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Note: Obi-Wan is a blue quaker parrot because they’re blue and can talk. The clones are swamp harriers because their wings look neat and they’re used for falconry.
One of the nicest parts about returning to the Negotiator was having time for propper wing maintenance. On campaign, if there was time for anything, it was only enough care to be functional if flying was needed. It was different when there was safety, space and time to have another person help preen. It was an important social activity for all humans, clones included.
Back in the ship’s barracks, there was enough space around each bunk for a vod to fully open one wing at a time, so long as anyone walking in the aisle had a care. First thing after caring for their gear and sonics, members of the 212th would partner up and take turns working fingers through each others’ feathers. It was particularly necessary near the shoulder blade joinings which were hard to reach.
Cody had his own quarters/office space on the Negotiator, but he always ended up in one of Ghost Company’s barracks after returning to the ship. He couldn’t stay long, there was too much post mission work for him to do, along with any responsibilities that had been neglected while he was on a campaign, but he still made time. The other clone officers did as well.
At the moment, he was sitting cross legged on a bunk, filling out requisition forms on a datapad while Trapper preened his left wing with gentle, efficient hands. He allowed himself a soft, happy sound when the other clone removed a cracked feather that had been bothering him for days but was out of his reach.
“Think the nat-born officers do this for each other?” Wooley asked no one in particular as he worked on a no-longer-shiny’s scapulars.
“Probably. They’re mostly ship's crew, though, so they can do it more often.” Trapper said over Cody’s head.
“General can’t.”
“He probably does it with them, just not as often. Can’t just be when one of the human Jedi is on board.”
“He does it himself. I’ve seen him using the Force to get spots he can’t reach.” Cody said absently.
“Sounds lonely.” Wooley said and Cody felt a sharpening of attention from his vode. He kept any sense of impending doom off his face.
“He’s human. It can’t be good for him, long term.” Came a voice filled with earnest concern that fooled absolutely no one. “Someone should tell him he’s part of the 212th. He could come here after missions, like the commander does.”
“Yeah. Someone. When did you see him preening, by the way?” There it was. They always did this shit after another lightsaber retrieval incident. Cody wished he were an only child. Or at least that he didn’t go red at the ears when embarrassed.
“He was multitasking during a post mission report.” He very deliberately did not look up, though he’d stopped typing. “Things are different for Jedi, I think. I heard it’s usually more private for nat-borns, when the participants aren’t related.”
“If they’re different from other nat-borns, you could still be the one to ask the general to preen, commander. Privately, if he doesn’t like the social aspect.” Since Waxer had made the suggestion, he saw the consequences coming and ducked. Juniper, standing behind him while helping another trooper with a loose feather, was not paying attention and therefore got his ear clipped painfully when Cody snapped out a wing. Ignoring the sergeant's betrayed look, Cody began typing again. It was probably more of a reaction than he should’ve allowed himself; younger siblings could sense weakness.
“Jokes about the commander’s ‘secret’ crush aside, it would be interesting to see his wings up close.” Said a vod with poor survival instincts. “His primaries are almost the same color as his saber. Not to sound like a 501st, but the blue is pretty and that shape is so different, but in a good way.” Cody made a mental note of who had spoken. He’d decide later if it was too immature to assign them KP duty. Just because Cody agreed with the statement, in general, did not mean he wouldn’t be petty about it.
Trapper had finished with one wing. He was too close to consider teasing the commander, so instead he meekly told Cody to turn around so he could spread the other wing without hitting anyone. He ended up facing Longshot, who was stretched out on his bunk, his wings already cared for. The vod’s tired smile indicated he’d been enjoying the short discussion, but he didn’t try to continue it. Instead, he asked a sensible question about transit time.