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“It was a horrible day in the Coruscant Senate sector, and Fox was a beautiful commander.”
Fox scoffed, but didn’t waste the energy that looking up from his latest incident review would take. “Kark off Thorn, unless you'd like to be the one dealing with more of this diplomatic osik.”
“Oh but Commander! That would deprive the senators and their aids of seeing your most glorious form, of coming to gaze at your bright, broad-chested armor and hearing your melodiously gruff voice!” Thorn, terrible, evil vod'ika that he was, clearly took great delight in repeating the overly effusive compliments making their way through the Senate's halls at that very moment, but didn’t actually stay long enough for Fox to delegate any of the particularly unfortunate datapads to him. Pity.
During the war, dealing with Senators and their staff had been far from easy, but at least most of the natborns didn’t bother pretending to like him or his vod'e. Fox never thought he'd miss being addressed as a “handy little meatdroid,” but the simpering idiocy aimed his way ever since he'd signed on to manage and train new Senate security when the Sentient Cloning Addendum passed was enough to make the most extroverted vod go a little tank-trippy, let alone Fox.
It wouldn’t be quite so bad, Fox thought morosely, if only the motherkriffers would stop smothering themselves with all their Prime-damned perfumes before coming to his office.
It did not make the revealingly dressed Corellian senator smell like fresh r'Oses.
It did not make that annoyingly smug toydarian aid smell like wood chippings and sea salt.
And it did not make Fox's office any pleasanter when the smells lingered, as they congealed together in his favorite productive space for hours after the latest idiot's departure!
He had a window, true, but one window can only do so much against the empty-bucketed schemes of seemingly half the Senate staff, and it's not like the air outside his window was much fresher; it just provided Fox the luxury of choosing whether he'd like to taste dusty smog as he breathed, or a vaguely acidic sort of rot.
These crazy natborns were even ruining Fox’s enjoyment of caf. Caf! The source of life's joys and smaller endurances! Sustainer of night-long flimsiwork slogs and shield against untimely mornings!
Fox wasn’t quite sure he had the energy left to properly hate them, but one day, he might, and then there wouldn’t be a soul who could stop him.
Not Thorn.
Not Alpha-17.
Not even Cody and his precious, darling little-
“Oh dear Force what have they brought in here?”
-jedi.
Fox slowly swiveled his chair to gaze bleakly at Cody's future husband, standing in Fox’s doorway and in the process of tying his tunic's (belt? sash? discrete cloth bandage? Admittedly that last one seemed unlikely, but Cody was an unpredictable little fucker and this was the person he’d fallen completely shebs over bucket for, so nothing could truly be discounted) around his face as a makeshift breathing filter.
Fox said nothing, merely looked in Obi-Wan's general (ha! General) direction and rested the side of his head on his desk since he apparently wouldn’t be working now.
The little pile of datapads serving as his pillow felt wonderfully cool against his cheek, though.
“Well I had been going to ask if you were quite alright or if there was anything you'd like help with, my dear, as I was just passing by on my way from seeing Bail when I noticed some rather strongly projected suffering coming from your office; but it seems the cause of your unhappiness is quite clear, in this case.” Obi-Wan re-opened the office door and gestured towards Fox's ajar window with both hands.
Beautifully, brilliantly, Fox felt air gently rushing around him as his office atmosphere was shooed out the window and replaced with the filtered air of the hallway before his window slid shut on it’s own and locked the horrible mess outside.
Oh, the sweet, sweet bliss of smelling caf and armor polish and well-trodden carpets again. Fox could cry, if he were the sort of vod to that in his Arena of Professionalism.
Obi-Wan draped himself across the chair opposite Fox and unwound his facial covering.
“Now that that's out of the way, is there a reason your office smelt like a novice assassin's attempt at a poisoning?”
Fox blinked at him. He’d overheard plenty of salacious comments about Obi-Wan during the war, maybe the man would understand where some of his vod'e hadn’t.
“The Senators no longer have any direct authority over myself and my subordinates.” Fox blinked again, more to soothe the itchy insides of his eyelids than anything else. “But while we’re not legally allowed to reveal evidence of any unethical behaviors not directly related to the war-efforts that were discovered during said war-efforts, we are training the security forces that can and will publicize and prosecute what they find.”
Obi-Wan's nose scrunched in an endearingly disgusted expression as he sat back in his seat. “Ah. Trying to win you over then, or trying to distract you from your training duties.”
“Eh. Both, either or.” Fox shrugged without otherwise moving. “I don’t care why they think dousing themselves in enough chemicals to set oceans ablaze is a good idea, I just don’t want them doing it here.”
Obi-Wan nodded sympathetically, and Fox felt just a little bit better, even though it did nothing to actually fix his problem.
But perhaps, Fox thought as he finally heaved himself upright in his chair again and settled in for an actually sociable conversation, a problem didn’t need to be solved for the burden to be lightened enough to become bearable again.
~~~
The next morning there was a medpac-sized plant with wide, cheerfully arching fronds sitting atop Fox's desk alongside a precisely penned note on actual flimsi. He might've thought it a trap of some kind, but Thire had been stepping out of Fox's office just he'd arrived, and Thire, at least, knew that the sanctity of Fox's office was not to be disturbed for such trivial affairs as pranks.
Greetings, Commander!
Did you know that a wide assortment of plant species naturally filter pollutants from their immediate environments? This is Cozy, short for Consumer of Dikut’la Decisions. They're an Netlian ruffle leaf plant, and are ideal for freshening up the air with minimal upkeep required (only a minor bit of watering once a week, as per the attached care sheet), seeing as they sate a significant portion of their needs by devouring airborne contaminants and breaking them down to the microscopic level. While I cannot help the poor choices made by an unnamed collection of particularly obtuse individuals, I do hope that this will at least help mitigate one of the consequences their foolishness entails.
Warmest regards,
Obi-Wan Kenobi
(P.S. While certainly not required, this species of plant also tends to thrive especially well when subjected to harsh, deep, or abrupt sound waves on a regular basis. So if, for example, a certain overworked clone commander was required to put up with some of the most careless, arrogant cretins imaginable and felt like releasing some of the consequent steam, well, Cozy would certainly welcome a rant or two and is distinctly lacking in any form of vocal cords or recording ability in which to snitch with.)
Well. If Cody had to have a natborn for his ven'riduur, at least he'd picked a sensible one.
Fox smiled and gently settled Consumer of Dikut’la Decisions at the best angle to be seen from the doorway; if they actually performed up to their advertised capabilities, maybe he would see about getting them a nameplate…
