too many to confront.  three dozen soldiers at a time was more than he could handle.  why the heightened security?  did they know there was an intruder?

cal bit his lip.  staying here was a bad idea.  this office likely belonged to an imperial officer, and cal would much prefer avoiding an encounter with any imperial if he could help it. ❝guess we should follow them,❞ he murmured.  ❝maybe they’ll lead us to an exit.❞ BD-1 only booped. after chancing a look out the doorway, cal snatched a quick breath before darting out into the open corridor and — slamming straight into a hard chest.

the impact left him reeling, stumbling backward with a wince, the sharp squeal of his teeth still tickling in his jaw as he instinctively reached for his saber, prepared to fight for his life.  but as his gaze lifted, his breath caught in his throat.  there was a pause, a moment stretched thin by disbelief.  verdant green eyes—familiar, impossibly familiar—stared down at him.   then, recognition struck like a thunderbolt.

before cal could form a coherent sentence, BD-1 emitted an inquisitive toot. the other droid—roosting comfortably on the taller man’s shoulder—answered with a similar, almost playful toot, a sound that nearly sent cal booking it in the opposite direction.

                ❝wh-what is this?❞

[keztis]

                𝙺𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚂  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃. he had known, with an inevitability as certain as koboh’s rising sun, that merrin would come seeking answers to the questions weighing on both their minds since tanalorr—answers he had yet to find.  she had always been the one to press for clarity, and though cal had expected a confrontation, he had no more idea of how to face it than when it first began.

what explanation could possibly justify what he had done? what logic could untangle the point when instinct had overridden reason, when grief had coalesced into a singular act of 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍? if not for merrin’s intervention—her magick flaring into existence in the split-second between bode’s wet gasps for breath and the pull of cal’s trigger—he would have murdered an unarmed, gravely injured man in cold blood, crossing a line from which there was no return.

❝i don’t know.❞ did merrin think he hadn’t asked himself the same question every second since it happened? he had.  over and over. ❝i shouldn’t have done it.  i know that.  i knew it the second i pulled the trigger,❞ cal confessed, his expression taut with denied emotion as he wrung his hands, struggling against the frantic urge to stand, to run away from this.

he had fired that second shot—and for what? to avenge cere junda, a jedi master who had lived by the very principle that no life, not even that of an enemy, was beyond redemption? because bode had become a threat too great to ignore, his instability a hazard to everyone he claimed to love? because the thought of losing merrin—his anchor, his family in all but blood—was an outcome he could not accept?                or was it something else? something more human, more selfish.  a response not dictated by duty, but by 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋 — the shattering of trust, his heart, and all the fragile bonds that held his world together?

                 ❝i just—he took everything from me, from us.  lied to me, used me, put everyone in danger. . . i didn’t think.  i reacted.❞ no justification would ever be enough. nothing could rationalize firing that second shot, no matter how much cal longed for an answer that might.  merrin had spared him from the consequences, but 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌.  no one could. ❝i liked him, merrin.❞ the words were a stark contrast to the caustic frustration seething in his chest.  ❝more than i should like anyone,❞ he went on in a voice brittle and pained, as though it were a burden he never intended to acknowledge.  ❝or i thought i did.  i don’t know.  i don’t even know what that means anymore.❞ the young knight pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, silent for the space of several breaths. ❝i wanted to save him.  i tried to.  and when i couldn’t—when i saw what he was capable of—❞ helpless against the contradiction, cal faltered when it caught in his throat, the brutal truth he feared to say out loud. ❝i think, for a second. . . i wanted him to hurt like i did.❞

merrin had not been close to the traitor.  not like cal had been.  nightsister and mercenary had,  at best,  been mere acquaintances;  only knowing each other due to the closeness they shared with the jedi and the brief conversations they had.  yet,  as skeptical of outsiders as merrin was,  she had chosen to trust bode, if only a little. 

when that trust had been broken,  shattered like glass cast against stone floors,  the nightsister had been full of rage and vicious vengeance.   she had wanted to bury bode the same way she'd buried malicos.   it seemed a fitting end after the devastation his deceit caused:  the loss of cere,  the crippling wounds cordova suffered,  the destruction of the hidden path's archives,  the countless lives lost...  and yet despite her desire to put bode down, cal had pleaded for mercy on tanalorr.  another chance for the betrayer to find redemption,  and merrin had given pause to the jedi’s words.     yet it was cal himself that nearly put the man down.   a contradiction that confounded her.

how many times had they ended up like this?  arm to arm moments away from deep conversation or comfortable silence.  perhaps this was their song and dance.  cal troubled and brooding only for merrin to sit beside him any offer comfort in metaphors paired affectionate shoulder nudges.  yet such playfulness had no place here as she settled next to cal, taking him in as he avoided returning her stare.

"you've changed, cal kestis."   graceful tact in conversation had never been a skill merrin claimed to possess.  she had always been rather blunt;  dancing around points in conversation served her no purpose.  she would not humor such things, not now,  when she had many questions and only the ideas of answers.

the darkness that seemed to tinge his presence since the incident with denvik had only solidified since their fight with bode.  even now it lingered like a shadow over her companion. it made her uneasy with worry.    "why did you shoot twice?"

[keztis]

@d4gangera 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 :: without the splendid nature of robes he recognized as a second skin, there is a nagging sensation of vulnerability. sleeve once neatly tucked is crudely tied, the ball of fabric swings uncomfortably, but he says little in regards to it. the nature of trying to remain tucked into the ebb and flow of midday traffic. the sheer number of bodies makes his skin crawl to some regard, and while dagan can sense the bristle of cal's existence like leering sunshine overhead, the (former ? reformed ? the white-crystal'd saber tucked under layers subtracts a certain level of clarity there) jedi opts to lay gloveless hand against the small of cal's back before fingers wrap loose in the fabric of jacket, icy stare set before them as jaw remains clenched. " i do not like this, " dagan's tone is low, his fingers tighten only slightly in fabric, " there are far too many bodies here, too much risk. "

                𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙽𝚃  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙳  𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴  𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴  𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃  𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝚃—𝙸𝙵  𝙸𝚃  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙳  ��𝚃  𝙰𝙻𝙻. the ecumenopolis remained a layered maze of industry and excess, its lower levels smothered beneath the weight of those towering above.  the air was thick with sweat and exhaust, a dense haze of pollution settling into restless streets.  pedestrians hurried along, a faceless tide of movement, while speeders wove through the ordered chaos of the skylanes.  every few moments, a floating holoprojector paddled past, spewing imperial propaganda in stark, impersonal tones—warnings of law and order, of swift consequences for those who defied them.  

a burst of artificial light flared ahead, the garish glow of an oversized holoscreen drowning the street in neon colors.  kestis narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the aurebesh text when a sudden warmth pressed against his lower back.  the touch was firm, unexpected—and not BD-1, who knew to stay tucked inside the knapsack slung over his shoulder.  for a split second, his shoulders tensed, hand already hovering near his saber.

" i do not like this, " dagan's tone is low, his fingers tighten only slightly in fabric, " there are far too many bodies here, too much risk. "

the young knight exhaled, easing the reflexive coil in his limbs as recognition settled in.  turning slightly, he caught the older man’s expression—taut, wary.  there was something unreadable in his eyes, a glint of distress he had yet to voice.  was it the crowd?  the sheer press of bodies in every direction? the subsequent thought almost made cal scoff at himself.  of course, it was the crowd.

dagan gera had spent two centuries in isolation, trapped in bacta, lost to time.  even if coruscant’s skyline had remained unchanged, the experience of civilization—of sound, movement, and overwhelming presence—couldn’t be anything less than unnerving. for a man who had spent entire lifetimes in silence, the noise of the present was no doubt deafening at this point.

cal bit his lip and didn’t stop to analyze the moment.  he acted, guided by an instinct that was as familiar as breath and blood, and slowed his pace enough to ensure dagan wouldn’t have to grip him so tightly, and yield space without leaving the man adrift in the shifting currents of the street.  bodies surged around them, a chaotic undulation, and cal adjusted his position without a word, placing himself between dagan and the densest part of the swarm.  subtle but deliberate.

he cast a glance at the older jedi, tendering a heartening smile.  ❝just focus on me, alright?  we’ll get through this together.❞  an unexpected flutter tugged in his gut—an odd sensation—or a stupid one, really; he wasn’t the one struggling under the mental weight of two centuries of isolation.

                 ❝yeah, i’m not a fan of crowds, either.  too many people, too many chances for something to go wrong. . . ❞  a pause, long enough for the statement to settle.  then, with a teasing lilt, softer now: ❝didn’t think you’d be the one clinging to me, though.❞

[keztis]

@d4gangera | continued from [ x ]

                𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝚆𝙰𝚂𝙽’𝚃  𝙷𝙾𝚆  𝙺𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚂  𝙴𝙽𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙾𝚄𝚃.    he’d imagined approaching dagan with the same unassuming charm that so often invited conversation, presenting a broad opening—casual yet inquisitive, interwoven with just enough intrigue.  a deliberate balance, intended to reach beneath the surface without giving the impression of an interloper prying into the life of a jedi long removed from his time.

instead, cal had stumbled over his own question, lost his footing in the exchange, and continued to trip over words as though he hadn’t thought about this moment countless times before. because he had. days of idle thought, devoted to precisely this scenario. granted, most of that thinking happened while bored out of his mind in hyperspace, trapped in the monotony of a supply run from jedha to koboh to tanalorr, so maybe the absence of more pressing concerns had left him too much time to contemplate.  to envision.  to script, again and again, the way it should have gone.

and yet, despite it all, cal’s face brightened with sudden enthusiasm.

             ❝you do?  that’s great!  that’s. . . that’s really great.  because i—uh. . .❞   the young knight hesitated, glancing over his shoulder just as BD-1 whistled excitedly and launched from his perch. the droid’s thrusters sputtered in bursts, then stabilized, guiding him down to tanalorr’s pale soil in a controlled descent.  cal murmured his usual thanks—an absent, familiar habit—and shrugged off his old, well-worn rucksack, dropping it to the ground.

inside, an assortment of seed jars and flowers spilled into view—fresh and dried, vivid and fragile—along with neatly bundled roots, gently cleaned and preserved for planting.

it had taken years to gather. a slow accumulation from distant worlds, collected in moments of reverence amid surrounding chaos, each discovery carefully tucked into the rucksack’s ever-filling pockets.  cal never considered it a possession in the conventional sense, and certainly not something valuable.  yet as he looked down at the years of travel laid out before him, a wave of quiet contentment settled in his chest.  every one of these plants, found by chance—sometimes in wild, untouched places, though more often in the charred remains left behind by the empire—would one day have a new home.   somewhere better.  somewhere safer.

                ❝i guess it’s just. . . i like plants.❞  his voice, softer now, carried no less sincerity as he cradled a clump of damp roots in his hands, his thumb tracing over yellow hairs as if memorizing their delicate form.  ❝i know that probably sounds kind of dumb, but. . .  i’ve seen whole worlds lost.  people, cultures, entire histories—just. . . gone.  it’s easy to feel like nothing good lasts.  but plants. . . they’re stubborn. they grow in the ruins, in the cracks, in the ash.  it’s proof that life doesn’t give up.  and that keeps me grounded.  gives me hope.❞

for a moment, only the hush of tanalorr filled the space between them. BD-1, evidently less patient, hopped in place, then whistled in confusion. cal only rubbed the back of his neck, apprehensive—uncertain. no, he hadn’t decided which one to give dagan. would dagan favor the inisa, an elegant flower with soft, delicate colors?  or would he gravitate toward something wilder, something untamed and defiant, like the sficca with its riotous colors and thorn-laced stems?

❝i thought. . . maybe you’d appreciate that too.❞   the words came quietly, but with less hesitation.  cal exhaled, then extended a cluster of firethorn blossoms—freshly picked from the garden on koboh—toward dagan.  ❝i wanted you to have these.  if you want.  if not, BD-1 and i can always find a nice spot to plant them instead.  i don’t know.  or maybe we could. . . plant some together?❞

[keztis]

                𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚀𝚄𝙸𝙴𝚃  𝙷𝚄𝙽𝙶  𝙸𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙰𝙸𝚁 ,  𝙰  𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙰𝙽𝚃  𝚁𝙸𝙿𝙿𝙻𝙴  𝙸𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴.  kestis felt it twist against his senses, slimy and jarring, like the dull edge of a vibroblade pressing against his skin.  although it lacked any trace of malicious intent, instinct guided his hand toward the hilt at his belt anyway—casual, non-threatening, but ready. always ready.

❝not human, huh?  not the strangest thing i’ve heard.❞ cal had seen enough of the galaxy to know that the impossible was a mere precursor to understanding.  still, the force’s quiet alarm thrummed, reverberating in his bones.  the harm this man sustained wasn't the result of any “clumsy fall”. it didn’t make much sense, not unless — cal peered up at the dark sky, heavy clouds smudging the stars and the city lights flickering in the distance, his gaze wandering up the surrounding buildings—shuttered, silent.   had this guy jumped down from one of them?

              ❝don’t thank me yet,❞ cal said, resigning himself to whatever lay in store.  ❝look, if you’re here because of ‘strange activity,’ i’d like to know what i’m walking into.❞

His  legs wobbled.  These human legs are weak! He looked up at the male.  “ I am fine.. i.. these legs I am not used to.” He said.  Regulus looked at the strange droid and he blinked more than twice. He can morph out of this shape. No.. he didn’t want to.  Not yet. Regulus looked up. His legs were sprained. “ I think I am not used — my clumsiness made me fall.”  He said. Regulus looks at the other.  

Should he just tell the truth? No. He didn’t want to do that yet. He wanted this human to help him. Dark eyes soften. “ If I told you that I am not human.. would you believe me?” He asked.

This body.. this shape.. his injuries can heal.. once he returns to his golden centurion shape.   Regulus looked at the kind male. “ I am thankful for your kind..” He coughed. He was here because of strange activity. The Centaurian princes eyes soften. “ I am.. here because of strange activity. Perhaps you.. can help?”

[keztis]

my favorite thing is learning all the little details about my writing partner's muse(s) and weaving it into my replies bc i know nothing makes me feel more loved and appreciated than when ppl remember what makes my specific portrayal unique

[keztis]

nvm, i was convinced to post his fits. first one is his main. the rest are situational! sometimes he shaves. he changes when he travels to different locations. ( it's the only way i can take care of this train wreck of a man ). @kniightsiister bought him the bomber jacket.

[keztis]

sometimes i think about slapping down screenshots + detailing "my cal's" canon hairstyle(s) and various fits but like. kinda don't really care bc i don't think he does either. if i must, i'll say he prefers to keep his hair short for practical reasons. i imagine it'd be a detriment to have hair constantly stabbing your defenseless eyeballs while you're in combat. other than that? super low maintenance guy—not that he's had time to be vain about his looks, im sure. sometimes hair gets too long. he cuts it. not a big deal for him. i bet the most he's done is let @kniightsiister try out new haircuts on him lmfao

[keztis]

                𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂 ,  𝙺𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚂  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙾  𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃  𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙿𝚂𝚈𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝚁𝚈  𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽’𝚃  𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂  𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁  𝙲𝙻𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈. the ability to view the events of the past—to perceive its echoes through sound, sensation, and emotion—was a gift that imposed its own burdens.  the mind was not designed to process time in reverse, and the impressions left behind by significant events had a way of persisting, distorting perception like light refracted through a warped lens.  what remained was rarely a clear image, but rather an impressionistic rendering of something half-remembered, like remnants of a forgotten dream bleeding into reality.

greez often referred to it less as a gift and more as a curse.  cal could understand why.                 ❝listen, kid, i know you wanna see the best in people, and maybe you got through to him, but what if he gets funny ideas while we’re all sleepin’?❞

the forced note of humor didn’t quite catch. through seconds of silence, cal pushed aside self-doubt with a measured breath and the ghost of a wry smile. there were no certainties in life—there never had been. no more than when greez had asked him this morning whether reasoning with an embittered, two-century-old high republic jedi was anything but reckless optimism. yet here they were.

                 ❝i get it, greez. i do. but the dagan gera i fought in the rehabilitation wing wouldn’t have come here with me. the fact that he’s with us now—that means something.❞ it had to. the alternative was a reality cal wasn’t ready to accept. and yet, even as he spoke, the thought lingered: dagan gera was unpredictable. he might wake tomorrow morning, decide the course had shifted, and leave koboh without a word, without a backward glance.

             after all, cal didn’t know dagan gera. not truly.

when the young knight’s expression turned thoughtful, greez reacted with an abrupt gesture, raising his hands as a cascade of indistinct, discontented grumbles followed. ❝well, excuse me if i don’t roll out the welcome mat just yet. i’ll keep an eye on him—both eyes, actually. maybe a few extra if i can borrow some from turgle.❞

a thin grin bent cal’s mouth as he signaled monk for drinks. in that brief moment, his thoughts strayed to the subtleties of dagan’s character—would he prefer the sweetness of a mixed drink, or the unfiltered burn of hard liquor?

❝i know it’s hard to believe. it’s just. . .❞ how could he explain what he had seen in those echoes? the quiet longing in dagan’s voice when he spoke of tanalorr, the way his presence seemed drawn toward it, inexorably, like a celestial body locked in orbit around a forgotten star.  his eyes—pale pretty blue softened by a fondness so unmistakable, cal had felt it almost wrong to witness—lingered on santari khri.  khri, who stood at his elbow, met his gaze with warmth, with tender smiles, and with the kind of teasing familiarity that suggested a bond built over years.

cal didn’t know where to begin. so, he didn’t. ❝i’m not saying we forget what he’s done. but. . . dagan deserves a chance to prove he can be better than who he was.❞

with another conciliatory smile, cal gathered the drinks monk set aside and made his way toward dagan. the jedi sat alone in the dimly lit corner booth, his presence incongruous against the warm orange glow of the upholstery.  even at rest, he carried the weight of something unspoken.  if cal didn’t know better, he might have called it brooding.  perhaps even sulking.

❝hey. hope you don’t mind a fizzbrew.❞ cal placed the bottle on the table before sinking into the seat across from him. ❝would’ve grabbed you some water, but the saloon’s running low.❞ he exhaled, absently running a hand through short greasy locks. ❝still working on getting the water treatment plant up and running. it’s. . . a process.❞

TANALORR HAS CHANGED YOU, DAGAN.

hand flexes, he feels dizzy ... for a moment, just a brief second, he thinks of santari. she bleeds into his thoughts, makes his ears ring - a distant pulling, he feels like he's just emerged from bacta: like his lungs are full of liquid. that same nauseous feelings urges past the anger, and while features remain tentatively scornful, he feels as if he's going to throw up right there.

x ( there is still good in him. )

cal's voice is distorted, a comms link shorting ; his mouth waters, his eyes burn. i do not know, and, i am not sure what is left plague him in every regard. how can he claim to be anything, now that he is nothing ? cal is correct in his accusation of change: the order had been the center most point which his life had orbited for years, even in knowing his brief infancy before it, he had felt nothing but fealty to that which had raised him, which had made him ... and disregarded him in the same breath. anger and grief intermingle, he is blinded and terrified all the same.

there is no way of escaping what his life had become. HE COULD NOT GO BACK, he could never go back. cal's hand stretches outward, dagan dangles between wanting to cut it free at the elbow and retract into the surrounding area.

" you do not know ... " I DO NOT KNOW. " ... i am not ... " on the edge ? it's right there: yawning, inviting - he'd believed himself capable of leaping once before, bled saber despite crystals' palpable agony bleeding well beyond the confines of their structures. but the light is persistent, it flickers in the heavy shadow, smiles back at him in a way that is almost disarming.

x ( there is still good in him. )

his bones threaten to crack under the weight of everything, features finally contorting, eyes wild : a rabid creature cornered. cal kestis is insufferable, but he is also real, and that flickering light bleeds from him in abundance. that same golden splendor he had once fought an army for - a rich warmth, an endless well, a thousand open eyed suns. hand twitches, it would be easy to sever the moment, to continue digging downward until the light was gone, until the sun and moon were distant memories from the bottom of a chasm.

but what would that do, what would he become if he haphazardly slaughtered the harmony of light and dark he'd spent years honing -

jaw clenches until teeth feel like they'll crumble.

" you are a fool, cal kestis. " his voice is hollow, haunting: a thousand empty corridors wrapped into a maze that leads nowhere. it is hard for him to focus vision, harder for him to find the purchase to breathe for a moment. " you seek the company of relics. " lungs burn, head above water for a passing second before he feels like he's pulled under again.

what had it all been for ?

his mind reels for a moment, and when he reaches his hand outward, there's a gnawing paranoia that almost pulls it back. could he trust another who sat so firm in ideals of the same order which had altered his life forever ? warmth spreads across blue tinged fingertips, he fits open palm to the others, flesh on flesh and abstract feeling in the wake of their first encounter through glass. " but i will humor you. "