Ask Wayward [Illum]: Lost a Haven, Haven't Ya?

[Poet Severino]

Spoiler: Mission Brief

A Haven for the Wayward
Illum- G-7, originally stationed close to Illum but moved by the First Order. Teams sent to find it must attempt to find out where the First Order moved it to by slicing into the mainframe of a First Order Star Destroyer that was half-blown to smithereens and left floating in the void.

​

Poet wasn't really good at finding stuff.

Well, he was selling himself short there but the truth was he simply had no patience for search and retrieve ops. The half-Morellian preferred blasting his way through a raid and the like, anything that would get adrenaline pumping through his veins but the current task he found himself in at the present offered nothing of the sort.

But he really shouldn't be dismissive of the mission he was currently undertaking. Finding and restoring a missing Haven-Class Medical Station for future use would be beneficial for anyone who deserved medical attention, and with the extisting threats posed by the Sith Order was something that could raise the rate of casualties as the combined efforts of the Jedi, the Sector Rangers, and other alliances like the FWA and the growing ISC fought against those evil space wizards.

Evil space wizards. Maker, he sounded like Muse just now. She would have already been a Padawan if she wasn't killed on Ajan Kloss, wouldn't she?

Speaking of Padawan, he couldn't help but feel a little awkward at having a teenager work with him in this task. He had nothing against working with strong, independent, teenagers but this one wasn't just any other teenager. This guy was Lt. Aran's kid, and Poet could already imagine himself getting his backside handed to him (or possibly murdered) by an angry mom for having her child get into any form of harm while he was under the young Ranger's watch. Poet had seen the legendary Sith Slayer and her equally legendary abs, and he would very much like to keep himself off her hit list, thank you very much.

And so he found himself on Illum, the Dream Walker making its approach towards a First Order Star Destroyer that looked like it had once been a gigantic eldritch abomination's chew toy until said gigantic eldritch abomination had had enough of it's toy and left it floating in the void.

Originally meant to keep an eye on the Jedi, Poet found it annoying that he was primarily intended to babysit (kriff's sakes, the Padawan's eighteen already! Or was he?) so the Rnger – in a small act of not really a rebellion – determined that he would help Crix Aran throughout this particular mission. That was what they're supposed to do after all, wasn't it? Help other sentients do good and all that jazz? Other Rangers might have an issue working with Forcies, but kriff them. His Dad and sister were Jedi; might as well literally spit on Poet's face for being suspicious towards the benevolent space monks.

Rolling up to his side on the pilot seat, Skippy beeped rather merrily at its owner for having a Force-user in his ship. The astromech had been with Poet for quite a while now and would often stay by its owner's side whenever he wasn't on a job. As such, it was used to hearing other Rangers' sentiments about the Jedi – and while it was accustomed to some shite talking Skippy was also aware that its master had Force-sensitive family members.

"Yeah, buddy, I know we have a Jedi in the ship," he told the droid with a light frown. The half-Morellian maneuvered the Dream Walker closer to the Star Destroyer, finding the nearest starboard hangar entrance that was partly caved in.

"Is there anything else your Council wants to look for in this Star Destroyer's mainframe other than the data about the missing Haven?" Poet then asked Crix as the Dream Walker slipped through the hangar entrance before landing within the hangar itself with a quiet groan.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

History had always been a subject at school that Crix excelled at because how the kark could he not? The history of the Galaxy was full of amazing things - anyone who said that history was a dull subject in this Galaxy had been poisoned to believed that by boring and unimaginative teachers. How could someone make the war between the Resistance and the First Order boring? Or the Clone Wars? Hell, even the ancient Drast empire was awesome to learn about and it had happened so long ago that half the historian community was busy trying to prove that it had actually ever happened.

Crix was of the opinion that not only did it happen but it had been a golden age for the Sith, with a cohesion and a popular support that the Sith Eternal just could not match.

That he was working on something so historic was awesome, though the appeal did kind of drain when he realized he was working with a Ranger. Crix, of course, had no issue with the Rangers but, well, they tended to have a lot of issues with him these days. Namely that he had the absolute temerity to be born sensitive to the Force, like he had asked for it, like he had chosen to become some kind of traitor because he could feel the Force. He hoped that the current Ranger didn't feel that way but he focused on Scooter, his QC Astromech, in the cargo hold rather than the Ranger.

Working on the little droid's mechanical issues calmed him, something that his Master had assured him was of great help when channeling the Force. Crix found Hans was right, again, and settled into the rhythm of fixing technical issues rather quickly. Hearing the call through the ship, Crix thought about it for a moment before shrugging.

"As far as I know? No." he admitted, "But Scooter and I will be taking as much data as we can regardless. It might all be useless, few hundred years out of date, but some of it has to be useful, right?"

Maybe it was just wishful thinking but Crix would go along with it for now. Hearing the ship land in the hanger, he headed for the ramp before pausing as he looked over to the Ranger.

"Is there atmosphere in the ship?" he asked, holding a rebreather he could use if not, "Scooter - make sure you're ready to download and interface. I know the First Order was more fond of using droids than the Empire was so keep in mind that we may not be alone here."

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Skippy was excited at the prospect of scoping out the relic they called a ship they had just docked onto, but even more so at interacting with Padawan Aran's astromech droid. That much Poet knew, but he had to remind the droid that this wasn't a playdate. They were here to take a look at the past so they could somehow find something that could help both the present and the future.

The Ranger shrugged at the Jedi's response before rising from his seat. At the new question posed, Poet allowed a tiny smirk to grace his usually blank or grumpy expression. He might not like this search and retrieve op, but he didn't bring Crix here unprepared.

"Thank the stars there is," the half-Morellian replied before making his way to the hangar. Damaged and half-blown to smithereens as it were, it was a marvel that the Star Destroyer maintained an atmosphere to sustain the ship even after a century.

Sometimes he was convinced that technology and magic weren't entirely different things.

Poet made a small detour to his weapons locker, retrieving his K-16 Bryar Pistols and A280C Blaster Rifle. He wouldn't have bothered carrying a spare powerpack or two nor donning his blast vest but he couldn't be complacent. Just because he was venturing into a ghost ship didn't mean that there would be no threats within the vessel. On a whim he grabbed a rebreather as well.

Skippy dutifully followed after him as he approached the hangar, beeping excitedly at the sight of Crix and his astromech. The NM-series Astromech wheeled around the two in circles, and Poet shoved away the embarrassment he felt at watching the droid act like a literal child as it stood beside Scooter.

"Kark, Skippy, behave yourself," he chastised the astromech half-heartedly, suddenly aware of the slight warmth that crossed his cheeks. The ramp lowered and the half-Morellian stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he adjusted to the darkness ahead. "Come here, bud. Gimme light."

Another excited beep and Skippy wheeled towards its owner, answering the half-Morellian's request. Poet spotted several TIE fighters docked within thr hangar, one half-buried underneath the rubble.

"Crix, right?" the Ranger asked as he looked at the Padawan over his shoulder. "I know you already know this, but, uh..." Poet hesitated, but decided to just plough through. There was no room for what ifs right now, and he should stop imagining Muse in Aran's place, dressed in Jedi robes and following after him with wide-eyed wonder–

He shoved the image deeper, further away from his conscious thoughts as he told the half-Zabrak, "Be careful and on the lookout for combat droids. Probability's high that we aren't alone in here."

He couldn't keep being a good responsible older brother to a dead sister anymore – might as well do it for the Padawan behind him.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

Crix was also keeping an eye on Scooter, knowing that the astromech did not play well with others at all. He almost had a flashback to the incident where his astromech had managed to steal a stun pistol before going on a bit of a tear around the Temple with it tilted to the side. The fact that Scooter lacked the finger to actually pull the trigger was the only reason he'd managed to escape being decommissioned when the Masters had found out about the issue.

Atmosphere in the ship though? Things were looking up already.

Stepping out into the Star Destroyer proper, Scooter rolling behind him, Crix whistled at the sheer size of the ship. Of course his whistle echo'd because of how silent the ship was which was... interesting he supposed. Crix grinned at the other astromech, patting it lightly on the head and ignoring the jealous beeps that Scooter let out.

Honestly.

Drawing his lightsaber, Crix didn't ignite it but he did keep it close. His thumb brushed against the activator but he didn't want to go straight in with 'guns blazing' as it was. Instead he focused on the Force and what it could tell him about the area they were in. The short answer? Not a lot really. The organics who had been here before them were either long dead or long gone and the Force didn't interact too well with droids.

"They're probably programmed to activate and become hostile when we try and breach some doors." he admitted, gesturing to a large set of doors that led further in, "Shame we need to use doors anyway..."

Moving over to the large set of blast doors, Crix noticed that they were already partially opened. An 'eye' in the middle was open still, as though the power had cut out part way through the closing of the door. It was about 3 foot off the ground though so the droids couldn't get through alone.

"Poet, right? Jump through first and I can help the droids through with the Force."

Spoiler: Dice

9 Droids in the area but they are not alerted

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Poet didn’t hate droids, just the kind of programming they were given – and of course those who gave them such programming in the first place. Dark brown eyes narrowed at the blast doors ahead, he glanced at Skippy and made a gesture at the droid, left hand closing into a fist. The astromech ceased its beeping in an instant, recognizing the need for silence as soon as its owner requested it.

The Ranger did as instructed, his astromech following dutifully and quietly behind. He had considered leaving Skippy behind but knowing how troublesome the astromech could get when left unsupervised in a place as wonderful as the Star Destroyer, the half-Morellian thought it prudent to just take the droid with him. Poet knew that the decision would bite him on the backside sooner than later, but it was something he just had to bite back at.

Before he could cross the blast doors’ threshold and jump, however, Poet decided to take a peek into the hallway as much as he could – and the action became their first saving grace. As his vision adjusted to the dark he could make out a figure some ways away to his left. It could be a debris or a piece of machinery, but the Ranger knew he couldn’t assume that the thing was either of the two. Given that his companion had agreed to his precaution about combat droids earlier, the half-Morellian followed his own words and assumed the worst. Carefully and as quietly as he could he jumped through, landing on the balls of his booted feet, crouched, hands stretched out ahead of him to balance himself.

He looked up, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he waited for the figure he saw to either move or remain inert. Poet didn’t dare let out a relieved breath when it remained motionless, however. He felt like he might jinx it, or worse. Instead he turned around and made an all-clear and ‘be quiet’ gesture to the Padawan – well, more so Skippy. Hands stretched out absentmindedly in front of him, already knowing that he didn't have to catch either of the two astromechs but his protectiveness for his droid just popped out rather unconsciously for his part.

Poet shifted his gaze on the other hand of the hall while he waited. The hall seemed to end in a fork, his mind already trying to pick which direction their group should take. The right…? He shook his head. Nah, he couldn’t decide for the group on his own. As much as he was expected to simply watch as the Jedi did his mission, Poet wouldn’t just sit back twiddling his thumbs. He’d decided the moment he found out that he was assigned to a Padawan that he was going to help. The higher-ups could just kark themselves if they thought he was being too chummy with a Jedi. Better to just straight up spit right at his face for having a Jedi father and (dead) sister, huh?

The half-Morellian made a face without meaning to, lip curling up in an irritated sneer. Honestly, what was so bad asking the Jedi for help in fighting off evil space wizards? The only ones worth hating were the Red Blades (pretty dumb yet obvious name to give to the Sith, in his opinion), and honestly? He couldn't give two shites as to why his colleagues held a dislike for the good space monks.

And now's really a great time to think about that? Dumbass, he mentally chided himself as his focus returned to the figure he saw earlier. It was still unmoving so far, almost tempting him to finally disregard it. Poet knew that Crix might probably react accordingly should the mystery figure turn out to be an actual combat droid, but the half-Morellian wouldn't take his chances. Gazing back at the Padawan, Poet pressed index and middle fingers together before pivoting both hands up and down, silenlty urging Crix to hurry but also not trying to come across as demanding. Wouldn't want the half-Zabrak thinking that he was a grumpy old Ranger.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

Well with Poet through the blast doors, there was nothing for it but for him to get the droids through. Deciding it was probably best to go ahead with Poet's own astromech first, he raised a hand and took a deep breath as he slowly levitated the droid Skippy through the gap in the doors for Poet to grab onto. He would gradually lower the droid anyway just in case Poet wasn't in a position to do so - he didn't want to drop the poor droid just because he assumed Poet would be strong enough to carry him for a moment.

Scooter shot him an indignant beep but Crix just rolled his eyes.

"Alright then smart guy - get through the door on your own then."

There was a moment where Scooter turned to stare at the door before turning back to Crix without beeping a single tone. The Padawan raised an eyebrow.

"Go on then. We're all waiting."

A begrudging beep later, Scooter was levitated through the gap in the door and he was finally free to drag himself up through the gap in the door as well. Wiping himself down of any imaginary dirt, he grimaced upon spotting the profile of a deactivated droid in the middle distance down one of the corridors. Letting out a slow breath, he nodded to Poet before getting in close so that he could whisper to the Ranger.

"DT-Series Sentry Droids." he warned the Ranger, "They're tough and have in-built weapons... we need to be very careful or we might end up getting them on our tail."

As for which direction to take? Crix looked at both corridors for a moment before pulling out a single credit coin. He pointed to the head before pointing right, pointing to the tails before pointing left.

Then flipped it.

And missed the catch when he noticed something.

The visual receptors of the droid were powering on.

"Run." he urged Poet, lightsaber igniting in his right hand as he made to do the same, heading for the right-hand corridor, "Stealth is gone - freaking book it!"

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Poet appreciated Crix's gesture, feeling Skippy being lowered slowly and carefully in his arms. A small smile broke through his typical frown as he began to lower his astromech to the ground. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the other droid's antics and the Padawan's ensuing response. Under normal circumstances the half-Morellian would have already been bitching about wasting his time waiting for others but he found it easy to let the scene play out and slide.

...he might have been being biased about Crix being a Jedi, but Poet wouldn't admit it even under threat of death. No need for others to find out that the catankerous Ranger actually had it in him to be a softy.

Both Ranger and astromech made room for Scooter and Crix as they joined the former in the hall, and Poet was glad that he had not dismissed the idea that the figure he'd seen could have indeed been a droid.

"No need to remind me," he replied quietly but held no heat in it. In fact he acknowledged the precaution, knowing full well just how bad it would be for their group if the sentry droids did get activated. Poet nodded at Crix, showing he understood, and couldn't help a grin from crossing his face as the Padawan flipped the coin.

He would have betted on the coin landing on heads if it weren't for the young Jedi missing the catch. Poet followed Crix's gaze and cursed at the sight of the droid waking up.

"No shite, Sherlock," the Ranger commented idly before immediately heeding the Padawan's words. He made sure to keep Crix beside him as they ran, pulling out his K-16 Bryar Pistols from their holsters just in case they get another surprise down the corridor.

The half-Morellian felt the heat of blaster fire whizz past his head before he could hear it, and grunted out a curse as he pushed Crix to the right-hand corridor before firing off a shot at the sentry droid dead in its visual receptors. The shot held true and he didn't wait for the droid to react accordingly as he ran after Crix and their astromechs.

Catching up to the Padawan was easy enough (bless his long legs, damn it), and Poet would have said something cheesy – what, an ecouragement? Ew – if it weren't for five more sentry droids waiting for them down the corridor, already powering up one by one.

"You've got to be frakking kidding me!"

At least he now had an excuse to start blasting.

"Get behind me, Skippy! Scooter!" he ordered the astromechs as the Ranger skidded to a stop, offering support to Crix should the Padawan engage in melee with his lightsaber already activated. Poet fired three consecutive shots at the nearest sentry droid, aiming for its visual receptors much like he had done with the first one.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

More of the droids were coming online and it was all Crix could do to keep his eyes on the prize. They were marvels of engineering even as old as they were now and they were downright nasty when it came to combat. It was only that last part that spurred him into action really - otherwise he likely would have taken a moment to focus on the droids themselves, half-remembered lectures floating to the forefront of his mind.

One thing he certainly had not been expecting, something that he missed, was that some of the droids were emerging from the walls. Hidden storage areas coming alive with the silent alert as their mismatched party advanced. As he passed one of them, the droid within lashed out, catching him in the gut with one of its arms.

The wind knocked out of him immediately, Crix didn't have time to react as the droid slammed his back into the durasteel of the wall. Grunting in pain, Crix's eyes widened as the droid leveled its E-11 blaster rifle directly between Crix's eyes.

Time seemed to slow down as Crix moved both his head and his lightsaber.

The barrel of the blaster had left his immediate eyesight, lingering only in the corner of his eye, when the shot was fired. A searing pain lanced down the left side of Crix's skull, all the way from the top of his left ear to the back of his head. Along the way it tore through several of his horns, the pain from their loss comparable to breaking bones.

Though when the blaster bolt exploded against the wall just behind his head, Crix suddenly didn't need to worry about that anymore. The explosion of the bolt hit the back of his head and suddenly he didn't really feel the pain anymore. It was like suddenly all of the pain was washed away but... but the back of his head was wet in a way it never had been before and it wasn't just the pain gone.

His ears were ringing and he was struggling to really feel... anything really.

The back-blast of the bolt had broken open the back of his skull in a visceral display of blood, bone and other mater. Thankfully for Crix, his saber had cut through the droid as the bolt traveled so he wasn't immediately double-tapped by the droid. Instead the droid fell apart in two pieces and Crix himself slumped down the wall, a red smear trailing after him as he descended.

His fingers felt sluggish to respond as he desperately tried to clutch onto his lightsaber. Its blade had extinguished automatically but one thing that was bothering him more than even potentially letting go of his lightsaber?

"Scooter... Scooter I can't move my head... why can't I move my head, Scooter?"

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Five sentry droids, one of them already missing its visual receptors thanks to Poet open firing at the nearest enemy with pinpoint accuracy. He wasn't happy playing support but he wouldn't complain. Not when it was the kid who was literally charging forward to take the droids down in close combat. The familiar snap-hiss of the Padawan's lightsaber brought back memories of Poet's Dad and his promise of bestowing him the blue-bladed lightsaber he owned during his active days a a Jedi, and how his old man got out of retirement after Muse's death. Resentment filled the Ranger at his Dad for throwing himself in danger once again. His old man was supposed to be staying with Mum, for kriff's sakes, not leaving them behind and wandering off someplace–

That brief distraction was all it took for Poet's warning to come out a little too late, dark brown eyes widening in horror as a mechanical arm swung from a hidden storage area and landed a hit on Crix. One of the sentry droids blocked the Ranger's view, sparing him from the sight of the Padawan nearly losing his life while Poet dodged a blaster fire aimed for his heart. The half-Morellian used up all four heavy blaster shots of one K-16 to bust the droid's head off, and when it crashed beside the one Crix sliced in two he was met with a gruesome sight.

Luck just wasn't on their side today.

"Kid!" Poet yelled, blasters aimed and ready to fire at the remaining droids that still haven't emerged from their storage spaces. "Are you alright–"

His gaze landed on the red smear on the cracked wall, trailing down, down, to the Padawan below.

It took every ounce of Poet's willpower not to freeze where he stood as voices rushed in his head, clamoring for medical aid and someone shouting something along the lines of "We're losing him!" and "Someone contact his family!" A split second was all it took for the half-Morellian to pull himself away from looking at Crix instead of a cloudless blue sky, for him to stop feeling something wet and sticky against his hair as he holstered his blasters and rush to the Padawan's aid.

And the kid was talking. Asking his astromech why he could not move his head. Poet noticed aside from the blood and the burns that some of the Padawan's horns were damaged and missing.

Kark it all to high hells, why are you awake?

One of the remaining droids finally made it out of its storage, spurring the Ranger into taking action. He grabbed the lightsaber from Crix's weak grip. What his mind forgot his body remembered, moving the way his father once taught him with regards to lightsaber combat. With another snap-hiss at the press of a button Poet surged forward and swung the saber in a diagonal upper body strike launched from above. The strike wasn't elegant nor masterful, and it wouldn't compare to what Dad had taught him, but the blade tearing through the droid was more than enough for Poet. He had already deactivated the saber, stowing it in his blast vest's inner pocket for safekeeping, as he dashed back to where Crix was slumped.

They haven't even found what they were looking for, but could he really give a damn about the mission when someone was potentially dying in front of him? Could he really dream of saving more lives upon finding that missing medical station if he couldn't even save the life of the kid in front of him?

Screw the future. Saving the present was far more important.

With hurried yet careful movements Poet hauled Crix up on his feet and threw one of the Padawan's arms around his shoulders. The Ranger wrapped an arm around the kid's middle to support him and began to half-carry and half-drag the Padawan back where they came from. The clanking of the remaining droids spurred him into action, hurrying along and knowing that the two astromechs were following close behind. For once luck graced the party as the first sentry droid they came across with was now powered down, and Poet wasn't really going yo question this miracle as they stopped by the blast doors–

Gods karking damn it. Damn it all to high hells!

Poet couldn't get Scooter nor Skippy past the blast doors without Crix's help. And he wasn't cruel enough to demand a bleeding young man to use the Force to help the astromechs out. He was still thinking of how to get Crix through the space without injuring him further, kriff's sakes!

More clanking from down the hall. The sentry droids were catching up to them, and Poet could already imagine more droids becoming active at this point in time. They did make a lot of ruckus fighting, earlier. He shot Skippy a look, then Scooter, something hot and wet prickling the corners of his eyes. He knew Crix was still awake to hear Poet speak and the half-Morellian decided that whatever the Padawan might throw at him for leaving Scooter behind, he'd take them. Hateful and accusing words, a punch or two, a combination of both. Poet would take them, because he wasn't ready to forgive himself as well when he commanded Skippy,

"Stall them, Skippy. You as well, Scooter. For Crix!"

Skippy, for his part, let out a loud, resolute beep before wheeling away, circular saw arm and fusioncutter at the ready. The Ranger didn't wait to see what Scooter would do as he lifted Crix and pushed him through the gap between the blast doors. Adrenaline was a blessing in this time of crisis and before Poet knew it he was already dragging himself up through the blast doors, hauling Crix back up again as blaster fire began to hound their steps, and making their way back to his ship. Everything passed like a blur to him and at the same time it didn't, coming along crystal clear. He carefully settled Crix on the co-pilot seat, afraid to let the Padawan out of his sight, and began the start-up sequence of his ship.

Only when the Dream Walker was back among the stars did Poet focused his attention at Crix, leaving the ship on autopilot as he moved to gather medical supplies. He'd set the coordinates to the nearest planet with proper medical stations, aware that he couldn't treat the kid's injuries on his own. The least he could do was apply first-aid, stop the bleeding, and keep Crix alive.

"I'm sorry," Poet found himself muttering repeatedly as he tended to the Padawan's injuries. Kark head injuries and their tendency to bleed so much even if it was just a minor cut. Crix's injuries were in no way minor, though, and the half-Morellian couldn't stop from mentally beating himself up for being unable to protect the kid. "I'm sorry, I have to leave your friend behind. I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Skippy, can you give me more light? I need to look at–"

Poet's vision blurred, and something warm and wet poured steadily down his cheeks as he blinked repeatedly in an attempt to clear his gaze. His last physical reminder of Muse, gone, because he hadn't been good enough–

"I'm sorry...!"

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

Everything was visible to Crix but it was all just so… fuzzy. He wasn’t really feeling anything right and he knew that, though for the life of him he couldn’t put his finger on why it didn’t feel right. It was also both colder and warmer than he thought it had been not a few seconds ago, was that normal? It might have been, he supposed, but it depended on where he was.

Where was he again?

It was only as Poet began to drag him away that Crix began to blink, slowly, as things started to come back to him. Still, he wasn’t quite ‘back to normal’ since everything still felt like every inch of space around him was full of cotton wool. Worse, he still couldn’t really seem to move anything below his neck at the moment.

The panic began to rise not only because of that but because Scooter grabbed his blaster pistol off of his belt and beeped at him. What…? Goodbye? Why was Scooter saying goodbye? What was going on?

A black metal droid appeared and Scooter opened fire with the stolen blaster pistol, hitting the droid in the face twice and staggering it. It’s head was half melted as Crix was dragged through the security door by Poet.

He didn’t see it happen but he heard it; the keening, dying, wailing beep of Scooter.

“S-scooter! Scooter buddy where are you?!” he called out to his droid, his body beginning to respond to his urgency, his limbs twitching as he tried to Will them to move, “Poet what’s happening? Why are they not coming with us? Poet!”

He didn’t get an answer and he was too far from functional to try and co-ordinate his own limbs to move him out of the ship. Instead he was manhandled into a seat and they were taking off… without their droids. Scrunching his eyes shut, the cotton wool began to recede and the pain began to seep back in.

It was too much for him to deal with, forcing him to keep his eyes closed out of the pain and sensitivity as he spoke to Poet.

“… we left them…”

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

The Ranger could not decide which was more painful to experience: Crix's desperate shouts to Scooter while he was being carried away to safety? Or the realization the Padawan now expressed as Poet tried his damnedest to treat the injuries the former sustained?

Poet himself never wanted to leave the two astromechs behind. Worse than that was urging them to defend their masters to ensure their escape. If only Crix had been unconscious as the Ranger half-dragged and half-carried him away, then the Padawan's desperate calls for Scooter and his questions wouldn't have stuck in Poet's head to play in repeat to torment him.

Poet what’s happening? Why are they not coming with us? Poet!

...over and over like a broken record as he renewed his attempts to staunch the half-Zabrak's bleeding injuries.

Poet's therapist told him that grief had five stages. He sure as hell felt like cutting off one or two stages right now and just keep denial, anger, and depression to create his own stages of grief. Denial that he had just lost the last gift Muse had given him before she left for that accursed Jedi Temple, anger towards his inability to protect Crix because kriff's sakes Poet was older and was therefore saddled with the responsibility to keep everyone safe and alive, and depression–

No. He'd just keep denial and anger, he decided. He wouldn't regret his decision to leave the droids behind so he could get Crix to safety, to keep the kid alive. Had Poet decided to stay and fight not only their astromechs would be destroyed, he could also lose his life and worse the Padawan's. The Ranger would stand by his decision nevertheless and would accept Crix's anger without complaint.

But why did it hurt so much? Skippy and Scooter were just droids, damn it!

Except they weren't really. Poet had no idea what Crix and Scooter have been through, and how long they've been friends. But judging by the way the half-Zabrak spoke the words “we left them“ with so much pain, Poet was given a glimpse that Scooter had been cherished much like Skippy. They were just droids, and yet they were friends who sacrificed their lives (screw others saying droids weren't really alive) for the sake of both Crix and Poet.

...but those two weren't just droids. To Poet, Skippy was–

The half-Morellian hadn't realized he was crying until he replied to Crix.

“We didn't leave them behind. You didn't. I did. I asked them to.“

At least the kid's eyes were closed. He wouldn't see Poet's lack of attempt to wipe the tears streaming down his pale face. Trembling, bloody hands pulled away the cloth he had been carefully and gently holding against the Padawan's injury to get a new one. Blood slowly seeped through the pristine whiteness of the cloth, the Ranger's attempts finally – fecking finally – bearing fruit.

“I won't apologize for my decision,“ Poet continued, voice slightly wavering at the memory of what he knew to be Skippy's final moments. Much like Scooter, he knew his own astromech never stood much of a chance in the first place. “But I'm sorry for–“

The Ranger cut himself off. There was no point in stressing Crix further, not with him so injured. The kid's lightsaber weighed heavily in Poet's jacket pocket. He'd give it to the kid later. He would hold off mourning Skippy, not until he'd made sure that Crix received proper medical treatment. Not until he was sure that Crix wouldn't die from his injuries. Poet wiped his face with his sleeves, taking a deep breath to quell his tears. He'd break down later if he could, out of the Padawan's earshot.

Poet would stop feeling for now. He'd play one goal on repeat in his head, over and over like a broken holo until he'd convinced himself that he'd just left Skippy powered off somewhere in the Dream Walker so the astromech wouldn't be bumbling around and expressing his worry for the injured Jedi in the ship. The injured Jedi and his seemingly grumpy astromech the droid had been so excited about.

Denial. It was time to see how good Poet was with regards to that.

[End Thread]​

@Nefieslab