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The 17th under General Tann really was practically a wholly different battalion- and Vigil certainly was reminded of that every day.
After all, General Krell never would have allowed this.
The 17th had been divided, fighting in small, scattered groups across a planet with equally scattered civilians. The closest thing that it had to a city had a population smaller than that of a venator- measuring only about a thousand. That was where Vigil and his General had ended up, of course, fighting to secure the capital from the Separatists, albeit with a much smaller team of vode than usual.
They were stretched thin, but that didn't prove too much of a problem, in the end. The droids had even fewer fighting forces, spread out even more distantly across the landscape. It wasn't a planet that the Separatists proved too dedicated to taking and keeping, only offering agricultural promise- which Separatist population centers with cut-off supplies could have found useful, but not worth fighting too hard over.
For an army made up of humans, though- and an army supporting planets like Ryloth- a planet like this one was much more important.
It also helped that the planet's leader- supposedly, Vigil wasn't privy to such things, and his General wasn't a senior member of the Order, so she often wasn't either- came to the Senate and begged for aid.
It was more like cleanup than an actual battle. They didn't lose any of his brothers. They didn't have to deal with the droids bombing civilian settlements. It was... Nice. There was an easy, happy air afterwards- the kind of thing that Vigil never really got to experience.
...He couldn't help but wonder, sometimes, if this was why the 501st was so cheerful? If they were used to such low casualty rates, if they were so sure of victory, going in?
...But thinking about the 501st never went well, for him. They were a train of thought that brought nothing good. He liked to try to avoid it- and he certainly didn't want to spoil the moment, here and now.
As it turned out, the civilian populace seemed to share their leader's view of preferring the Republic to the Separatists- and after the battle, one approached their General.
Vigil was on guard instantly, despite himself. He was self-aware enough to recognize that he was paranoid- and that he was especially bad when it came to his General. He'd already had one assassinated- and while he certainly would never mourn the bastard, he definitely would mourn Teksa. In a galaxy of traitorous brothers and dead Jedi and Commanders that came back to life- there were too many threats out there that he had to worry about, and he didn't like it when strangers got close to the 17th.
Especially when that member of the 17th was his General. He could trust his brothers to keep themselves safe. Teksa was... Emotionally squishy. He couldn't have that same guarantee, with her. She was too willing to let herself be hurt to help others.
She seemed to sense his unease, mutely pressing one hand against his upper arm in reassurance before drawing back and stepping forwards to greet the civilian. Despite his armor, Vigil felt like the spot where she'd touched was warmer than what had heated up under the sun.
He was male, human. Older- Vigil had to take a moment to calculate natborn ages- probably in his forties or fifties, and he'd hedge his bet with the latter. From what he'd seen, nobody on the planet didn't partake in some form of labor- and the hot sun and hard work could have a way of prematurely aging people. He didn't dress like a farmer- his clothes too neat and clean for the fields, but they weren't fineries, either. Plain, practical.
He was armed- which made Vigil's hackles rise again, despite Teksa's attempt at soothing him- but it was the simple, civvie-grade blaster pistol that most adults and teenagers on the planet kept to fend off the local, unusually vicious wildlife, and he carried it openly.
He doubted that the civilian would be dumb enough to openly draw a weapon right in front of a Jedi, but- still. Vigil kept a hand on his holster, anyway.
"Master Jedi? I hope I'm not bothering you." The civilian stopped about a pace away from Teksa, keeping his hands clasped in front of him in gratitude. His voice made Vigil do a double-take. He didn't often get the chance to talk with civilians, and this was the first time he'd heard one speak from this planet. He sounded so much like his General- the way that Teksa spoke, with that soft, rolling drawl.
"Not at all, sir." Teksa tucked into one of her Jedi-bows. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"I'm the mayor of this here town." The civilian said. "We can't thank you and your men enough for what you've done for us."
"We merely fulfilled our duties." Teksa straightened up, but kept her arms folded in front of her. "-And it was the right thing to do."
"I'm not done, Master Jedi." The corners of the civilian's mouth turned up into a mischievous smile. "I said we can't thank you enough, doesn't mean we can't try."
"Oh?" Teksa paused and tilted her head to the side, her lekku curling with curiosity.
"You see, I might be in charge around here-" The mayor moved to awkwardly hook his thumbs on the belt loops of his pants. "-But I also run the local bar. I was wondering if you and your soldiers would like to stop by, before you have to clear out- on the house."
“Oh!” Teksa echoed, more eagerly. She turned to grin at him, all shiny teeth and smiles. “What do you think, Commander?”
“...I guess it could be good for morale?” He offered. Vigil had never been to a bar, before. He’d only been to Coruscant once, and he hadn’t gone to ‘79s, while there. He had a vague idea of them in his mind, from battles fought in cities and towns- it had seemed that every settlement had one, if not several, and the big tables that they kept all the alcohol behind made for good cover.
“Just what I was thinking.” Teksa turned back the mayor. “We’ll be happy to accept your offer, sir.”
“Glad to hear it, ma’am.” Teksa let out a small giggle at the mayor’s reply. Vigil didn’t understand what she found funny about it. “Guessing you’ll be by soon?”
“I’m going to go find where Slam wandered off to.” She agreed. “Vigil, you want to track down Prickle and his squad?”
“Sure.” He accepted, instantly.
Teksa beamed at him, and reached to gently squeeze his arm before darting off, heading in the direction of where he’d last seen Slam head off to. Vigil was slower to head off on his own mini-mission- in large part because he could feel the mayor’s eyes on him.
“Do you need anything, mayor?” Teksa had called him ‘sir’, which Vigil thought was odd, because he wasn’t military- but Teksa was odd, in general.
“Just thinking.” The mayor said, waving him off. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“...Okay.” Vigil still checked over his shoulder once or twice after he left the small town square that they’d been standing in.
He was, admittedly, paranoid, after all.
Even though the small town passing as a capital had been taken by a very small force- numbering only a couple dozen- the bar still managed to feel crowded. Teksa had already taken a stool in the corner in front of the weird, long table, where she would have a good spot to watch the rest of the room. Vigil joined her.
It looked an awful lot like the wartorn bars he’d taken shelter in, before. There were smaller, scattered tables around the room, strangely compact ‘freshers, odd decorations on the walls…
There was only one thing he couldn’t recognize- some kind of weirdly-shaped metal drum with a saddle, held up by a pole through its middle, and surrounded by large, puffy mats very much like those that they used on Kamino for advanced obstacle training.
He chalked it up to bizarre natborn interior design.
“What would you two like?” The mayor did seem to be at home in his bar. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, seemingly also fastening a small hand towel to his waist.
“Whiskey, neat.” Teksa replied, automatically.
The mayor looked at Vigil expectantly and he floundered. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
…As it turned out, ‘whiskey neat’- whatever that meant- tasted like piss .
It took a great deal of Vigil’s willpower to get past the smell of it and take a sip. It took all of it for him not to gag or spit it out. Teksa only hummed appreciatively. “I’ve never had any quite like this before, where do you get it?”
“Can’t find it nowhere else.” The mayor had moved on from serving them as soon as he’d set down their glasses, hurriedly wiping at a dirty glass cup taller than the ones they were drinking out of. “It’s grown just down the river, and brewed right here in town.”
“It’s wonderful.” Teksa took another sip. Vigil briefly wondered if his General had gone mad.
“Say-” The mayor’s voice became lower, quieter. Meant for more private conversation. “I’ve never met a Jedi without a Core-worlder accent. Where are you from?”
“My home planet is only a few down this run.” Teksa swirled the drink around in her glass. Vigil copied her. Maybe it made it taste better, like stirring salt into a soup ration? “Uldet.”
“Oh, we’re practically cousins!” The mayor laughed, and leaned forwards to clink a now-clean glass against Teksa’s. Vigil awkwardly joined the cheers. “To the Republic, and all us Outer-Rim scoundrels!”
At no point did the whiskey start tasting better, but Teksa ordered another. Vigil couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of strange masochism.
At some point, the other troopers started to get tipsy off of… Whatever it was that they were drinking- they seemed to like it a lot more than Vigil liked whiskey- and eventually, eventually, civilians began to trickle into the bar.
Vigil watched them like a hawk-bat.
…They didn’t seem to be interested in trouble, yet. They mingled with the troopers, laughing and joking and drinking- although the mayor did make them pay for their drinks. He was grateful for the spot that he and Teksa had carved out in the corner- the bar had already been crowded when it was just a few squads. Now it was crammed.
Vigil had no experience with bars, but his General seemed at ease, so he decided to trust her judgement. Maybe this was normal?
Maybe he should’ve gone with his own nerves, because whatever easy, comfortable air that had taken over the bar dissipated fast.
Vigil watched as a civilian picked his way over the mats and next to the weird metal thing in the corner. He looked like a proper farmer, and younger than the mayor- probably around Teksa’s age.
He was young and- from that confident smile- cocky.
The farmer braced one boot against the metal thing and whistled. It was impressively loud and shrill, probably meant more so for fields and paddocks than a small, enclosed space, and meant more so for standard humans than clones with sensitive hearing. Vigil mutely pressed a hand against an ear with a wince.
The bar, earlier filled with a constant drone of conversation, lapsed into quiet murmuring.
“I’ll bet a hundred credits-” The farmer called out, addressing nobody in particular. “-that none of you soldiers can ride a nerf as long as me.”
“I don’t see a nerf anywhere!” That was Slam. That was definitely Slam. Vigil didn’t even have to look to see who it was.
Some of the civilians laughed- and next to him, Teksa seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.
“This is the thirty-seventh century!” The farmer threw out his arms with a flourish. “We’ve got this bad boy!”
Slam only snickered. “That doesn’t look much like a nerf to me!”
“It might not be flesh and blood-” The farmer slapped a hand down on the saddle of the metal thing. “But this mechanical nerf bull can be ridden like the real deal. And it's much less likely to kick your skull in.”
“You sure about that?” Slam fired back, rising to the challenge, and oh boy.
“I’m the best damn rider in this whole town. One hundred credits.” The farmer repeated. “Says not one of y’all can beat my time.”
The troopers of the GAR were not paid, so the only thing that they had in the way of credits came from gifts from grateful civilians. The 17th had even less of them than the others, since General Krell hadn’t allowed such things. A hundred credits was probably half of what they all owned, collectively.
“You gonna stop them?” Teksa asked, glancing at Vigil.
Vigil sighed through his teeth. “If they want to be stupid, that’s on them.”
There was a short break of his brothers muttering in huddled circles, then, more concerningly, speaking into their comms.
The troopers here probably didn’t have a hundred credits between them, if they were reaching out to others…
“You’re on!” Slam said, after several minutes, as he broke away from the crowd.
Vigil wanted to bash his head into the long table.
“Why don’t I go first?” The farmer offered. “Show y'all how it’s done?”
The farmer didn’t wait for a reply, already swinging his other leg around the saddle and gesturing to someone standing by a nearby podium- a human with her orange hair braided back- who smiled and flipped a few switches before standing back.
Music started to play, something that Vigil couldn’t recognize with instruments that were nothing like the loud, proud orchestra for the Republic’s anthem- and then the bull started to move.
It bucked, it twisted, it dropped and it shuddered. The farmer was constantly shifting his weight to stay on and upright. The song- which featured a woman singing about work- ended, and another began.
They had only just started the second song, when, at last, the farmer’s grip slipped. He had kept one of his hands off of the bull the entire time, lifted in the air, so he had nothing to brace himself with when the machine snapped to the side and he slid right off, landing in a pile of limbs beside it.
Teksa let out a low, appreciative whistle. “A minute-and-a-half? Damn.”
“You’ve ridden before?” The mayor asked- briefly seeing a slow in work, as everyone was focused on the impromptu competition.
“Uldet’s more orchards than ranches, but I still got into govath busting when I was small, before the Jedi.” Teksa took a sip from her whiskey. “And there are bars on Coruscant with machines. I used to go all the time.”
“Govath busting?” Vigil asked, turning to look at her.
“It’s where young children stay on govaths for as long as they can without falling off.” Teksa explained, like she wasn’t explaining something that was insane. “I was good at it. Set records in my area.”
“You-” Vigil sputtered.
Teksa giggled at the no-doubt horrified look on his face. “We had helmets!”
The music started again, and Vigil hurried to turn back to the machine.
Slam…
Lasted a lot shorter than the farmer had.
He clung on for a little while, the bull dipping and weaving beneath him, but when it suddenly bucked forwards, he went with it, landing unceremoniously on the mats with a yelp of shock.
Teksa flinched and made a noise of sympathy. “That’s gotta hurt.”
“His pride or his nose?” Vigil asked, bluntly.
She snorted. “Both.”
In fact, nobody lasted as long as the farmer had.
Prickle, quiet, awkward Prickle, fared the best. He made it to forty seconds before he got knocked off.
Vigil hoped that this would teach his vod’ike a valuable lesson about gambling.
Unfortunately, it seemed that being thrown from a mechanical nerf did not knock any sense into Slam.
“Commander!”
Vigil cringed, and tried to sink into his seat. “No, Lieutenant.”
“C’mon, Commander, please?” Slam pleaded, looking like a wide-eyed shiny. “You’re our last chance.”
“You’ve made your bed.” Vigil informed him. “Now you need to lie in it.”
“It’s not like you bet anything, Vigil.” Teksa turned to him with a shy, mischievous little smile. He wondered if she just wanted to watch them continue to make fools of themselves. “Besides! Maybe you’ll think it’s fun?”
And-
His neck and face felt very, very warm from the bright, hopeful-expectant way that his General was looking at him. And she’d mentioned doing things like this before, right?
Did she enjoy it? Would she think highly of him if he was good at it?
Vigil swallowed. “Fine.”
Vigil ignored Slam’s resulting cheer, only through the sheer willpower not to flip him off, and moved over to the other corner of the room.
It was harder than it looked to even get onto the bull. It was so wide and barrel-like, bigger than any speeder he’d ever ridden. He’d gotten the idea that he was only supposed to hold on with one hand, because some of his brothers had gotten disqualified for using both, and he wasn’t sure what else to do with it.
It was awkward, it was faintly uncomfortable, and Vigil wasn’t used to having so many eyes on him. He could feel sweat already starting to pool at the back of his neck.
And then the music started. And then the bull began to move.
The farmer had made it look so, so easy. It was not. Clones were built to be stronger than natborn humans- more muscular, their bones sturdier. He could rip apart a battle droid with his bare hands, if his adrenaline kicked in and he was desperate enough.
He was still clinging on for dear life.
Every time the bull tipped forwards or its behind dipped down, Vigil found himself hopelessly sliding with it. There were several points where it jolted suddenly and he nearly found himself falling right off- but he tried his damn best not to let go.
He couldn’t even hear the music or the woman who was announcing every milestone- his blood was roaring too loudly in his ears, his heart pounding too wildly.
He felt fucking ridiculous- squeezing the damn thing with his legs- but it was moving so fast that he wouldn’t be surprised if it threw him right past the mats and he ended up braining himself on the floor or wall.
And then the bull started to spin and he was flying.
Vigil laid dazed on the mats, staring up at the ceiling. Teksa’s face swam into his vision above him as she bent over.
“You feeling alright?” She asked, voice quiet enough that he could barely hear her over the crowd.
Vigil only groaned in response.
“You did good. Longer than I lasted, the first time I rode.” She promised, offering him a hand that he shakily accepted. “Only five seconds short of the time.”
“Five seconds?” He asked, stumbling and nearly bowling them both over. Fuck he was dizzy. He’d fought in a war for nearly three years, and this had scattered his brains worse than any head injury.
“Looks like the bull is programmed to follow the same pattern.” Teksa said, gently looping an arm around him for support before he topped over. “He almost fell off when it spun for him, too. I saw him slip a bit- and it had him off-kilter enough that he tumbled when it turned to the other side.”
Vigil hadn’t noticed little details like that, but, well- it seemed like his General knew what she was talking about? So he just nodded along.
“I fell off the first time a bull spun on me, too.” She finished. “Trust me, you did good.”
“Thanks for the try, Commander.” Slam was drooping like a wilted plant, radiating misery and probably realizing only then that he’d gone and lost a hundred fucking credits.
“Doesn’t pay to gamble, does it?” Vigil pointed out.
Slam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, well-”
“Good try!” They were interrupted by the farmer coming over, laughing. “Tell you what- I’ll give you one last shot, double or nothing?”
Vigil was about to open his mouth and stop Slam from wasting another whole hundred credits- but the farmer wasn’t done.
“Double or nothing-” The farmer said, smiling with all his teeth. “Says your Jedi can’t outride me, either.”
-And Teksa’s eyes widened, before she turned to face Slam with a wide, positively evil-looking little smile.
“Why don’t you help the good Commander get back to his seat?” Teksa asked, speaking quietly enough that he doubted that the farmer could hear her as she nudged Vigil towards Slam. He didn’t understand why she felt the need to whisper.
Slam caught on much, much faster than he did. He looked at her, wide-eyed, before his face was split by a grin. He took one of Vigil’s arms over his shoulders, pulling him off of the General, then turned to the farmer. “Oh, you’re on!”
Slam could hardly contain his excitement as he half-dragged Vigil back to the spot that he’d shared with Teksa in the corner. The mayor-slash-bartender seemed equally intrigued, leaning forwards against the weird, long table to watch as Teksa circled the machine.
“When did she say was the last time she rode?” The mayor asked, addressing Slam- some conversation that Vigil had missed when he was busy getting the fear of the Force put into him.
“About a year ago.” Slam was practically buzzing.
“Yeah, well-” Rather than approaching the bull from the side, like the farmer and all of Vigil’s brothers, Teksa went at it from behind. She hopped up and pulled herself forwards in one, fluid motion, easily settling herself into the saddle. The mayor chuckled. “I think it takes longer than that to forget how to do it well.”
The music started, something a bit louder with a faster beat than what had been played before, and Teksa looked over her shoulder at him, her lekku curling playfully. She lifted her free hand to give him a cheeky, little salute, before holding it up in the same position that the farmer had used. And-
Vigil’s mind went completely and utterly blank.
Force help him, what was she doing with her hips?
Vigil was not aware of the passage of time. Vigil was not aware of the music. Vigil was not aware of how anyone else was reacting to Teksa riding the bull.
Vigil was only aware that she was doing something that involved her hips and waist and legs so that she didn’t slide around, and faintly, hysterically glad for his codpiece saving him from embarrassment.
-And then - sometime later that could’ve been either a few seconds or a decade- Teksa got bucked off, and everything came back into focus.
Vigil’s mouth felt very, very dry. He could hear the mayor chuckling behind him, and he mutely turned to look at him.
The man’s face was wrinkled with amusement as he filled one of the whiskey glasses nearly to the top before pressing it into one of Vigil’s numb, trembling hands. “You look like you need this.”
He downed it in one go. It burned, but he couldn’t even taste it.
Slam looked like he might be about to cry. At some point, he’d left Teksa’s stolen chair, and now he darted forwards to scoop her up and spin her around. He was laughing. She was laughing.
“I could kiss you!” He said, shockingly serious- and then, much less so, with some hidden, secret joke pulling at the corner of his lips that made his brothers howl with laughter. “But I won’t!”
“How long was that?” She panted, out of breath and flushed, despite her smile.
“Two fucking minutes!” Slam shrieked, and made to spin her around again, but Teksa dug her heels in with an airy laugh.
“I’ll puke!”
Vigil also felt like he might puke, even though he’d gotten off the bull himself several minutes ago. He was pretty sure that alcohol wouldn’t help with nausea, but when the mayor set down another glass next to him, he downed it anyway.
Slam, having safely stowed the newly acquired two-hundred credits before he could get the chance to distribute them to everyone he’d borrowed them from, tucked himself into a corner of the bar, and opened up his comm.
The main groupcomms were already abuzz, excitement running rampant from the news that their General had scored them a major payout. He closed out of them.
He scrolled to a familiar- less main- commlog, and hid his grin behind his hand as he opened it up and typed out a message.
Command-free zone
Lt. Slam:
In unrelated news the Commander really wishes he was a bull rn.