sergeant_slick (
sergeant_slick) wrote in
spiderparlour2022-05-28 02:08 pm
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Escort Detail
He blinked slowly, the world outside his helmet swimming like he was in bacta. He wished he was, but today hadn't gotten that far yet.
Take three seconds to assess the damage before he tried to move. His chest ached, head throbbed, and his neck was going to give him a stern talking-to later. But he could still move his fingers and toes, and there wasn't any stabbing pain or wetness in his lungs or suit, besides a little red splat that was trickling down the inside of his visor. Good. Approximately good.
It took a second longer to remember how he'd got here, and some details were frustratingly missing. There'd been a seeker mine. He'd seen it pop up from the turf and chase the transport, but he'd had no time to maneuver. Good thing he was escorting the senator, otherwise he'd have been on a bike, and then he really would've been--
Shit. That was the bit he'd forgotten. He unbuckled his flight harness, working to free himself from the smashed flight controls. "You still in one piece, ma'am?" he called.
Take three seconds to assess the damage before he tried to move. His chest ached, head throbbed, and his neck was going to give him a stern talking-to later. But he could still move his fingers and toes, and there wasn't any stabbing pain or wetness in his lungs or suit, besides a little red splat that was trickling down the inside of his visor. Good. Approximately good.
It took a second longer to remember how he'd got here, and some details were frustratingly missing. There'd been a seeker mine. He'd seen it pop up from the turf and chase the transport, but he'd had no time to maneuver. Good thing he was escorting the senator, otherwise he'd have been on a bike, and then he really would've been--
Shit. That was the bit he'd forgotten. He unbuckled his flight harness, working to free himself from the smashed flight controls. "You still in one piece, ma'am?" he called.
no subject
The word echoes its way through her aching head, rooting her in reality and pulling her towards consciousness and the awful awareness that she ached all over. Padmé had survived the landing being strapped in, but it didn't mean that the way the transport had been thrown end over end hadn't done some damage in the way of jerking her limbs around while sending her smacking back against the seat she'd been strapped to.
It was enough to knock her out for a moment or two and leave her head aching now that she's rousing.
"Are you alright?"
Padmé's hands work to unfasten the belts securing her before she rises to her feet on wobbly legs, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths and steady herself.
no subject
"Take a second and catch your breath, ma'am, because unfortunately we're going to have to get moving soon. The Seps might've heard that bang." If all else, everything else failed, he could try and use his old codes to parley, get Ventress called up. But he didn't want to count on it. They wouldn't send wets down here, and he didn't want to gamble on droids. They might just shoot him on sight.
no subject
"Are there any extra blasters on board?" Gathering up the belongings that were sensitive or vital she slings a satchel over her shoulder and gives him a nod, ready to follow him where he leads. "I don't usually arm myself, but given the situation, I think an extra shooter might be helpful, right?"
no subject
"One carbine, two pistols." He wasn't about to argue--he'd heard the stories. He was reasonably hopeful she'd keep fire control. He picks through to the storage compartment, kicking a twisted door loose. "And I've got a full pack. Wanted a backup plan in case things went bad." With her reputation, he'd figured it might be useful. He'd gotten lip from the quartermaster over it, but he'd been right.
By the end of the day, though, it'd feel like two banthas perched on his shoulders, and he was not looking forward to that.
He pulled free the extra blasters, handing one of each to the senator. He'd take the spare pistol. "We'll be moving under cover as much as we can for now--nobody watching for us from the skies are going to be friendlies yet." Third layer in the pack, there should be a small carrying case... "The transport sends out an automatic distress call, but with Seps jamming everything, personal comms can't cut through." Was it third layer? Or was it just the head trauma claiming it was third layer--
There it is. He pulled an earpiece out, handing it over as well. "But we'll still be able to talk to each other. If we get separated or have to go quiet, this is your friend."
That done with, it was time to lift this monster. He turned to strap himself into the pack, then slid it off its shelf. Oof. Well, at least it'd get lighter as they chewed through rations.
"Ready to go, ma'am?"
First night
"'fraid we can't use any lights outside the tent," he'd told the senator. "They're gonna be searching through the night." They'd had to duck so many fly-bys today, staying under the tree cover. A couple of low-flying speeder patrols too. After the first couple of those, he'd found a muddy patch and just rolled in the damn stuff, so his plates wouldn't be so reflective. No, he hadn't wanted to do that around a Republic senator, but it was the best use of what materials he had at the moment. Who the fuck had designed their armor to be white, anyway?
The mud had meant he could scale a tree and keep watch for a while without worry, watching the skies as the sun set. Watch for ships in flight, identifying them by their lights and the contrails they left behind as hot ion engines burned through the atmosphere.
Once he was done, he scrubbed off the mud, and crawled into the tent. "Bad news first," he said, cracking off his helmet for the first time in what felt like three days. "Saw high altitude Republic transports way off to our north-northwest, but they're not scanning the ground here. They're moving way too fast to be on search duty."
He reached into his pack, pulling out a ration bar. Tasted like a gummy brick, as per usual. "Good news is though, the Seps are still on a wide search pattern. Looks like they know we're alive, but they don't know which direction we went. As long as we keep quiet and don't leave too many tracks, we've got a decent shot of remaining undetected."
He patted his helmet. "I've got this set to listen to the comms, so we'll know if we get any breaks in the jamming field. But with the generals focused on the Seps dug in up north, I'm not optimistic on that. Best we can do is keep moving in the morning." The assault was churning through men, as usual. That was the Jedi solution to everything. Never think about what the men could handle, just what worked best for them, dragging clones to their deaths along the way.
He started stripping down his rifle, for lack of anything else to do. He was dead tired, but falling asleep wasn't in the cards yet. "Sha'shabii'la", he muttered in a singsong voice, to disguise how much he was swearing. "Anayen osik'la tug'yc. Buyca beviiragi'la... besomyc jetiise, haar'chak, vercopaani val ash'amur sha'jii."
Everything's gone to hell again. Dirty... bucketfucking jedi, damn it I wish they'd just die already.
no subject
She was sure this was one of those worst-case scenarios she'd been preparing for since her entrance into politics. It's because she spent all that time going over what could happen and what she should do in a hundred dire, hypothetical situations that she's keeping her cool now - trusting him to take the lead and use the training he's been given to see them through.
As capable as she believes him to be already, Padmé hates that she's so ill-equipped. It makes her feel useless - a somber thought he doesn't let her dwell on, as his chatter while he dismantles his rifle pulls her focus sharply.
"What are the Jedi doing to that bucket?"
For the moment she doesn't draw attention to the last bit of what he'd said before the talk of buckets. It's concerning, it makes her wonder how widely spread that sentiment is among the troopers, though in truth she's not sure she can begrudge them their resentment. Their existence is a complicated matter, one that fills her with uncertainty when she dwells on it. It's hard not to feel a good deal of empathy for them, even as she's glaringly aware of how hypocritical that is. She wants to end slavery in every part of the galaxy, but she doesn't say anything about this, about these people who are bred and born to die.
Now that she's left alone with one of them, it's hard not to think about.
no subject
He had no idea if she'd caught the rest, but he had to recover from that, fast. Mando'a was a terse enough language that he could claim he was talking about the Seps, if she caught the rest of that.
And he needed her thinking he was on her side. Yeah, he could kill her, even with his rifle in pieces, he could probably manage. But that was a shitty idea, for any number of reasons. Number one being that she was his best chance of not getting shot himself, if they got spotted. She was a high-value target, and he was just military equipment.
And nobody needed to know he was malfunctioning equipment. "Things don't look good right now, but I got assigned to you by the Marshal Commander in case this sort of thing went down. I'll get you out of here, ma'am." That bit was true. Cody was an actual good, stoic soldier, but he'd been around him long enough to get a read on his mood. The senator had a habit of refusing a full detail and getting targeted, so he'd needed somebody he trusted on the assignment. Somebody resourceful and loyal.
Thank fuck Cody was gullible sometimes, but he wasn't sure he could count on other people missing the signs. Better to steer things away from himself. "Besides, with what I've heard about you, this'll be a walk in the park for you. Park's got a bit of a droid problem and no comms service, but nowhere's perfect." Total lie again, but the acceptable kind of lie.
"You're a bit of a celebrity among the men for all you've scraped through, ma'am." That was the truth, though.
no subject
"You don't have to flatter me, I won't have anything but good things to say about you once we're back again, please." A graceful hand lifts towards the rifle he had been so engrossed in disassembling.
"I think both of us will be guilty of acting unlike ourselves by the time we return." Because goodness knows she could hold it together for a long time, the outlook makes her sure they'll be put through the wringer - especially if those out searching for them start to catch up to their trail.
"Where did you learn Mando'a?" It's a safe topic, and, admittedly she's curious. If he can try to ply her with flattery, she can use her interest in him to make conversation.
no subject
"In training, ma'am." He feels like he's taking the bait, but he's not sure how. He goes back to working on his rifle as he speaks, trying to calm himself down and focus.
"Lots of the training sergeants for the commandos were Mandalorian. They learned it straight from them, then it worked down to the rest of us." He doesn't really know who started it or how intentional it even was. They'd all known the Template was Mandalorian, and that made the idea of learning the language exciting.
And unlike the Template, clones all wanted to follow the leader. "They were the big kids that first batch infantry like me all looked up to." Once the purebred RCs and ARCs started talking in a language none of the basic models had learned, all the CTs wanted to do it too.
"So every word I know's filtered through at least ten different cadets before it got to me. No idea how it stacks up against regular Mando'a." He isn't lying either, he really doesn't know. Neither does she, so that's comforting.
But he also doesn't know what she's thinking. That's what's keeping him on edge.