#kix x ahri

[djarrex]

From Where We Stand

Chapter 4: Recollection

Post-Stasis!Kix x f!OC

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Chapter Rating: M

Word Count: about 5.7k

Warnings: language, memory loss, mentions of alcohol consumption, angst (clone feels, tbh)

Chapter Summary: Bits and pieces of Kix's memory start coming back to him, and even though he has many questions that have yet to be answered, he decides to put his focus on other things - on someone in particular.

Note: as always, thank you to the darling @rowansparrow for beta reading! This chapter is in Kix's POV. #feels

This isn’t right.

He’s never seen him this… frantic before.

He’s cornered - should he be worried? Maybe not for himself, rather, his brother who is approaching him cautiously, unlike anything he’s ever witnessed in the famously headstrong trooper.

It is worrisome. Something isn’t right. Something is very, very wrong.

Is it the virus he’s supposedly infected with?

Wait… framed? Danger - us, the Jedi. All of us.

Ouch. He’s grabbing him by the shoulders - trying to explain. All the way to the top? Conspiracy?

Kix wants to help - that’s what he does.

He can help him. He will.

“Thanks, Kix. I appreciate it.” The shaken-up trooper reaches for Kix’s arm - tapping away at the buttons of his vambrace. “Here. Here are the coordinates.” Several, short beeps followed by a longer confirmation beep signals that the location had successfully been inputted into Kix’s comm and had been sent off to their captain. He can’t guarantee that Rex will bring the General; he made sure to tell him that.

He did his part - for now - but Kix knows in his heart that he could do more.

He can help him. He will.

Kix watches as his scared, anxious, almost unrecognizable brother secures a piece of his disguise atop his newly-shaven head - hiding the signature tattoo inked above his temple. He’s hiding in plain sight, risking it all just to get his story out there. This has to be important.

As he walks away and without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he concludes, “Just make sure he meets me there.”

Kix turns to watch him leave, finally finding the words to say after the trooper had exited to the main area of the lively club as the door to the ‘fresher whisks closed behind him.

“Right. Good luck, Fives.”

<<<>>>

“He’s gone.”

Rex stands before Kix, his head hung low, bucket at his hip. His captain’s expression says it all, but at the same time, doesn’t say enough. Kix is able to translate grief because he’s known him for a long time, but aside from that, Rex remains as collected as a CO does when in the presence of another. Hiding the real pain; Kix has seen it before - not just with the physically injured, but with those who suffer with emotional turmoil as well.

They’re not droids. They’re men.

Did Fives make it to Rex? Did Rex witness what happened - or - is Rex what happened?

No. No, Rex wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.

“You were the last one to speak with him,” Rex continues - his voice forcibly remaining steady. “What happened?” He’s digging - comparing the encounters.

So he did make it to Fives.

“He must have been waiting to get either Jesse or me alone, because he followed me into the empty ‘fresher at 79’s,” Kix answers honestly - also keeping his voice as steady as possible. “He mentioned something about a conspiracy - going all the way to the top - how he was being framed.” Kix pauses - his eyes holding with Rex’s in the thick silence. Searching.

“How… did he seem?” Rex asks - stepping closer.

“Frantic, sir. Scared, even. I - I didn’t know what to make of it. He asked me for help, to get into contact with you and General Skywalker. He was adamant about speaking with you two, alone.” Kix pauses again, pinching his brows together and looking down at his boots, then meets Rex’s eyes once again. “He inputted and sent the coordinates himself, Rex.”

“You’re not in trouble, Kix,” Rex assures with a gentle smile. Kix can’t help but sigh in relief, though in all reality he knew he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. Not with his captain, anyway.

Rex looks around the barracks and steps even closer - noting the few troopers who are cleaning their weapons at the far side - his chin hovering just over Kix’s shoulder. “I’ve filed a grievance report,” he says quietly. “I’m coming to you because I don’t think Fives was... wrong. At least not completely.”

Kix blinks - brows raising. “Sir?”

“He’d spoken of the same things when he had the General and me trapped in a ray shield. He… he just wanted to be heard. Did he mention anything about ‘chips’ to you, Kix?”

Trapped in a ray shield? Chips?

“I don’t recall, sir. I don’t think so, no.”

Rex hums, and notices the new confusion growing in the medic’s expression. “Inhibitor chips,” he begins to explain. “The Kaminoans implanted organic chips into our genetic code, our heads, when we were embryos. Tubies. Supposedly, Tup’s malfunctioned, which caused what happened on Ringo Vinda… to happen.” A beat. “Fives had removed his on Kamino, before the incident with the Supreme Chancellor.”

<<<>>>

Kix all but shoots awake in the dark room - only the dimly lit lanterns hanging just outside illuminates the sheer curtains hanging over the interior of the window. The thin but firm mattress barely gives to his weight as he shifts to sit all the way up. It’s quiet, more so than it was as he was falling asleep just hours before, and he figures it must be early in the morning with the sounds of native, desert creatures chirping softly in the distance that can be heard through the thin walls of the room. Pushing himself to sit up against the wall at the head of the bed, Kix sighs - scrubbing his hands over his face and letting his eyes adjust to his surroundings. The canvas sack of armor still sits on the chair that’s positioned in the corner of the room, hanging wide open from when he’d deposited the remaining pieces into it after stripping for the night, and exposing the familiar red insignia that’s painted on his left shoulder bell.

His duty. Or - it was.

The dream - or was it a memory? Both? Kix pulls the sheet from his waist and lets the stale air hit his bare legs - the heated skin of his thighs and abdomen. His eyes burn a hole through the armor peeking from the sack, and the sight of the blue buttons on his vambrace laying just underneath the pauldron hits him with a realization: it was a memory - my dream.

Kix knows he’s too late. He knows he’s decades too late, and from the little information he’s gathered so far from listening in on Ahri and her crew speaking of the matter, his brothers are long gone. Ahri and the Twi’lek - Reveth - hadn’t even been born when Kix last spoke to Fives.

Fives.

Kix was there, as one of the last people to speak with him. Fives died shortly after that, that much he can remember now.

What happened after that?

“What happened to me?” Kix mutters to himself - tearing his eyes from the heap of disassembled armor. He swings his legs around to the side of the bed and glues his heels to the ground, staring at his toes as they wiggle against the cool, smooth sandstone. He’s instantly reminded of his first attempt at standing in the desert - the humor that came with the pirate’s words of warning.

“You can’t just use your legs after they’ve been asleep for five decades.”

His lips curl up at the corner. Ahri.

There’s something about her that is drawing Kix in, as if her gravitational pull is far too strong for him to escape unscathed. He can’t say he minds it, though. She’s tough. Kind. Full of sarcasm. Beautiful… no, don’t go there. Going through some shit that Kix can relate to. Easy to talk to. Striking…

Kix shuts his eyes and shakes his head - scolding himself. “Di’kut.”

She’s tough, he reiterates in his head. Tough enough to handle that relentless creep at the bar by herself - far from accepting Kix’s assistance when things sounded as if they were heading south. She can handle it - ‘it’ being anything, apparently. Kix isn’t used to that with women, or with any civilian for that matter. It’s all so new to him - not ‘needing’ to help - to be told to stand down. He isn’t sure where he stands in this future, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t act if someone appears to need assistance.

Even if he gets chewed out by a gorgeous, fierce, redheaded pirate after the fact. Just as he had yesterday evening.

He’d been sitting at the bar, Rev seated a little too close to him. The Twi had been sipping her drink and tinkering with something at the elbow of her cybernetic arm, not making much conversation of note after Kix had shot down her advance upon taking her seat at the stool beside him - sliding him one of the two drinks she had in hand. “Wanna get out of here?” she’d muttered while bringing the lip of the glass to her red lips. Kix had blinked at her a few times, pretty quickly realizing that she hadn’t been joking. Rev had been making a blend of subtle and not-so-subtle passes at the trooper since he and Ahri had walked back into the cantina - actually, since he’d woken up in the damn desert.

The band had since resumed playing their lively tunes after the small scene Ahri had caused. The redhead had been quick to recover after their talk outside, standing right to her feet and nodding at him in thanks for lending his ear - his thoughts. He’d followed her back inside, and she went straight to a booth in the corner; he’d assumed that was her go-to spot. Quiggold had brought her a drink and left her be after handing it to her, and Kix figured she could use a moment alone. So, he’d stepped over to the bar - taking a seat at one of the empty stools. Rev had joined him moments later, and with the offering of a glass of much-needed liquor came the punctuation of all advances made in a single rotation.

“Sorry,” Kix had responded after staring at her for a moment - frozen in thought. “I, uh, I think I just need some time to adjust… first.”

She’d chuckled - speaking an amused ‘suit yourself’.

They’d sat in silence after that, and Kix couldn’t help but discreetly glance over his shoulder towards the direction of the booth Ahri was sitting in. She wasn’t alone, now. Someone had joined her, and by her not-so-relaxed body language and the little sliver of her face that Kix could make out, she wasn’t enjoying the male Twi’s company - her fingers presumably anxiously tapping at her glass.

“Fuck off,” she’d spat - clipped, feigning confidence but Kix knew what state her mind was currently in from their conversation twenty minutes prior. Kix had tried to separate the bustling tune thumping throughout the place from the guy’s irritating voice, and was able to catch little fragments of his arrogance.

“C’mon, baby. I haven’t been with a human for a long time. You look like you’re in need of a little fun, am I right?”

Kix had nearly turned all the way around in his seat upon hearing that - his eyes narrowed in their direction. Ahri had slid out of her seat and stepped around to the asshole’s side of the booth - hands on her hips and glaring down at him.

“I’m not interested. Now fuck off, you blue cock sucker.”

Kix had chuckled internally at that, but kept his focus on the man who’d been getting visibly more and more impatient and angry that his advances were getting passed on. He’d watched as Ahri turned to walk away when the Twi’lek grabbed her upper arm - yanking her back towards him. She’d nearly fallen into the seat on top of him.

“Hey-.”

Kix had reacted before taking a moment to think.

“She said she’s not interested,” Kix had forcefully reminded him - instantly standing at her side. “Now fuck off.”

Luckily, the guy hadn’t been in the fighting mood. But Ahri wasn't exactly pleased with Kix for stepping in.

Sighing and shaking his head at that memory, his focus now shifts to the folded pile of clothes that lay on a different chair, one that sits turned towards the other. Civilian clothing. A basic tunic, basic pants. Items of similar look had been worn by the trooper only a small handful of times, mostly when he was on shore leave. Those rare times. Kix stands up now, dragging his feet towards the large standing mirror that leans against the shared wall of the tiny ‘fresher. Through the spidering cracks and layer of dust and sand coating the reflective material does Kix take a moment to notice his attire - or lack thereof. In only his gray, GAR-issued briefs, he scans himself toe to head - letting his eyes rove over the parts of his body that he rarely sees.

Kix can’t help but smirk - smoothing his large hands over his toned pecs and defined abdomen. All these years later and I still got it, he thinks with a pleased look on his face. But more importantly, he notices how he’s unscathed, somehow. No bruises, scratches, nor abrasions. Strange, considering the state of which he was found trapped onboard a Seppie ship. He turns to check his backside - chin pointed down against his shoulder. No physical harm is detected on his nearly naked body. He drops his hands to his sides. No clues.

How did I get on that ship?

The rising Ponemah sun - the start of another day in this future - reaches Kix’s feet from where it’s pouring onto the floor from underneath the curtains. Skipping over the thought of taking another shower after having taken one last night just to slip on the same pair of underwear, he moves towards the folded clothes and slides the shirt over his head, and steps into the pants.

I need answers.

But what questions do I ask? What could this pirate crew even tell me after all this time?

Stepping back over to the mirror, he sighs - cocking his head to the left. The man that stares back - the person standing tall in the reflection - may look like Kix, but he doesn’t feel like himself. Not really. His head aches - attempting to grasp at the shards of his memories that are too sharp to put back where they belong without cutting himself. Fixating on his frozen reflection, Kix thinks back to what felt like yesterday for him, how he was a medic in the Grand Army of the Republic, serving primarily in the Five Hundred and First Legion under Captain Rex - one of his closest friends - his brother. He recalls the good times - the sharing of juicy tidbits with Jesse, the drinking and laughing with the rest of Torrent at 79’s. The bad times - the very, very difficult times - also come to him just as easy; Kix could never suppress the memories of what happened on Umbara - the betrayal, confusion, stress, and despair he and the rest of the boys were feeling during and after that brutal campaign.

The most recent and newly discovered memory - Fives coming to him in desperation and the subsequent news of his death - haunts Kix. It’s too incomplete for comfort; the tragedy is missing important details; he can feel it in his bones. The fallen ARC has something to do with what happened to the amnesia-ridden medic, and he needs to figure out how.

Kix can’t do it alone.

Running his fingers through his thick hair, he shakes his head. “Who am I now?”

A cluster of short, hesitant knocks against the other side of the door pulls Kix from his existential haze. He straightens his back, making sure he is in fact wearing the clothes he believed he’d put on. Looking to the covered window, the sunlight stretches further up the curtains and coats the entire floor below with its glow.

Damn. How long have I been standing here staring at myself?

“Hey,” he hears a familiar voice call from the corridor, slightly muffled by the door in between. “Are you, uh, hungry? I brought over some-”

The voice is interrupted when Kix pushes the button, the door sliding open and making the loose hairs hanging over Ahri’s forehead bounce briefly.

“-breakfast,” she finishes - eyes slightly widened. She forces a smile and extends her hand - a native-looking, brightly colored, spiky desert fruit and a triangular, vacuum sealed half pack of polystarch bunched in her palm. Kix eyes the sustenance before flickering his gaze up to hers. Exhaustion - he sees it in and sinking underneath her normally bright eyes. He can nearly feel the conflict going on inside of her from where she stands just a few feet away from him. A lot has happened since they’d found him, he knows that, but wants to try to help ease her mind. Helping others is what Kix does.

She’s watching him as he observes her and the meal, looking down at her boots almost as if she feels guiltyabout the selection. Embarrassed, perhaps.

Why?

“Thank you, Ahri.” Kix reaches to grab the items from her palm with a grateful smile stretching on his lips, his fingers unintentionally brushing over hers in the transaction. “This is perfect, thank you very much.” She returns his smile with her version of one - dropping her hands to her sides. Instead of either party retreating to their respective rooms, they both stand there for a few moments longer. He continues to smile at her, and he can tell she’s trying not to look him right in the eyes.

“Well then.” Ahri smacks her arms against her thighs. Kix can’t take his eyes off of her - grinning like a fool at her demeanor. “I’ll leave you to it. Come find us when you’re ready.” She spins on her heels and starts to head down the dingy, ill-lit corridor but pauses before turning the corner. With her head turning back to look his way from over her shoulder, she calls: “We have a lot to discuss.”

She vanishes around the corner and it’s then Kix looks down at the food resting in his hands. It’s been… fifty years since he’d last eaten anything? A few days? He isn’t sure how this ‘waking up in the future’ thing works. Regardless of the timeline, Kix’s stomach starts to groan as he’s thinking about it. Heading back into his room and shutting the door, he makes his way towards the tiny, high-top table stationed near the small closet. The fruit is unlike anything he’s ever seen: palm sized and ovular in shape, bright pink with flat, emerald green ‘spikes’ protruding from the rough skin of it and curling at the ends. It’s set down on the tabletop, rolling an inch or two from the unevenly balanced and wobbly table.

How in the hells do I eat this thing?

<<<>>>

Kix walks down the hall in the same outfit he’d worn the day prior, the same pieces of plastoid secured in the same places above the stolen clothing. He supposes that he really has no need to wear bits of his armor while omitting some of the more crucial - albeit, bulky and heavy - pieces of his kit, but it feels routine. Familiar, unlike the clothing draped over his body that the crew had stolen for him yesterday. Truthfully, the outfit they’d plucked from the clothesline for him fits him quite well, and is actually pretty comfortable for the weather conditions of this desert planet. Although he would have been fine in his full kit, he’d agreed then just as he agrees now that he’d stick out like a sore thumb amongst the people of this town if he were to strut around donned in plastoid. Times are different now; he feels it, even if he doesn’t know why.

She’d called me a… ‘storm’ trooper? The kriff does that mean?

Adding that to my growing list of questions.

His stomach no longer cries at him, though the portion-sized bread and small fruit didn’t do quite enough to satiate his hunger. The vibrant desert fruit was pretty much completely mush by the time Kix got around to eating it - the pink skin and greenery peeled clean off, revealing a moist, white interior. He’d poked at it and tore bits and pieces of it apart before bringing it up to his lips, and to his surprise, it was quite delicious - unlike any fruit he’d ever eaten. Still, Kix doesn’t think that he had utilized all the edible parts of the fruit, but he’ll try again next time. He has a feeling that there will be more than enough opportunities to get it right.

His boots knock against the sandstone floor as he rounds the corner, the corridor opening up to a little seating area. Ahri and the others are sitting around, sipping caff from clay mugs and watching the screen on Quiggold’s ‘pad. Rev looks up, her expression quickly turning mischievous and eyes honing in on Kix as he slowly approaches the group - avoiding the Twi’s gaze.

“How’d you sleep, pretty boy?” Rev asks with a grin.

Lifting his brows at her immediate blatancy, Kix looks to Rev and gestures to the ‘pad they’re all focused on. “Good. Not long, but I don’t think my body exactly needs much more of it right now,” he answers plainly. “What’s going on?”

“Researching transport that’ll get us back to the wreckage we found you in,” Ahri informs - her eyes not leaving the ‘pad. “He could still be there, alive. He’s survived worse.”

He? Oh. Captain Ithano, if I recall correctly. The man who’d sacrificed himself for Ahri, the crew, and… me.

“Don’t you guys have a ship?” Kix asks. All pairs of eyes are now on the trooper, and Ahri throws a “duh” look and a slow nod his way. He backtracks - recalling that on-foot journey through the scalding, coarse sand. “M’sorry, but I don’t remember getting back into town on anything resembling a ship.”

“We cannot fly the Martinet over the Sea of Sand,” Quiggold replies. “It is not a safe zone for flying ships of its size.”

“We’ll need another sail barge. That’s what we’re lookin’ for.” Ahri grabs the ‘pad from Quiggold’s hands and shifts from the arm of the chair down into the seat. The three others look to Kix with nearly the same expression, and the trooper is able to read it all too well.

They don’t believe their captain is still alive, or at least, they don’t believe this idea is a good one. They’re doing this for her.

Ahri is lost in the device in her hands and the information displayed on the screen - her tanned, lightly freckled face splashed in the soft glow of the ‘pad. Her fine brows pinch together in concentration as her finger drags slowly across the screen.

“She’s been going on all morning about how he should’ve been back by now,” Rev murmurs to Kix - purposefully leaning in close. “She is right, though. The Captain has made it out of far worse before, so there is some hope that he could return to town.”

“Ahri had suggested going back to the wreckage, that maybe we would find Captain Ithano trapped inside,” Quiggold adds, though not as quietly as Rev. “I had countered with the suggestion of keeping the crew here for another couple of weeks to wait it out. I have to think of what is best for the crew. It is my duty.” The wise Gabdorin finishes with a nod and walks off towards the egress just around another corner. Squeaky shrugs and follows their first-mate - or, Captain, now, perhaps - as he ducks under the low thresholds. Rev stays put, though. Moments later she’s tugging on Kix’s arm and leading him the opposite way, just out of Ahri’s earshot. Not that Ahri is paying any attention to the rest of the world right then - too lost in her thoughts. Doused with a determination that is concocted from anger and sorrow.

“I’m worried about her.” The Twi is much more serious now - her tone making that known. “She hasn’t been herself since… you know.” Kix nods, looking back over his shoulder at the redhead. Biting the inside of his cheek, he can only imagine what she’s thinking about right now. “It doesn’t take long to find a sail barge around here, normally. A lot of them are shut up for repairs since that destructive storm came through not too long ago. She’s been adamant about going back, but, there’s just no way. Maybe… she’d listen to you. If you were to talk some sense into her, I mean.” A beat - her tone mildly accusing. “Something tells me that you know exactly how she’s feeling.”

Damn.

Turquoise eyes pin his honey ones down in the silence - Kix’s lips pressing themselves into a thin line. He sighs - a nonverbal accord - then backs away from Rev and returns towards where Ahri is slouched in the chair with the device held close to her face. He softly clears his throat - tentatively - to be greeted with that fiery look in her eyes that has since watered down by something else of which he is familiar. She flashes him a weak smile as she sets down the ‘pad on the little clay side table - bringing her legs up and crossing them in front of her on the seat.

“Can we talk, Ahri?”

What he wants to know is how he ended up in the future. He wants to know what happened after Fives had died, after Rex had met him in the barracks to deliver the awful news the morning after. He wants to know why he was frozen onboard the ship of a Seppie - of Count Dooku - of a Sith. He wants to know it all, but Kix, once again, pushes that desire for answers back behind the part of him that wants to help his new friend.

Or at least he thinks they’re friends.

She lifts a single brow - studying him closely as he kneels down in front of her. His hands falling against his thighs, Kix rummages through his mind to find the right way to approach this. This, being how he’s supposed to talk this woman out of wanting to risk her life to find a man who is more than likely dead.

She clicks her tongue - cocking her head to the side. “What’s goin’ on, Kix? What did they say to you, hm?”

“Rev said she’s worried about you,” he answers honestly and probably a little too quickly. Her eyes widen at that, then she’s silently standing up and pacing towards the egress - slipping right past where Kix is kneeling on the ground. He sighs as the door whisks shut. When he turns towards where Rev was standing, he finds that she is no longer there. It’s just him in this little seating area, alone and mentally cursing himself for kicking it off that way.

Osik.

Go after her, di’kut.

Kix stands and bolts out the door, looking around the alleyway that the egress had opened up to. A couple of passersby holding canvas bags of fruits and bread from the nearby market meander towards the opening at the other end of the alleyway, and as his eyes follow them down, they land on Ahri. She’s leaned back against the stone wall, her arms crossed across her chest and right boot kicked over the left one. Her face is tilted down, staring at the sand depressed around where she’s planted.

“Ahri.”

His voice was too quiet, too soft and careful when it fell from his lips, but she heard. Kix walks in her direction, and is relieved when she makes no attempt at putting more space between the two of them. With his hands folded behind his back, he pauses at her side - her eyes returning to her boots.

“You said so yourself that Captain Ithano had made it out of far worse situations.” Silence is his response, but he continues on - softer now. “I know how you’re feeling, Ahri. I know that the need to help in any way you can is eating you from the inside out.”

Kix watches her with pinched brows - the way her head moves in an almost unnoticeable nod.

“He’s alive,” she whispers - looking up at him. “I know he is.”

“Maybe you’re right, but think about what Quiggold suggested,” Kix implores. “You have to consider what’s best for your broth- crew.” He catches himself - clearing his throat. “Your crew.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she echoes. “But tell me, Kix.” Standing up straight, Ahri turns to fully face him. “Wouldn't you have done anything you could to save one of your fellow troopers if they were in trouble? If you knew you could have done something, even if it seemed too risky?”

Unwittingly, her words hit Kix like a speeder.

Fives.

I helped Fives.

How?

I helped him get in contact with Rex and the General, I know this already.

No, there’s more. It’s deeper than that. I knew I could help, even after Fives was gone.

But how?

What was Fives going on about? ‘Chips’? Rex had mentioned chips. In our heads - in the heads of all clones.

Chips.

Wait. Ahri had mentioned chips, too.

Organic chips.

No, I’d mentioned chips when they’d found me. Ahri only repeated what I’d said. Why did I mention ‘chips’?

“Kix?”

That’s me… I’m Kix. CT-6116. Kix. Clone medic. Five Hundred and First Legion.

“Kix?”

“Chips.”

“Kix?”

Blinking rapidly, Kix’s vision fades into focus on Ahri’s expression - her eyes wide and brows scrunched in concern. She’s close to him - analyzing his face.

“Hm?”

“Hey, are you okay? You... zoned out or... something just then.” Noticing her own hands on his shoulders, she slides them down his biceps before dropping them to her sides.

“M’fine,” he says - rubbing at his temples - the thick hair growing along his hairline that he’s still getting used to. “It’s just… never mind. Like I said, I’m fine.”

“No.”

He shakes his head - confusion lacing his features. “No?”

She sighs. “C’mon.”

Grasping his wrist, Ahri leads him through the alley and out into the open - market stalls of various species of venders and their goods bordering the narrow path between residential structures. Neutral colored canopies and tarps hang overhead, stretching from the roofs of one structure to the next, casting shade upon the merchandise and the sentients shopping around. Vendors call out to shoppers and to other vendors, laughing and arguing and everything in between. It really is a nice day for a desert planet; the red sun is not as devastating as it must usually be. Nearing the end of the market, an Aleena shouts in Basic at Kix about her unique and rare jewelry and gems for sale - how such a pretty young woman deserves the finest desert jewels credits can buy as she winks and gestures towards the redhead practically holding Kix’s hand.

She isn’t wrong.

Kix holds up his free hand and respectfully declines with a shake of his head. Ahri scoffs at the merchant when she takes notice of the Aleena’s hassling and tugs Kix along a little quicker.

It’s about a minute into walking when she drops his arm from her hold, though he still strides beside her, silently questioning where her head is at, and where they’re going. Kix’s mind feels fuzzy, aching and incomplete; if that feeling were to be described, he wouldn't know how to in detail. The strangeness that’s rattling in his skull is foreign to him. Unknown. Never before experienced by himself nor any of his brothers that he’d treated. Or at least, not that he can recall.

After several minutes, the pair comes up on a small hanger that’s enclosed on three sides by surrounding sand dunes. Crooked pillars constructed of chipped sandstone frame the entrance; a sign with a faded, indiscernible scribbling is etched into the wood, marking the designation of the hangar. A few ships to the left appear to be under repair - pit droids hopping around and working in and out of the parked vessels. Crates opened with random parts haphazardly thrown around litter that section of sand. Junked speeders and barges that had been stripped for parts sit at the far side, and on the other end of the dingy hangar, several ships are parked that must be the vessels of those who are visiting the area. That’s the direction Ahri leads Kix in.

They pass the first couple of docked ships, but then she’s stopping in front of a ship unlike one that Kix had ever seen. His brows raise as he appraises the large shuttle.

“This is your ship?”

“The Meson Martinet,” Ahri answers - rolling her eyes. “It’s not my ship, but, yeah.” Starting towards the rear of the ship, she looks back over her shoulder and calls to Kix, who is planted in place, unable to move for some reason.

“You comin’?”

He takes a few steps forward before pausing again. This ship is nothing like a Jedi cruiser, nothing like a gunship, nothing like a medical frigate. It’s the ship of pirates, though that isn’t why his legs are refusing to carry him the rest of the way. This is all so new. Different. Unfamiliar - boarding a ship that does not belong to the Republic and is not piloted by Republic pilots.

Clankers, and a lot of them. Surrounding me. Blasters aimed directly at me, but not firing.

Why didn’t they kill me?

A ship - a small Separatist transport piloted by clankers. Nothing but clankers.

I was on that ship. On route to somewhere.

Somewhere not good.

Ahri extends a hand. “Hey, it’s alright,” she assures - pulling him out of his haze once again with her soft voice. He’s no longer standing; his knees are digging into the sand. “I told you we have a lot to discuss, and we still do.”

series tags (sorry, I'm not including my entire tag list):

@notfivefives @book-of-baba-fett @ashotofspotchka @threevie @dar-manda-rjct @moonstrider9904 @gotomarvelgal @saltywintersoldat @megafrost4 @wisegrape @revengeisaconfesionofpain @imrowanartist @salaminus @thefact0rygirl @murdertoothpick @kaorikoizumi @theroguesully @sugarpuffsstuff @droids-you-are-looking-for @rowansparrow @nyravioppri

If you wanna be tagged in future chapters, please let me know either in the replies, through inbox, or through DMs.

[djarrex]

From Where We Stand

Chapter 3: Back for More

Post-Stasis!Kix x f!OC

<- previous chapter | next chapter ->

| main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 |

Chapter Rating: M

Word Count: about 3.5k

Warnings: language, mild violence, one teeny tiny mention of blood but very non-descriptive. we're starting to feel, people - buckle up

Chapter Summary: Strange feelings and mixed emotions flood Ahri’s system as she, her crew, and Kix make the trek back to town.

Note: as always, thank you to the darling @rowansparrow for beta reading! This chapter isn't too long but we're starting to get more into the feels :')

Another note: for some unknown reason at the time of posting, I am unable to post this chapter unless I omit my tag list people AND the post tags. So, reblogs are so very appreciated that way those who are usually tagged in this can have a chance to see it (and the rest of Tumblr). Thank you! x

“Hey. Ahri.”

Ahri’s eyes flutter open, her head tilted back and resting against the sand dune she’d apparently fallen asleep against. Kix is still beside her just a foot or two away, lightly resting his gloved hand on her shoulder and calling her back into the world. Ahri grumbles, rolling her head back and forth against the dune and covering her eyes with the palms of her hands - digging the heels into her sockets until white specks burst in the pitch-black. She hears Kix breathe out a little chuckle as he retracts his hand, and when her eyes open again, she notices how the sky is no longer the color of night - instead painted with warm hues of orange and reds blending with the deep blue and lavenders sprouting from the horizon.

“I think it’s time to go,” he continues after a pause - letting her fully wake. Ahri lolls her head to the side to look at the man speaking to her, and instantly gets lost in the way his eyes shine with the beautiful colors of Ponemah’s dawn. Quickly pulling herself from that, she lowers her gaze instead to the geometric shape painted in worn and chipped blue on his chest piece. From her peripheral she sees how he offers a soft smile as he lifts his chin towards the others who are now putting out the fire - kicking the surrounding sand into the charred depression to suffocate the flickering embers.

“Did you sleep any?” she asks - cautiously returning to meet his eyes.

“No,” he answers plainly. There’s a momentary pause before he continues. “I’m- I was a soldier.” Messing with the recently reattached vambrace that once sat in the sand beside him, he sighs. “Didn’t get much sleep. With my duties, there was never any time.”

Ahri lets his explanation sit between them, remembering what little information he’d told her last night and only imagining what his duties had consisted of in the midst of an active battlefront. She nods absently, taking her braid into her hands and undoing it with practiced ease. She pulls apart the thick, auburn strands and combs them through with her fingers before standing up and tilting her head forward and letting it all waterfall in front - shaking the grains of sand from her loose hair. Kix watches the cascading flames draping from her scalp as she runs her slender fingers through, and he swallows. Taking her seat beside Kix once again, she begins to rebraid the dry waves.

He stares at her; Ahri can feel the heat of his gaze - heat that eclipses even the early morning Ponemah humidity. She keeps her eyes forward and her focus somewhat on her fingers’ familiar dance within her hair, and decides to change the topic.

“Have you tried standing again? Walking?” she asks - still staring forward. Her eyes begin burning from the lack of blinking.

Shaking his head and pulling himself out of his thoughts, Kix bends each of his legs at his knees a few times - testing - then nods. “I did, but, I didn’t know what to do after that.” He chuckles and rubs at his nape - the material of his under-armor top that stretches up his neck. “I sat back down. You were asleep and I don’t know the rest of your crew, and I don't exactly have anywhere to go.”

“But you didn’t topple over,” Ahri pokes at him with a smile - blinking the moisture back into her eyes before facing him. She ties off the end of her long braid, throws it over her shoulder to rest against her back, and tucks the shorter hairs behind her ears that never do end up fitting into the style. “C’mon.” Standing to her feet and dusting off her leggings, she extends her hand down to him.

He blinks at her a few times - his eyes flickering back and forth between the three standing off in the distance and the woman standing just in front of him. Ahri internally cringes at her gesture; she knows he can stand up himself, unaided. He’s a grown man - a soldier for fucks sake - but it’s too late to retract her hand now. It’s several, awkward moments before he takes her hand - repositioning into a squat before pushing himself up. Her hand was merely a gesture - a gesture in which he accepted, but did not fully utilize.

She presses her lips together. “Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

Kix remains still, looking down at his boots and seemingly focusing on his balance and stance. Ahri watches his expression carefully, noting his firm stare and pinched brows directed at the ground. That’s when they both realize their hands are still loosely held in one another. With wide eyes and expressions mirroring the other’s, they simultaneously snatch their own hands away, quickly dropping them to their sides.

“I’m, uh, sor- ”

Ahri coughs. “Guys,” she draws the crew’s attention - cutting Kix off in the process and stepping closer to them. “This is Kix. You may also know him as the guy we found taking a nap in that cruiser.” She chuckles and looks to Rev. “Or maybe you’d know him better as the guy who knocked our lovely and fierce Reveth in the jaw.” Ahri sends the back of her hand smacking against Kix’s rerebrace, and smirks at the way his eyes have widened.

“I… I what?” He shakes his head in confusion - yet another detail from the cruiser he does not remember. “M’sorry about that, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Rev cackles. “Haven’t been called that in a while.”

“She’s Rev,” Ahri informs with an amused look on her face. “But yeah, you whacked her right in the jaw when we first woke you.”

“It’s all good, handsome.” Rev winks - running her tongue across her sharp top teeth. “I’m a big girl. I can handle anything.” Ahri flashes her a look - her stomach churning in the strangest way. They all stand in silence until she’s able to continue - swallowing the weird feeling that had begun to bubble in her throat.

“That’s Squeaky, the guy who carried you all this way.” Ahri pauses to give Kix a moment to nod in thanks, and the Gamorrean nods back. “And that’s Quiggold, our first-mate.” Quiggold nods in greeting as well. She then looks down at her boots - the toe of her right drawing a small pattern into the sand. “Though I suppose you’re, uh... you’re the captain now, Quigg?”

The... tone in her voice does not go unnoticed - the hesitance.

“Are you ok- ”

“Alright, are we ready?” Ahri cuts into Kix’s question of, no doubt, unwarranted concern. She looks off towards the north - the direction they need to continue heading to get back to town. “I could use a drink.” The others verbally agree with Ahri as she turns to Kix. “And I’m sure you could use a drink.”

<<<>>>

Bringing her forearm up to her face, Ahri wipes the sweat from her brow - grains of sand scraping along her sun kissed skin. The not-so-loose hairs that had been escaping from her messy braid throughout the trek stick to her cheeks and her nape, the braid itself fringed and ready to be redone. More accurately, though - ready to be washed. Tailing the group with Kix a few feet distant from her side and stepping in time with her, Ahri scans the backs of the heads of the very different species that are leading the way.

“I could use that drink right about now,” Kix says under his breath - laced with a sarcasm that Ahri can appreciate. Having heard him, Rev chuckles from the lead, turning her head back towards the clone and raising her nonexistent brows - her long, red and patterned lekku swinging from her front to rest behind her shoulders.

“We’ll get you that drink, pretty boy,” she promises with a too-cocky grin stretching on her slim face. Ahri can’t help but discreetly shake her head and roll her eyes once Rev faces forward, and Kix can’t help but notice.

The glowing red sun is at the peak of the sky when the crew catches sight of the sandstone domes that roof the sparse buildings of the outskirts of town - the short skyline blurry, nearly mistaken as a mirage. Quiggold points in the direction of the very real buildings in the near distance, stopping and turning to face the crew. Ahri sighs in relief, sneaking a glance to Kix who is standing as tall as ever, appearing to be totally unwinded and unfazed. Something tells her that he’s not one to complain - that he’d grown accustomed to spending hours and hours and even days on his feet with little to no rest, food, or water.

She, too, will not complain.

“Thank fuck,” Rev dramatically groans. “My legs feel like they’re about to fall off. Not to mention that I’ve had to piss for over an hour.”

Squeaky cocks his head and makes a face - his four tusks dropping with the rest of his jaw. “Why didn’t you just, you know, piss?”

“Does it look like I have a dick that I can just pull out and piss anywhere I please?” Rev’s hands are on her hips - her eyes narrowed as she approaches Squeaky. Without so much as looking Ahri’s way, Rev calls to her: “Ahr? Back me up.”

Ahri chuckles. “Yeah, uh, we can’t exactly…” Her words trail off when her eyes briefly catch Kix’s - her train of thought derailing straight into a dune of sand. He’s looking at her so intensely, like he’s genuinely interested in what she has to say… about women not having dicks. “Pee,” she concludes half-heartedly after an awkward few moments of silence. She shakes her head - passing by her crewmates to take the lead, waving at them to follow.

We can’t exactly pee? Motherfuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?

They venture into town - Ahri falling back as the caboose once again - through the random patches of green that become even more scarce as they head towards the heart of it all. Three children no older than nine-years-old dressed in scraps of canvas and duraweave run right in front of them, chasing a deflated ball that still manages to skid across the loose terrain. She keeps on in tow of the others, electing not to give the children a second glance before they’re turning the corner. A cracked and dried up fountain constructed with sandstone blocks catches her eye instead, but more specifically, the gentleman that sits at the edge of it with a gadget of some sort in his hands and absorbing his focus. His clothes - they’re… normal. He looks normal. Having only passed a small group of children playing and soon the man sitting on the edge of the out-of-commission fountain, there hasn’t yet been an opportunity for undistracted townsfolk to look in the direction of Ahri and her crew and their newest addition. While still maintaining her current steady pace following the others, Ahri’s eyes scan the narrow alleyways that open just on the other side of the fountain - soon spotting just what she was hoping for, hanging between walls.

“Guys, wait.”

Ahri’s feet plant themselves in the sand, and the crew plus the trooper pause and turn to face her. She lifts her chin, gesturing to the man sitting to their right then eyeing Kix and making it a point to appraise his conspicuous attire with a brow lifted. They all nod in understanding, save for Kix.

“Hm?”

“You need to change out of that.”

His brows pinch together as he follows Ahri’s finger, noticing a clothesline hanging wall to wall in the alley nearest to them - each end of the rope tied to the high windows of adjacent residential structures. Following the redhead’s eyes and finger, Squeaky - the tallest of the crew - heads down the alley and jumps a foot off the ground, grabbing the suspended pieces of what appears to be men’s clothing. A couple of hops into the air and Squeaky had managed to collect Kix almost an entire outfit - a plain black tunic and a pair of tan pants.

“Oh,” the trooper says flatly as the Gamorrean passes him the clothing in a haphazard bundle. “I, uh- ”

“It would be… safer… if you weren’t dressed like a stormtrooper,” Ahri cautiously advises - pursing her lips.

Kix returns her look with a blank one. “A what?”

Collectively, the crew averts their eyes, leaving Ahri to explain.

Eh, Maybe another time.

“...Nevermind.”

<<<>>>

The five, sand-coated and parched members find themselves standing in the cantina they were in just a rotation ago - now with three missing faces but with an added face belonging to one who’d lived in the days before the majority of the patrons in this rundown place. Everything else is the same: the various species dancing to the loud tune of the band playing in the corner; the cheering coming from those who’re winning bets in the other corner; the man behind the bar serving warm drinks in foggy glasses -

Ahri freezes when her eyes land on the old timer who’d given them the information on that so-called ‘lost treasure’ of Count Who-the-Fuck- anger and something else brewing in her panging belly at the memory of the subsequent loss. Her red vision catches the glimmer of the daggers that line the belt on Rev’s waist as the Twi moves towards the bar to no doubt order a round of drinks, and seconds later, before anyone has a moment to react, Ahri snatches the shiniest blade and charges at the hunched-back barkeep - diving over the counter. A freshly poured glass drops from his veiny hand that he’d opened in shock, shattering on the floor at his feet - the dark liquid splashing on her leggings and boots. The music falls silent, and the patrons freeze. Her crew doesn’t make a move other than to brush their hands over their holstered weapons in preparation.

Kix, the furthest back from the others and with the sack filled with the rest of his armor thrown over his shoulder, watches with concern in his eyes.

Concern for her.

“What the fuck?” she spits. The enraged redhead ghosts the point of the dagger at the bob in his throat as she glares at him - her gut twisting and twisting to the point of a whole-body shudder coursing through her. The man at the end of the blade notices.

The barkeep’s surprised expression quickly fades and a disgusting grin stretches along his chapped lips - the remaining teeth in his mouth coated with a thick, yellow film. His breath absolutely reeks of bourbon and rotting gums and death sticks as he chuckles in her face. His reaction catches Ahri off guard - the dagger lowering slightly - the smallest nick in his skin beading with a single droplet of crimson.

“What’s the problem, lil lady?” he chides. “I told yous, I told all yous that m’information is good to anyone who’s willin’ to pay for it. Don’t come cryin’ t’me if someone got there first.”

Crying?

Ahri steps back, almost in shock from the punch of his rancid words, setting the dagger on the counter for Rev to secure back on her belt. It’s then she feels the wetness sitting at the corners of her eyes - the heavy stickiness of her lashes when she blinks.

Oh my fucking Maker.

“I’ll be outside,” she mumbles as she hops over the counter. Keeping her head turned away from the others, she lets her arms drop loosely to her sides and steadily paces towards the thin, torn curtain only half covering the exit. Brushing it aside, Ahri steps into the unforgiving sunlight and practically sprints around the corner once out of sight of the entrance - her back hitting the wall lining one side the alleyway before sliding down and sinking her ass into the sand. She brings her knees up to her chest, burying her face into them. Her forearms wrap around her shins, resting right above the liquor staining her leggings and bleeding onto her skin. The warm breeze bouncing off the sandstone of the narrow alley tickles the loose hairs hanging down from her sweaty hairline. It’s all catching up to her - she’s exhausted, filthy, and starving. She wants to fucking shower.

There are too many things happening inside of Ahri. Sensations. Feelings. Emotions. Some recognizable, others - not so much. It’s as if she’d chugged a carton of moof milk then sat under the twin Tatooine suns - the ugly, swirling sensation brewing in her gut. She feels as though she has not properly mourned, but what is the proper way to mourn someone who was your captain who was also the only person who really knew you? There’s sadness. Rage. A very small flicker of comfort and hope that has blossomed within her because of the frozen man, which not-so-beautifully mixes with the hopelessnessoverpowering all else. The strangest internal battle Ahri has ever felt.

And what’s with Rev? She’s a natural flirt, sure, but-

No. No, I am not jealous. I have no reason to be.

The gentle and soothing whooshing of the air passing by and creating small sand tornadoes in the corner is what Ahri tries to focus on until the soft slosh of parting sand from approaching boots makes her look up.

Fuck.

She scans the trooper from toe to head, appraising his new attire and noting how he’d elected to keep some of the painted plastoid pieces secure in place but above the stolen clothing. His tan pants - which fit him perfectly - are tucked into the boots and greaves, the blue and white rerebraces circle around the short black sleeves that wrap around his biceps, and the vambraces are secure over his bare forearms. The rest of the armor and his under-armor body glove - the one with the Empire’s fucking logo printed dead center on the chest - should be in a canvas sack that Kix was carrying, but something tells Ahri that Squeaky ended up getting stuck with it.

They lock eyes for a moment - his dark brows lifting when he catches her eyeing his getup - but then he’s sliding down the same wall, and sitting right beside her.

Right beside her.

“Something happened when you saved me,” Kix says softly - his voice dropping an octave and face turned towards her as she re-buries her own into her knees. “Didn’t it.”

“You could say that.” She scoffs - shaking her head. “A lot happened, Kix. I told you we were after treasure, but found... you instead. We saved you - he saved you. Us.

“Your captain,” he acknowledges.

My captain.

It stings Ahri - in the depths of her ribcage. She can feel her eyes begin to burn, but blinks a few times to will the forbidden tears away. She will not cry in front of this man - again. She will not dare make herself appear weak in front of a man like him.

“Yeah... our captain,” she says with a forced, steady voice. “He’s gone because of greed. Which is just so fucking ironic since we’re pirates.”

His hand - his ungloved, bare, worn hand - drapes across her knee. The heat radiating from his calloused palm bleeds through her leggings as the spilled liquor has. Her eyes burn a hole through the thick veins spidering underneath the dark skin of the back of his hand until he speaks again.

“I know it’s not my place, and we really only just met, but I know what it’s like to lose people. Family.”

Ahri regards him with a furrowed brow and glossy, emerald eyes - meeting his own, golden ones with understanding.

Understanding, and empathy. His eyes speak the same.

Kix lost everyone; Ahri doesn’t need him to provide her with a list of names and their relation to him to know that’s true. She hasn’t yet allowed herself to think about it… but imagine waking up fifty years in the future after everything and everyone you’d once known and loved had since vanished after you did.

She wants to know how he got here, fifty years in his future, but now isn’t the time to open that wound. Perhaps he doesn't yet remember.

“I know what you’re feeling,” he continues. “There’s an emptiness in your chest, but at the same time, something in there is still sitting heavy. You know what that is, that heavy emptiness?”

Her eyes one again drop to the hand resting on her knee - lashes dampening. Kix’s fingers dig into her - squeezing comfort into the bones. He’s good at that, she mentally notes.

“‘There was nothing I could’ve done.’ That’s the feeling.”

Perhaps he does remember.

For some unknown reason, I am unable to post this chapter unless I omit my tag list people AND the post tags. So, reblogs are so very appreciated that way those who are usually tagged in this can have a chance to see it (and the rest of Tumblr). Thank you! x

[djarrex]

From Where We Stand

Chapter 1: Fool's Gold

Post-Stasis!Kix x f!OC

x | next chapter ->

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Chapter Rating: M

Word Count: about 7k

Warnings: language, mild violence

Chapter Summary: The Crimson Corsair's pirate crew follows a tip that was supposed to lead them to a lost treasure hidden onboard a fifty-year-old wreckage, but what they find instead of kyber crystals shocks them all.

Note: thank you @rowansparrow for being my beta buddy and placing their incredible eyes upon this! I hope you all enjoy the series intro. You'll find some similarities between this chapter and book The Crimson Corsair and the Lost Treasure of Count Dooku, so credits to the author Landry Q. Walker for the some of the deets :')

While she’s kicked back nursing a glass of her favorite amber liquid, Ahri’s other crewmates are scattered about the cantina. The captain is sitting with Quiggold in a booth opposite of the noise, more than likely going over the crew’s next move instead of relaxing and letting loose. Reeg is barely attending to his own drink by himself at the empty corner of the bar, sitting hunched forward on the rickety stool while tinkering with an old transmitter he’d picked up in town the day prior. Reveth is on the dance floor, grinding against some horny Devaronian who definitely won’t be getting lucky tonight, despite what he may be thinking; Rev is quite the tease, but she enjoys having fun when not stuck on the Martinet - their home. The remaining two crewmates - Pendewqell and Squeaky - are entraining rounds of sabacc with a couple of greedy looking Rodians sitting across them.

“Hey, Ahri! Come play a round and show these guys how it’s done, eh?” Pen calls out to the redhead. She simply smiles and shakes her head dismissively, holding up her half-full glass to swirl around in their line of sight.

The cantina the group had selected to hold up in for the day was quite the choice. It's more lively than literally any other place on this desert planet known as Ponemah Terminal with a band playing upbeat tunes in the corner, rounds of sabacc being dealt in the opposite corner, and the dance floor half crowded with various sentients - all but human. Ahri stands out like a sore thumb - even when up against her captain, Sidon Ithano, who dons crimson robes that cover most of his body with an intimidating red plasteel mask to top it off.

“Not this time, fellas. Just wanna relax and drink up.”

Ahri was quite the sabacc player, though she pins that down on her ability to hold luck in the palm of her hand. Everyone brings something different to the crew; luck, among other useful things, such as her limited medical knowledge, is what Ahri offers.

“Hey, come listen to this,” the triangular-headed Arcona still sitting by his lonesome at the bar calls over his shoulder to the rest of his crew. Ahri drops her legs from the table to the ground, her boots hitting the stone floor with a thud as she signals a round-up at the two playing sabacc nearest her. Only when all members of the crew have made their way to the bar does Reeg continue.

“This ol’ thing just picked up a transmission, dating back fifty years.”

The Gabdorin first-mate opens his wide mouth first. “Well? What’s it sayin’, Reeg?”

“It’s being relayed from something that goes by... ‘B1-CC14′? A droid of some kind by the sound of it. It’s a distress signal coming from a cruiser called the Obrexta III.”

The old man wiping the counter with an extremely dirty rag suddenly halts and shuffles over to where the group’s gathered at the bar, leaning in close after scanning each of their very different faces with bloodshot eyes. The feisty red Twi’lek member glares at him, about to ask him what his problem is, but he interjects with a gummy grin.

“I’ve heard that name before... that cruiser.” All eyes turn to the old bartender as he rubs his skinny, wrinkly fingers against his thumb, signaling the need for some sort of payment for the following information he has to offer. With a roll of her eyes, Ahri tosses a few credits across the counter, reassuringly placing her hand on Sidon’s cloaked shoulder as they all lean in close when the old man starts to open his mouth.

“Heard it crashed here way back at the end of the Clone Wars... somethin’ ‘bout containin’ the lost treasure of one of the political heads of the time. Dooku, I think’s the name.”

Treasure.

That’s the one word a group of pirates needs to hear.

A few pairs of eyes light up upon hearing the magic word, but the more cautions among them simply raise their brows - incredulous. Quiggold shakes his cloaked and rounded head ever so slightly as a sign to take caution - the captain nodding in agreement at his first-mate.

“How many have you told of this cruiser and treasure?” Quiggold inquires at the hunchback bartender, stepping closer and pressing his stubby body into the counter.

The old man is quick to reply with widened eyes and a sly smile, “If they’re willin’ to pay for the information, it’s theirs.”

“Captain.” Ahri pulls the crew’s leader to the side before speaking so only he can hear, “We can’t be the only ones to know about this wreckage. It’s been what, five decades since it crashed here on Ponemah? I’m sure hundreds upon hundreds have tried to find the treasure, so who knows if it’s even still there?" She pauses - her eyes flickering to the few pairs of prying ones coming from the other end of the cantina. "There’s those giant sand worms out there, too, not to mention the difficult terrain. I think it’s too risky, Sid.” Ahri peers over to her other crewmates who seem to be preoccupied with yapping with the bartender, save for Pen, who's now strutting over to the two of them.

“Captain, I think we should go for it. Bartender just said there’s kyber crystals on board, and maybe even a lightsaber. The cruiser belonged to a sith lord, sir. You know how much we can get on the black market for those crystals?”

Ahri not-so-discreetly scoffs and shakes her head, narrowing her eyes at the overly-eager Ishi Tib.

“The wreckage has been there since the end of the Clone Wars, Pen. Who’s to say the crystals haven’t already been scooped up?” Her eyes land on the captain once again, “Sid... it’s your call. I know we can handle anything that comes our way... I just think the journey itself is far too dangerous for the slim chance that there’s actually something worthwhile within that dated wreckage.”

It’s silent between the three for a long moment; though it’s difficult for anyone else to read Sidon since he’s very well-hidden underneath the mask, Ahri knows him well enough now to figure almost exactly what he’s thinking. Captain Sidon Ithano is a man of very few words; he relies heavily on his crewmates to translate his thoughts and anticipate his desires, but will speak if absolutely needed. Ahri can read Sidon like an ancient text scribbled on some flimsi, more so than the rest of the crew, but probably tying with their first-mate.

With a disappointed sigh, she shakes her head, already knowing his answer by his silent stance. Sidon finally nods, and Pen claps his hands excitedly - the rest of the crew cheering under their breaths once they catch sight of the exuberant Ishi Tib practically skipping his way back to them.

“Fine,” she mumbles, heading back over to the others behind the captain. Kicking the ground and tossing the old man behind the bar another couple of credits, she sighs again. “Alright, barkeep. Where’s this wreckage?”

“Southern Region. S’all I know.”

This time, Ahri laughs. “Let me guess, in the middle of the fucking Sea of Sand, right?” The bartender tugs his thin lips into a creepy smile, nodding with an amused huff. The defeated redhead turns back to her crewmates, speaking to the captain in particular. “Can’t even get there flying the Martinet. We’ll need a sail barge to get there.”

The Sea of Sand - quite appropriately named - is plagued by lightning storms, magma geysers, and 15-meter waves of caustic sand that act as Ponemah’s sea. Even the crew’s ship, the Meson Martinet, a heavily modified CSS-1 Corellian Star Shuttle, is no match for that terrain.

And the crew knows this.

Sidon nods before turning his attention back towards the old man who had resumed wiping the bar, clearly satisfied with the amount of credits he’d acquired just from entertaining a group of desperate pirates. The Corsair coughs once, quickly gaining the attention of the old man.

“A sail barge.”

The rarely used, deeply modulated voice coming from the captain always makes Ahri shudder - but not from fear.

<<<>>> 

The Shrike.

Ahri knows she isn’t the only one who's on the fence about this expedition. The crew’s first-mate, Quiggold, is a very wise Gabdorin who always thinks ahead, usually correcting his crewmates in a smart-ass “told you so” kind of way when something would happen as he predicted it would. With some of the more… eager pirates who are a part of the crew, Quiggold’s sarcasm hardly goes unused. 

In this instance, Pendewqell is who's on the receiving end of the first-mate’s lecturing.

About an hour into the journey, Quiggold begins scolding Pen, going on about how it was foolish of the Ishi Tib to use his power of persuasion to push the captain into leading the crew into such an unsure and dangerous hunt. Ahri agrees with Quiggold wholeheartedly, but had already tried voicing her opinions; she knows Sidon is stubborn as all hells, and is not one to change his mind once it's made up. Reveth always goes with the flow, never once complaining, especially if a mission should involve some sort of action; she's quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat, as is Ahri, but Rev prefers using melee weapons - specifically favoring her daggers. Squeaky’s also not one to complain at his captain’s orders, and is always ready to step in if blasters start firing - always ready to block shots aimed at his crewmates with his thick green skin. Reeg is probably the only other crewmate as hesitant as both Ahri and Quiggold are, but keeps his reptilianoid mouth shut and puts his focus on manning the heavy guns onboard the sail barge if it comes down to needing them.

For as dangerous and harsh as Ponemah’s terrain is, the sunsets sure are beautiful. Flecks of purple and pink stretch across the orange and yellow sky, providing a sense of calmness to Ahri, allowing her nerves to relax as she watches the single sun lower beyond the horizon to the west as they head south. Her fellow crewmates are finally quiet, seeming to also be mesmerized by the lowering sun and the explosion of beautiful colors rising in its wake.

It’s the calm before the storm.

“We’ve got a problem!” Rev shouts as her metal finger points to the north; all heads snap to the rear of the barge, trying to see what she's referring to. Ahri squints her eyes, not yet able to make out what had made Rev shout.

“What is it-?”

Blaster shots hit the rear of the sail barge, sending it into a little wobbly wave. All members onboard the Shrike quickly enter their battle positions, the same motions they practice when a seemingly simple heist goes awry. Ahri shakes her head, cursing under her breath. Looking over at the captain, she notices how calm he seems to be as he doesn't make an attempt to duck or secure his blaster. He just stands there at the rear of the barge, looking off to the north where the blasts had just come from.

“Captain!” Pen calls out from his cover. “What are you doing?”

“Who is that, sir?” Reeg calls while firing shots off into the open. More blasts sail to the north as little explosions pop through the darkening horizon in the distance. Ahri ducks behind a storage crate and grabs hold of her own blaster, popping off shots in the direction of the others. Through her peripheral she keeps an eye on Sidon, anxious at his clear state of insouciance.

“An old friend.”

Ahri hears those three, deeply modulated words even over the sound of shots being fired back and forth, and it dawns on her.

Scorza and the Gray Gundarks.

‘An old friend’ is right.

Quiggold had told Ahri of the crew their captain had been a part of long before this one, where he had earned the name 'Crimson Corsair'. The notorious thief had caught the attention of the Weequay pirate named Scorza, and was invited to join the crew. Sidon spent several years partaking in heists, hunts, and even bounty hunting. Of those things, Ahri couldn’t believe the latter; as she knows Sidon, he never has been one to get his hands dirty with living beings, rather have his crewmates take care of what they would like to call casualties of a successful treasure hunt. Ahri herself would never kill - not unless her life or her fellow crewmates’ truly depended on it - but Squeaky, Reeg, and especially Rev would always step up to the plate and get their hands dirty if need be.

As for Sidon and his former crew? Things didn’t exactly end on a positive note all those years ago. And now it seems as though the swoope biker gang has been discreetly tailing the Shrike since they'd left that damn cantina.

That fucking greedy bartender.

After several, long minutes that honestly felt like they could have translated to hours, the rival pirate gang is taken out - some of the credit going to the randomly-erupting magma geysers that litter the terrain. Most of the credit, however, goes to Reeg, who had maintained steady shots until taking the brunt of a rapid-fire from a member of the Gray Gundarks, knocking him overboard to be swallowed by the caustic sea. Rev quickly went to man the guns, but the last few blasts Reeg had managed to fire had successfully blown the remaining bikers into pieces.

A majority of the crew is left feeling a little uneasy after losing one of their own. Reeg was extremely knowledgeable with weapons and prided himself with having the most accurate shot of the seven, and held up to that until his last breath. When Ahri had first joined the crew, Reeg was the one to show her the ropes; showed her how to assemble and disassemble various blasters, how to clean them, how to shoot accurately. Before joining a bunch of pirates, Ahri had never so much as even held a blaster in her hands, but Reeg was there to guide her. Throughout the five or so years that Ahri had been a part of their strange little family, Reeg would correct her stance or technique every now and then - the little things that she appreciated.

Now he’s gone, just like that.

“What do we do now?” Squeaky grunts out, looking back and forth at the faces of despair being shared among his crewmates - exhausted bodies slouched against the wooden planks lining the interior of the barge.

“What do you mean? We keep going. We’re pirates, Squeaky,” Pen says bluntly.

Pirates.

Ahri scoffs under her breath, upset yet not at all surprised by Pen’s caviler attitude. 

Pirates who had just lost one of their own.

“Somethin’ to say, Little Red?” Pen’s yellow eyes narrow at Ahri, hands on his hips. 

“Actually.” Standing up from her spot, she exhales deep, mirroring his stance. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. That’s all you have to say? That we’re ‘pirates’?” Ahri turns her head to face each member one at a time, pausing at Sidon’s expressionless mask before returning to stare daggers at Pen - sharper than the ones lining Rev’s belt. “We just lost Reeg, for fucks sake! He was one of us, had been for years, and you’re acting as if it doesn’t matter that he’s gone!”

“Sit your tiny ass down,” he chides. “I never said that, Little Red.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ahri spits at him. “You’re an asshole, Pen. Greedy, even for a fucking pirate. I knew this was a bad idea, and look what happened!” 

“Whatever happened, happened. We need to see this through,” Pen reasons with a huff as he walks towards her, waving his hand towards the south. “Besides, we’re nearly there.”

“And how do you know that?” Ahri extends a hand and jams her tanned, slender pointer finger into the amphibian’s chest. “How do we know we weren’t blown off course when we were fired at? Is anyone here even fucking navigating this thing?”

“I am, Ahri, and I believe we are still on course.” Quiggold enters the space between the pair, lightly grasping Ahri’s finger and removing it from Pen’s sternum. With a huff, she crosses her arms over her chest, knowing that if anyone here were to remain level-headed through this entire thing, it’d be Quigg.

The crew then falls silent, defaulting into taking turns getting some shut-eye as the barge sails on - the moon steadily rising over the horizon. Ahri’s anger towards Pen and the situation itself keeps her awake for the most part as she goes over what she could have done back at the cantina in order to persuade Sidon into saying no to Pen. Reeg would still be alive, and the silent yet mutual ire shared among the crew would be nonexistent. 

Another couple of hours go by of the sandy breeze blowing through the wisps falling from the braid of Ahri’s long, burnt sienna hair as she drifts in and out of a half-assed sleep. The times her eyes are open and aware of what’s going on around her, the differing snoring volumes coming from that of her sleeping crewmates puts her at ease. It’s the sound of family - peaceful, non-speaking and non-bickering family. She tries to find Sidon through her hooded eyes, but he’s just out of her sight, steering the Shrike. Turning her head a little more to the left she spots his cape blowing in the breeze as he stands tall at the wheel, and she smiles.

Restless, as usual. 

“There,” Quiggold calls from over his shoulder - Ahri shooting forward and the others follow. The captain moves to the edge of the barge, the rest of the crew slowly waking up and doing the same. Sure enough as foretold, there sits a grounded star cruiser, half swallowed by the surrounding blanket of sand.

With the sky dark and the solo moon only halfway up in the sky, Quiggold passes out the stored torches to the others. As the crew disembarks the sail barge and steps closer to the wreckage, they come across an airlock at the exterior of the cruiser. They’d come prepared with rebreathers, taking an educated guess as to what harmful gases could be leaking through an old wreckage such as this one. Rummaging through an abandoned ship isn’t exactly new to the pirates, but never had they ever boarded one as old as the one that lies half-buried before them.

After strapping on the rebreathers, Squeaky tugs the airlock open and the crew cautiously steps aboard. It was a good thing they came prepared, because bodies of other pirates and gang members lay scattered about the corridor, most likely having fallen victim to the durilliam gasses that had slowly been leaking through the ship over the course of the last five decades.

“Poor suckers,” Pen chuckles with a tsk as he steps over the bodies. Turning the corner to the next corridor the group encounters deactivated droids littering the durasteel flooring, laying just as dead as the bodies they’d just passed.

“Look at all of these battle droids.” Ahri steps over each one as if one small nudge to the wrong droid would be the crew’s ultimate demise. “Where do we head first?”

“This way, to the bridge.” Quiggold motions for the others to follow - the crew taking their time stepping over the countless deactivated droids and the dead bodies of fellow but unlucky, unprepared pirates. It isn’t long before they reach the bridge - the bodies and droids’ numbers thinning out as they cross the final corridor.

“Are we sure this is safe? Didn’t an ion storm come through this area not too long ago?” Ahri looks around the bridge, closely studying the fallen droids that had once controlled this very ship, making her way to the control panel to scan the computer for any clues.

“So?” With a nonexistent eyebrow raised, Pen places his hands on his hips.

“So...” Rev rolls her eyes, chiming in with a shake of her head. “Storms like that have electromagnetic impulses and can cause deactivated droids such as these ones to reactivate. All these battle droids need is a little bit of juice, and I’m afraid they have it already, so we should make this as quick as possible.”

Ahri searches the ship’s inventory and log, finding something noteworthy after a minute of scrolling.

“A vault!” she calls. “C’mon, we should get moving before they have a chance to wake up with us onboard.” Ahri steps back from the computer and glances over at their captain before heading towards the ajar door to exit the bridge. The captain nods in agreement, a hand over his blaster in preparation as he slides to the lead. The rest of the crew keeps cautious hands brushed over their holsters - Rev scraping a long fingernail over one of her daggers.

With the captain and Ahri taking point, they steadily race through the crashed cruiser in search of anything that looks valuable or like it would contain anything of any worth on their way to the vault. The droids could wake up any moment, or they could remain out of power for another month, or year. No one knows, but it's best to keep haste and remain cautious and aware of the potential threat.

After several minutes of stepping in and out of darkened corridors, a heavy, fortified door comes into view - the vault Ahri had seen in the ship’s computer.

“Well something has to be behind such an impressive door,” Pen gleams. 

Anger subsiding while getting a little more eager, Ahri turns to the muscle. “Squeaky, are you able to open it?”

The Gamorrean brushes past the others - cracking his neck and knuckles with a grin. With all his strength he tries, but deflated, they realize it’s going to take a lot more than just muscle to open this vault’s doors. Next up is Rev, who tries her luck with bypassing the security to access the dead controls, but that doesn't work either.

“I brought a few small explosives, just in case.” Ahri pulls a couple sticky detonators from her belt, slapping them onto the durasteel. “Stand back now,” she turns and waves the rest to join. “Hopefully this works!” The group jogs backwards and takes cover behind scattered storage crates, covering their ears as the detonators go off. The ship’s floor vibrates beneath them, but they aren’t paying too much attention to that right about now - the sturdy door now busted wide open.

“Nice, Ahr!” With her flesh arm, Rev slaps Ahri on the back and offers a sharp, toothy grin before joining the others as they run towards the now open vault. Sidon stays behind for a moment, cocking his head to the side at her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Ahri jests - placing a hand up on his shoulder. “I’m kidding, Sid. Let’s go see what’s in this mysterious vault, shall we?” Wordlessly he nods, and follows the increasingly excited redhead towards the vault to join the others. By the time she approaches the threshold of the vault, the others are dead silent. The single, flickering overhead light in the crowded vault casts a spotlight on a cryo-cycle stasis pod that stands almost upright in the corner. The transparisteel lining the face of the exterior front of the pod is colored a foggy blue and the low hissing sound of the steam escaping the cracks leads the crew to believe that there is something of value in there, encased within.

Squeaky barely fits inside the cramped vault with the others, but moves past them to see what's going on while Ahri leans over the pod and presses her face into it, trying to make out what's inside.

“I see… a face? I think?”

A loud grunt of frustration comes from Pen - the first one to audibly exclaim his annoyance. “A person? That is definitely not kyber crystals! I don’t see anything else in this Maker forsaken vault!”

Rev, slightly annoyed but not one for losing hope, looks around the casing of the pod for a way to open it. “Whatever - whoever - is inside this thing has to be valuable since it’s locked within this vault, right?”

Quiggold shakes his large head in disbelief, turning to the captain for any semblance of guidance, a next move, anything. Sidon remains stoic at the rear, his blaster now in hand.

“Reveth, can you awaken the pod?” Quiggold calmly asks her. The Twi nods, getting right to work on the control panel at the bottom edge of the stasis chamber once she spots it. Steam begins hissing out of the chamber - even louder and with more vigor than before - as it unlatches with a loud snap. Rev and Ahri are nearest, already leaning in closer to catch a glimpse of what lies within.

Ahri gasps - muscles fluttering in her torso.

“What the fuck...”

A man covered in an almost full set of white plastoid armor accented in blue designs emerges from the pod, already coughing up a lung as soon as the fog settles. Ahri’s emerald eyes widen as the man doubles forward, clutching his abdomen and panting heavily. She steps back in pure shock, bumping right into Squeaky.

Ahri can’t help but fixate on the man’s face - the sharp curve of his defined cheekbones, the strong jaw and brow, the shape of his-

The man’s eyes snap open as he gasps out, “Wh-where am I? Who are you? I- I need to get to General Skywalker... now!”

“Whoa whoa, who is this guy?” Squeaky towers over the group, looking back and forth between a wide-eyed Ahri, Rev, and the man they had just awoken from stasis. Rev reaches for the man in an attempt to help him stand, but in the same breath he starts flailing his arms to push himself out of the chamber, consequently knocking Rev right in her jaw.

“Get away- away from me! Separatists… you- you...”

“What the fuck is he going on about?” Rev asks as she rubs at the curve of her chin, Ahri moving in front of her and caressing her cheek to examine her bruising jaw around the lining of the rebreather. 

“I don’t know, but we need to get a rebreather on him," Ahri firmly suggests. "No sense of letting him die from this poisonous gas, and we… we have a spare." Her voice softens at the last few words - pressing her lips into a thin line.

Pen steps back, away from the chaos ensuing near the awakened pod with their fallen crewmate’s rebreather in hand, shaking his head and scolding under his breath. “No, no, this isn’t right! Where are the crystals? The lightsaber?”

The armored man’s eyelids begin to flutter - his words trailing off into a mumble as he continues, “I need t- to save the Republic... need to tell the General...”

“Quick, Pen! Get Reeg’s mask on him, now!” Ahri paces back in front of the man, carefully reaching towards him in an attempt to check his vitals. Grabbing him by the clothed spaces between his pauldrons and rerebraces, she wiggles his freezing cold body the best she can with how heavy he is of muscle and plastoid combined, trying to keep his attention as his panting slows.

“Hey! Can you hear me? You need to calm down.” 

Just as Pen goes to attach the rebreather on the frantic man, he, too, is knocked in the face by a strong, gauntleted hand. Ahri manages to hide a grin, internally chuckling at how he’d just gotten struck in the face by this man.

“No! I need to get t-to Skywalker... the- the chips...” The man’s voice trails off as he slumps forward; Ahri’s grip on his shoulders tightens as he abruptly slips into unconsciousness - all his dead weight falling on to her.

“Get the rebreather on him, Pen! Hurry!”

Placing the mask on the man’s face is easier now that he's unable to swing his arms, but the crew isn’t sure if they did it in time. Pushing his body back against the lining of the pod and catching her breath, Ahri looks at the faces of her crewmates, stopping at Sidon. He's furthest back, silent and observing, just as usual, his arms crossed against his chest and blaster tucked between. Ahri feels Sidon’s confusion and disappointment just by observing his body language; she knows their captain is angry with Pen, but mostly at himself for bringing his crew to partake in this worthless hunt.

What are they supposed to do now, with this once again unconscious, mysterious, unfrozen man?

“Is he...” Rev arches forward, rubbing at her jaw while examining the man’s limp, armored figure. Ahri motions for someone to lay him down - Pen rises to the occasion - as she kneels down to check his pulse and the rest of his body for any noticeable injuries between the gaps of his hard, exterior shell.

“...He's alive.” Ahri lets out a heavy sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from her brow and glancing at her crewmates. All gazes are glued to the nameless man who’s now stretched against the durasteel floor - Ahri’s gaze a little more intense than the rest.

“Captain, what should w-”

The first-mate’s request for orders is cut off as the ship begins to rumble beneath their feet - the quake rattling the metal walls and rumbling through the levels below them.

They aren't out of danger yet, and they’d almost forgotten about the potential threat through all this.

“We need to get out of here. Right now.” Speaking for Sidon, Ahri punctuates her order by sending pleading eyes the captain’s way, to which he replies with his signature, simple nod. Squeaky concludes that he is going to be the one to carry the unconscious man, kneeling down to swing him over his wide shoulder. As the rest of the team turns to head out of the vault, Pen stays put - letting out a frustrated huff as his arms fly in the air.

“But what about the-”

“Fuck the crystals! We need to go!” Ahri shouts at him from over her shoulder.

Hands once again secured on his hips, Pen stays glued to his spot.

“Pen?” The caboose of the crew, Rev halts and spins around, waving for the stubborn Ishi Tib to follow.

“I’m finding these damn crystals!” He pauses, turning on his heels and looking off towards an unexplored corridor - torch shining at it.

Rev shakes her head at him in disbelief as he darts the opposite way, shutting her eyes and sighing in frustration before running to catch up with her more level-headed crewmates. 

As they near the same airlock that they had entered through, they notice that the durasteel floors look a little more naked than before - only the bodies of slowly decaying sentients lay scattered about. 

“Guys…” Ahri’s brows pinch together as she looks around. “Where did the droids go?”

“They must’ve reactivated,” Rev informs. “Fuck.”

“We must go,” Sidon stresses with a nod at Squeaky, who uses his available arm to pry the door reopen. With Sidon being right at the front, he’s quick to hold out his arm to halt them upon noticing a rapidly approaching sand worm heading in their direction in the pitch-black desert air.

“The barge!”

In mere seconds, their only mode of transportation is destroyed in the worm's wake, bits and pieces of canvas and wood being tossed every which way. Ahri studies Sidon as he turns, picturing the sure roll of his eyes in exasperation behind the red mask.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Rev laces her flesh and metal fingertips together atop her head between her lekku, continuously cursing under her breath.

Ahri shuts her eyes and tilts her head back in thought, thinking of what she saw from her search through the computer back on the bridge. “I got it!” She quickly calls out. “Escape pods. This cruiser still has a few active ones, or at least that’s what was displayed. Saw them from the bridge.” With a half grin she turns to Sidon, who nods in approval.

“Wait, where is Pendewqell?” Quiggold looks around, and Rev chews her cheek.

“He was adamant about finding those damn kyber crystals. He wouldn’t follow, but he knows the consequences of his foolishness,” she scoffs. “Come on, then! Let’s get to the pods.”

Not so much as taking a moment to process Pen’s complete idiocy, Ahri turns towards the direction of where the escape pods rest within the cruiser, leading the way as the others follow - her long braid bouncing against the exposed skin between her shoulder blades. 

The durasteel begins rumbling again as they dart through the dark corridors - only Ahri’s torch lighting their way. 

“Where are those damn dr-”

The sound of ricocheting blaster fire rings through the previously traveled corridor, the echoes growing louder as the threat tails them - cutting Rev off with the answer to her question.  

“Should be right up here!” Turning the corner, Ahri points to the line of escape pods and Rev dashes to the control panel.

“Fuck!” she spits out. “The ship’s computer must’ve been fucked. There’s only one functioning pod.”

“It will be tight but we will make do,” Quiggold says. “It’s not like we have any other choice.”

Rev climbs in first, followed by Quiggold, then Squeaky in tow with the mysterious man still slung over his shoulder. The marching sound of the droids’ metal feet stomping against the durasteel reverberates in the room as they get closer, but instead of climbing in behind her crewmates, Ahri stays put upon noticing how the captain hasn't yet budged. 

“Captain? C’mon!” 

Ahri stands outside the pod’s entrance, her brow furrowed and hand extended. Sidon remains still and stoic as ever as her hand begins to wave him on, up until he turns to the side, facing the only other way out of the room - right where the squad of droids should be entering any moment now.

“What are you doing?” Ahri feels herself growing frantic - already sure of what he’s planning to do. She knows him.

“Get into the escape pod.” 

Her head whips to the side, peering into the pod as Rev starts up the controls before quickly returning to face Sidon.

“There’s- there’s room, Sid,” she reasons - her voice deflating. “Come on.”

“Get into the escape pod, Ahri.” He turns to face her one last time, his hands clutching his blaster to his chest. “I will hold the droids off, so your escape may go uninterrupted.” Heart sinking into her stomach, she swallows hard and turns to enter the pod, but hesitates at the threshold. 

“Sid…” Her voice cracks in that one syllable - despair lacing her tone.

“Go!”

A single tear falls down Ahri’s flushed cheek and glides around the lining of the rebreather as she nods, taking one last look at her brave captain before stepping inside - the door shutting directly behind her. Hearing the sound of the escape pod shutting and locking, Rev pulls the lever, launching the remaining crewmates into the night.

Wordless, Ahri finds a seat on the floor of the pod facing the door, her back turned to the others.

“Wait, where’s the captain?” Squeaky asks after a moment of silence as he sets down the man into one of the seats, strapping him in. Ahri’s eyes remain closed, holding back the tears she can feel brimming in her eyes.

“Ahr,” Rev’s calm voice grows nearer, and then her flesh hand is on her shoulder. “Where is he?”

“He, uh,” With her head in her hands, Ahri keeps her voice low, not trusting it enough not to break. “He held them off for us. So they… so they wouldn’t shoot at us.”

It’s quiet - only the soft roar of the pod gliding over the desert vibrates within. Ahri forces herself to stay dry, to shed no tears, reminding herself that what he did is exactly what a captain does - sacrifice themselves for the safety of their crew if it comes down to it.

And... it did.

Once again, Ahri is reminded that this entire expedition was for nothing. 

Well.. maybe nothing isn’t exactly the appropriate term.

After several minutes of no words exchanged, Ahri stands up and moves towards the unconscious man. She decides that putting her focus into him would serve her well, rather than dwell on the unfortunate events of the night that would inevitably cause her to be made of nothing but rage and sorrow. This way, Ahri would have a chance to practice some medical skills she’d acquired over the course of her time being who she is, and can put it to good use. 

Also… she’s intrigued by this man.

“Is he still breathing?” she asks as she looks to Squeaky, wanting to know the answer before she gets any closer. She doesn't think she can take another loss tonight, even if it were a loss of a man she’d just met, and barely.

Squeaky leans over, pressing his large, pig-like head against his chestplate. 

“...Yeah.”

“Ok, good,” she says on a deep exhale. “That’s good.” Ahri takes a seat next to him, carefully removing the vambrace on his right arm.

“Can we take these off now, you think?” Squeaky gestures to the rebreather extremely stretched and tight over his own face.

“I’d keep them on,” Rev suggests. “Just in case. This pod shared some of the same toxic air as the rest of the ship, so best to keep them on until we get outta here.”

Ahri feels around the man’s forearm now that the piece of armor has been removed, checking for any broken bones then pressing into the soft space on his wrist to keep count of his heart rate. She stares at his shut eyelids - the dark lashes that ghost over his cheek. Even with the bulky rebreather secured to him she can see the exhaustion in his face, the responsibility and stress that had left a permanent mark that sinks into his strong yet delicate features. 

He’s quite handsome, she mentally notes. 

“Who do you think he is?” Ahri murmurs as she unclasps the rerebrace from the same arm. The three others watch as she scans his slouched body, held upright by the bar Squeaky had pulled down to secure across him. “This armor… it’s similar to stormtrooper armor, but also, it isn't?” She knocks her knuckles against the piece in her hand. “Sturdier, too. Not as weak as a stormtrooper’s.”

“He must be worth something, since he was inside that vault.” Rev implies - picking at her fingernails. “Must’ve been kept in stasis for a reason - why else would he be there?”

“When we get back into town we can talk to our contact, see if he knows anything,” Squeaky suggests. “See how much we can get for ‘im.”

Ahri’s stomach twists into a knot at the thought of selling this man on the black market as they would those non-existent crystals if they’d found those instead. Her attention lifting from the pieces of armor in her hands, she makes eye contact with Quiggold, who is staring intently at the man.

“Quigg, you’ve been awfully quiet,” Ahri pries. “You’re wiser than any of us, do you know who this guy could be?” He doesn't answer for several seconds, his large, rounded head cocking to the side before meeting Ahri’s eyes.

“I’m not quite sure, but if I'm not mistaken, he did say something about the Republic back in the vault, yes?” The others nod, and Quiggold clicks his tongue. “Whoever he is, my guess is that he’d been in that pod since the days of the Republic.” 

The others’ eyes widen when the realization sets in on just how long ago the Republic had existed and acted as the controlling interest of the galaxy - long before Ahri was alive, and Reveth, though Squeaky and Quiggold may have been young back then.

Ahri knows that the days of the Republic ended at least fifty years ago - the same age as the wreckage they’d just escaped from. 

Quiggold leans forward in his seat, his metal pegleg tapping against the floor.

“Perhaps he’d be able to answer some questions, once he wakes up.”

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also adding my permanent tag list people (revisit the form if you wanna change your tagging preferences)

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[djarrex]

From Where We Stand

Chapter 2: Too Late

Post-Stasis!Kix x f!OC

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Chapter Rating: M(?) bordering on E (see warnings)

Word Count: about 5k

Warnings: violence, blood mention (Ahri loses a fight tbh), brief gore, graphic description of injury, a hint(?) of sexual assault but nothing actually happens ***the previous warnings are all within the first part of the chapter*** memory loss, angst/clone feels, language

Chapter Summary: Ahri silently struggles with the crew's loss - with her loss - but when the mysterious man regains consciousness, her focus pleasantly shifts.

Note: thank you @rowansparrow for being my beta buddy and placing their incredible eyes upon this! Let us welcome Kix back to the land of the living, shall we?

“The office is upstairs, fourth floor. Take your first right, then it should be the third door on the left after turnin’ the corner.” 

Ahri repeats the directions in her head over and over as she climbs through the air duct just under the welded-shut window, entering from the exterior. 

“You’ll see a keypad at the door, but it ain't hooked up. It’s there as a deterrent, and if one were to press on any of the keys, the door’ll become more fortified and beskar alloy bars will fall from the ceiling - trappin’ you inside of them to rot within the impenetrable cage.”

She makes it through the duct and climbs out of the narrow opening, having ended up in the grand foyer of the abandoned building. Standing to her feet, Ahri pats the cobwebs off her leggings as she looks around, quickly spotting the wide staircase dead center of the room. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing this kind’a stuff?” The shopkeeper had asked her with a raised brow - looking her up and down.

“Didn’t know there was an age requirement,” Ahri bit back. With hands on her hips, she shifted her weight on one leg and raised a brow in return. “You still haven’t told me what’s inside of that desk.”

The shopkeeper scoffed. “All you need to know, little one, is that there’s more than enough in there to give you a decent head start, and a ‘lil somethin’ for me for givin’ you the information,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “Now get goin’. You best get there before other pirates do.”

Other pirates. 

The first time anyone had ever included Ahri in that category. 

She continues to replay the earlier conversation with that shopkeeper in her head while making her way up the stairs, careful with the sound of her feet pressing against the creaking wood with the ascent up each step. It’s too quiet in this building, which could either be good or bad, Ahri notes. Deciding to stay positive, she puts all her focus in what the shopkeeper had told her and lets the directions to the office slip past her lips in a very light whisper.

Upon passing the third level, Ahri hears the sound of something creaking against the floor above her. She swallows, but continues up, concluding that she’s too far into this now. With only a few steps to go, she turns her head from left to right, scanning the dimly-lit empty floor that she’s now stepping onto. The creaking coming from something other than her abruptly stops, and so does she. 

That’s when she spots… another pirate. Tall, covered head to toe in thick layers, no skin showing whatsoever. An intimidating red headpiece to complete the menacing look. Large blaster in hand and held at the ready.

Ahri freezes, her hand tightly grasping the railing. 

“I… I was here first,” she softly stutters out after a few, silent moments as the mysterious creature slowly approaches, stopping before getting any closer. Ahri stands up a little straighter now that the tall creature is just several feet away and facing her, their silence and stoicness cooling the blood in her veins. The last thing she needs right now is for someone to smell her fear, and on her very first hunt, no less. With her shoulders squared and back as straight as an arrow, Ahri speaks with more confidence - projecting her voice a little louder than necessary for the empty building and the distance between them. “What’s in that desk is mine. Now let me pass.”

The creature donned in red cocks their head ever so slightly to the side, blaster lowering from their chest and placed at ease by their side.

“No weapons,” the masked man says flatly - his words deeply modulated and bone-chilling. She would think him a droid if his motions weren’t so human-like. “Curious.”

Ahri presses her lips into a thin line as she scans him from boot to mask - the corner of her lips curling into a smirk.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

Almost like they’re in a standoff, the two remain still and quiet for several moments - her last three words hanging in the air between them and echoing in her head. She braves a step forward, and the man stays put. Two, three, four more steps towards him, and he still does not budge. Ahri chuckles internally - her eyes lighting up and brows lifting when he makes no effort to stand in her way as she moves past him. The entry to the office should be just around the corner, and she keeps that in mind as she continues on - not so much as glancing back to catch sight of the man in the mask.

In her mild adrenaline rush stemming from successfully passing the man and nearing the office, the cruciality of keeping aware of her surroundings had slipped.

As soon as a glimpse of the office door comes into view, she’s tackled from behind and pinned to the ground. A Weequay with long hair twisted into countless braids turns her body so that she’s on her back then holds her shoulders firm against the dirty floor, but Ahri is no stranger to sloppy holds such as this one. With practiced ease she swings her legs up and moves her head out of the way so that the Weequay's own head is knocked forward to the ground from the force of her kick. 

The attacker lay motionless on the ground beside her, and as she rises to her feet, four more Weequays wearing similar colors stitched into their jackets begin to book it in her direction, coming from around the corner just past the office.

“Shit,” she hisses - steadying her stance and preparing to counterattack. 

The next one up slams into the wall behind her full speed when Ahri swiftly dodges his attack, knocking himself unconscious from the intensity of his crash. Another runs right at her, knife in hand, but she’s quick to grab his forearm with a tight grip to throw him over her shoulder - the knife clattering to the floor. Moments later as she comes back up from ducking a high blow from yet another pirate, Ahri roundhouse kicks the one she’d just flung over her shoulder in his temple, sending him collapsing to the ground once again. 

She’s bitten off more than she can chew - her breath quickening and sweat dripping from her hairline across her brow. Her movements now are not as fluid and calculated; Ahri misses the Weequay who has just caught her off guard from behind - a knife quickly sheathing into the rear of her left thigh. Crying out in pain, Ahri falls to her knees, and the Weequay responsible for the stabbing climbs on top of her back - pulling the knife out of her fileted flesh as she screams in agony at the excruciating burning sensation. With her face now pushed into the ground, Ahri struggles with all her might to flip over and free herself from the weight sitting heavy on her lower back. She hears a dark chuckle as he begins running his fingers across the curve of her ass and trailing down her thigh before circling the fresh wound - pressing his fingers into it.

“F-f-fuck! Just kill me already!” she cries, his two fingers digging deeper into the open wound. He takes the bloody blade of the knife and vertically cuts through the fabric of her top, stopping before it splits into two - a fallen droplet of blood warm on her already scalding flesh.

She hears and feels the chuckle again - coming from the one torturing her. “I would kill you, pretty little thing, but I think I’d be missing out on some... opportunities that would lay ahead if I were to keep you alive.”

“Yeah!” Another, more higher-octave voice with an accent coming from her right agrees. “She looks to be quite the fun ‘lil thing, sir.”

“Fuck you,” Ahri spits - her chin bruised and bloody and digging into the floor. “I’d die before I let you live out whatever the hells it is you’re imagining in your pathetic. fucking. he-”

She’s cut off by the sound of a blaster going off - the weight on her back shifting to the right before letting up completely, followed by a thud. A second blast goes off only a couple seconds later - another, louder thud hitting the ground out of sight. Ahri keeps still - her leg throbbing and mind stuck in shock. Does she stay put, bleed out? Does she attempt to scramble to her feet and run before inevitably collapsing back to the ground? The sound of heavy boots stepping towards her drowns out the loud thumping of her heart within her ears - everything sounding as if she’s plugged up with cotton.

She can barely register what’s happening, but as the nearing footsteps pause, a pair of black-leathered hands secure themselves around her shoulders, rotating her beaten and drained body so that she’s laying on her back. She hisses through clenched teeth when the back of her thigh meets the ground, and as her eyes regain focus, she’s greeted by the mysterious man in red she’d run into right before being attacked - his arms sliding underneath her knees and shoulder blades then hoisting her body up and against his torso.

She fades out before any incoherent words can slip past her lips.

<<<>>> 

Ahri’s eyes pop open upon hearing Rev curse aloud in frustration, accompanied by a steady beeping coming from the very limited control panel. Sitting up from her slouched position on the pod’s floor and against the curved wall, she tunes into what’s going on.

“Fuckin’ hells,” Rev grunts again - Ahri coming to. “Not much juice left in this thing.”

Quiggold shuffles towards the controls. “How far can we make it?”

“Well…” the Twi sighs. “I need to set us down pretty soon or else we’ll be crashing.”

Quiggold and Rev continue discussing and Ahri looks to the man sitting in the seat right above where she’s sat on the floor - still limp and unconscious, his chest still slowly rising and falling.

“I knocked out,” Ahri quietly admits, reaching to place her fingers against his clothed wrist. “How long has it been?”

“Only about twenty minutes,” Squeaky answers with a sorry attempt at stretching out his arms. His naturally narrowed eyes flicker to the man next to him. “I kept an eye on ‘im.”

Ahri smiles weakly, mentally tracking the beats of the man’s heart as she feels it pulsating under her fore and middle fingers. The little nap she’d managed to sneak in did seem to benefit her physical form, though the memory that had conjured behind shut eyelids only added to the sadness she feels continuously growing in her chest.

He saved my life, her own voice in her head whispers to her - hand still holding on to the limp arm in her grasp. I never got the chance to return the favor.

The pod begins to descend without any more words spoken, meeting the terrain in a rocky touchdown. All the lights shut off in the pod and the mechanical whirring slows to silence - the control panel’s lights dimming to deactivation. It’s pitch black and mechanically silent, and in the darkness, Ahri takes a moment to grasp the man’s forearm a little tighter for comfort. Quiggold grabs the only torch the crew has left, and shines it on each of their bodies, one by one.

“Do you think we should cuff him?” Rev asks with an imaginary brow raised when the light lands on her. Ahri pinches her own brows at her, giving her a look, which is casted perfectly in the light of the torch’s next path. “What? I’m just thinking about if he tries to attack us when he decides to wake up,” the defensive Twi reasons - her words laced with sarcasm. 

“He’s… he’s just a guy,” Ahri points out softly. “No weapons on his person. Besides, I think we have more than enough muscle on our crew to seize him if necessary.” She rolls her eyes - the gesture made in the dark, though she hopes it was evident in her tone.

“I agree with Reveth,” Quiggold’s wise voice interjects. “You are correct, Ahri, but perhaps it is best to take precautions to ensure no one gets hurt.” He shines the light on the man. “And I am referring to him.”

With a defeated sigh, Ahri nods and retrieves the pair of binders from her belt - securing them around his wrists with an unnoticeable shake of her head. She knows that her crew could overpower the man in seconds, though she doesn’t want it to have to come down to that. He seems harmless, Ahri thinks. Woke up confused and frantic, as would anyone in his situation. 

Since the pod’s power is now shut off, Squeaky moves to wrangle the airlocked doors open. Once open, the humid, benign night breeze flies through the pod, hitting each crewmate as they congregate by the exit. Quiggold steps out first, followed by Rev. Ahri stands at the threshold staring off into the dark desert before her, trying to keep the memory of the events from less than an hour ago pushed as far back as possible - motionless in the same position she was in when she was told to flee without her captain. The moon is still high up in the sky, about three quarters of the way down towards the horizon opposite of which it rose. The sand has a glow to it from the intensity of the moon’s luminosity - the neutral gradients blending with a calming blue hue.

With the air fresh and non-threatening, Ahri removes her rebreather and sucks in a deep breath - letting it slowly slip through her nostrils on the exhale.

“Squeaky, you got ‘im?” 

The Gamorrean nods as he’s unfastening the man, slinging him to rest over his shoulder - the man’s limp arms binded together and hanging down Squeaky’s back. The crew stands just outside the pod, the rest of them removing their rebreathers and clipping them on their person. Ahri steps to Squeaky’s rear, lifting her hands and gingerly unstrapping the device from the man’s face. With no one able to see her standing behind the bulky creature, Ahri takes a moment to scan the man’s face again - the undertones that sit beneath his more prominent features from the cast of the moonlight shining upon him.

“Ahr? You ready?” Rev calls to her. The redhead shakes her head to pull herself from the intensity of her gaze and taps her hand against Squeaky’s shoulder. 

The four remaining crew members, plus their new addition slung on the back of the one, set out to travel the rest of the way through the thick sand on foot - and pegleg. Thankfully the escape pod had made it just past the outskirts of the Sea of Sand, which means they’re able to successfully travel ship-less and barge-less without being eaten alive by caustic sand. 

Really the only thing to worry about now would be the sand worms, though they prefer larger meals - sensing low-flying ships and barges through the vibrations in the sand.

Ahri silently tails the crew, keeping an eye on the unconscious man, observing his upper half gently swaying side to side with each of Squeaky’s large steps. She can hear light conversation going on ahead of her, but nothing of importance filters through her ears. Trying her absolute hardest not to think about Sidon, Ahri keeps her eyes locked onto Squeaky’s back - more specifically, the man slumped against it. Losing three of their own in a single night on a single expedition is sitting heavy in Ahri’s marrow, as it is with the others, but Ahri is prone to becoming emotionally attached to beings, more so than her crewmates. They know how attached to Sidon she was; their captain was the one who had saved Ahri’s life, about five years ago, right before she’d joined this merry group of pirates - her new family.

The crew treads on, eventually coming up on a little area framed in by a crescent ring of dunes varying in height and tiny patches of green sprouting from the flat spots surrounding them. The moon’s placement in the sky mocks Ahri; it seems that they have not made too much progress, though they have been walking for close to two hours.

“We should stop here for a while,” Rev calls over her shoulder - extending her cybernetic arm and gesturing to the potential campsite before her. “Probably should take some time to rest and get reenergized.”

“Take a break, big guy,” Ahri says with a smile. “Why don’t you set him down right over there.” Following Ahri’s finger, Squeaky brings the man to the opposite end of the crescent, sitting him up on the sand and against the sturdy dune behind him. The man’s head lolls to his shoulder, his bound wrists hanging limp on his armored lap. Ahri takes her seat in the sand somewhat near the others, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin against one. She stares out into the open - out of the mouth of the crescent - at the vast, sandy terrain. Meanwhile, the others are attempting to start a fire in the center, using some of the patches of green as food for the infant wisps of smoke. Ahri tunes in to their conversation but keeps her eyes locked in the direction of which they came.

“I can’t believe he was in cryo for that long,” comes Rev’s voice from behind her. “He was alive back during the Clone Wars. That’s… insane.”

“He wasn’t just alive during the Clone Wars, Reveth,” Quiggold’s voice comes next. “He fought in them. I have seen images of those men in the old articles from the days of the Republic. Clones,” he emphasizes. “Soldiers of the Republic. Strong, loyal, brave men who were physically identical, cloned from a Mandalorian warrior on the oceanic world of Kamino. The perfect human male specimens to fight in a war. The man we found on the cruiser...” A beat. “...I believe him to be the last one of his kind.”

“The last one?” Squeaky’s inquisitive voice joins in. “Weren’t there a bunch of ‘em?”

“I am not sure of the exact figures, but I have read that there were once enough to cover nearly every corner of the galaxy.”

Her crewmates’ voices fade out as Ahri allows the memories of her childhood to seep through the cracks on her walled-up mind, specifically those of her grandfather and the joyous times they’d shared before he passed. He had allowed young Ahri to play around with his retired medical tools and light equipment so she could be a ‘doctor’, working with her ‘patient’ - her childhood loth cat. He was around during the Clone Wars, being about Ahri’s current age when the war had ended. His son - Ahri’s father - was born the same year.

“Ahri,” Quiggold’s voice comes from just beside her as he says her name softly - a hand suddenly on her shoulder. She lifts her gaze to meet his warm one, and presses her lips into a line. “I think it is time to try to wake him up,” he suggests. “We all agree that it should be you, to wake him and question him.”

“Me?” Ahri flattens her legs and cocks her head to the side. “I… I don’t even know where to begin. He’s from a long time ago, before I was born. Can’t you talk to him, or - or Squeaky? Even if you two were very young you were at least alive when he was.”

Quiggold shakes his rounded head. “He will take to you easier.” 

“Yeah,” Rev agrees. “You’re human, Ahr. Just like him. I don’t think he wants to wake up to either of those two,” she gestures to Quiggold and Squeaky with a chuckle, “Or even me, for that matter.” Lifting her cybernetic limb in presentation, she purses her red lips. “He did whack me in the jaw. Besides, Ahri, you’re hot.”

The redhead rolls her eyes - standing up and dusting the sand off her ass. “Really.” 

Rev chuckles and shakes her head with a shrug.

“Okay,” Ahri caves. “I need to go check on him anyway.” As she steps towards the slumped man, she looks over her shoulder and calls out, “And get that damn fire started, would you?”

Ahri couches down beside his extended legs and takes a deep breath. He looks incredibly peaceful - his handsome features at ease. She would rather him wake all on his own, but since he’s apparently capable of being stubborn even while unconscious, Ahri decides to urge him out of his slumber as gently as she possibly can. With a hand on his wrist, she feels his steady pulse, which starts to pick up as she shakes his shoulder with her other hand. His brows begin to twitch and dark lashes begin to flutter - lips parting.

“Hey,” she softly calls to him. “Hey, can you hear me?”

The man jolts forward, his forehead nealy slamming into hers if she hadn’t had her quick reflexes. Eyes snapping open, he snatches his arm from her grasp - the other arm going right with it. His wide eyes lock onto his bound wrists, and his mildly panicked gasps for air quicken. He’s weak, that much Ahri can tell. He’d been asleep since before she was born, not counting the short episode back on the cruiser. 

“Huh... wha- get away from me...”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m just trying to help.” Ignoring the prior suggestion of her crewmates, Ahri unfastens the binders and holds his arms steady with her own. She smiles weakly, trying to signal an assurance to him. Locking eyes with hers, his breathing calms and arms fall in surrender against his lap. He shakes his head slowly, gathering his bearings and looking around at the surrounding landscape with a furrowed brow. 

“Where... where am I?”

Ahri lets go of his arms to sit more comfortably on the sand. Crossing her legs and setting her elbows against her thighs, she tucks her chin into her palms. She turns her head from left to right, scanning the surrounding area as he is.

“Well... right now we’re supposedly on the northern outskirts of the Sea of Sand. Our sail barge was destroyed and the escape pod only got us so far, so we’ve been making the trek back to town on foot. Squeaky’s been carrying you the entire time, so, I’d say you owe ‘im one.”

The man nods inattentively, but pauses once the information truly hits him - his eyes roving around in thought. 

Ahri gives him a moment before continuing. “I noticed that on your shoulder.” She lifts a hand, loosely pointing to the red insignia painted over the white of his left pauldron. “You’re a doctor?”

“A medic.” He lazily looks around again. “What planet is this?”

“A deadly sandbox," she informs - punctuating with a scoff. "Ponemah. Western Reaches, far from anything important.” The man nods again, absently rubbing at his wrists where the binders were once secured. His one vambrace lay in the sand beside him. “What’s your name?”

It takes him a moment before he quietly responds. “Kix, ma’am.”

Ahri can't help the way her heart skips a beat upon hearing him call her ma’am in that gruff voice. She mentally curses at herself, and her body, for acting this way in the most inappropriate of times.

“That’s quite the name,” she chuckles with a smirk - forcing her mind to skip over that little tidbit. “How’d you get a name like that?”

Kix doesn’t answer - instead looking down at the sand between his parted legs.

“So... you’re a clone,” Ahri cautiously presses forward. Looking back up at her he nods, but with a somewhat questionable look on his face. “I’ve never seen a clone before, not even in any old holoarticles like Quigg has. It’s crazy to think that there was once, like, millions of you guys littered across the galaxy.” She shrugs - her attention lowering to pick at her fingernails. “Before my time.”

“What do you mean... there was once?” She watches Kix’s expression morph into strong worry - his features softening but with a very noticeable edge. Not knowing how to respond to him, Ahri sits motionless and silent, giving him time to say what it looks like he’s about to. “How long have I been away?”

“Away?” she questions. “Kix... we found you asleep in a cryo stasis pod. We’re thinking you were in there for about fifty years, so, I’d say you’ve been away for quite a while.”

“What? Are you serious?” He tries to stand on his legs, but topples back down almost immediately - Ahri watching him with pinched brows and empathy glowing in her eyes. Kix nearly slams the crown of his head back against the dune after retaking his seat, sighing in defeat. “I…”

“Hey, Kix, take it easy. You can’t just use your legs after they’ve been asleep for five decades.” She offers a sincere smile - attempting to lighten the mood. “You gotta take it easy, okay? Just sit back and let your body catch up to the times.” To Ahri’s surprise, Kix cedes and slumps back against the dune with another, more deflated sigh passing through his parted lips.

They sit together in silence - watching the short flames of the infant fire grow by the minute from where they’re sitting several yards away. Keeping her head forward, she stretches her eyes to the right until she’s able to see the man’s face - observing how the warm light casts a golden glow onto his skin, accentuating the curve of his cheekbones and dancing in his soft, honey eyes. Ahri hates to admit it, but she’s enamored by this man - the strong, loyal, brave man who’d lived and fought in the past. The last one of millions, perhaps. A medic - a caretaker. A soldier with a soft side. 

She wants to know more about him.

Suddenly Ahri’s stomach rumbles for a prolonged moment - Kix’s head tilting against his shoulder, eyes looking in her direction.

“Hey, uh, are you hungry?” She pulls a couple of ration bars from her pouch, one of them being ravenously unwrapped in the process. She offers a bar to the right with a half-smile stretching on her lips, but Kix shakes his head, clutching his abdomen with his arms wrapping around himself.

“I should be, I know that, I just... I don’t think my stomach can handle anything right now.” Ahri nods, examining the open bar before taking a bite.

“That’s understandable. A common side effect of being in cryo for so long,” she informs with a mouth full of chewy, bland nutrition. “I’m surprised your vision and hearing are still intact.” She raises her brow in search of confirmation, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he confirms aloud. “I did hear your stomach growl just then.”

Ahri’s eyes widen, and Kix titters. 

“My name’s Ahri, by the way. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself before... it’s just that this is the first time we found a living sentient sleeping in stasis when we were after treasure,” she sneers.  

That earns another soft chuckle from the trooper - Ahri’s eyes lighting up at the sound.

“Why are you helping me, Ahri? You and your group?” Kix leans to the side, gesturing to the others sitting around the fire with a jolt of his chin upwards.

With a raised brow and mock pouty lips, “Just because I’m a pirate doesn’t mean I’m heartless.”

His brows raise. “Pirate?”

“Yeah?” she chuckles. “We’re pirates. You didn’t catch on to that by now?” Ahri rises to her feet and spreads out her arms, twirling for him once in exaggerated presentation. She places her hands on her hips, and flashes him a ridiculous smile. “Don’t we look the part?”

Kix shakes his head with a shrug - lips tugging up at the corners. 

In only seconds that handsome smile fades as fast as it was formed.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I was just trying to- ”

“No, no it’s not you. It’s just that I’m… I’m too late.” His eyes break from hers as he rubs at his temples, his fingers raking through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Too late for what?” she cautiously inquires. “Does this maybe have to do with what you were shouting about back on the cruiser?”

He drops his hands. “Huh? What cruiser?”

“Where we found you was onboard some cruiser that apparently belonged to a… a sith lord?" Kix’s eyes widen, but he remains silent as she continues. “You were frantic... saying things like “Republic, chips, Separatists… does any of that ring a bell?”

With a slight shake of his head, the trooper’s shoulders droop and he softly exhales - his head turning to face forward, looking off in the distance. He bends his armored legs upwards, placing his gloved hands around his knees. Ahri can feel the despair radiating off his body - the too-calm realization that must’ve just hit him. He looks… peaceful, but not in the same sense as when he was unconscious. It’s more like a state of coming to terms - acceptance, maybe.

Whatever was going on fifty years ago would long be over and done with, and Kix knows that. Ahri knows that. There’s a feeling in her gut, panging louder than hunger - one she cannot yet discern.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

series tags:

@book-of-baba-fett @ashotofspotchka @threevie @dar-manda-rjct @moonstrider9904 @gotomarvelgal @saltywintersoldat @megafrost4 @wisegrape @revengeisaconfesionofpain @notfivefives

perm tags:

@threevie @letitrainathousandflames @thefact0rygirl @justanothersadperson93 @14mcmd1122 @tacticalsparkles @damerondala @purgetroopercody @marya-komar @fat-zygerrian @the-siren-writes-it @dinner-djarin @howie-ner-cyare @obiwan-djarin @vaderthepotater @quantumowl @ashotofspotchka @kaorikoizumi @sitherin-mxschief @whatanoof @colorfulloverbatturkey @venomous-ko @monako-jinn-stories @jediknightdjarin @clonecyare @royal-stardust @bobafettuccini @general-h-syndulla @rowansparrow @shiniest-captain @techs-hairline​ @no-idea-what-to-write-here @zazzysseoul @ladykatakuri @badbatch-simp24 @galaxysgal @salaminus @bb-8 @wolffescumslut @spaceydragons @bjm2020 @holamor @rxmblings @queencousland101@shit-spiced-chai-says @divergent-llamas-03 @bad-batch-supremacy @highladyofasgard @galacticgraffiti @theroguesully @sugarpuffsstuff @droids-you-are-looking-for @queencousland101 @in-the-crosshairs @revengeisaconfesionofpain @ofstarsandsabers @nyravioppri​ @deewithani​ 

[djarrex]

guyssss what if the slow burn between Kix and Ahri uhhhh actually starts burnin' maybe in the next chapter idk I haven't decided yet

:')

[djarrex]

I’m so excited for Kix and Ahri’s relationshop! She seems like such a good oc

I'm so happy that you're excited! I can't wait to get to the good stuff 😏 hoping to end the next chapter with a lil treat

some people model their OCs after themselves but tbh Ahri is like very opposite of me and does not include any of my traits other than the dry humor and sarcasm lmao

[djarrex]

From Where We Stand (series ML)

Post-Stasis!Kix x f!OC

***This series is for 18+ peeps only***

| series announcement / teaser |

Series Rating: Mature // Explicit

First chapter was posted on: October 8th, 2021

Status: in progress

Series Summary: Fifty years succeeding the Clone Wars, the Crimson Corsair and his pirate crew set out to scour the wreckage of a ship that had belonged to a political head of the former Confederacy of Independent Systems - where Jedi treasures were said to have been onboard when it had crashed. What the crew finds, however, is definitely not what had been rumored to be there. Going forward, Ahri, one of the remaining members of the pirate crew, silently struggles with the loss of their captain, but decides to put all her focus in getting accustomed to their newest member - the intriguing clone trooper they'd awoken from stasis while onboard the dated wreckage. Through common interests and an instant connection Ahri and the trooper grow close - closer than she wanted to allow herself - while the crew lays low for the following few weeks in hopes that their captain may make a miraculous return. Ahri's unsure past feelings towards the captain and newfound feelings towards the clone trooper collide as the crew navigates through the Outer Rim in search of forgotten Separatist treasures with the assistance of the man who had lived through it all back then - the same trooper who must come to terms with waking up in the future as well as realizing his own feelings towards one of the people who'd found him.

| main masterlist | read on ao3 |

<<< Updated: November 23rd 2021 >>>

Chapter 1: Fool's Gold

The Crimson Corsair's pirate crew follows a tip that was supposed to lead them to lost treasures hidden onboard a fifty-year-old wreckage, but what they find instead of kyber crystals shocks them all.

Chapter 2: Too Late

Ahri silently struggles with the crew's loss - with her loss - but when the mysterious man regains consciousness, her focus pleasantly shifts.

Chapter 3: Back for More

Strange feelings and mixed emotions flood Ahri’s system as she, her crew, and Kix make the trek back to town.

Chapter 4: Recollection

Bits and pieces of Kix's memory start coming back to him, and even though he has many questions that have yet to be answered, he decides to put his focus on other things - on someone in particular.

[djarrex]

From Where We Stand

Post-Stasis!Kix x f!OC

Hi there! As some of you know, I've been stuck in the midst of a too-long writing rut. I've been wanting to write this series for a LONG time, and have pretty much the entire first chapter saved in my drafts - had to scroll pretty far to find it since I started it like 6 months ago. ANYWAYS. Once I'm ready to post the first chapter I will create a series ML, complete with this banner and a series summary. Honestly, I'm posting this as motivation for me to actually go through with this. (y'all can hold me accountable lmao).

As for my Post-Order 66 Rex series, I'm going to put that on a little hiatus for a while until I can figure out what I wanna do with this Post-Stasis!Kix series. I will still answer asks regarding Rex Gayiyla & Fam, and if something hits me, I'll work on some things for that. I still have a lot planned for the Gayiyla family, don't you worry! :')

So.

My OC, Ahri, is a member of the Crimson Corsair's pirate crew. They find our poor, beloved Kix frozen in a cryo pod within an old, grounded Separatist ship, and they decide to make the Clone Wars-era soldier a part of their merry crew. I'm planning on making this a slow burn series with some action, angst, clone feels, and other things tbd. I'll have a better series summary when it comes time to post the first chapter.

With that being said, here's a little snippet from the intro scene in first chapter that will be titled "Fool's Gold". (ty to Ro for that big brain <3. Titles/banner/details are subject to change).

Rated: M for language, but the series as a whole will be rated back and forth between M and E as it goes on.

“Hey, come listen to this,” the triangular-headed Arcona still sitting by his lonesome at the bar calls over his shoulder to the rest of his crew. Ahri drops her legs from the table to the ground, her boots hitting the stone floor with a thud as she signals a round-up at the two playing sabacc. Only when all members of the crew have made their way to the bar does Reeg continue.

SERIES MASTERLIST

<<<>>>

“This ol’ thing just picked up a transmission, dating back fifty years.”

The Gabdorin first-mate opens his wide mouth first. “Well? What’s it sayin’, Reeg?”

“It’s being relayed from something that goes by ‘B1-CC14′? It’s a distress signal coming from a cruiser called the Obrexta III.”

The old man wiping the counter with an extremely dirty rag halts and meanders over to where the group’s gathered at the bar, leaning in close after scanning each of their very different faces. The feisty red Twi’lek member glared at him, about to ask him what his problem is, but he interjects with a gummy grin.

“I’ve heard that name before... that cruiser.” All eyes turn to the old bartender as he rubs his skinny, wrinkly fingers against his thumb, signaling the need of some sort of payment for the following information he has to offer. With a roll of her eyes, Ahri tosses a few credits across the counter, reassuringly placing her hand on Sidon’s cloaked shoulder as they all lean in close when the old man starts to open his mouth.

“Heard it crashed here way back at the end of the Clone Wars... somethin’ about containin’ the lost treasure of one of the political heads of the time. Dooku, I think’s the name.”

Treasure.

That’s the one word a group of pirates needs to hear.

A few pairs of eyes light up upon hearing the magic word, but the more cautions among them simply raise their brows - incredulous. Quiggold shakes his cloaked and rounded head ever so slightly as a sign to take caution - the captain nodding in agreement at his first-mate.

“How many have you told of this cruiser and treasure?” Quiggold inquires at the hunched-back bartender, stepping closer and leaning over the counter.

The old man is quick to reply with a sly smile, “If they’re willin’ to pay for the information, it’s theirs.”

“Captain.” Ahri pulls the crew’s leader to the side before whispering so only he can hear, “We can’t be the only ones to know about this wreckage. It’s been what, five decades since it crashed here on Ponemah? I’m sure hundreds upon hundreds have tried to find the treasure, so who knows if it’s even still there?" She pauses - her eyes flickering to the few pairs of prying eyes coming from the other end of the cantina. "There’s those giant sand worms out there, too, not to mention the difficult terrain. I think it’s too risky, Sid.” Ahri peers over to her other crewmates who seem to be preoccupied with yapping with the bartender, save for Pen, who's now strutting over to the two of them.

“Captain, I think we should go for it. Bartender just said there’s kyber crystals on board, and maybe even a lightsaber. The cruiser belonged to a sith lord, sir. You know how much we can get on the black market for those crystals?”

Ahri not-so-discretely scoffs and shakes her head, narrowing her eyes at the overly-eager Ishi Tib.

“The wreckage has been there since the end of the Clone Wars, Pen. Who’s to say the crystals haven’t already been scooped up?” Her eyes land on the captain once again, “Sid...it’s your call. I know we can handle anything that comes our way... I just think the journey itself is far too dangerous for the slim chance that there’s actually something worth while within that dated wreckage.”

It’s silent between the three for a long moment; it’s difficult for anyone else to read Sidon’s expression since it is always hidden underneath the mask, but Ahri knows him well enough now to know almost exactly what he’s thinking. Captain Sidon Ithano is a man of very few words; he relies heavily on his crewmates to translate his thoughts and anticipate his desires, but will speak if absolutely needed. Ahri can read Sidon like an ancient text scribbled on some flimsi, more so than the rest of the crew, but probably ties with their first-mate.

With a disappointed sigh, she shakes her head, already knowing his answer. Sidon finally nods, and Pen claps his hands excitedly - the rest of the crew cheering under their breaths once they catch sight of the exuberant Ishi Tib making his way back to them.

“Fine,” she mumbles, heading back over to the others behind the captain. Kicking the ground and tossing the old man behind the bar another couple of credits, she sighs again. “Alright, barkeep. Where’s this wreckage?”

“Southern Region. S’all I know.”

This time, Ahri laughs. “Let me guess, in the middle of the fucking Sea of Sand, right?” The bartender tugs his thin lips into a creepy smile, nodding with an amused huff. The defeated redhead turns back to her crewmates, speaking to the captain in particular. “Can’t even get there flying the Martinet. We’ll need a sail barge to get there.”

The Sea of Sand - quite appropriately named - is plagued by lightning storms, magma geysers, and 15-meter waves of caustic sand that act as Ponemah’s sea. Even the crew’s ship, the Meson Martinet, a heavily modified CSS-1 Corellian Star Shuttle, is no match for that terrain.

And the crew knows this.

Sidon nods before turning his attention back towards the old man who had resumed wiping the bar, clearly satisfied with the amount of credits he’d acquired just from entertaining a group of desperate pirates.

“A sail barge.”

The deeply modulated voice coming from the captain always makes Ahri shudder - but not from fear.

<<<>>>

tagging some pals who may be interested?

@rowansparrow @thefact0rygirl @damerondala @ashotofspotchka @rebelpitstop

anyone else?

[djarrex]

So I have a little somethin’ in the works that I was thinking about posting when I finish with Countermeasures (I think there’s only gonna be one chapter left after I post this next one this week oof) but it’s about Captain Sidon Ithano’s pirate crew finding Kix... the main character is my oc, named Ahri (she’s part of the pirate crew). It’s gonna be a series - a slow burn - with Kix x Ahri. Just, you know, set 50 years after the Clone Wars because our poor pretty boy Kix was stuck in cryo and all that. But it’ll be primarily focused on Ahri tbh

I have what I would consider as the first chapter pretty much written, but I don’t wanna post it yet. Maybe I’ll post a lil teaser, if anyone is interested in a slow burn Kix x fem OC series?