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28-05-2023, 04:59 AM
(This post was last modified: 18-10-2024, 06:09 PM by Meatslopper.)
Chapter Two: Touch
"I see that you care for your families. Good, because today I give you one great offer that only a fool would not accept. I am raising a Militia with only the truest sons of Orsus, those who hope and look forward towards a Red Orsus within the Sith Empire. But the Republic wishes to destroy your hopes and threatens the safety the Empire is stoutly providing for you and yours."
"Will you let your young’s fight for you, or will you do what is necessary to secure a better future for yourselves? Join me, join me as we colour Orsus red within the Empire."
Esme hadn’t heard these words, at least not from their source but they’d been repeated to her when she’d asked, apparently it had clung to the minds of her fellows just as the crimson Twi’lek had to hers. He was an imposingly muscular figure, marked by tribal tattoos that snaked like a spider web across his red flesh, as vibrant as his robe. It had slung loosely over his armour. Apprentice Orgkez had taken control of an overzealous Imperial Sergeant and turned their treatment upon their head.
It wasn’t the only gift he left but she only found that out when she signed up to the Sons of Orsus herself. It was freedom. The Speeder thrummed beneath her, its vibrations rippled through her body, that she knew but the hum extended from her and spiralled in the space around her. It was the freedom of purpose. There was no path but forward, passing through the streets with crates at her back, as Soldiers in their own duties milled upon the streets of Orsus. She managed a passing glance at the flash of crimson blades, sizzling through the air, faster than she could tell, as Sith Masters trained, drilled through hard sparring, she could never keep up with… she was glad they never asked.
She slid up alongside a formation of five. The Sergeant assigned to teach them and four of her colleagues. She set the engine to standby and locked the bike, swinging her leg off it, her boot landing in the cold slush.
“Sarge! I uh, brought you your supplies!”
The Imperial looked at her with a look of disdain before huffing down his nose, “Do I have to babysit you? On my command, you will get them moving to the depo and be back here in ten minutes, faaaall out!” he snapped at Sons of Orsus, who quickly pivoted on their heel and carried around to their duties. She silently turned to hers as well but the moment the sergeant vanished an overly friendly Rattattaki, knowing her hearing often hurt shouted in her ear.
“Boo!”
She jumped and almost dropped her crate. Corvos, as he was known, was their designated leader, large, boisterous and the only one with any combat experience, a former deputy. He was almost everything she could have admired… but he just… he lacked something. He chuckled loudly, clearly pleased with himself and she politely as she could smiled back.
“Esme,” he said with a grin, “how’s militia life treatin’ you?”
“Oh, uh, well, I’m well…” she answered tepidly, pushing along a crate to where they were mustering supplies. It still felt weird to her ears. Her own voice…
“Lady, gotta shout it proud,” he grinned, “the Republic can’t hear you.”
“Well, I’d kinda sorta rather they like not,” she smiled, “if they were that close… I think we’d already be dead.”
He chuckled loudly, as they set their crates aside aside their comrades. In a large pile they’d been collecting, as an Imperial Private did his duty for the Quartermaster, noting down supplies on his datapad.
“If they were that close, they’d be corpses,” he grinned.
“Well… Wait, well then, they still couldn’t hear me,” she answered, drawn into the ruckus forcefully by a hand that clapped down upon her shoulder.
“Corvos,” Illia, a Militia recruit who tried too hard to mimic the Imperial accent, her voice strangling each ‘T’ and spitting out each ‘l’, “try to focus, we do have a job to do…”
“Bet the Republic are scared of us, stacking our crates,” the third, a Ongree, named Ixzka said, a weird species with a mouth the wrong way up on his forehead and two eyestalks extending from his face, weirder still was how he had chose the Empire.
“Aliens… Offworlders,” the Private complained to himself, “this assignment cannot end fast enough.”
Many years ago, aliens had served under Naga Sadow, another time, Exar Kun, in the Empire’s history, Darth Malgus the traitor but in their search for a leader, she was surprised how resistant this Sith Empire was to them but it was not up to her to change their minds. She had chose to join them, it was their decision and their leaders knew better than her.
“You heard em both, they’re alike in that, they wanna go home,” Corvos adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder.
“That isn’t what I said Corvos,” the Ongree said.
“Are you talking to me, Alien?” The Imperial Private snapped, looking up sharply.
“What if I am? Private,” he gestured with his hand and a mocking bow.
“I’ll…” the young Imperial Private started to say in a tone of frustration, only to lose faith in himself as he looked upon the monster of muscle that was the Rattattaki stepping towards him, “well, I’ll talk?”
“Talk? Hah, all that for just talking,” he smirked, “well, we could always use the company, what you say, you join us for a little celebration, huh?”
“Yes, sure, I suppose you and your offworlders are celebrating our recent Imperial victories over Sector 26.”
“Gees… How spineless can you get,” Illia said with a slightly condescending smirk.
The Imperial found his nerve and his sense of humour, “If you pull hard enough, I can be pretty spineless.”
Esme smiled at that, she couldn’t keep it from her lips. It wasn’t a polite smile, it felt real, it felt genuine, like she’d joined another world where that was somehow funny.
“Well, well, I hope you’ve at least got legs, at least lad, heard there was a cyborg been kicking your ass.”
“I heard that Sergeant Stinson beat him the other day.” The Private answered defensively, “besides, he’s from the Empire, alien. Oh and a Sith. It’d be disrespectful for me to beat him.”
“Hehe, Sergeant Stinson couldn’t even beat me at half-pace, he’d probably even get beaten by Esme, I think someones been feeding you some low quality bullkark.” Illia said with a snicker.
“I’m not so sure I could beat him…” Esme chimed in, reminding everyone she was there.
Corvos continued, “I believe in you,” he grinned, “at least you could beat this here Private.”
“She could not!” he answered defensively, “I wouldn’t be beaten by a teenage girl, I have Imperial training, you know!”
“So do we. We’re practically the same rank, just without official citizenship,” Illia chimed in.
“Yeah, Esme! You can do it!” Corvos slapped her on the shoulder. Ow.
“I reaaaally don’t think I could beat him, Corvos.” She tried desperately to say.
“Fine, you want me to prove it? I accept your challenge, tomorrow, at dawn, alien.”
“Are you listening?” Esme tried to raise her voice, “gees.”
“What’s your name Private, so you can’t run away?” Corvos crossed his arms.
“Private Leo Hyde,” the Imperial said finding his shoulders and a cocksure grin, “you a betting man, Alien?”
“Hell yeah-”
“We can discuss bets tomorrow, we’ve got to go,” Ixzka interjected, turning his head to face the way out, “unless you want the Sergeant to get mad.”
“Right, right, duty calls,” Corvos grunted, “but she’s coming for you, tomorrow.”
Esme felt like she had been dragged into something. She wondered if Corvos intended to embarrass her, as they silently fell back into formation with a growing number of Militia men, all around her. She couldn’t flake though, despite her misgivings, that would just let her comrades down even harder.
There was a group waiting for them, Private Hyde and a few of his buddies. He seemed more confident in his group and she was hesitant to approach alone but scooped up by a group of her own, Corvos at the helm.
“Private Hyde, I think she’ll kick your ass today…” He says adjusting the rifle strap on his back.
“Her?” One of the men says, staring at Esme, “I wouldn’t trust her to punch her way out of a hologram of a bag.”
She heard whispers behind her.
“Shouldn’t we have someone better? We’ll embarrass ourselves at this rate…” It was Trimba, a talkative man.
Illia responded with, “Probably, but like it’s not a big deal anyhow, it’s good training either way, competition makes us stronger… like the Sith Lords say.”
“She may not look the type!” Corvos said, taking an awkward role as her incredibly boastful unofficial spokesperson, each positive word making her cringe, as she was sure she would not live up to a single one, “but she could beat a Rancor in an endurance run, anyday.”
“Rancor? Really…” Esme muttered to herself.
“Sure…” The Private muttered, “how about the rules?”
“First over the line,” Corvos said, with a small wink.
“Let’s say… Fifty credits for us if we win?” interjected another Imperial, with a grin.
“Deal and deal,” Corvos said, “and if we are first over that line, you have to say the Sons of Orsus belong in the Empire, oh and since you’re so confident fifty credits to each of us.”
“Deal.” The Private said confidently.
They drew out a start line in the snow with a vibroknife. Esme’s chest hammered as she nervously drew towards it, until recently she rarely went outside, she was screwed and everyone knew it, probably even Corvos, who’d made it his mission to force her here. What for? Who knows. He’d pressured her here and she had worried, he’d do a lot worse if she refused. The posturing continued long into them reaching the start line. It was a race around the camp, something she’d drilled since signing up… but for her that was weeks ago.
It could be worse. It was just some more competitive training.
“Three.”
It could be worse. She would just embarrass them. She’d be beaten so easily they might not even consider her fit for duty.
“Two.”
She was guaranteed to lose. This man was faster, stronger, better built. She looked at Corvos, why had he supported her? Did he just want her to fail for a joke. He winked back.
“One.”
How could she win this? It wasn’t even endurance… not that she’d win that either. It was simple, run and lose or…
“Go!”
They sprinted from the mark, as the Imperial Private took the lead immediately. He was already past her, already too far away and approaching the corner around the tents it was unsurprising, she had no faith she could beat him, then she stopped ready to surrender… but something caught her mind, a flash of inspiration. Think.
She turned around, jogged back over the line and won.
An uproarious laughter spilled from the bystanders, both Imperials and Militia found it incredibly funny and for a moment she was paralysed as she was swamped by her fellow militiamen. Corvos clapped her shoulder and she found herself laughing in spite of herself, in a slightly mocking display, several of the militia pretended to be amazed by her speed and stamina, she'd apparently been so fast she was almost a blur.
“I think you lot owe us fifty credits,” Corvos blurted out with a grin.
“Like hell we do, you cheated!”
“First over the line…” Esme muttered.
“First over the line.”
He was still holding her shoulder. It was a small contact, meaningless to him beyond a gesture of friendship but to her, it meant the world. She guessed she could find a place here after all, a place to be a part of something, a part of a greater whole and something little, something that whispered in the back of her mind told her they now thought so too.
