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Tiplar walked up to him with enough confidence that anyone would assume she’s announcing good news.
“Qualai is having their first lunar eclipse in near seventy-years tonight. We're not leaving until we see it.”
She doesn't mice her words with shear fluff how Tiplee does, she tells him how it is, what’s she’s doing. “If you’d like to come along,” Tiplar left open, their Commander stood unmoored to her green-yellow head tendrils waving upwards how whisk-like in each strand curl.
“You want to send a message.” Doom asked, his modulated voice outlining between them and their prisoner; shackled and gagged by their feet.
“I want to give Ti and the men time to see the eclipse should they wish,” Pausing to peer beyond them all, the shifting frown on her face stuck in place. “Or we wait here ruddy-face and muddled for our medics and supplies.” Catching his direction again.
Doom didn’t respond, snapping his buy’ce down without warning to square up in their prisoners’ face.
“Stop.” He curled the borrowed Qualian syllables out with checked vitriol, unmoving from their prisoner’s bodily flinch.
She couldn’t help it, light moss-green tendrils waving discomfort out how with sharp, point like motions imitated at the faux bravado leaving the crooks spine. “There are other manageable options dealing with our burly companions."
Doom stayed silent making to stand up again from their now shivering prisoner. “General Tiplee is in agreement with this plan?”
“Well.” She pointed out because drats Doom always saw through even her lightest suggestions. “I’m certain she won’t out-worm the chance to squeak over nature over and old fashioned beatdowns from clankers. Maybe I could use the time to patch up my robe, my under arms needs darning.”
“Enticing night on the agenda General hanging out with the pit crew," Doom started in that way of getting under her skin. "Like we should be by nightfall elsewhere-"
“Ah Doom!” She started, peering him head on. “Your suppose to be on my side here-“
“Past hyperspace sir,” Doom pressed in. “If we’re speaking logistics, recuperation, and rest logistically if we're going to make it to reach Commander Keller and his jedi by the time they reach Bespin, and I know Keller sir." The monotonic impact on the second to last word pressed her not to visibly laugh. "We need recuperation if we're going to play with the Marines." His helmet looked astute in her direction still, giving no illusion of otherwise. "You asked.”
“Re-on won’t be happy about this, he got the idea from Tiplee.” Tiplar heavily sighed, placing her hands into her robes abating the light wind chill.
Doom stiffen in place, keeping his arms locked in front of him while he look off else-where.
The two listened to the shuffling of their straining prisoner, oversighting the reemerging foot traffic of their divisional unit. The staunch greens of their troopers shoring for the awaiting LAAT were the brightest colors there in the muddied landscape scraping everyone’s boot soles and crate supplies.
Doom arms moved from their lock hold to go behind his back.
“They need to better work on informative team pitches to pull off this damn coup d’état like this.” His voice came out lower through his buy’ce looking to Tiplar. “Especially Tiplee sir.”
“Now you go easy on her friend, you know how her love of the common marvels.” Tiplar teased, then blinking to her own surprise. The fore-felt urgency from before heighten to her tendrils waving alarmingly from the smell of Phasma. One check later and there was Doom’s blaster pistol pointed at their prisoner.
“It would have behoove your fate to keep a check of quiet. Keep her name out of your mouth.” Doom responded, his tone checked how in self-glacial containment. The remnant smoke from his pistol dissipating being tucked handled away. At her additional long glance at their prisoner now unconscious, closer to his boots did she reconvene his tone.
“I warned him.” Were all Doom said, and for the second time in those slight moments she found herself biting down another unnecessary smirk.
“Now you try to keep that energy with Tiplee when she thinks up little ideas like this so she won’t feel left out.” Tiplar quipped for the sake of niceties, no longer addressing the man awaiting his mugshot on Coruscant. "You'll have her thanks and mine."
His responding grunt settled the question dawning on the front of her mind.
She’s beautiful.” Tiplee mellow voice spoke for the four of them sitting near the cliffs edge, enwrapped in her more worn outer brown robes.
“You should take a holo! Think it the only worthwhile memento from this place.” Re-on spoke from his spot between the twins and Doom, legs splayed out beneath the shape of his kama. “No one’s gonna argue with a close-up view like this.”
“You really should Tip, its not often you match the landscaping. I’d never placed that do-able yet here we are.” Tiplar answered, giving in to her sister’s gestures of exclaiming.
This was the most they’ve gathered without the urgency of a squabble or tense inducing intel report to respond too. They could no longer afford the scarcity to even argue over pitiful things how they did before- the close calls from death and vision-splitting visions of battle fatigue left the sisters ebbed; weary.
Tiple sought refugee now more in the remnants of occupied space, Tiplar sought quests in which to toll the 125th on her shoulders. Now they sat aside another in shared thought for once beyond meager settlement. Stable seemed appropriate to dismount the colling sweat of the day' battle from their like-minded partnership. The 125th whereas were scattered near and far near their venerator, copying their generals to some scarce avail.
Re-on, out of the corner of his buy’ce viewfinder watched the two sisters precariously sitting together on the cliffs edge moon gazing. Else while the recollection of shame recollecting the sparsity of their shock troopers before this intended invasion were making his chest hot in this causal state of relaxation. The casualty numbers calculated and accorded for were gnawing at his confidence.
The sisters sat as one, both emoting to the vocal twangs of their language he'd preferred not intruding.
Even in the aftermaths of aiding to collect their fallen brothers deemed the two both; what they shared couldn't be hack for mere words. They were soul-mates of another name. “They’re not fighting tonight.”
Doom remained obsolete in his silence peering at Qualai late-night sky next to him; less gazing at the planet’s pink-reddish moon, more contemplative.
“Never were Re-on. Do keep up.” Doom uttered, bringing his hand to rub the cooling sensation of his neck. The moon's waxed roundness couldn’t camouflage the chalked environmental damage and dirt scavenging Qualai badlands before his eyes carried elsewhere. It made for the grass beneath his kama, eyeing with heavy eyes the grass, now shorten- razed to the burning remains now dry and whistled stems of what once were.
Fixing the world from irrational, senseless madness were losing traction to reason. Now the world has grown old, and he in it, unable to do more beyond counting the endless ticks of rage at the reminder of what initiated his crew being sent here in the first place.
Doom left eyes visibly twitched in the quiet of the night, reframing the words he'd knew would cite strife.
Re-on only pulled his knees up to his chin, propping there without claim. His own helmet laid on the low curled grass beneath them both. “I’ve never smell sweet grass before.”
“The locals control burns the fields beyond the capitol every month or so to prepare to their yearly grain harvesting. I’m shocked you can smell what's past the outer valley this high up.”
“Am I nose blind?”
“No." Doom answered quickly, sounding every way disturbed how Re-on weren't prepared for. "When our little house pest raved down this sector, I checked with the head of the relief sanctions team earlier. The city will need emergency supplies to catch up on their food shortage until harvest season begins some months away. The only issue are that even the pre-backed food saves were caught in the cross fire as a bartering chip." Somberly looking on to the sounds of Re-on low spat of unfused anger in Mandalorian vowels; swearing how on.
Doom allowed his lieutenant closure to grieve the unsaid, lowering his gaze to the turn end of the pinken eclipse to the shadowy ledges of night just past the cliff edge. His legs laid sure over the edge but he knew better. "What you're smelling are charred leftovers our prisoner offered. A token of his faith.”
Re-on couldn’t suppress his shudder then, uselessly scratching at his palm gloves. One deeper lean into his knees couldn’t keep out the world but it suffices enough, sighting the shore greens of Doom’s kama; its yellow stripes curving behind his knees that signature stained yellow. “You’re not surprised.”
“I’m counting our guest crook dues before the Republic locks him away in the detention center, its fine.” Doom uttered, making to get up. I should likely prepare him for such.
The low buzz of the twins conversing was a nice reprieve from his words. “Don’t do it Doom.”
“Doom doesn’t require the legwork of nasty butchers to make that call on how do we handle things." he answered briskly, turning on his heel for quiet departure. His green armor spurn this enigmatic yellow tails against the low greenery about them ring true of his nature.
“Where’s Doom off too? We’ve only been here close a hour.” Tiplar called out to Re-on; pulling him from his bubble of thought. The shine of her skin camouflaged her how he admit was funny sitting just some feet away on that sloping cliff edge of just spared unpaved fauna and foliage. “He’s not the type to sulk.”
“Oh you know Doom sir, he’s off to partake in some kick of villainy.” Re-on answered this sarcastic note, knowing he'll have to follow in his footsteps just a few minutes more. "Our good mad man is on the go sirs, nothing else to report here."
Tiplee noted her sisters laugh more vexed if not and gazed outward; past the darkening horizon of the planet-side they've aide. “I was thinking about these people we've encounter in capturing our arsonist. One of the villagers told me tonight would be a night of celebration." She swallowed down her question, giving herself the that moment of self-scolding. "I notice that there are no major lights to pinpoint from here." The dimmed refraction of scattered home lights ultimately made her stomach turn, then releasing that pang of worry away to be sure. “Lets hope the Republic sends aide here soon,” Her turquoise painted nails brushed aside her bandaged cheek, feeling slight.
“Perish your sorrows, Doom went out of his way after heavy suggestion lending what supplies we've could give earlier my sweet." Tiplar told her, waving her legs back and forth in half-energized kicks. "Likely that's why he’s keyed up.”
The moon' pink hue tad in its dominative glow seemed impossible to capture the muddied brown of her robes. Her sister now quieted retreat to her thoughts sparked her to drag her back.
“Did you two know the people of this region have omens of their eclipse?" To the head turn of her twin curiosity matching Re-on Tiplar found the moment to be memorable how normally they'd drift apart to count their wrong-doings.
"They say with each eclipse comes a time-keeper from the stars; dutiful in their role to protect all Qualains from wrathful harbingers. Before the nights over, its custom for the people of this region until sunrise dim all homestead street lights for smaller lanterns as tokens of remembrance for their destined time-keeper. They say its custom for all time-keepers to leave the people with the gift of remembrance as stakeholders to their vows of protection."
"Where you learn that?" Tiplee asked, motioning from her right for their partner to join them. At the presence of their lieutenant sitting aside her Tiplee blindly reached out to squeeze his arm in assurance. Maybe more for herself, this selfish act of needed confirmation unbecoming for a jedi.
"From the Mhoghai clan elders earlier, when they came to our ceremonial burial earlier." Finding herself looking into the eyes of the two people of three who'd she'd trusted with her life to look to her now with identical feelings. "One thing they mentioned afterwards were that the time-keepers never follow orthodox methods in leaving gifts. Their only mission is too see to it that their gift never fails its people, no matter how big or near-nonexistent. Where that lights bends to the forces of which may be, its revival will carry the people on."
Her sister and Re-on shared a glance before resuming their quiet again, one more stricken from sudden grief than the latter.
“That's powerful in itself we get to witness such devout faith in practice, its not often we're partakers of so.” Tiplee heard herself ask. "I do find it coincidental we're here for this particular event."
Re-on fast guess back on their Commander earlier deeds to the clear dissonance he's exploiting of himself for their well-being. “I gotta say it fits.” Re-on brittle smile of awareness tried reaching Tiplee from his hunched stance. "Stranger things have happened traveling with him."
"He'd called our bluff." Tiple wetly laughed, patting around her corneas to the sureness of Re-on wide palm on her back. "But I have to admit its cute imagery to place."
Tiplar swallowed in the bog of amusement wanting to make note of Doom perspective on the matter and relented falling back on the low grass beneath them. She reach airily to the moon orbit, placing her fingers out played to balance it with imaginary grace. She hadn't told Doom of the myth then.
“The chosen one the skies opt for must definitely,” She uttered to herself, dropping her palm down to rest its calloused state atop her stomach. "Their chosen one is quite the character." Blinking then in reverb silence as the havoc calls of the earlier ground assault washed over her mind.
The pinken moon of Qualai eclipse stirred on.