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Senator Zophia circled Glimmer, the ornate candle glass in her hand.
It had been alight and burning long before Glimmer had entered her office, a glittery galaxy of colours melted inside the glass. The Senator had ordered her to kneel, to remove her gloves and vambraces and roll up her sleeves.
Glimmer wasn’t allowed to run, wasn’t allowed to fight, she had to comply.
Good soldiers followed orders.
She was a good soldier, one of the best. She couldn’t afford to be any less.
She couldn’t afford not to follow orders.
“I,” the Senator started, painfully overdramatic, “have had a nightmare of a morning. First, I had an awful night, simply awful. The bedding was scratchy and the bed hard as anything, honestly you’d think we Senators would be treated slightly better than the peasantry.”
Glimmer was glad she had her bucket on, because the face she was pulling was probably comical, and would gain her a punishment. The things in this office could feed the guard for months, and she’d heard a night in one of the beds the Senators were given was heavenly, as long as the Senators weren’t in them.
“Then, I was served breakfast with chopped nuts on top. I can’t stand them, and I made that more than clear to the caterers. And the syrup, there was nowhere near enough. Alas they are so incompetent they can’t even manage a simple food order.”
Glimmers stomach growled at the sight of the bowl on the desk, uneaten and likely going to go to waste. She hadn’t had breakfast, or dinner the night before, and her lunch before that had been cold sludge. What she wouldn't give for fruit with chopped nuts and syrup.
“And then, one of those miserable dirty little serving girls dared claim I was spoiled and ungrateful and cruel, me, after everything I’ve done for my people, and for charity. All the good I do. Honestly, the insolence. She won’t have her job by the end of the day, I'll make sure of that.”
Glimmer kept her mouth shut; it wasn’t her place to say anything here.
“I am a good person, I give to charity, I let peasants work for me, I make sure my droids are well maintained...”
She stopped directly in front of Glimmer, cupping the bottom of her bucket and raising it so the visor was aligned with her face.
“I am good to people, real people, it’s unfair they’d think me anything less, lower class nonsense. Don't you agree?”
Kriff no, you monster.
“Yes mam.”
“She claimed I mistreat you clones, that we should treat you better. But she doesn’t understand, I let you kneel in my presence, and you’re little more than an obedient little flesh droid. You're not worth the mud on my boots, but I let you onto my carpet, I let you be in the same room as me. Is that not charitable, kind? Isn't it, what do you say, clone?”
Kiss my shebs, bitch.
“It is, mam. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She'd been through this type of song and dance enough times, she knew exactly what to say and when.
“Of course you do, you were made to appreciate us, to do what we order. Obeying is what makes you happy, so I'm being nice by giving you orders. Without us, without what we need you for, without us making you and the other flesh droids fulfil our needs, you wouldn’t even have a reason to exist. You live because of us, because of our generosity. The senators who use manners, who treat you like they’d treat someone of my class, they just don’t understand. They don’t satisfy your need to serve, do they, sate your need to follow orders, to hurt for us, kneel for us. Not like I do.”
“No mam.”
“Which makes us good people.”
You're anything but.
“Yes mam.”
“And I don’t just keep you alive, I give you orders, I give you tasks to achieve, a goal to reach, a purpose. You’re here to serve me, to entertain me, improve my day, that is what you were built for, subservience, it’s what you truly crave, and it give it to you, which makes me a very good person, doesn’t it. Someone you’re grateful to?”
“Yes mam, I'm truly grateful.”
I'm grateful to Fix for keeping me alive after meetings like this.
“Hold out your hands, in front of you.”
She did as ordered. She didn’t take value from it, didn’t enjoy it, not like Zophia seemed to think she would. She would hate every second, but it would be worse to say it. She needed to say nothing, stay silent, obey.
It was the only way she’d survive.
She let out a strangled breath at the hot, hot, far too burning scalding hot, first drop of wax landed on the back of her hand.
Three drops, before Zophia tilted the glass back up again, but her hand didn’t shake.
She didn’t let it.
She couldn’t help but fixate on them, the glittering swirls of blue and purple and gold rapidly cooling and hardening.
And burning and burning and burning, haloed as her skin started burning red.
She didn’t cry, didn’t react outwardly, just stared solely at the little pretty horrible dots on her hand.
The process was repeated on the other hand, five drops this time, and she didn’t let herself react then either. It was safer not to, she didn’t want to know what would happen if she did.
She levelled her breathing and thanked kriff she still had her bucket on to cover her tears as the droplets became larger blobs and trails, lines that swirled and crossed each other.
As with the little dots, if it hadn’t been agonising it might have been beautiful.
If it hadn’t been on her skin, it could be in one of the overly expensive art galleries she’d escorted Senators to before.
Eventually, though according to the clock it was only about 30 minutes after she’d knelt down, the Senator put the glass back down, patted her bucket condescendingly and asked, “What do you say, clone?”
“Thank you mam.”
“You’re welcome clone.”
“May I be dismissed, mam?”
“Yes, you’re done.”
Glimmer hissed slightly as she pulled her blacks back over her arms, and pressed her gloves and gauntlets back on.
“Oh, clone, before you leave. Does it feel good?”
“Yes mam. Thank you.”
She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to try and peel the wax off or not, nor whether the Senator would allow her to, so she left it under her uniform, pushing the burning agony aside so she could walk as normally as possible back to the barracks, to the medics.
She prayed the entire way that she wouldn’t be stopped and only stopped praying once she was safely back within the barracks, surrounded by her vode.
“Glimmer?”
“Fix I... it hurts, my hands...”
“Bed 2, come on.”
She peeled off everything she needed to do to show her wounds, and efficient as always, Fix got to work.
.
.
.
Stone stood to attention, exactly where he’d been told. Typically, any offworld missions he took were protecting representatives in combat zones, or at the very least getting them to the battalion that would, rather than simply escorting them to their safe homes and back, but the group had been short in numbers and he’d volunteered.
He was regretting it now.
Standing utterly still in the personal office of Senator Keyno on their home planet, keeping his breathing steady as a small flame licked his skin.
He'd been ordered to remove his bucket, ordered to stay still and take his punishment, punishment for everything the Senator perceived to have gone wrong so far on his visit home.
The little lighter had been lit under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head up to avoid a burn.
“Oh no, clone. Head back down, don’t move. I'll be lenient once, but if you move away from your punishment again, this will become worse for you.”
He lowered his head back to where it had been, ignoring the growing heat.
Then it had been moved up the side of his chin and cheek, not quite close enough to burn, but enough that the heat tickled his skin.
It was hellish, but he forced himself not to flinch away, not to move a muscle. To just let it happen.
The flame was lifted around his ear, and he was certain if it was held there a second longer it would but, it would...
He sniffed.
There was an acrid smell, almost sulphur like, and he fought the urge to move, to do something.
His hair was burning.
His hair was being singed by the little flame, not quite set alight, but singed. The smell flooded his nose as the Senator kept going, moving the little flame up, up towards his forehead. All he could see in front of his eyes was the flame, too bright and too hot and he wanted to close his eyes but he knew he’d be punished he had to just endure it because it would be over soon, it would be over soon it would be over soon.
The flame passed from his eyes, down the other side of his face, round his other ear, down the cheek and back under his chin.
The little flame seemed to flicker and press to his throat, before the heat vanished with a metal click.
“You’re dismissed, clone. Get out, and make sure the rest of the trip isn’t so abysmal.”
Stone rammed his bucket on and respectfully fled the office.
Inside his bucket all he could smell was the smoke, the acrid burning smell of hair.
His hair.
He shuddered.
For the two following days of the trip, he barely had a chance to remove his armour or his bucket, though he managed to cut off the worst of the singed areas. The return journey did go more smoothly, thank kriff, though he arrived at the base so late and so tired all he could do was fall into his bunk.
The next morning his vode helped shave off the rest of his hair.
He had no plans to grow it back.
.
.
.
Fox never meant to upset the Chancellor, but a lot of things that weren’t him upset the Chancellor, and he’d prefer he be the outlet than any of the shinies.
Being summoned was never good, and when the man was upset before he’d even arrived... he’d take whatever punishment was necessary, and to the Chancellor’s satisfaction. Or else his vod’ike would pay the price.
He placed his bucket where he was always ordered, without prompting, and knelt where he was supposed to.
If nothing else, his simple compliance put a small smile on the bastard's face.
“Remove your upper armour, and the top half of your under suit.”
Oh kriff, what was this going to be, a whipping, the lightning?
Still, he did as ordered.
“I’ve had complaints that you and the other Guards aren’t strong enough, but I think you can prove your strength to me, can you not?”
Oh kriff, this could be bad.
“Whatever you ask, sir.”
“You can do press-ups, correct?”
“Yessir.”
“Get into the position.”
He did as ordered, getting himself into a straight-armed plank, as comfortably as the position allowed.
Palpatine lit the first candle, and placed it below him.
Then a second, then a third.
Oh kriff.
His arms shook a little from the threat, not the strain, not yet.
If he fell, he’d fall onto fire.
The candles burned high, the flames were taller than a candle like this would usually be, and if he fell, he’d be burned.
So he had to hold it.
Hold position.
He could do that.
He could lock his arms and stay in position.
In the end there were 15 candles, varying in colour and size but all with high fierce looking flames he could feel despite the inches between them and his torso. Their colour and size didn’t matter, they were where his whole torso was, and if he fell, he’d burn from his shoulders to his hips and he couldn’t afford to be off for as long as it would take to recover from these burns. And because they were low on bacta, and he’d refuse to take any that they had when people had blaster wounds and worse, but if the burn scars healed wrong, they’d restrict his movement, and then he wouldn’t be able to save his vode.
If he fell or his arms gave out he would have failed his vode.
So he needed to hold his position.
Palpatine returned to his work.
Fox held his position.
The clock marked an hour.
He held his position.
Palpatine stood, came to his side, tangled a hand in his hair moved his fingers in a motion that was almost a head massage, in a way that would typically be calming, undeterred by the sweat Fox could feel clinging there.
He held his position.
“So strong, pet, you’re doing so well. But I think you can keep going, can’t you pet?”
“Yes sir.”
He bit out the words, arms burning. He had to hold the position, he had to.
Hour two came and went.
Failure just wasn’t an option.
Palpatine patted the back of his head, condescendingly, and went back to his desk.
Fox held his position.
He hung his head, completely unable to hold it up along with the rest of his movement, and the flames flickered in his view, high and bright. They flickered when drops of sweat landed on them, it was entrancing.
Just after the third hour mark passed, Palpatine returned, getting to one knee in front of him.
“Good job, pet, you’re nearly there.”
Palpatine reached under him and picked up one of the candles, before holding it to Fox’s lips.
“Blow it out.”
It took more effort than Fox thought he had in him to take a deep breath and blow, but the flame flickered out with a curl of smoke.
Palpatine brought the next candle up.
“You have to get rid of all of them to finish, pet.”
He let his eyes fall closed for a second in exhaustion, gathered himself, then extinguished the second. Each candle was brought to his lips, and each one he blew out, though not all on the first try. Some of the flames simply flickered.
“You did fantastically, my dearest darling commander, you can stop.”
He was graceless in his fall to the floor, unable to hold himself up for even a second longer.
His arms burned, his core burned, his lungs burned.
Kriff.
He rolled himself onto his back, looking up to Palpatine.
“Well done, pet, you have more than proved your strength and stamina to my satisfaction , and I'll be certain to relay that to everyone who wanted to know.”
There was something about his look, and the way he said satisfaction, and Fox suddenly recalled the looks some of the Senators close to Palpatine seemed to give him, the eyes that followed, the whispers...
He shuddered at the implications, though his body’s trembling covered it well.
He knew what people thought happened in some of these private meetings.
He absently wondered if parts of the GAR had heard the same rumours, if they thought the same.
If that was why his batchmates hated him.
He knew how he’d look to anyone who entered the Chancellor’s office, sprawled at the man’s feet, half undressed, sweaty and trembling and panting.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Everything hurt, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move to get himself back to his bunk.
A hand brushed his sweaty fringe out of his face.
“You deserve a reward for such excellent work, pet. I have a few meetings this afternoon, but they’re formal, so you can stay in the antechamber until I deem you fit to walk back to the barracks.”
The antechamber was for less formal meetings, it had comfortable seats and the sort of food and drink he needed for friendly catchups.
He gathered himself to shaky feet and followed Palpatine into the official side room, realising the pieces of armour he’d removed were already inside, and that Palpatine was setting down his bucket on the table.
He dropped back to the floor only a few steps inside.
Everything hurt, but at least the carpet was soft.
.
.
.
“Fox, you look freezing, come sit near the fire, vod, warm up.”
Ponds was his batchmate, one of his vode who he should have been able to trust with anything, but so much had happened since Kamino.
Fox wanted to be grateful, because on this joint mission, even though he had his vode and his General, Ponds wasn’t ignoring Fox, wanted to spend time with him, cared that he looked cold and had noticed he looked cold. Had noticed him, noticed his absence.
But he found himself trembling at the very thought of being that close to a fire.
“I’m fine vod.”
It was a lie, but he was good at that.