Anakin Skywalker and the Starship Girls (Star War x Kancolle Snippet Thread)

[Miho Chan]

Heavily inspired by Aetherius' threads over on SB, this thread WILL contain some crossposts from there. (Yes the name of the thread is a reference to HP and the Shipgirls)

This is their snippet thread on SB

Hello! I'm creating this on part for myself, and on part on request from some SBers/SVers. My main goal here is to be able to organize the snippets into continuities. I'll create a threadmark index which contains all snippets in the same timeline/verse so ya'll have the ability to read them without searching through the entire thread.

Some basic rules:

I can only have 10 Collaborators. This is not going to be a first come first serve thing. I'll assign the threadmarking power to only those I trust.

Anyone may post a snippet here. Just ask me to threadmark them

Follow SV Rules

Flames will be ignored, and if possible, yeeted from existence.

 

[Miho Chan]

Hope's Mindless Muttering

Introduction: NRS Hope reporting! Yes, I am the heroine of Naboo... (This is said in a weary voice)

Kai Ni: EAS Hope, Open Circle Fleet. Yeah, we'll obtain victory on the Endless Horizon for sure! (energetic voice)

Click to shrink...

Library: (Unwritten ATM)

Secretary 1: Commander.

Kai: Hm? Commander?

Click to shrink...

Kai Ni: Hey Commander!

Click to shrink...

Secretary 2: *Giggling* Hey! Don't do that!

Kai Ni: Heeeey! Stop! I'm ticklish there!

Click to shrink...

Secretary 3: *thoughtfully* Hmm, should I try to prepare that dish again...

Kai Ni: Hey Commander! Wanna join me for Ramen? I finally perfected it~

Click to shrink...

Idle: Hmmm... Hmmmmmmmmm... Ah! Shikikan? How long were you standing there!?
Secretary Married: Hm? How do I deal with the Cats? I don't herd them. They know not to mess with me. *giggle*

Kai Ni: Ramen? Again? Dear, you know that all that salt isn't good for you~

Click to shrink...

Marriage: What!? Me? But... I... Fine... How I've wished for this moment...

 

[Watchtower]

Revanchist's Myriad of Melancholy Musings - Shamelessly ripped off from Commissar Pancakes.

Spoiler: Revanchist Lines

Introduction: Ah- I'm sorry Commander. I am ISD Revanchist, of the Imperial II line. Please, allow me a chance to prove myself to you.
Kai Ni C: Revanchist, Imperial II class Star Destroyer, reporting for duty as ordered Commander!

Library: Hello I'm Revanchist, one-hundred-and-twenty-eighth of the Imperial II line of Star Destroyers. Though perhaps you may of known of me from my daring atmospheric reentries to provide close naval gunfire support to the besieged Imperial Army during the Battle of Renfar? Y-you've never heard of either of those? Oh...

Secretary 1: Hello Commander, how is your day going?

Secretary 2: Ah, here's your Caf, Commander. I hope you don't mind that I got myself a cup as well.
Kai Ni C: Hm hm hm hm hmhm hm hmhm hm hm hm~

Secretary 3: Ah, hello Commander! Is there anything I can help you with?
Kai Ni C: Wait this can't be right, she tried to do what with her reactor?!

Idle: Do you ever wonder if this actually counts as traveling back in time? What? No please, I'm just being silly Commander.

Secretary Married: Eeek! Y-you really shouldn't allow me to distract you from your work, Commander!
Kai Ni C: *giggles* I can't call you that here, what would we do if Dai overheard~ ... Quick, she's getting away!

Wedding: A wedding ring? It's for me?! B-but I'm actually... *sniffles* Yes, yes! I love you too!

Letters: You never told me you knew this Admiral, sir! W-well I suppose I never did ask, that's true...

Joining a Fleet: Very well Commander, assuming formation!
Kai Ni C: I see. Allow us to show them the folly of their disorderly ways!

Equipment 1: Very thoughtful of you Commander! My reserve of these was running quite low.

Equipment 2: I hate to speak ill of Imperial equipment but TIE fighters are a bit...

Equipment 3: Point defense cannons?! But if Tarkin finds out- You wouldn't care even if he were around? O-oh... Thank you, Commander.

Supply: Ah, the tender has been by? Excellent, the escorts will be pleased!
Kai Ni: It's quite unfair of me to indulge myself while you sit and watch Commander, would you like some?

Docking (repairs)

• Minor damage: I'm sorry for my carelessness. You needn't waste resources on me.
• Major damage: It hurts... I still deserve repairs? ... Thank you.
• Repairs complete: My apologies for the trouble I've caused Commander, I promise I'll return the pain I've suffered tenfold.

Construction Finished: More ships have returned to us? I wonder if it's anyone I know...

Returning from Sortie: Operation completed Commander, I'll have the file on your desk by tomorrow morning.

Beginning a Sortie: Remember to keep an eye on your lines of fire, move out!
Kai Ni: Another expedition so soon? Those poor enemy ships...

Battle Start: The enemy is here, alert all commands!
Kai Ni: Clever of them, attempting to hide in the asteroids... But futile.

Attacking: You may fire when ready!

Night Battle (Interdiction ambush): Ugh! My fraahahaaame!
Kai Ni: That's Imperial technology, you thieves!

Night Attack (Interdiction ambush): Fool me once... Target the interdictor first, we cannot allow them a second attempt.

MVP: Really? But I'm so average... Thank you, Commander. Truly.

Damage

• Minor 1: These weaklings are barely a threat, let us press onward!
• Minor 2: Shot connected, damage minimal.
• Major: Guh... I can't see... I can't see! Damage control, report!

Sunk: No, no, no! I don't want to go! P-please...!

Spoiler: Time

Hourly notifications:
0000: It really is unhealthy to work at midnight like this, Commander.
0100: 1AM? You should get some sleep Commander, I can handle it.
0200: Still working hard at 2AM... You really are something else.
0300: 3AM already? Looks like we'll round the clock again at this rate.
0400: zzZZzzzz Huah wha- 4AM!? Oh I'm sorry Commander, I didn't mean to doze off.
0500: Sun's coming up, must be about 5AM. I thought I was done working whole nights after... Nevermind.
0600: Well at least you don't demand a spar every 6AM sharp like another officer I knew...
0700: Good morning Commander! Your 7AM Caf, as usual!
0800: *sigh* The escorts are late to check in again, it's already 8AM.
0900: 9AM Commander, you really shouldn't keep missing breakfast like this!
1000: My favorite hour of the day, 10AM! Hm, why is my favorite hour? Well...
1100: 11AM and all is well Commander, no new reports. Beyond the usual mishaps, anyway.
1200: Lunch is being served in the mess now, please tell me you're actually coming this time!
1300: Good afternoon Commander, it's 1PM.
1400: Ah, please hand me that file. Wait it's 2PM already? How the time flies.
1500: Get back here you little bastard! - Oh I'm sorry Commander I was Just...! *frustrated sigh* 3PM sir.
1600: 4PM already and nobody has managed to blow anything up today. I'm impressed.
1700: I understand that 5PM is rather late, but would you like some more Caf while I'm up?
1800: Hm, dinner? I suppose it is about 6PM. It's fish again tonight though.
1900: Perhaps you and I should head into town and find someplace to eat? 7PM may be late but I wouldn't mind...
2000: 8PM already? Where did the day go?
2100: Commander it's 9PM, would it hurt that much to at least pretend you're preparing to hit the rack for once? For me?
2200: 10PM, all hands accounted for and safely tucked in.
2300: *sigh* 11PM and another sleepless night Commander? You really do work too hard...

 

[HarakoniWarhawk]

Crossposting all three snippets over here for your reading pleasure, hopefully not too painful to read.

And now for something new, while playing Republic Commando, namely listening to Vode'an.
It occurred to me that ships can get lost via Hyperdrive malfunctions, stranded out in the deep black like the Katana Fleet. They would be very valuable if intact, that is... if the Spirit of the ship was willing to go down without a fight.
Thus, enter some poor scavengers stumbling across a Clone Wars era Venator, lost for decades after a hyperdrive malfunction, that is, until the current day, 35ABY, just after the Vong War ends.

Disturb the dead at your own peril: Chapter One
AKA, They might not appreciate their sleep being disturbed.


Unknown system
35ABY
Private ship Blastwave

"Are we there yet?", those four words and the nasal voice making them were going to drive him mad, Vislor Kar-Solo (no relation of the famous Han Solo, at least not recently in his family tree) mused, sparing his much-maligned Co-pilot a glare, fueled in part by how many kriffing times the idiot repeated it. Said idiot, a Wequay named Drugah was too busy staring out the viewport into the star streaked tunnel of hyperspace. Sighing, Vislor wrenched the hyperdrive lever, their much modified and dinged HWK-290 freighter dropping from Hyper smoothly, the Hyperdrive being the newest part of the ship as was customary of any self-respecting freighter/smuggler, depending on who you asked.

The starfield before them was barren barring one exception, their destination deep beyond any star or planetary body, in the space between systems. The one object in view resolved from a fuzzy blur via percussive maintenance applied to the console into a much battered Venator Star Destroyer, her hull pockmarked with micrometeorite impacts, the paint long bleached white by stellar radiation. Both men were silent, Vislor contemplating the derelict before him, Drugah meanwhile surprised his partner came through on the wild claim of an abandoned Old Republic era Star Destroyer out in the black. Shaking his head, the Wequay turned towards his partner, awe colouring his voice, "I was expecting this to be some sort of prank, revenge for that last mess on Eridau, but this, this is legit..."
Vislor merely grinned, charting a course directly towards the Venator, deftly piloting the freighter under the bulk of the much larger ship, shunting to manoeuvring thrusters as they came to rest inside the scarred ventral hanger, some of the original paint still showing through the decades of disuse.

The first hiccup came when they tried to dock, the extensible boarding corridor locked open to hard vacuum, necessitating the two smugglers having to don scuffed New Republic void suits, scavenged off a ship wrecked during the Vong War. Suitably attired, the two made their way through the airlock, the faint, translucent spectre of the ships Spirit waving them off, a gesture returned before the outer doors shut, opening the way into the interior of the Venator. Armed with a blaster pistol in Vislor's case, Drugah hefting a stripped-down Fusion saw as both an improvised melee weapon and door opener. Devoid of any atmosphere, their passage was silent, magnetic boots keeping them attached to the plating. Vislor noted with some disquiet that despite the compartments airless condition, there was a distinct lack of any detritus commonly found in ships vented to space via damage or accident, instead, the room looked... neat was the only way to put it, as if everything had been secured before venting which made the question who would do such a thing.

The same thing repeated itself through the next room, one of the numerous sub armouries such ships were fitted with looking pristine, racks of old-style DC-15a rifles and their carbine variant secured in wall mounts, ready to be grabbed by a crew long gone. What set both men on edge was the suits of armour, a full dozen helmeted Phase-1 suits arranged in various positions around the room, two standing at attention flanking the doorway with the other ten lounged about, one frozen in what looked like mid stripping a DC-15, another group arranged around a table, sabacc cards splayed across its surface.
Drugah moved first, shrugging off a cold feeling as he fully entered the room, Vislor using the Wequay's bulk as cover, cover from what he didn't know. Engrossed as they were in the slightly disturbing scene, they missed the door sealing behind them, air pressurising softly enough to not disturb the living... or the dead.

Vislor, moving out from his friend's shadow, skirted around what some little voice was telling him were corpses, the thought that somebody onboard had gone to such an effort to pose dead men like some kind of manikins creeping him the kriff out. Unclipping a scanner wand from his belt, he swept the rod across the nearest armour suit, the readout projected on his HUD. Miraculously, it still read as sealed and powered, maintaining an airtight fit despite the fact they by all rights should have run out of power decades ago!.
Not trusting his voice, the human fell back on the sign language he had learned as a kid, prompting Drugah to leave his Fusion Saw on a sling and approach, lifting the Clone off the deck to set them flush on the table in a clatter of Plastoid armour. Again that chill swept through their bodies, the feeling of eyes on backs lending a degree of hesitance to the examination of the body. Trying to hide his trembling hands, Vislor felt under the jaw of the helmet, T shape visor glaring at him, at least it was in his head. Finger having met the release catch, a twist to the left and uplifted the helm from the still form, the face underneath peaceful, bronzed skin pale in death, eyes closed and a gentle grin on his, for the being was indeed a Clone, face.

As if a switch was flipped, despite the sealed void suits, the air temperature plummeted, making both smugglers frantically check pressure seals and readouts, noticing in shock the air was breathable if a bit on the cold side to be comfortable.
The whine of a charging blaster cut through the air like a knife, rattling armour plates hinting at whatever weapon being raised in their direction, the two men wisely for their future prospects keeping their hands well away from the holstered blaster and saw, turning in sync inadvertently to look at the being holding them up.
Swallowing, Vislor blinked behind his helmet, his words catching in his throat at the sight. The mystery person had to be the Spirit of the Venator, if only because nobody else could have survived decades in an airless ship without supplies, especially not the near-human she appeared to be.
The only word he could use was gaunt, skin stretched tightly over the bone in a famiscile of a skull, milky golden eyes appearing blind, though the fact she tracked every movement the two made put paid to her blindness affecting her more technological senses.
Matted blond hair, greasy and overgrown framed her skeletal face, triangular ears, vaguely vulpine poked through the hair, just as unkempt as the rest of her. As was common amongst more... shapely Ship Spirits, her clothing was of a more provocative bent, in this case, a partial set of Phase-1 armour, suitably modified for her figure. Like the rest of her, the armour hung loose on her emaciated frame, shifting in ways it really shouldn't be able to, drawing a wince from both men.

Despite her poor state, the carbine hefted in her arms was rock steady, aimed at alternating times between human and Wequay. Understandably too scared to break the silence, the men stayed quiet, the sight of two men both armoured to the hilt and broaching seven foot tall in Drugah's case being held up by a slip of a woman a little over 5' tall would have been humorous if not for the very live rifle pointing at them, the downright murderous look on the Spirit''s face as she looked at the intruders put paid to that.
When she spoke, her voice barely rose above a whisper, harsh syllables and a dry rasp tainting her words, "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you where you stand, you hut'uun graverobbing scum!"

End of part 1, hopefully, better than my very first snip.

 

[HarakoniWarhawk]

Chapter two of Disturb the dead at your own peril.

Dictionary of Mano'a words:
Aruetii- Idiot,outsider.
Dar'yaim- A hell/place you want to forget.
Adu- Sons, Archaic meaning
Chakaar- Thief/Bastard, lit: Grave Robber.
Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la- Not gone, merely marching far away.


That which is dead may never truly die:

Unknown location:
Outer Rim:
Onboard derelict Venator Star Destroyer

"Keep moving Chakaar, slow down one more time and I'll shoot you somewhere non-lethal...hopefully", the Spirit punctuating her words with the barrel of her blaster, forcing Vislor into another creepily arranged compartment. Bound as he was to Drugah, his view of the room was limited by his friends bulk, what little he could see reminiscent of any cell block the galaxy over, eight ray shielded cells taking up the bulk of the space. Shadowy forms could be made out in the couple he could see through the shielding, whether they were more corpses propped up in imitation of life or actual prisoners he couldn't... didn't want to know. The cell before Drugah opened to admit the two, the mans muffled curses at its contents prompting the Spirit to force him in at gunpoint, jabbing Vislor hard enough to bruise when he got a good view of who else would be sharing the cell with them.

A roughly 8 by 8-foot room, a steel bench/bed combo along the far wall was standard enough, the half dozen desiccated corpses slumped in various positions around the cell very much weren't. Stumbling as he crossed the threshold, Vislor regaining his balance just in time to watch the shield snap across the entryway, the far side clearly visible if red-tinted, a contrast to the translucent effect on the other jails. Their Gaoler half-collapsed onto the nearest chair, whatever energy her hull was expending heating the jail's to a livable temperature having a marked effect on her manifestation, the almost feral aura infesting her since the first encounter replaced with a form akin to the corpses inhabiting their cell, the carbine clattering from her grip though thankfully not discharging as it hit the floor.

The men's binding fell away, maglocks clunking open and breathing life back into chafed wrists, Drugah making the most of his freedom to gently remove the corpses from the bench and stack them in a corner, warily eyeing the Spirit in case touching these bodies set her off, the woman herself giving no sign she even noticed.

Vislor, rubbing one wrist which still itched, helped his friend move the last corpse, a Trandoshan which time and vacuum exposure had left a shell of what must have been an impressive specimen in life. Searching through its pockets came up with a couple of credit chits and a Black Sun ident chip, searching the other corpses divulged identical contents. Finishing up his rummaging through clothing, he joined Drugah on the bench, a thought having him break out in chuckles, the Wequay glancing down at the noise. "There's one silver lining in this situation Dru, these lot", his hand sweeping across the stacked corpses as he spoke, "They could be live Black Sun mercs instead of dead ones".

Long experience with Wequay's granted the human knowledge of their facial expressions, Drugah looking caught between amusement at the bad joke and slugging him, hopefully not the second one Vislor hoped. Speaking for the first time since they boarded, Drugah seemed incredibly calm given the circumstances, at least at first, "I'm of half a mind to knock your teeth loose Vis, when you told me about this derelict I was expecting it to be some long-abandoned ship with its spirit passed on, instead, you conveniently forgot to mention said derelict was THE KRIFFING VIXEN'S STAR!". his voice rising to an angry growl by the end, a fist half-raised as if to take a swing at the smaller man.

"HEY, HEY, calm down man, I had a good reason for doing it! you know as well as I do the bounty for the successful recovery of the Vixen, last time we checked it out it was 80 million creds!". Hands raised, Vislor edged away from the furious Wequay, the luster of a life-changing payday fading in the face of 300 pounds of angry sentient, realizing that perhaps hunting for this particular derelict might not have been the smartest idea.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It should be noted that derelict ships, by and large, fell into two categories. One, the spirit faded away over time as whatever incident befell the ship left it drifting in a state it could no longer function, the crew either evacuated or dead. That was the ideal state for the men, women and other beings who made a living recovering or salvaging abandoned ships, one where it's Spirit wouldn't take offense at what happened to their physical hull.
The other, far more maligned category was the one where a ship would, through her crew passing on part of their soul, as was the oft believed sentiment amongst those that sailed the Black, metaphysical energy if you listened to the egghead types. Whoever you listened to, the results were the same, the Spirit would take on aspects of those who gave a part of themselves unto the ship, granting the Spirit longevity, the effects magnified the more crew who did this act.
While it was common on the Rim for family-run ships to take on aspects of her past owners handed down the generations, mass cases were known to have drastic and in some cases dangerous effects. All these combined were what made the legend of the Vixen's Star as much a cautionary tale as one of sorrow, a warning for any wannabe Scavengers chasing her location from those few who knew her final resting place.

Launched in 22BBY from the primary CEC shipyard around Corellia, as the first CEC launched Venator, her career began with a hazardous shakedown cruise, pirates targetting what they believed a undermanned and unfitted ship ripe for the taking. Unfortunately for said pirates and luckily for Vislor's ancestor, one Chief Engineer Albeth Kar-Solo, the boarding thugs were soon purged with extreme prejudice by a very angry ship spirit. Tales abound about what happened that day, but from what little his grandfather mentioned years after the fact, the fate of those pirates was better left unsaid.

The legend of the Vixen's Star continued even after her induction into the Open Circle Fleet, her Clone crew, more Mandalorian influenced than most, took pride in having a ship with such a fierce fighting spirit, the next year gaining her a reputation as a brawler, ship and crew pulling off victories that other, more hesitant commanders would have balked at. Battered but always in fighting shape, scars bore with pride, her actions defending the heir of the current Corellian Diktat leading the Vixen to be awarded a Bloodstripe, an award some argued was a mere PR stunt to boost flagging public support for the war with the CIS. A month before the Battle of Coruscant, the ship and all hands went missing, presumed lost escorting a supply convoy out of a Separatist ambush, recordings of her final battle showing a jump to lightspeed, destination Eridau, a jump she never arrived from...

Efforts to locate the ship failed, the rise of The Empire and the turmoil that followed shelving any attempt to find the Venator, as the years passed, the official attempts to discover her resting place faded, though in 17BBY an anonymous bounty was posted in regards to information on her whereabouts, the rush to claim the bounty beginning a new chapter in the storied Star Destoyers life. Between the years 15BBY and 2BBY, five groups were known to have visited her, all following in the footsteps of the smuggler who found the ship, the experience causing a man known to be robust of mind near mad, jibbering about a "Ship of corpses" and "The Vixen is crewed by nothing but the dead, is living are not welcome there!".

Each successive collection of sentients, ranging from a band of Verpine mercenaries to an Imperial survey crew followed the trail, the survivors of each excursion only fuelling more lurid rumors about her condition, scaring off all but the most desperate... or insane from the hunt and the bounty it contained. By the fall of the Empire, the Vixen's Star had been adrift for nearly twenty years, her Clone crew having perished by all accounts from lack of supplies. With the rise of the New Republic, increased interest was given to any surviving artifacts of the Old Republic, with the Vixen being considered a prime location for such info. The first (and last) attempt by the Republic to investigate her resulted in the deaths of all but two members of the mission, fragmented holorecordings documenting the Vixen's spirit, looking for all the world like the corpses said to inhabit her hull ripping the team limb from limb, alternated with copious abuse of her hulls systems to trap and eliminate them, her cries of "Chakaar bastards pilfering the tombs of the honored dead", the sole audio recording of her speaking.

The years past, the bounty grew and amongst the Outer Rim's collection of Salvagers/Historians and treasure hunters many legends abounded about what exactly the Vixen's Star held that could be worth such a bounty, sporadic attempts to visit her ended more often than not in the deaths of all involved. The Vong War, as a galactic-scale conflict bound enemies and friends alike in a fight for survival, whereas every other possible derelict and abandoned depot was stripped for material to fight against the invaders, the old Venator and her crew of the dead were left untouched, her reputation after decades of bloodbaths even attempting to board her left the ship a no go for even the craziest pirate.

Enter Vislor Solo and his friend/first mate Drugah, the latest of the treasure seekers to find their glory for being the ones to recover the Vixen, Vislor counting on his grandfather having served on her, however briefly as a lever to get the Spirit to cooperate. Alas, he forgot to factor in said Spirit might not exactly be sane after so much time surrounded by the dead, systems slowly draining and shutting down as time took their toll on her fuel supplies and component life.



A bit of backstory to help explain the following chapters, and setting the ground for other Shipspririts. Enjoy!

 

[HarakoniWarhawk]

Time for something fluffier, I place full blame on this on Restless Coyote for writing such a sad ending to SaSG.
Chapter Three: Confused Smugglers, fluffy tails and lost marbles.

35ABY.
Unknown System.
Onboard Vixen's Star, Venator class Star Destroyer.
If Vislor had to sum up the current situation in one word, it wouldn't be fear, despite the whole 'being held at gunpoint thing'. If anything, it was boredom, sheer, uninterrupted boredom, the kind that leaves you losing track of time. With nothing else to do, Drugah had commanded the bench to sleep on, snoring like a Swoopbike with a dodgy fuel injector. Vislor, lacking a wall to lean against, the corpses taking those up, instead crossed his legs and watched Vixen, warm brown eyes meeting the sunken, bloodshot golden eyes of the latter.
Growing up in a family as steeped in interacting with Ship Spirits, even being only 25 years old, Vis easily identified the sheer multitude of issues plaguing the ship, some known from personal experience and others from stories told by his grandfather. All told, the Vixen's Star was a mess, both spiritually and physically, both sides mingling and building off each other in a kriffing horrifying mixture.

Easiest to diagnose was the gauntness, the symptoms that of a ship low on supplies, fuel or in this case, both. The eyes were slightly harder to see, obscured by the waif of a woman's greasy locks of hair, both bloodshot, indicating damage to her sensor arrays, both realspace, and Hyper variants. Given the fact said systems manifested differently on each spirit, the slight cloudiness spread across one orb could be either or and without asking her, he wouldn't know which it was. The girl herself seemed incredibly fragile, her only movement a listless wave of an arm every few minutes, unblinkingly staring at Vislor.

There was something off about her gaze, the same sort of look veterans would have remembering terrible events, a little voice in his head opinioning that perhaps she wasn't seeing him, but someone from her past he resembled... Suddenly filled with a blooming sense of hope, he swung the backpack over his shoulder, scrambling through its contents, searching for his ticket to making him rich for life, kriff, this would keep him alive long enough to claim the bounty! The Smuggler allowed himself a soft cheer, the noise prompting Vixen to wander over, vulpine ears perked in interest, life infusing her frame as she looked through the shield at the round object cupped in Vis's hands. A flash of blue solidified into a miniature hologram, the object revealed as a compact holoprojector, Vislor's mouth cast in a manic grin as the images displayed flickered rapidly, transparent figures, places, and other things passed too fast to identify. Now fully enamored with the smuggler's actions, the Spirit of the Vixen's Star stood barely a foot from the crimson shield, a singular fluffy tail swaying softly behind her form, unheeded by Vislor, too busy searching for the right image, Drugah meanwhile, was still somehow sleeping like a brick.

Finding what he was looking for, the sandy-haired man whooped, fist-pumping in delight, the kaleidoscope of scenes coming to a halt, two humanoids hovering above the projector, one older male, looking dinged but still alive, a wide grin shining from a soot-covered face. The second, shorter figure had an arm wrapped around the male's waist, triangular ears, and an incredibly poofy tail caught mid-swing behind her, youthful features brimming with energy at whoever took the shot, the other arm raised in the universal 'V for victory' pose. The omnipresent hum of the Ray shield died, hesitant footsteps and a clatter of armor heralding their captor falling to her knees, trembling fingers stretching to touch the wavering image. "Gramps said that day was both the scariest and best day of his life, he was the Chief Engineer of the shipyard you see, the old man always said the taste of combat he got that day was enough for one lifetime" Vislor spoke, gently as to not spook the Spirit in arms distance, her gaze focused solely on the holoprojector, the mans words not seeming to have registered.

Thumbing a button, the view shifted, being replaced with a shot of a Venator's hanger, the man from before, looking much cleaner and happier, leaning against a nearby crate watching as a young boy, his son if the resemblance was anything to go by was given a piggyback ride by the female from before, her body garbed in an armored Officer's uniform, child and woman caught mid-run around a nearby Eta-2 Interceptor. "That was when Pa first met you, right after you got drydocked to repair damage from Cristophis, you remember that? Vis motioned at the image as he talked, offering the terribly fragile young woman the projector, folding her fingers around the round object, letting her keep it close.

Compared to the grim specter who captured him, the girl kneeling in arms reach was visibly trembling, reminders of a much brighter time making her cry, a sight Vis was uncomfortable watching, feeling like he was intruding on something deeply private. Her voice as she whispered was raspy, years of disuse leaving her barely audible, "Aliit ori'shya taldin... family is more than blood, the Clones always said that regarding me... I remember Albeth was nervous about letting me play with Bry at first... our first meeting wasn't the best introduction, he never held it against me after I met his family..." Vislor knew enough scraps of Mando'a to guess the meaning of the unfamiliar words, a happy smile blossoming as Vixen's Spirit remembered, actually properly recognized what she was seeing! The older salvagers, hard-learned lessons etched into the very fabric of their beings all agreed on one thing, if you can give a lost Ship's spirit a link to their past, better yet a family member of people they knew, it made helping heal the wounds time caused much easier, which, considering the state of this particular spirit, meant the job was merely nigh impossible, instead of ''guaranteed to get you killed level'.

Leaving the girl to sort through the holo's, Vis set about worming his way free of the Voidsuit, malfunctioning coolers matting his face in sweat from the heat, his helmet coming loose with a hiss of escaping gasses, the air in the compartment surprisingly fresher than his own canned supply, the man musing about the irony as the last of his suit fell to the floor, leaving him clad in his Nerfhide jacket and synth leather trousers, stretching in relief at being free of the damn voidsuit, they might be needed but they were kriffing painful to wear for long times.

"You never said who you were exactly scavenger, the fact you know who I am combined with these Holo's and that you're too young would make you... Bry's kid? You don't look like him that's for sure" To his credit, Vis only froze for a second, pointedly refusing to match Vixen's gaze while he returned to his spot on the floor, acutely aware the woman before him was old enough to know his dad when he was barely ten Name-Days old. "In my defense, I take more after my Ma, that at the whole being suited up probably hid my identity when you found us onboard..." A hand rubbing his neck, the young man feeling like he was being scolded by his parents for making a dumb mistake. The difference between the woman in the Holo's and the one before him couldn't be starker, one full of life and, feeling a bit silly saying it, beautiful, compared to the emaciated, scarred wraith armored for war, but underneath the decades of pain, neglect and filth, their hearts and souls were one and the same.

A muffled cough wrenched him from his thoughts, flushing at being caught staring, a raised eyebrow and an arm motioning beside her the only motion from Vixen, patting the floor next to her. Understandably hesitant, having seen the same woman rip fully grown men limb from limb, the knowledge tempered by kinder stories of a Spirit fiercely protective of those she considered family breaking the stalemate, the young man settling down next to her in jerky motions. Understandably tense, Vis would forever deny squeaking in shock when he got pulled into a one-armed hug, the lady responsible smiling up at him, the expression stilted, as if she hadn't smiled in a long, long time. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry if I hurt you... judging from your friend's reaction to me, You're the first person who's actually come to look for me specifically and not just loot my hull for weapons, artifacts... you name it, the people who came said it all." She sounded sincere, regret coloring her tone, squeezing Vislor softly as if to convey her regret. "You've proven you're family Kid, you can call me Vixy, now, knowing Albeth, I'm thinking you're here as much to rescue me as the reward for my recovery, would that be correct Ad'ika"?

Thumping from the cell bed brought both man and Spirit's attention to the Wequay who, at that precise moment chose to fall off the bed and hit the floor, thrashing around on the floor, screaming all the while. Bemused, Vixy sharing a glance with the equally confused Vis watched as Drugah untangled himself, wide eyes staring in shock at the Kitsune with her arm around his buddy and, lacking any context about the situation, thought the worst and promptly collapsed unconscious, whatever terrors caused him to wake up preferable to the imaged fate of his friend. Getting to his feet, Vislor began dragging his friend away from the corpse pile he had fallen into, his labors accompanied by giggles from the amused Ship Spirit, a chuckle worming its way free as he joined in, wondering when his life had become so kriffing strange.




I had to write fluff and i hope it came off well. Enjoy!

 

[ComissarPancakes]

In the Abyss of Space...

Spoiler: Ship's Log #0000-0034 Post Displacement

Stardate: Transmigration Day + 41 (I knew I should have gotten the exact date before I ran)
Location: Bum fuck nowhere

Provisions and munitions remain plentiful and fuel stores are still above 90%. Further examination on all critical systems and continues despite the fact that it's been well over a month since...whatever the hell happened.

No knocks and pings echoing from the reactor. No ghost signals on scanners. Guns and gunners in the green...

The crew, and doesn't that still sound strange, remains conflicted on whether or not to maintain a neutral stance in regards to the current war between the old Republic and the CIS. It's... understandable, really. On one hand, the Clone Wars is merely history to them and not the lynchpin that would set the next twenty years into motion. Hell, I was "commissioned" in part as a way to remain independent of both the Imperial Remnant and New Republic.

On the other...they hate droids.

I mean…

They REALLY hate droids.

And, to a lesser extent, more "alien" looking aliens.

And...a part of me remains relieved over this. Not utter xenophobia, no. But...

I don't know if it's a bleed-over effect, what with the saying that the crew is the "soul" of a ship, but I don't want to participate in a war.

Doesn't mean that I won't fight. I'm a warship now after all and that little bit of instinct seems to be overriding a few things in my noggin. Or...core now, I guess.

At the very least, I don't want to be stuck in some slugging match.

I took some time to finally go over my design specs, both the official documentation and "field modifications." If what I'm reading is right, I'm one hell of a convoy raider. Fifty meters smaller than a Victory-II but packing just a tiny bit more heat than a frigging Imperial-II. Faster too. Still short as hell though, meaning that my armor is nowhere near comparable.

Now that I think about it, this is all kinda reminding me of battlecruisers. Or...maybe a fast battleship? My batteries are all either facing forward or to my flanks so it's somewhat reminiscent of Dunkerque?

Sorta makes sense. Charge into the midst of an enemy convoy with all guns blazing before getting outta dodge when the capitals show up...

...Eugh, never mind. Kinda makes me sound like a pirate.

Or…

Maybe a privateer?

AAR #384-1165

Commanding: CC-01/425
Location: Antaran warfront

RC Squad D-072 responded to and was tasked by Captain Jolan Septula (COC RSS Providence, Aclamator-class), in accordance with Order 229-486f, to investigate a seemingly derelict CIS Lucrehulk-class starship. Per previous passive and active scanner investigation by the Providence, no life signals, be they organic or droid, had been detected and the deployment of Squad D-072 was deemed merely as a precaution in the wake of the incident involving RSS Prosecutor.

In an attempt to cover more ground, it was determined that each member of Squad D-072 was to individually ingress onto the derelict via the following insertion points:

RC-1138: Forward Control Tower
RC-1140: Control Bridge Tower
RC-1207: Signal Transmitter Platform
RC-1262: Backup Control Signal Transmission Tower

Upon entering the derelict, RC-1140 reported massive instances of heavy damage to the internal structures of the command tower. RC-1262 corroborated this, further adding that the level of destruction in evidence easily exceeded the level expected of any sort of man-portable explosive device, many of which "you could walk a kriffing Spider Droid through."

Data slicing by RC-1140 into the core mainframe proved to be largely ineffectual on account of the sheer damage to critical internal systems. Investigations into the organic crew members also proved to be of little worth as all members of Squad D-072 were unable to locate or piece together the remains of at least thirty eight different individuals to an identifiable state in the command tower alone. Of the droid complement aboard, all instances were dispatched with "the utmost prejudice."

What follows is one of the few logs RC-1140 and RC-1138 were able to recover from the Droid Command Mainframe:

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - ENEMY UNIT HAS BYPASSED DEFENSE POINTS EPSILON 873 AND IS APPROACHING REACTOR HALLWAY 562F. UNIT 782 RETASKED.

[UNT-CMD #02-1242] - NEGATIVE. UNIT 782 REDUCED TO 15% COMBAT STRENGTH. UNABLE TO HOLD.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - UNIT 264 RETASKED.

[UNT-CMD #09-1223] - CONFIRMED. UNIT 264 RETASKED.

[UNT-CMD #02-1242] - ALERT. ENEMY UNIT DEPLOYING DRONES. UNABLE TO HOLD POSITION. UNIT 782 AT 9% COMBAT STRENGTH.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - UNIT 217 RETASKED.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - UNIT 332 RETASKED.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - UNIT 426 RETASKED.

[COC-LKRHK 12-251] - Now here this you bucket of bolts! It's just one human! How can you not kill ONE human!

**WARNING** COC COMMAND OVERRIDE ENGAGED - CARGO BAYS OPENING - LIFE PODS LOCKED DOWN **WARNING**

[COC-LKRHK 12-251] - Who did that? Who is the poodoo that just did that?!

[UNT-CMD #02-5521] - ALERT. ENEMY UNIT HAS BREACHED COMMUNICATIONS ARRAY 11B. UNIT 217 AT 21% COMBAT STRENGTH.

[UNT-CMD #03-7762] - ALERT. UNIT 332 IS IN HEAVY ENGAGEMENT WITH ENEMY UNIT ORGANIC DRONES. UNIT 332 IS 65% COMBAT EFFECTIVE.

[UNT-CMD #05-7721] - ALERT. UNIT 332 IS IN HEAVY ENGAGEMENT WITH ENEMY UNIT ORGANIC DRONES. UNIT 426 IS 54% COMBAT EFFECTIVE.

[UNT-CMD #02-5521] - ALERT. UNIT 217 IS ENCOUNTERING HEAVY CONTACT WITH ORGANIC DRONES. UNIT IS AT 2% COMBAT EFFICIENCY. REINFORCEMENTS REQUESTED.

[UNT-CMD #02-5521] - ALERT. UNIT 217 IS ENCOUNTERING HEAVY CONTACT WITH ORGANIC DRONES. UNIT IS AT 2% COMBAT EFFICIENCY. REINFORCEMENTS REQUESTED.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - MUCH REGRET UNABLE. UNITS 586, 112, 742, 635 ARE COMBAT INEFFECTIVE PER OPENING OF CARGO BAY DOORS.

[UNT-CMD #02-5521] - REQUESTING SUPPORT.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - MUCH REGRET UNABLE.

[UNT-CMD #02-5521] - REQUESTING SUPPORT.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - MUCH REGRET UNABLE.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - NEGATIVE.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - NEGATIVE.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - NOT THE OPTICS.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - UNABLE TO PARSE COMMUNIQUE. [UNT-CMD #12-5523] REPEAT LAST TRANSMISSION.

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - ***EYES. THEY A** **********

**UNIT [UNT-CMD #12-5523] - DISCONNECTED**

[UNT-CMD #12-5523] - [UNT-CMD #02-5521] RETASK. IDENTIFY CAUSE OF TRANSMISSION INTERFERENCE.

[UNT-CMD #02-5521] - MUCH REGRET UNABLE. UNIT HAS SUFFERED MASSED COOLANT LEAK AND IS 12% COMBAT EFFECTIVE.

Click to shrink...

Any further efforts in parsing through the broken code has been deemed impractical without more dedicated equipment. RC-1207 has reported, with all other squad members confirming, that all droid combat units on the vessel are either in various states of dismemberment or have been perforated to the point of structural failure.

What sensor systems Squad D-072 has managed to get back online all indicate that no crew of the derelict remain alive and the ship is deemed safe enough for further investigation by non-combatant personnel provided they are allocated hostile environment gear.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Ship's Log #0000-0035 Post Displacement

Stardate: Transmigration Day + 52
Location: Somewhere near Antaras

Nemoidian ship rations suck.

 

[ComissarPancakes]

A Fireside Chat

If there was one thing that Bail Organa held dear besides family, it was a chance for a midnight flight in his personal airspeeder. It was an escape from the politics of the Republic Senate. To just...let go. To let all his worries of a worryingly ever-increasing powerful Chancellorship drift away and ignore the inevitable struggle to hold onto that political clout.

Inhale.

Exhale.

'Just concentrate on the now. Tomorrow can wait a few moments.'

The wind swished over the plexiglass windshield and through his hair. A star-studded black sky glistened above. The spight scent of spice and heat from the near endless Chinar trees below wafting into the air.

'...Wait a minute…'

There was definitely more than just the usual levels of spice...

In the distance a flickering light emanate from a small clearing, weak enough to almost be missed if it weren't for its near-beacon like winking. Like a moth to a flame, Bail Organa decided to investigate.

...

It was a campfire. A rather sizeable one at that if he was able to spot it from three kilometers away.

Bail had landed his speeder maybe two hundred meters back to avoid attracting attention. Growing up so near the woods, it was literal child's play avoiding fallen branches and loose leaves as he snuck his way closer. Whomever set up the fire could be aggressive after all so he'd have to...

"...the pines, where the sun never shines…"

Was...that singing? The voice sounded young, a girl barely into adulthood. What was someone like that doing out in the woods alone?

Steps plodding softly into the dirt, Bail crept closer to the light. He could smell… something wafting through the air besides the scent of the trees, like a cross between bad cheese and slightly charred nerf shank.

"My daddy was a railroad man, killed a mile and a…"

She was sitting on a log, her back to the woods. Even sitting against the light, Bail could make out her dark, almost charcoal hair and what appeared to be an ocean blue coat. In her hands, she held some form of instrument.

"... You've caused me to weep, you've caused me to mourn…"

Aside from...whatever she had cooking over the fire, the campsite was bare. Bail couldn't see any form of shelter, be it a tent or even just a bundle of sticks and branches.

"...you've caused me to lose my home."

There wasn't even any indication on how she got here. The closest clearing was the one he landed at and he definitely didn't see an unoccupied airspeeder parked there.

"You know you can come sit by the fire right? No need to stand in the dark."

...Caught. But… how?

"I apologies," Bail announced as he stepped out of the treeline, "I saw your fire and I was curious about what was going on."

"It's alright," the girl said, her eyes focused completely on the food that was… apparently cooking on a slab of rock. "I know how dangerous it can get out here. Especially during a war."

Spotting another slant log on the other side of the fire, Bail made his way further towards the fire. "Speaking of," he plopped down onto the makeshift bench, "what made you think I wasn't someone dangerous?"

"Woman's intuition," the girl glanced up with a sly smirk, "and I don't hurt easily."

That was… hard to believe. The girl seated in front of Bail looked barely 50 kilos soaking wet, never mind the fact that, even sitting down, she barely came up to his shoulder. Add to the fact that she looked like she was barely into her twenties, it sounded like the usual bluster of a young adult's belief that they were invincible. "I'm sure you aren't."

"So…" the girl fidgeted, "who are you?"

She didn't recognize him?

"Call me Bail." He reached over with his hand. "What's your name?"

"Well if we're gonna go by pseudonyms," she smirked as she reached over, "I'm Rin."

"Rin. A short name for a short gi-"

"Finish that statement and I'm not sharing my food." Her eyes narrowed, a split second flash of red caused by the firelight.

Bail held his hands up in surrender, "Alright, alright. Though I'm not exactly sure what it is you're offering me. It somewhat smells like Nerf but I could be wrong since there's something else there."

At this a soft, red flush blossomed across her cheeks. "It's… okay I'm not exactly sure. I trapped and killed it and decided to mix in some of my ship rations to see if it'd add some flavor besides charred meat."

"That's…" he could only raise his eyebrow at that, "that's rather irresponsible, isn't it? What did you even add?"

"Oy, I'll have you know that I can eat almost anything and come out all right!" Yep, she was definitely flustered. "And it's...Neimoidian starship rations."

"I don't think I heard you right. Did you just say...?"

"NEIMOIDIAN STARSHIP RATIONS." Was she pouting? "Shut up! Do you know how hard it is to provision adequately when all you've got is a starship, a flimsy with half scrawled offers for odd jobs, and a map that doesn't work right?"

What? "But why not ask for help? Surely one of the governments has some sort of social welfare system that could do something?"

"Right," Rin crossed her arms, "good ol' Republican bureaucracy to the rescue. Can't even see the problems two feet in front of them, never mind the little people."

At this Bail could only frown, fully aware of the hurdles Padme was smacking into to get some sort of social program off the ground in the Senate. "What do you mean? Yes the Senate is slow to react but surely you don't think they'd ignore the plight of the common folk for long."

"How long did the Senate to resolve the whole kerfuffle over Naboo ten years ago?" Her eyes were flashing again. "Why isn't the Senate questioning why they had a ready-made army of veritable slaves just as the CIS rebelled? Or a fleet of warships capable of planetary invasion?"

Rin leaned forward, her blue eyes so glinting in the flickering light. "Do you know just why you've had such a hard time enforcing everything up back then? You depended on member states to pony up their own defense forces in order to help out some schmuck halfway across the galaxy. Hell, that's more of a confederacy than a republic. There's no unifying force that the Republic could bring to bear on potentially deadly issues between member states. "

"But that could easily lead to tyranny. The Chancellor could easily override the will of the Senate's individual member states."

"Like you have now with how the Grand Army of the Republic holds its loyalty directly to the Chancellor? That's why you build checks into the system. That's why you recruit from the member states and have them swear loyalty to the ideas of the Republic and the Senate. Not some individual that could fuck up everything if they let it go to their heads.

Monopoly of force. You have a bigger stick than any potential malcontents to ward off disasters, not go crawling to individual nation states for money or military. That's how a government ensures that its members don't devolve into this gobshit mess of a civil war."

At that, Rin's eyes softened, the fury that had touched her eyes giving way to exhaustion. "Unless there are some heavy systematic changes to the system the Republic is all but doomed."

'Her eyes,' Bail realized, 'they've the look of someone who's lost everything.'

The fire crackled between them, the pair lost in their own thoughts.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Ship's Log #0000-0042

Stardate: Transmigration Day + 82
Location: Alderaan

I met a nice man today while I was out in the woods. Just waltzed outta the night and up to my fire and everything, like he knew I probably wasn't going to hurt him. Probably should have waited in the dark and ambushed him though. Make sure I knew he wasn't going to try to hurt me.

...Like anything man portable could hurt me nowadays…

Now that I think about it, he was rather naive wasn't he? Just walking up to a camp, staring at a light source that definitely would have nixed his night vision.

Still…

It was nice to talk to someone again.

Shooting the shit. Even if it did devolve into a certain tangent that I probably shouldn't touch again.

Probably need to get a move on though, now that someone knows I'm here. No need to attract further attention now that I know that the others are causing mayhem back on Coruscant. Even so, the guy gave me his contact information. At least he didn't ask me for mine.

Which is somewhat creepy now that I think about it. A somewhat taller, semi-goateed man stepping out of the dark woods and into firelight? Reminds me of those crime dramas my younger sisters used to watch.

Although...

Bail.

Baaaiiiilll…

Why does that sound so familiar?

The only Bail that I can remember from the prequels is Bail Organa, but there's no way a frigging Senator would have stumbled across a random vagabond in the middle of the woods right?

Right?

...Dark, wavy hair. Neatly trimmed beard. Brown eyes…

…

...Son of a BITCH!

 

[ComissarPancakes]

Bored Meeting

The conference room was awash with noise as over a dozen shipgirls conversed in their respective groups. In one of the darker corners, Fire Dealer and her five Resurgent-class cohorts gazed upon the smaller ships, debating on which unlucky ship they were going to squee over. They were nervously ignored by the rest of the girls, though even the Nebulas and Imperials knew they were just as at risk. In the central seats closer to the screen Revanchist, Maelstrom, and Blackwater conversed over whether or not they could self upgrade, though they paid no attention to just how they would do so.

Off to the side and against a wall, Watchkeeper and Dai-Bakura sat upon the floor and busied themselves with some chips they had found from… somewhere. In between them sat an activated holoprojector, continually pinging away at a com frequency known only to the two Bakura-class vessels.

"Do you think she'll pick up?" Dai-Bakura looked up at Watchkeeper as she was about to shove another piece of potato into her mouth. The slip of a girl, although beaten and battered, had still kept a cheery outlook in spite of their increasingly devolving situation. "It'd be nice if there were more than just the two of us."

"I'm sure she will," answered Dai as she eyed the Resurgents, "Spiral knows we need another just to try and split them up a little more."

"That's what you said the last three times," Keeper mumbled, "Hell, we only just realized she was out there after coming across that one AAR from the Antaran Front and that's at least three weeks old by now."

Dai could only reach across to the diminished Bakura and grasp her by the shoulder. "She'll pick up."

"HEY! It's time to get this meeting started!"

In the center of the room stood Darklight, her hands on her hips and a scowl upon her face. "We've wasted enough time already and the room's needed for a GAR sitrep by the Jedi later."

"We've gathered here," she continued, "to hash out some form of a plan for going forward. We all know what the OTL events are. We know who's the cause. And we most certainly have gripes about certain aspects of the Galaxy we now live in."

"Don't say that we haven't tried, Dark." Fire Dealer pushed herself off from the wall she was leaning against, "one of us tried blitzing him from orbit just a few weeks ago. Though why they decided to just use a normal blaster I do not know…"

In the corner, Hope bristled. "Maybe it's because some of us are worried about using capital grade weaponry inside a city?"

Fire could only bite her lip, "point…"

Dark glared at the chastised Resurgent. "Is there anyone else who tried to run roughshod over canon?"

"And why shouldn't we? Canon is shit!"

The room was suddenly in an uproar as over a dozen star destroyer type shipgirls struggled to make their own opinions heard.

"We need to do something about Palps!"

"Wookies! There ain't no way I'm letting them be used as slaves by some hunchback, lizard assholes!"

"Gals! What about those incidents involving fucking zombies? Does anyone remember how they happened?"

"You mean Rakguls? Aren't those those Old Republic era mutant things that are on Taris?"

"Didn't Taris get exterminatus'd?"

"Shut. UP!" Darklight shouted, "We're getting way too off-topic! We need to focus on figuring out what we plan to do for the next year!"

"Yeah! Like refits!"

Again, the room exploded into pandemonium. Cries of weapons upgrades and bust increases mixed with equally heated, though far more pragmatic, debates of reactor upgrades and resource requirements.

And in between the two forgotten Bakuras, the holoprojector hummed to life.

"Okay," it growled as an image slowly composed, "who the hell are you and how'd you get this com frequency?"

"Is that…" Dai's eyes darted back to the stumpy machine.

"Big sister," Watchkeeper pouted, "that's no way to talk to your sisters!"

Pixels whirled as the image finally focused on a semi-transparent figure. Above the projector stood a somewhat diminutive figure dressed in a smallish greatcoat, a pencil skirt with ruffles just visible beneath the coattails. Upon her shoulder-length hair sat a tiny forage cap with a star.

"Bullshit!" The figure rounded onto Keeper. "My sisters are no long...oh."

"It's...it's good to finally meet you," Watchkeeper whispered. "When we heard that you were possibly around, it didn't feel as lonely as with just the two of us. I'm Watchkeeper."

"And I'm Dai-Bakura!" piped in the other Bakura. "What's your name?"

"...Oxyrhynchus," the slim girl replied, "I… look, I know it's a mouthful so just call me 'Rin.'"

"Oxy!" exclaimed Keeper, causing Oxyrhynchus' eyes to narrow at the diminutive ship. "Don't give me that look! Nicknames are the responsibility of the sisters!"

Dai-Bakura nodded her head vigorously, "Oxy is superior! I mean, we're spaceships now! Oxy! Oxy-gen! It fits!" Oxy merely frowned.

"Speaking of," Oxy glanced to the side at the other shipgirls, "was the point of the call just a meet and greet or…?"

The three Bakuras could only stare at the growing "debate" taking place in the middle of the room. Fire Dealer was busy shouting at Argent Sun over possible reactor refits. Maelstrom had Blackwater in a headlock with Revanchist pulling at the Victory-I's cheeks. Off in the corner Thunderhead had Hope bent over one of the seats, both of them with their hands wrapped around each others' throats.

"Uh," stated Dai-Bakura, "it was supposed to be coming up with a plan for the next six months. Now I'm not so sure."

"I mean," commented Watchkeeper, "they're talking more about refits than I was when I was cut in half."

"WHAT." Oxy's eyes shot towards the smaller ship, her gaze frantically looking over her hull. "What the hell do you mean 'cut in half!?'"

Watchkeeper waved her hands in front of her, attempting to placate the larger Bakura. "It's alright Big Sister! I lost my front section when I participated in the Corellian Crisis!"

"WHEN was this?" Oxy glared at Dai, "and why weren't you there to help prevent this?!"

"Hey now! My frame wasn't even laid down when that happened!"

Watchkeeper piped up again, "You're not exactly up to date on the Expanded Universe, aren't you Oxy?"

"Not really," the projection replied, "I mostly kept to the movies and games. Read a few Old Republic novels though. And considering how we're all seemingly stuck during the Clone Wars, that'd be good to know at the very least."

"I know, right?" Dai was beaming, "a few of us have already tried to set things right!"

"You...WHAT. What did you guys do?!"

"Well, one of the Endurance-classes tried axing Palpatine with a blitz from orbit. No risk of collateral since she used a bog-standard blaster but…"

Panic crawled across Oxyrhynchus' face, her eyes wide and darting between the two sisters. "That's...no. What, exactly, are you guys trying to accomplish over there? Isn't it literally written into the fabric of the bullshit space magic that things are going to go to shit?"

"But we won't know until we try right?"

"But NOTHING. How do we know what ripples are going to be set off with mere mention of meta-knowledge! Hell, off-hand comments could have wide-reaching implications if they're about events even just two weeks in advance!" Oxy placed her hand on her forehead.

"But...!"

"Okay… no. We can talk about this later." Oxy glanced off to the side, glancing at something out of the projector's camera, "I need to get going."

"But we've only just started talking," frowned Watchkeeper, "I thought that we'd be able to connect a bit more."

"I know, it's just…" Shouts could now be heard over the projector. "Now's not a good time."

"Well, okay." Dai reached over to the projector, plugging into one of the access ports, "At least we can send our ID codes and com frequencies so we don't have to jury-rig a connection again."

At this, Oxyrhynchus nodded and gazed at her two sister ships, her eyes softening. "We'll talk."

Meanwhile, the rest of the room was still in a state of chaos. Bands of like-minded girls now were grouped in opposing sections of the conference seats, hurling insults and disparaging remarks over ideas and statements. Balls of flimsi sailed across the room like snowballs and at least three metal rulers were being brandished like blades.

In the middle of the room crouched Darklight, her hands covering her face in frustration as she realized that she never had control over proceedings from the start.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Author's Note + Oxy story plans

Okay. Finally got something out of the Charlie-Foxtrot that was the first RP chanel itteration.

*Deep breath*

Onto Oxy:
I'm going to be trying out a branching story path for Oxy, based upon her interactions with the other fleet girls and her sisters. This is to determine whether she comes "home" to the other girls, whether she remains a murderhobo, or...something else.

And I do mean interactions. Considering her personality, she'll not appreciate things like being contacted by other ships out of the blue (other than her sisters) so she's likely going to be initially antagonistic regardless of what the conversation devolves into. A lot of this will be centered around her frame of mind (she is not in a good headspace at the moment) and I'm going to be leaving hints as to how she's doing in the coming snippets.

That or the song that I deen to post in order to get in the mood of that current snippet.

Current mood: "I have family again?"

 

[HarakoniWarhawk]

Time to introduce a few more characters, not as crazy as the Kitsune, but quirky all the same.

Chapter Four: Sassy Droids, Planning and Queer circumstances.

35ABY
Unknown System
Onboard Vixen's Star, Venator class Star Destroyer.

As funny as watching Drugah knock himself out was, blackmail material from the incident included, the prospect of lugging 300 pounds of Wequay to the Medical bay by himself wasn't something Vislor especially wanted. Fortunately for his back, Vixen had called for help, two haphazardly painted B1 Battledroids in Republic Blue coming from the Turbolift bearing a stretcher between them. Having grown up long after the chaos of the Clone Wars, Vis merely looked on in interest as they loaded Drugah onto the stretcher, mechanical bodies easily bearing the weight. Vixen followed the droids out of the cell, slinging the dropped carbine over her shoulder, grabbing Vis by the hand as the little procession passed, dragging him behind her until he caught on to follow the medical droids.

In stark contrast to earlier, being in close proximity to Vixen's Spirit, pressed together as they were in the lift, he felt... safe, something inside him telling him to trust the ship despite her bloody history and disturbing looks. Outside of a single judder running through the car as it passed a floor, the lift worked surprisingly well for something that was fifty years old, CEC engineering at work he mused. Their trip upwards continued, the car silent, both droids not having spoken once since they arrived while Vixy seemed to have drifted off in the meantime. Before the silence could become awkward, they arrived at their destination, what little of the Medbay he could see thankfully corpse free, a 2-1B Surgical unit standing by near a bed, one multi-function arm raised in greeting as they entered. Vixen, being the first to enter, raised her hand in response, crossing the space to wrap the droid in a quick hug, the two evidently well acquainted over the years.

Vis kept pace with the medical B1s, whatever words being exchanged between Vixy and the 2-1B, a rich Core accent coming from the droid, laced with humor as they spoke. "Honestly Miss Vixen, you really should come down for a checkup once in a while, mental health is very impo...Why hello there good sir!". Breaking free of the Spirit's hug, the surgical droid offered the young man a manipulator, giving his hand a firm grip, bowing at the waist on dropping the handshake.
"A pleasure to make the acquaintance of a member of Miss Vixen's family, Interim Chief Surgeon 2-1B, 'Alphie' for short at your service!. I must say, your arrival is most fortuitous, the ship has been awfully lonely these long years... the passing of the crew affected us all, the young Mistress suffered the most it must be said". Bemused by its behavior, Vislor only nodded, man and droid shifting to let Drugah lie onto the bed, the B1s throwing sloppy salutes as they moved to sit on a nearby bench, just out of earshot.

"Alphie, could you perhaps treat the patient before you get distracted, it's kinda urgent", Vixy's words admonishing, though the smile on her face removed any bite. Apologizing profusely, Alphie hooked up an IV to Drugah's arm, injecting a loaded syringe presumably filled with a stimulant of some kind to rouse the Wequay from his slumber, the chemicals working as intended, Vis standing at the foot of the bed waiting for him to wake. Stirring, one hand clamped to his forehead, the Wequay taking in his friend smirking at the end of the bed he found himself in, seeing him hale and healthy a balm to his mind, filled as it was with nightmares about them both being ripped apart by the Ship Spirit. Offering Vis a shaky grin, he went to leave the bed, a firm push to the chest keeping him down, a tutting Surgical droid wagging a finger down at him. "Now, Now, you've taken a nasty spill there good sir! please allow me a moment to check your health, we'll have you on your feet in a jiffy, doctor's honor".

Watching his friend be mothered by a surgical droid proved too much for Vislor's composure, the smuggler breaking out in laughter, Drugah glaring at both the droid and Vis, arms folded and huffing while Alphie busied with scanning, using a plethora of equipment to poke, prod and generally inconvenience his patient in the most medically efficient way possible. Twenty arduous minutes later, the 2-1B withdrew, Drugah jumping out of bed hastily, batting away the offered candy with a growl, looming over Vis, arms crossed. "I'm going to hit you Vis, after we get the ship home and the bounty issued to our accounts, I don't know what exactly happened while I was sleeping, but you're alive, so I guess you succeeded?". Vis, to his credit, looked sheepish, the whole chain of events confusing even for him, being the one who experienced it all, let alone his friend who spent most of it in a nightmare.

"We succeeded... sort of? Vixen's friendly now, I showed her Dad's holo collection so we're not at risk of dismemberment anymore". explained Vis, giving Vixy, who was perched on a nearby bed, a wave, attracting his buddy's attention. In the clean light of the medbay, she appeared far less threatening, beyond a slight widening of the eyes, Drugah took seeing her so close fairly well, his foul mood falling away. The three, man, Wequay and Ship Spirit talked, Vis filling in Drugah on everything that occurred while he was unconscious, Vixen interjecting when appropriate.

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After much deliberation, it was decided that Drugah would return to Corellia with Blastwave, accompanied by a member of Vixen's engineering compliment, a battered though still serviceable R3 unit. If Vis was being honest, he wasn't happy with the decision, the chances of his friend getting into trouble once word got out they succeeded in their venture causing a knot of worry to settle in his gut.
Right as Drugah went to enter the turbolift, he grabbed his co-pilot and best friends arm, drawing him close to whisper "Buddy, whatever you do, do it quietly, I really don't want to risk anyone else finding Vixy, especially when she's in this condition."

"I'm more worried about what your father's going to do when he finds out what our little 'trade run' was really about", making finger quotes at trade run, Vis wincing at the reminder about his father.
They shared a look, bonds formed since childhood conveying more meaning than words could, just from watching each other's eyes.
" Let me deal with Pa, you focus on getting the tugs here, stay safe you big lugg, you hear me?". slapping his friends shoulder, Vis watched Drugah and the worn R3 board the lift, throwing a mock salute before the doors closed.
Eyes lingering on the Turbolift momentarily, the young man turned, expecting to see Vixy alighting on the bed, only to find her absent, his only companion being Alphie who was beckoning him over to a nearby office, if what he could see through the transparisteel was correct. Trusting the droid completely was out of the question, but if Vixy did then he'd give the old 2-1B a chance, ducking under the doorframe to avoid hitting his head.
The small office looked like any other Doctor''s office, if suitably worn by time like the ship and it's inhabitants were, Alphie seated on a battered chair behind a desk piled high with Datapads, though glancing over them as he took the seat opposite, Vis noted most were nonfuncional, dead cells presumably if he had to guess.
"I do apologise, but our current stock of beverages is quite reduced, time having taken its toll on them, much like it has on us all I must say", the Surgical Droids manipulators waving in a apology, one that Vislor brushed off with a laugh.
"It's no worries Alphie, I wasn't expecting to be served drinks by a antique 2-1B onboard, we did bring our own supplies after all". brushing aside a clear space on the desk to make room for his knapsack, a quick search turning up a flask and cup.
"I forgot to introduce myself earlier, the whole fuss with Drugah took my attention you know?".Downing a shot of the mild alcohol while he spoke, "I'm Vislor Kar-Solo, it's a pleasure to meet the droid keeping Vixen sane all these years, I- no, my family owes you a debt for that... Vixen has a important place for us, ever since grandfather's time with her".

Unusually, the eccentric droid seemed... subdued by his words, photoreceptor's dimmed and voice much more... withdrawn would be the best way you put it.
"I would be remiss is accepting any debts... for I cannot claim to have kept Miss Vixen sane these long, dark years. You must have seen the bodies she has... arranged in a famiscile of life, yes?". Nodding, Vislor regretted remembering about those, something about the way they were placed disturbing him on a subconscious level, letting Alphie continue.
"The young miss has taken... turns, shall we say over time, some more... graphic than others".the old droid seemed resigned, the further he spoke only serving to heighten Vis''s sense of unease."You must understand, we, by that I mean myself, the Engineering Astromechs, the deckcrew droids, even the salvaged B1s, bless their simple little processors have done our best to help the Miss to cope with the trauma of her crew dying...". A weary dejection suffused every inch of his chassis, yellow optics somehow radiating a palatable sense of grief, an incredibly organic gesture for a droid.
"Despite... despite our best efforts, Lady Vixen has relapsed on occasion, the posing of corpses as if they were alive one of the cleaner results... If not for your most unexpected arrival, I, in my capacity of Chief Medical Officer and as a dear friend of Vixen, very much believed that, baring a miracle, the Lady was mere months away from dissapating entirely, no matter what little we could do to stop it".

The old 2-1B's words and gaze had transfixed Vislor, the young man having abandoned his drink to listen fully, the intensity of Alphie's explanation leaving him speechless.
"Just as we begin to loose hope, the grandson of the man Vixen considered to be a father comes in our hour of need, bringing the Lady out from her mental event horizon with memories of a better time. I ask you this, Vislor, grandson of Albeth Kar-Solo, will you do everything in your power to bring this Ship of the Dead home, no matter what it takes?"
In the face of such an impassioned plea, Vis did the only thing he could, uttering a promise that would bind his fate to that of the Vixen's Star till the day he died, "I solemnly swear to do all I can in my power to bring her home and get her help, may the Force be my witness".

Alphie searched the humans face, whatever he saw enough to convince the old droid of his sincerity, uttering a reply so quiet as to barely be audible. "So say we all... So say we all"

I stayed up far too late finishing this, but it wouldn't let me go, thus you get a long chapter. Enjoy!