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Wooley looked around slowly, a bit in awe and a little nervous and he squeezed Cyan’s hand a little tighter, grateful that his batchmate had come with him. Despite Commander Cody and General Kenobi’s repeated assurances that every trooper was welcome in the Jedi Temple, he still felt like he was intruding in a holy place—somewhere he didn’t belong. They were made for the Jedi; he shouldn’t be allowed to roam freely within their sanctuary.
But if he wanted to get the tattoos he had in mind, Wooley needed to go to the Jedi Temple. Tatta was the vod universally praised for her skill with designing tattoos, able to create beautiful pieces of art on skin. She also had the kind of inks that Wooley wanted. And since Tatta was stationed in the Temple, he found himself hesitantly wandering the halls and staring at the beautiful artwork that seemed to cover every single inch.
There were carvings of some kind embedded into the walls of the hall leading from the hangar. Ancient depictions of battles and great Jedi, Wooley assumed, though he didn’t know any of the stories. Connecting them all is a network of interlocking circles, almost looking like a star map and exactly as Longshot had described to him during the long days spent recovering in the medbay. Now, Cyan squeezed Wooley’s hand as they both stared in awe at the beautiful carvings, neither one able to comprehend how stunning and impressive it was.
Wooley stood in front of one mural and traced over the carved and painted lines with reverent fingers. It truly was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen in his life. Beyond armor designs, Wooley had never really been able to see actual art before; it was breathtaking. That such beauty could exist in the galaxy was inconceivable to him, and yet here he was, standing in a simple hallway in the Jedi Temple, staring in awe.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Wooley startled and turned, dragging Cyan around with him, an apology already on his lips when he saw a vod. But not like any other vod he’d ever seen before. For one, he’d never seen a vod missing both legs from the knee down, nor had he ever seen a vod using a hoverchair to get around. They wore Jedi robes over their blacks, had pretty tattoos on their face, and wore glasses. They were as different for a vod as Wooley had ever seen, though they clearly shared the same face.
“Sir?”
The vod waved their hand. “No need to stand on formalities, vod. I’m not a Commander.”
Unsure what he should do and how to act, Wooley fidgeted with his dress greys a little, awkwardly trying not to stare.
“You must be Wooley,” the vod said.
Wooley blinked. “How’d you know?” He certainly hadn’t told them his name, and Wooley knew that not many vode would know who he was. But Cyan scoffed and cuffed him over the back of his head. Before he could retaliate, the vod cleared their throat.
The vod smiled. “I’m Tatta, she/her. You contacted me about getting some tattoos. When you were late to the appointment I decided to come looking.”
Oh. Oops. Wooley ducked his head a little sheepishly and glanced at Cyan who looked equally as apologetic. “Yeah, sorry. I just . . . Neither of us has ever seen anything like this.”
Tatta nodded and grinned. “When my General first brought me to the Temple, I could hardly believe my eyes. This is one of the less intricate hallways in the Temple. The ones down by the Halls of Memory are even more beautiful—you could spend a lifetime looking at the carvings and still not see everything.”
“Really?”
“You’re with General Kenobi, right?” At Wooley’s nod, she continued, “Ask him sometime to show you around. He loves talking about the art from what I understand. He used to teach classes about Jedi poetry and art before the war started.”
Wooley blinked. A quick glance at Cyan showed that he was as surprised as Wooley felt. He didn’t know General Kenobi—he’d only met him once just after he’d been rescued from the POW camp—and it was difficult to picture the General outside of his position. The idea that he would enjoy art seemed wholly alien to Wooley, but then again, from the rumors and stories he’s heard, it made a bit of sense. There was that one battle, Christophsis, where he apparently distracted the Seppie General by holding a tea party.
“If I get the chance, I think I will,” Wooley said, though he was sure he wouldn’t ever actually follow through. There was little chance that standard infantry like him would ever get close enough with the High General to ask him to take him on a tour of the Jedi Temple. That seemed just as wrong as a clone being given free access to the Jedi Temple. And he knew Cyan would never ask, even if the opportunity presented itself.
Tatta rolled her eyes, clearly able to guess some of the thoughts going through his mind. “Come on. While we head to my parlor, why don’t you tell me what kind of tattoos you were thinking of getting.”
Now that was something Wooley could do. “Well, I was actually thinking of something like this.” He gestured to the carvings on the wall, specifically the interlocking circles and the lines that seemed to connect everything. Just like a star map.
Humming thoughtfully, Tatta directed her hoverchair closer to the wall and traced over some of the carvings. “Something just like this, or were you thinking of something more personalized.”
“More personalized. I—well—they kind of look like maps of the stars to me, and I kind of want to map out my story on my skin. If that makes any sense.”
“It does to me,” Tatta murmured. “We clones don’t get very much in this galaxy. All we have is the lives we live and the vode around us to live them with. You want to prove that you lived, that you were more than what the galaxy claims you are.”
Wooley nodded. “I want to prove that I’m more than what has happened to me. I made my own choices and I overcame my own personal battles.”
Cyan bumped his arm against Wooley’s, understanding the sentiment perfectly.
Tatta smiled brilliantly at Wooley. “Now, I can definitely drink to that. We’ll draw out a personalized design together when we reach my parlor.” Tatta gestured down the hallway, and Wooley had to scramble a little to catch up to her as she started off. “Anything else you specifically want?”
“I’ve heard that you have some really interesting and unique inks. The vode that usually do the tattoos in the 212th don’t have access to some of the inks that you do.”
“That’s true. I’ve got quite a nice collection at this point. Do you want to see what I’ve got? Or if you have something in mind, you can tell me and I’ll let you know if I have it or not.”
“Do you have metallic gold?”
“You’re in luck. I just stocked up on metallic gold so I should have plenty for what you have in mind.”
They turned down a hallway and then down a flight of stairs before entering a wide corridor that was far more colorful than the other parts of the Temple Wooley had seen. There were cheerful colors painted everywhere. More color in a single place than anything else Wooley had ever seen. It was beautiful and happy.
“This is the creche,” Tatta explained. “They gave me quarters and a parlor down here since I help with the younglings when I don’t have tattoo appointments. It’s the least I can do for all of the medical help the Jedi have given me.”
“I like the colors,” Wooley commented. “They’re very bright and happy.”
Tatta nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I asked the Temple Quartermaster to assign me a room and parlor near the creche—it’s happier down here.”
Wooley smiled to himself as he caught Cyan peeking into the doors of the creche, waving at the younglings inside. He stayed at the door for several moments, falling behind Wooley and Tatta, but he could hardly blame him. Cyan loved kids, but it was rare that they were able to encounter any during the war. On Ryloth, Waxer and Boil had lucked out when they met that adorable Twi’lek girl. Cyan was jealous for weeks afterwards and would quiz the two troopers whenever he could on the entire experience.
Tatta paused at a door and keyed in a code. Cyan looked over at the sound and seemed to slump a little before waving goodbye to the younglings inside. He trotted over and bumped his shoulder against Wooley’s.
“Ready to get those tattoos you’ve been planning?” he asked.
Wooley nodded. He was very ready. He’d spent every spare second of down time imagining what he could do for his tattoos once he’d secured an appointment with Tatta. But it wasn’t until he actually saw the beautiful carvings on the walls of the Temple that he was able to solidify a design in his mind.
Tatta led the way into her parlor and the door slid shut behind them. “From your initial comm, it sounds like you want to get most of your body tattooed. Thankfully the processes for tattooing are not as arcane as they used to do. It won’t take as long to heal and the ink lasts longer—it’s more difficult to fade. But you’ll still be here for several hours while I work on your tattoos. Is there anything pressing you’ve got in the next few days?”
“No,” Wooley said with a shake of his head. “We’re on leave right now and our Sergeant told us that we’re not needed for another four days.”
“That’ll give me plenty of time to work and for your tattoos to mostly heal, then.” She handed Wooley a piece of actual flimsi and a stylus. “You said you had a design idea? Can you show me?”
Wooley took the flimsi and the offered chair, and immediately started drawing. He’d solidified what he wanted on the walk to the parlor and he wanted to make sure every single part was absolutely perfect. Tatta watched over his shoulder carefully, offering pointers and suggestions as Wooley’s ideas for his tattoos came to life on the flimsi. Finally, he was done and sat back to admire his work.
“That looks really good, Wooley,” Cyan said, ruffling Wooley’s mohawk. “You absolutely sure about all of it? Even—”
“Yes,” Wooley interrupted. He knew what he wanted and a little bit of pain—or even a lot of it—wouldn’t stop him from getting these tattoos. “I really like this.”
Cyan squeezed Wooley’s shoulder and grinned. “Alright then.”
Wooley turned to Tatta, seeking her approval. After all, she was brilliant when it came to tattoos.
“It’s going to be beautiful,” she said. “And you said you wanted them done in metallic gold? Do you want all of them in the same color?”
“Yes,” Wooley said. “I might do different colors later, but I want metallic gold.”
Tatta smiled and gestured to the reclining seat. “Let’s get started then.”
Excitement built in Wooley’s veins and he eagerly shucked his uniform and laid back on the chair. He couldn’t wait to see the final product.
Wooley was vibrating with excitement. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from getting his tattoos finally. Logically, he knew that the process would likely make him feel jittery, especially after holding still for so long. But he’d managed it, and now he was eager to get back to the barracks so he could show off his new tattoos.
“You do know that rushing won’t help you show off your tattoos to Longshot any sooner,” Cyan commented dryly.
“Oh kark off,” Wooley pouted. “You already made me stop and eat latemeal before you’d let me head back to the barracks.”
“Considering you hadn’t eaten anything for most of the day, too busy getting your whole karking body tattooed, food took higher priority.”
Wooley rolled his eyes. “You’re such a worrier. I would have been fine to get food after I showed Longshot.”
Cyan rolled his eyes. “And Longshot is fine waiting a little bit longer.”
With a huff, Wooley pushed past Cyan and entered the barracks, glad to see that most of the vode were lounging around but weren’t actually asleep yet. There were several different games going on, spread across the floor or on the bunks. Wherever they fit, really. Wooley saw the rest of their squad watching an illegally downloaded holo on Lovely’s bunk, and for a moment, he was tempted to swing by and just see what they were watching. But Wooley was a vod on a mission. He made a beeline to the corner where Ghost Company had gathered.
Longshot saw him before he picked his way through the vestiges of a rowdy drinking party by the looks of it.
“Wooley! Cyan! Budge up Crys. Make room!”
Crys grumbled, but did obligingly scoot over enough to barely squeeze two vode. Cyan plopped down in the open spot gratefully and took the offered canteen from Sergeant Waxer. Wooley, however, stayed standing.
Now that he was in front of Longshot, however, he was having a couple of second thoughts. What if Longshot didn’t like them? What if he thought it was ridiculous that Wooley went and got tattoos inspired by the stories he told while recovering in the medbay.
“Wooley?” Longshot asked, his voice infinitely patient and gentle.
“I got tattoos!” Wooley burst out. “From Tatta.”
Longshot’s eyes lit up. “You did? What’d you get? Can we see?”
Wooley blushed a little. “I—um—may have gotten inspiration from you,” he muttered. But he started removing his uniform anyway, grinning despite himself.
“Oh? What’d the di’kut inspire you into getting?” Crys asked, leaning forward curiously.
“You told me about the art in the Temple,” Wooley started. He removed the undershirt and gestured to his chest, still red from the tattoo process. But the golden tattoos stood out obviously in the light of the barracks, glittering enough to catch attention.
“Karking hells, vod,” Longshot said, pushing to his knees. “The wall carvings?”
Wooley nodded. “I’ve been trying to design something ever since you told me those stories, but it wasn’t until I saw the carvings in the walls that the design took life.”
“That’s not everything, though,” Cyan said. “Show ‘em the rest, Wools.”
Wooley flipped a rude sign at his batchmate, but followed his advice. Nudity was never an issue with clones since they all shared the same body. Privacy wasn’t common either, growing up stacked on top of each other the way they did. Wooley stood bare in the barracks and slowly turned so that they could see each and every tattoo. He was particularly proud of the giant sunrise on his back, reflecting on a sea. He felt as though it was the perfect representation of the fresh start he’d gotten with the 212th Attack Battalion.
“It suits you, vod,” Longshot said with a soft smile. “Are you going to add to it?”
“When I get the chance, yeah,” Wooley answered. “I’ve got more stories to tell, after all.”
“That’s all great,” Crys interrupted, “but what in the nine Hells of Corellia possessed you to tattoo your deece? Didn’t it hurt?”
Wooley laughed as Cyan exclaimed “That’s what I said!” Good-natured ribbing and bullying flowed steadily between the members of Ghost Company, including both Cyan and Wooley. Grabbing a pair of blacks, Wooley wriggled them on and then plopped down beside Longshot.
Longshot slid his arm around Wooley’s shoulders and tugged him close. (Wooley didn’t even mind the sting from where his arm pressed against the tattoos on his back. He couldn’t care in the wake of so much happiness and enthusiasm.)
