#Tech is a brutally honest Imperial | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ace-oreos · 3 years

Note

You must be so sick of alpha and Fordo asks but you’re latest fic has given me angst potential- maybe a one-shot with alpha working with the bad batch to find Fordo post order 66 an him just breaking at the seams when he finds his Vod because he thought he lost Frodo like he lost Sev. Tears and man hugs ensue

Oh I am NEVER sick of Alpha and Fordo asks - they’re such a fun chaotic duo to write for. :D Also, Alpha working with the Bad Batch is something I never knew I needed until I saw your ask and I would absolutely write something with all of them again. I cannot express how difficult it was to not go off on a tangent about Hunter.

In true Sev style, I chose Kashyyyk as the main location for this one. It’s just so useful for these kinds of things.

Also. Y’all. I did not realize until I was four pages into this that I forgot Echo. So uh... whoops? 😅 😂 With that in mind, let me warn you that this is WAY longer than the other fics. I have no idea what happened. I have no idea what I’m doing.

Also also, thank goodness for Wookiepedia lmao

Edit with tags: @dudewhynotthis @merspots @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @delta-the-mando (taglist is open!)

“Captain.” The sergeant keeps his distance even now, face inscrutable as he surveys Alpha.

“Alpha,” he corrects half-heartedly, more for the sergeant’s sake than his own.

“Alpha,” Hunter amends. “We’ll be entering the Mid Rim soon - maybe an hour, hour and a half tops.”

“Good to know.” Alpha knows he sounds despondent at best, but he’s hit enough dead ends by now to know all too well this will likely be a fruitless endeavor. There’s nowhere in the galaxy safe from him - not when his brother’s life is hanging in balance.

But it’s a big galaxy, with little regard for individual yearning or emotion. Alpha can vow to upend the galaxy as much as he likes, but the fact is they’ve only so much time, and only so many resources, and...

And maybe Hunter picks up on that, in that way of his as he observes Alpha without further comment. The sergeant is as much his vod as anyone else Alpha has encountered. Still beyond him sometimes, a little too other for Alpha to ever fully mesh with him or his brothers, but he’s a good soldier. A good man.

“We’ve always got room for another,” are Hunter’s parting words as he makes his way back to the cockpit.

If you find out your brother was dead all along.

Alpha doubts it was anything less than a genuine offer, but it isn’t the only route. Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. And even then....

It doesn’t do, to let himself become so intertwined with a brother until he isn’t entirely sure he knows who he is without the other. He’d tried, both for his brothers and for his own peace of mind, to put a stop to it before it went too far. And maybe that was Jango getting in his head more than Alpha ever should have allowed, but he’d thought it was the right thing to do.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder...

________________________

“ - you know as well as I do we’ve been going in circles for weeks now - ”

“Yeah, you might’ve mentioned that once or twice…”

“You said it yourself - we’ll get ourselves killed if we aren’t careful.”

“So we’ll be careful.” Hunter’s voice holds a note of finality. “We can keep rehashing this conversation, or we can help a vod.”

Alpha doesn’t catch the muttered reply, but it’s hardly amenable, if Hunter’s sigh is anything to go by. He can’t blame them, really - Fordo isn’t their brother, and outside of combat they’ve little common ground. And it’s only natural for Crosshair to raise the questions none of them are yet ready to face. Alpha thinks he could learn to like the man, given time.

He reigns in his thoughts before entering the cockpit. The least he can do is put on a rational front. This whole thing isn’t at all rational, but the Bad Batch seem to understand better than others. It runs deeper than brotherhood here, whatever it is, and Alpha is irrepressibly reminded of Fordo, somehow -

(And osik, does that thought burn, dig under his skin to remind him once again that he failed, that should he redeem himself it will be not on his terms but likely an inconsequential whim of a galaxy that cares nothing for them or everything they’ve fought so hard to hold on to - )

“Y’know, I’m not sure we’ve ever been to Kashyyyk,” Wrecker muses. “That’s a first.” If he’s trying to divert Alpha’s attention from Crosshair, it’s a skillful effort that almost takes Alpha aback. “‘Course, I only remember the fun parts,” he adds as an impish afterthought.

“Anything with explosives, you mean?” Alpha asks drily.

Wrecker grins. “Something like that.”

You and Fordo would get along fine.

What leaves his mouth is, “I don’t suppose anyone has any relevant information about this place?”

Right on cue, Tech pipes up from his position alongside Crosshair. “Actually…”

Tech is just as much of an efficient distraction in his own right. It’s not exactly the height of strategy on Alpha’s part, but once again it redirects attention. He has no doubt Hunter sees right through it; still, the man has enough tact to refrain from commenting.

You understand, I think, Alpha decides, watching exasperation and amusement play across Hunter’s face in turns as his brothers’ bickering fills the cockpit. You would go to hell and back for them, wouldn’t you, Sergeant?

Hunter casts him a wary glance. Alpha holds his gaze.

There’s too much we can’t say. It’s okay, vod - I think I’m starting to understand too.

________________________

Kashyyyk is dishearteningly vast, all sprawling jungles and endless island chains set on a swath of ocean that dissects the planet’s hemispheres. Getting in was no easy task, what with the Imperial blockade cutting off the planet from others in its sector. But Tech’s adroit piloting had come through, and they’d slipped past the blockade with little disturbance.

“You really think your buddy is here?” Crosshair asks dubiously, surveying the area with a distinct air of displeasure.

“I’ve seen the records,” Alpha says, as much to reassure himself as the other man. “The Empire’s tighter with the book-keeping, I’ll give them that. Fordo’s unit lost contact not long before Order Sixty-six went down. If they made it out, it would be on record somewhere.”

“And if they didn’t?”

Alpha battles his temper into submission before replying. “Then they would be confirmed KIA. But they’re still listed as missing as of two weeks ago.”

“Sounds like you’re leaving an awful lot to chance,” Crosshair opines. There isn’t malice in his voice so much as an unmistakable note of disapproval. “What’s your plan if it turns out they were just waiting for reinforcements and pulled out days ago? That leaves us here in the heart of Imperial occupation.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Alpha says grimly. “But if they lost comms before the order came through, then there’s a chance they aren’t with the Empire. Their main focus would be survival, not falling in line nice and neat like Palpatine expects.”

It’s clear there are a number of objections rising to the forefront of Crosshair’s mind, but the man keeps them to himself. There’s a conflict brewing there, Alpha knows, but that’s a matter to address at another time.

“There’s an area south of here where all comm signals go dead,” Tech announces, tapping furiously at the device mounted on his vambrace. “According to intel, the Wookies call it the Black Forest.”

“Sounds inviting,” Hunter says. “What’s the deal with it?”

“A prison ship crashed there centuries ago,” Tech relays. “The Wookies believe it’s cursed, so they avoid it whenever possible. It’s possible Fordo and whoever was left were driven back by the Seps - or it was a desperate bid and he was banking on the droids not following somewhere they can’t maneuver well. But why cut himself off from allies…?”

“The forward operating base was set up in Kachirho,” Alpha muses aloud “There was another commando squad deployed here, but they were retasked shortly after Order Sixty-six. If Fordo’s here, I doubt he would hang around anywhere with high Imperial activity.”

If he were operating alone, the decision would be simple. But he has the welfare of four other men to consider now; one wrong move, and they’ll all end up on the business end of a blaster.

With that in mind, Alpha looks to Hunter. “Sergeant. What do you think?”

“It’s your call,” Hunter answers. “If you have reason to think your brother is hiding out here, then I think it’s worth taking a look. So long as we go careful, I don’t see why the Imperials should notice us.”

Wrecker’s chuckle fills the comms. “Famous last words.”

_________________________

For all that they have a reputation for being unorthodox - a reputation that is doubtless justly earned - the Bad Batch can pull off stealth pretty well, too. It comes as a bit of a surprise, if Alpha is being honest, but if nothing else the overarching threat of Hunter’s wrath is enough to keep them in line.

“Keep an eye out for slavers,” Tech warns. “The whole planet has been a hotspot for them ever since the CIS first let them in.”

It’d be just our luck to run into slavers, Alpha thinks wryly. Individually they’re not much of a threat, but a group of Trandoshans spells trouble for anyone. Even without the training to back it up, their brutality can overpower even an ARC trooper. ‘Course, it’d be just like you to get into a mess like that, Fordo…

“We’ll be a bigger target if we travel as a group,” Hunter says.

“If we split up we might as well ask for a death sentence,” Alpha cautions. Typically his first choice would be to operate alone, but between the slavers, the Imperials, and the remnants of the Separatist forces, he’s starting to think their strength might lie in numbers this time.

Alpha mulls it over. Greater numbers means slower going. If we split up, we’ll be able to cover more ground. It’ll be risky, but - payoff is worth it.

“We’ll move faster this way,” Hunter says, echoing Alpha’s thoughts. “Wrecker, Tech, you’re with me. Cross…” He fixes his brother with a stern stare. “Don’t do anything stupid. Alpha has my full permission to stop you by any means necessary.”

Alpha rewards the sergeant with a wolfish grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He can’t read Crosshair half as well as the others, but the sniper doesn’t appear altogether displeased. He merely shrugs when Alpha jerks his head towards the route they’ll be following, and trails after him without argument.

Silence lays thick over the jungle. There’s an odd rustle here and there, interspersed with faint growls from time to time, but progress is relatively smooth. Alpha takes pains to remain on guard; just because he can’t see a threat doesn’t mean they’re in the clear.

Before long the silence is disconcerting. Given the planet’s Wookie population, there should be regular movement around them, or some sign of existence. But this stretch of the jungle is oddly lacking.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Crosshair mutters.

“Guess no one’s home,” Alpha answers absently, scrutizining the terrain. “Look - there’s no sign of a fight. Maybe no one was here to begin with.”

“Kachirho isn’t too far from here,” Crosshair points out. “You don’t think it’s a little odd that this path hasn’t been used at all?”

“It is,” Alpha allows, “but look at it this way. We’re traveling the way we’ve been trained to in this kind of setting. The Wookies probably have their own methods for getting around.”

“It’s still weird,” Crosshair decides. “And if your brother really was here, we’d have found evidence of that, too.”

He isn’t wrong, but it nonetheless stings to hear the man voice the doubtful thoughts that have been creeping up on Alpha. Still, we’ve come this far. What have we got to lose?

(More than he’s willing to surrender. But Crosshair doesn’t need to know that.)

“Let’s keep moving,” Alpha says, sharper than he intends.

“Hang on,” Crosshair says suddenly. “Contact - ”

Alpha pivots in time to see a Trandoshan emerge from the surrounding foliage. The lizard is taller and more solid than he previously anticipated; instead of hitting it head-on like he initially planned, Alpha redirects in order to avoid being gutted on the lizard’s knife.

He hears the shot and the telltale thump of the lizard falling to the ground. As Alpha picks himself up, Crosshair scans the area through the scope of his rifle.

“Oh, shab,” the sniper hisses.

It doesn’t take long for Alpha to locate the cause of Crosshair’s disgruntlement. A group of Trandoshans lurches towards them. Alpha does a rapid assessment: each lizard is packing some sort of ranged weapon - including slugthrowers, he notes unenthusiastically - and most are carrying an assortment of knives.

“Ideas?” Crosshair asks tersely.

“They’ll just follow us if we run,” Alpha says. “It’ll save us trouble in the long run if we take them now.”

“I can see why Hunter likes you,” Crosshair says, oddly nonchalant considering the circumstances, and fires.

With Crosshair covering ranged attacks, Alpha elects the more up-close-and-personal option. The slavers have the advantage of size, but Trandoshans aren’t renowned for their intelligence. As long as he stays in motion the risk of having his throat slit is greatly reduced.

Alpha targets a straggler first. He hits low, knocking the lizard off balance and sending it staggering into another. The other makes a grab for him, but Alpha is already ramming his vibroblade into the first slaver’s exposed neck. Using the limp body as a buffer, Alpha pushes against the other lizard, trying to force it onto its back foot.

Just as he feels his opponent’s defense start to give, another three descend on him. Cursing, Alpha throws himself aside before they can hem him in. One of the slavers has enough presence of mind to bring his knife down on Alpha’s unprotected back; the force of the blow has him crashing to the ground.

Alpha scrambles for a foothold, but one of the lizards seizes his leg in a vicelike grip. He writhes instinctively, kicking out with his other foot. He feels the impact more than sees it and wrenches himself free.

Just as a third lizard fills the other’s place, there’s a crack from Crosshair’s rifle, and the lizard topples. Alpha springs to his feet to avoid being crushed by several hundred kilos of Trandoshan. The others are wary now, trying to divide their attention between him and Crosshair.

Alpha doesn’t give them time to choose. This time he uses his blaster to put a round through the closest target. It’s not quite enough to put the lizard out of commission entirely, so he follows up with a quick succession of bolts.

It’s not exactly an even match, but things aren’t going as badly as he first feared, Alpha thinks. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than his helmet flashes a warning. He turns to deflect the attack coming from behind, but he moves too late and steps directly into the strike.

The slaver’s curved knife skids off Alpha’s breastplate and sinks into his bodysuit in the gap between the cuirass and the shoulder bell. Alpha manages to pull away, but not before the knife catches the underside of his arm and slices a gash halfway down his bicep.

A line of pain sears through his arm. There’s no doubt the Trandoshan cut deep into the muscle. That arm is effectively useless now; Alpha grimly switches his knife to the other hand.

He doesn’t have eyes on Crosshair from his current position, but the rasping breaths and occasional curses over the comms suggest the sniper isn’t having an easy time of it either. Time to fall back and reassess.

“Let’s pull back. We might be able to lose them.” Alpha bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a hiss of pain when his wounded arm is jostled. “We can’t take them now, at any rate.”

“You might want to rethink that, alor’ad…”

Crosshair jerks his head to indicate the slavers pouring into the area. There’s a slim chance they’ll be able to slip by, but not without risking serious injury. Slowing down to accommodate a bad hit would mean certain death or capture.

Pinned down. Shabla brilliant.

Alpha makes an effort to keep his rapidly rising alarm in check. “We’ll have to hold them off, then.”

“There’s no way,” Crosshair objects. “We’re outnumbered eight to one.”

Alpha sends a slaver sprawling rather than answer. He can see it as plainly as Crosshair, but he’s not going to lay down and die, not when his brother is still out there somewhere, not when there’s still a chance they could pull this off -

He hasn’t been this close in weeks and it isn’t his place to gamble anyone else’s life but his own, but even now he can’t bring himself to give in and he understands in a sudden flash of clarity that this is where he will always fail - because he has a foothold, now, and even though all logic points to turning back for once he can’t give in -

An arm clamps around his neck. Alpha thrashes, trying to throw his attacker off, but now that he’s been caught off guard the lizard has an advantage. His vision begins to blur at the edges and he redoubles his efforts, fueled in no small part by panic at being unable to draw breath.

He doesn’t know where Crosshair is anymore. He can hardly see beyond his own hands, scrabbling desperately at the arm locked around his neck.

No sooner does his vision begin to fade than the crushing pressure on his neck abruptly loosens. Alpha hits the ground gracelessly, coughing violently as he tries to inhale. His breath rattles in his throat, but his vision gradually returns.

He lurches to his feet and assumes a defensive stance as best he can. He’s lost track of how many slavers are still standing - too many is his best estimate.

But the man standing before him isn’t an enemy. He’s -

“Vod,” Fordo says softly.

Alpha can only stare at his brother in stunned silence, momentarily deaf to the ongoing struggle around them. Fordo....

“Later,” his brother promises.

______________________

“So how’d you end up running with them?” Fordo asks with a nod towards the Bad Batch.

“It’s complicated,” Alpha says lightly. “Too much to unpack now, at any rate.”

Fordo laughs. He’s battered and weary, with something lurking in his gaze Alpha can’t quite decipher yet, but it’s Fordo, and that’s more than enough.

“It’s quiet here,” Fordo remarks. “I like that.”

“‘S nice,” Alpha agrees.

They’re still hovering just above the surface. Tentative. It’s not exactly what Alpha is accustomed to, but for Fordo’s sake he lets his brother take the lead.

“Everything’s gone sideways, hasn’t it,” Fordo says suddenly.

“It has,” Alpha admits. There’s no use pretending otherwise. “But we’ll find a way through.”

Fordo flashes a small smile. “You’re good at that.”

Alpha merely shrugs. There’s a thousand other things he wants to say, but he hasn’t the faintest clue where to begin. Finally he ventures carefully, “Y’know, for a while now I thought this mission did you in.”

Fordo lets out a long sigh. “I was starting to think it might, myself.”

“I…” Alpha breaks off, startled by the sudden pressure behind his eyes. It worsens when he tries to continue. “I don’t know what I would’ve - ”

He falters again. I care more than I should. I never should’ve let that happen, but even now I don’t know if I regret it.

“Alpha,” Fordo says softly, and pulls him into an embrace.

Alpha doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally disentangles himself from Fordo as gently as he can and scrubs at the hot trails on his face. He can’t quite bring himself to feel any shame over it. He’s never been given to such displays, but… Fordo is his vod.

“So what’s the plan, alor’ad?” Fordo asks with a familiar note of mischief in his voice.

Alpha smiles despite himself. “It’s a big galaxy.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” Alpha laughs. “We have time.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #captain fordo #the bad batch #bad batch #clone force 99 #the clone wars #star wars #fic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#this was really fun #and i would absolutely write for them again #hunter specifically but shhh #if you make it through this post good on you lmao #my askbox is open!

43 notes · View notes

starsailorstories · 5 years

Photo

[EDIT: now with image captions; was aware that this is a frame of reference for what a bunch of different characters and frankly species look like, so I tried to be detailed.]

[Image: a colored pencil illustration styled to look like a blue-tinted photo in a stained, worn cardstock frame. It’s a group shot of the crew of the Revelator as they were about 10,000 earth years ago. All are humanoid aliens with lights on their heads and some assorted buggy features; individual descriptions will precede their intro writeups for ease of use.]

A million years ago I asked if there were any intro posts you guys hoped I would hurry up on, @awesomesquirrelstuff said the Revelator crew, I said omg yes!! in my head and then proceeded to procrastinate finishing this picture for literally I think 6 months. I am so sorry. Anyway.

The rogue crew of the Revelator are, L-R:

Angia (ship’s medic): [medium height; medium-light eye and skin tones; comes across as fat, though she has an exoskeleton so actually she’s just shaped like that; two long fins hanging off the top of her head fall to rest on her shoulders. She wears a draped scarf and flowing dress and a pair of transparent, butterfly-shaped glasses.] A military surgeon from the imperially-annexed world of Aphacaria. Quite possibly the only sensible person in the bunch. Having immigrated to the rings as a 20something (in quinturns) and made her way through the mazes of respectability, she’s cautious about defying the system, but older memories--and new friends--push her towards rebellion.

Bash (navigator): [tallish, though she’s bending her knees here and folding her arms to lean on Angia’s shoulder; she has a light skin tone and dark hair pulled into a thick, neat braid, and the Basillan feathery antennae; her facial features are severe and look a little banged-up, and she wears a military-style coat with a bomber collar and epaulettes over a wrap dress with a sash at the waist.] A young war vet from the atmosphere-mining colonies in the rings of Shali. Got involved with the mutiny purely to sort out an intensely personal grudge thinking she completely disagreed with everything they stood for and then found out she didn’t, she just found them all annoying. She still finds them a little annoying but they’re her family now oops

Consider (science officer): [she’s only just visible at the back of the group, but she’s a tallish, very pale Basillan with equally pale eyes, wearing a dark veil that covers her hair and antennae and a second, sheer veil that covers the lower part of her face, though you can see she’s smiling through it. Her hand is also just visible gesturing ambiguously beside her face.] A vestal and botanist from a slightly posh estate in a forested queendom on Glasmiri, sent to space as part of the Revelator’s original exploration mission. She’s the most educated of the crew by far, but also (having moved from a lent-out country lodge in the middle of nowhere to a prestigious school to a literal convent) doesn’t know much about the world outside of a book. Un/fortunately, she’s now surrounded by people who are determined to help her find out.

Im (communications officer): [short--just a little taller than Lux, who’s like 4′11--and slim, although she has wide hips and legs which are kind of suggested by the lay of her circle skirt. She’s an Aeverellan, with a round face, darker skin tone, button nose, and four eyes arrayed in a radially symmetrical pattern--the lower pair are dark, the upper pair are bright blue. Her hair is a short afro and she has short antennae that bend at the top. She’s also wearing a vest over a dressy blouse and a tie, and posing with her hand around Lux’s waist.] an Aeverellan student who was tagged along with the Revelator mission by her well-to-do Basillan matrona to receive training as a secretary. She has no intention of ever becoming one; if the rebellion hadn’t come along, she would have taken the first opportunity that did--she’s a big geek with much bigger dreams. She misses her family and her world a lot, but she understands that there’s not much there for her. And she understands all too well that that’s the Hyperians’ fault.

Lux and Cepheid are introduced elsewhere :) [Cepheid is actually the second-tallest of the bunch but she’s leaning down to rest her chin on Lux’s head. She’s a Caesuran, with long gossamer antennae, shiny dark-toned skin, and wings (which in this pic are just a blur because she’s fluttering them). She has a buzz cut and you can just barely make out that she’s wearing a full-skirted party dress. Lux is very small and thin with a dark brassy skin tone and light colored hair, smiling and gazing directly out to the viewer, one hand reaching around to touch Cepheid’s shoulder and the other stretched out holding her staff. She wears a long white bell-sleeved top with a two-buckled belt.]

Teng (ship’s engineer): [small, fairly muscular; lighter skin tone and medium-toned hair styled in an absolutely wild quiff pushed up with a pair of goggles; wearing a white tank top with open sides with trousers and a bulky leather belt hapazardly laid over a long sash. She’s Melwar, an isolated astraea species, and has long, thin, featherlike eyebrows rather than the more typical astraea feathery eyelashes and a fine covering of somewhat reptile-like skin over her exoskeleton.] a former factory tech who was born in the insular Melwar enclaves of an Andromedan colony in the Milky Way known as the Fuscus Swarm. She went to sea with conflicting hopes of eventually getting to visit her people’s ancestral star system, and of finding a niche outside of her super-traditional colony. Teng tends to be brutally practical, bluntly honest, and kind of a troll, but she’s loyal, and a surprisingly deep thinker when you hang around her long enough. She’s playing it close to the chest about any other motives for sticking with the mutineers.

(top) Holiok (turret gunner): [Over 6′ tall and extremely skinny; medium skin tone, undercut hair divided into a slicked combover and a short ponytail. Holiok is an Esmrrrderian, another more isolated type of astraea. She has a long, insectlike jaw which she has pierced with a ring and a beaky-looking upper lip with a labret piercing.You can only see her from the shoulders up, but she’s wearing a leather bomber jacket and resting her elbow on Cepheid’s back, and has her mouth open like she’s in the middle of saying something. Also, she has long eyelashes like most astraeas, but has them gelled together so they’re not so soft and fluffy looking.] a career spacefarer from a shipbuilding town on Esmrrrder that continuously held its own against the exploitation of the empire mainly via labor organization. Her intention wasn’t to start any sort of movement in space, but she’s there to back up her friends and doesn’t mind getting into it with people. She’s also like...Cepheid’s anger translator.

Mag (sail deck hand): [medium height; Basillan with Basillan antennae, one of which is permanently crooked after being broken off in a fight; light skin and eyes and wild, medium-toned hair just past shoulder length. Wearing a wide-collared duster coat and a hip holster and a scarf tied around her head behind her antennae. Hanging off of Dovi and playfully slugging her in the side with a goofy smile.] Formerly of a pirate ship, recently in prison, assigned to work on the Revelator with a bunch of other convicts--most of them just debtors and pickpockets who they dropped off at a spaceport to figure things out as they wished. The only one in the bunch who’s actually Down For Murder was also the only one who wanted to stay (because she had enemies at that particular spaceport). She never really stops being openly chaotic neutral, but she’s also found the first group of friends she’s ever had who she actually trusts and relies on.

Dovi (boatswain): [medium height, broad-shouldered and sturdy, medium-dark skin tone and hair color with light eyes. She has the Basillan feathery antennae and a very sculptural, swirling hairstyle, and she’s wearing a utilitarian jumper-skirt over a frilly blouse with the sleeves rolled up and affectionately eyerolling all the other shenanigans in this picture.] is a settled, respectable middle-class mom (well, aunt) from the Rings who dabbled in political activism in her younger days and literally decided to become part of the rebellion because she and her wife had promised each other they wouldn’t become lukewarm boot-kissing suburban center-liberals. In her defense, she forgot about getting past her quarter-life crisis pretty fast once it became clear the crew needed a steadfast, supportive older sister.

#sweet chariot #character intro posts

17 notes · View notes

180abroad · 6 years

Text

Day 107: Conwy

Today we woke up early again and caught the 9:30 bus out of Betws-y-Coed north to the quintessentially picturesque castle town of Conwy.

On the train into Betws-y-Coed the other day, we had seen some spectacular views of the hills surrounding the River Conwy. On the bus, we got to see even more of the countryside. We passed through a patch of gently rolling, lightly wooded hillsides, dotted with picturesque hamlets and colorful terraced gardens, which I can only describe as The Shire.

Much of it still looked like we were back home in California, but the up-close details--the sheep, the actually old buildings, the pleasant Welsh patter of our bus-mates--made its foreignness a bit more clear.

The old Celtic languages in Scotland and Ireland may be dying out, but Welsh is still very much alive and well, at least in northern Wales. Whenever we overheard a pair of Welsh people talking, it seemed just as likely to be in Welsh as in English. And we figured out a clever trick that some Welsh people seem to do when first meeting someone.

The Welsh word for “hello” is helo, pronounced “hee-low.” To someone who doesn’t know Welsh, it just sounds like saying hello with an accent (which I guess it still is), so they just reply with hello. Someone who speaks Welsh, however, will recognize what they said and reply in kind: helo. And without missing a beat, the conversation can proceed in either English or Welsh as if it was never a question.

Also along the way, our bus crossed over the historic Llanrwst stone bridge--which helpfully had a warning “weak bridge” sign posted next to it. I’m not sure what we were supposed to do with that information, but since the bus driver didn’t seem too much bothered by it, I decided to just not think about it.

Conwy is a charming medieval town still circled by walls that have never been breached or bombed. It instantly reminded me of Dubrovnik, Croatia, which I had visited years earlier. To be honest, the comparison was bubbling in my mind long before we actually set eyes on Conwy, but I was gratified to hear another tourist make the comparison while we were on the castle ramparts. (Perhaps more than gratified--I may have given Jessica a disgustingly gratified grin when we both overheard the comment.)

Driving into town, we passed through a narrow archway penetrating the town walls directly under the view of the castle. And after we got off the bus, that was our first stop.

Architecturally, Conwy Castle is beautiful--maybe one of my top favorites. But as a piece of British history, it is hideous.

For much of their history, the relationship between the English and the Welsh could be compared to the relationship between the Anglo-American settlers and the Native Americans. The Welsh had land, and the English wanted it.

(The English name Wales actually comes from an Anglo-Saxon word for “foreigners,” and the Welsh name for England--Lloegyr--may have originally meant “invaders.”)

Unable to stand toe-to-toe with the English army, the Welsh lords did what every native population does when faced with a technologically superior invader. They retreated to the mountains and waged a guerilla war.

The English responded by ringing the wildlands of Snowdonia with a web of heavily fortified castle towns, from which they could contain the Welsh resistance fighters and launch brutal raiding parties whenever they wanted. For over a hundred years, North Wales was where ambitious young knights and nobles would come to prove their mettle and might.

Despite the castle’s grim origins, the Welsh do an impressive job of presenting it in an accessible, even-handed, and even entertaining way. They make a point to focus on the pride and camaraderie of Welsh culture that allowed them to survive and retain their identity as the era of English imperialism slowly rose and fell.

They are particularly fond of one story that involves one of the greatest April Fool’s tricks of all time.

On April 1, 1401, the English garrison left the castle to attend a Good Friday mass in the city below. They were confident in their iron grip of the city, and they left only two guards to hold the castle gate.

While the garrison was out, the castle carpenter--a Welshman--and two apprentices showed up at the gate to do some work. The guards let them in, whereupon the the apprentices--or rather, Welsh freedom fighters disguised as apprentices--slew the guards, let in a small contingent of other freedom fighters, and barred the gate.

Conwy Castle was so well-designed that this handful of Welsh patriots were able to hold it for three months before finally surrendering to the English garrison. Nine freedom fighters were executed for the coup, but the two leaders who had posed as carpenter’s apprentices were pardoned in exchange for their surrender.

Their names were Rhys and Gwilym Tudor. As in the Tudors who would become the kings and queens of England less than a century later. Which went a long way toward easing medieval England’s apartheid rule over Wales.

The stairs up to the top of the smaller high turrets around the inner courtyard were ridiculously steep and narrow, but the views were worth it.

Unfortunately, we then had to climb down the stairs. Very slowly.

In the castle’s great hall, we learned that an invitation here during the Middle Ages could have very different implications depending on the context. The hall served as the venue of choice for both honorary feasting and criminal prosecutions. A hallway leads directly from the hall to a dark pit that condemned prisoners would be thrown into to slowly die of thirst or starvation.

As fascinating as everything in the castle was, Jessica and I were suffering under the sweltering summer heat. It wasn’t just bad by British standards--as a Californian, I can definitively say that it was hot.

Luckily, we found a stairway leading down into a mercifully cool basement at the foot of one tower. As a bonus, we got to see a cool model of how Conwy looked at the peak of the English occupation.

Notice how the only ways in and out of the castle were by boat or by climbing a single steep, narrow stairway.

We also learned the curious connection between Conwy and a London football team.

One of the signs mentioned an English knight named Sir Henry Percy, who also went by the nickname “Hotspur.” Henry was the son of a powerful earl and spent the late 1300s in Conwy enforcing English rule. Henry was later immortalized by Shakespeare for his role as the leader of a failed rebellion against King Henry IV.

Jessica wondered if he was somehow related to the Tottenham Hotspur football club in London, it turns out that he is. The Percy family owned a lot of land throughout the country, including much of Tottenham, then an agricultural hamlet north of London, and the Tottenham football club chose to adopt Henry’s famous nickname. (The nickname came from Henry’s eagerness to charge into battle.)

Leaving the castle, we immediately began searching the streets for a place to eat--as much out of a desire to escape the heat as of actual hunger. We eventually stopped at the Galleon, whose window boasted of having “Possibly the best fish and chips you’ve ever tasted.” We appreciated the slight concession to modesty and decided to test the claim for ourselves.

We’ve had far too many fish and chips now for me to even begin ranking them, but the Galleon’s would probably be pretty high up. The fish was great, but I was particularly intrigued by the chips--they were almost a perfect clone of the fries from In-N-Out Burger.

After lunch, we checked out the Elizabethan Plas Mawr house--one of the oldest buildings still standing in Conwy and the first house that a Welshman was allowed to build inside the town walls. (After all, the walls were originally built specifically to keep the Welsh out.)

Keeping in mind that the house is almost 500 years old, it’s in remarkable condition. It is filled with interesting plaster and woodwork throughout. We could appreciate what they were going for, but to be brutally honest the craftsmanship and engineering skills just weren’t quite there.

In one room, the plasterwork ended up getting cut off because they didn’t think to double-check the measurements of the room.

The nude woman used in the plaster motif was apparently based on the artist’s wife, and the fireplace of the great room was painted to look like marble.

Allegedly.

The house’s kitchen was unique in that it was actually stocked with real food and spices (apart from the bouncy foam eggs), and everything wasn’t glued down to the table. It gave the place a remarkably more lifelike and homey feel than the kitchens in other preserved homes and castles we’ve visited--not least because it actually smelled like a kitchen.

Before we headed upstairs, the delightfully pattering audioguide lead us out for a quick view of the garden. As an aside, Welsh might be my favorite of all the British accents. Jessica was pleasantly surprised by how similar it is to a Scouse (Liverpool) accent--though it makes sense in retrospect given how close the city is to Wales and how much of the city’s population is descended from Welsh immigrants.

Upstairs, we saw the attic and the house’s arched roof supports with pegged joints. This would have been considered high-tech architecture at the time, and the owner had originally intended for the roof to be on display over the great room below. But he ended up having to add an attic floor for structural reasons.

From the window, we were able to get another great view of the castle and the rest of the town.

And we just couldn’t get away from the California connections.

After leaving Plas Mawr, we were tired, hot, and almost ready to go. But I had one last item on my Conwy checklist--walking a section of the wall.

We got off the wall just in time to catch the bus back to Betws. On the way, our driver pulled up outside a school and got out. We ended up waited around thirty minutes while the bus filled up with schoolchildren. Apparently this was a combination city and school bus. Still, it was an interesting experience to hear how school bus banter doesn’t really change no matter where in the world you go--just the accents.

Back home, we picked up dinner from the Spar mini-mart and watched Iceland heroically not quite make it to the next round of the World Cup.

Next Post: Betws-y-Coed & Blaenau Ffestiniog

Last Post: Snowdonia

#180abroad #betws-y-coed #conwy #castles #wales #travel

1 note · View note