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The plan is to gain a lift from a well-known and rather immoral Senator who makes a predicted appearance at a high-end nightclub on Coruscant. You are the bait and your trusted colleagues in the 212th are the snare. The senator is known as Drelo Valde. He is a Theelin-Human hybrid with recognizable bronze skin and silver spots. He has a triad of horns on either side of his temples that shape a curly head of reddish-auburn hair that falls mid-length at his shoulders. This Senator has had a hand in toppling the economies of countless planetary systems, rendering them feeble and impoverished, ripe for oppressive claims of slavery distribution throughout the galaxy. When offered the opportunity to get your hands dirty helping the very same people who have been affected by his greed, you jumped at the chance.
Your speeder’s radiator was manually overheated as per the trusty sabotage of Waxer, causing a plume of smoke to fill the lot of the club. Upon the Senator’s exit, he takes notice of you and your troubles, introducing himself as your knight in shining armor coming to save you from this mishap. “Drelo Valde, at your service. Care for a lift, my dear?”
As part of the plan, he cannot resist putting his facade of kindness on display, wasting no time in approaching you in hopes that this little quest will be all over the holo-reels in no time. “Oh, no it’s fine! I have an agent arranging a replacement right now. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“Well, I could make the wait a little more bearable by transporting you to the dealership myself. I know just the way.” He proposes, extending his arm in hopes you’d take the kind gesture he’s offered.
“I suppose, if it’s not too much trouble.” You accept the offering, and he walks you to his enclosed chromium yacht, opens the door for you and helps you inside. He likewise climbs in opposite to you, leaving the velvet upholstery to be fully occupied.
The drive begins as expected. He pulls out of the lot in the club, ascends to the hovercraft lanes to follow the flow of traffic, although your stomach turns when you notice he takes an exit that brings you deeper into the lower levels. “Uh, I think we missed the turn.”
“I know a very reputable repair mechanic. I outsource him to do all my work. He’ll give you a great deal, I assure you.” The lower you travel into these decrepit levels, the more your gut begins screaming at you that this isn’t supposed to happen.
You keep traveling with him, trapped in his yacht with the light of the sky disappearing as you plunge into darkness. This course is not familiar to you. The path to the dealership was reviewed and revised repeatedly in your mind and you did not account for this deviation. Your nerves throb like alarm bells, sending twinges of discomfort from your chest down to each and every one of your limbs. The adrenaline in your blood is building for a massive dump of endorphins, preparing to help you persevere through whatever happens next. The thunder of your heartbeat is deafening. Your mouth becomes drenched with saliva, and you feel as though you could paint the control console with your insides. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me.” He grins at you suspiciously. “It’s just around this corner.”
The remote location he’s taken you to hasn’t a speeder in sight and does not look anything like a hovercraft dealership. It’s a tight fit of a landing when he parks his transport, affording very minimal space on this small platform connected to the main industrial-style infrastructure by way of a steel bridge, rusted and unstable in appearance. He doesn’t address you before exiting the craft. His demeanor has shifted from pompous and haughty to rigid and predatory. He circles the platform slowly and you feel his eyes burning into you every step of the way. When he reaches your side of the chromium trammel, he gives you an ostentatious smile through the transparisteel windows before deploying the release mechanism on the door. He opens it, stands between you and the only path in sight with that sickly grin still plastered on his face. “Come along, precious.” He orders through his teeth, flat and resolute as if this is just routine for him, meanwhile your entire world is about to come crumbling down.
Thankfully, you’re fast and agile enough that you evade his grasp as soon as you hop out and onto the pavement. You feel the burn of his clammy fingers as they scrape against your skin, only able to rip a piece of your blouse before you are already a few yards down the bridge. It’s creaking and rattling with every step, swaying from side to side. The turbulence increases when Senator Valde begins to hastily make his way towards you. However, you stop dead in your tracks when you are greeted by a medical droid awaiting you at the end of the path. Its red, lifeless eyes slice through your concentration on escape, and you are suddenly weighed down by the body mass of the Senator.
He yanks you by your collar, choking you momentarily as you cough through the constriction he’s put around your neck. Both arms are restrained behind your back and you’re being ushered forward, closer and closer to the droid. Once within reach of your legs, you lift your left foot up and plant a hard kick to the droid’s steel chassis, pushing off its frame and into Valde. He was not expecting you to be so daring and he stumbles backward, tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his back.
The droid recovers, adjusts its posture and advances with a terrifying stoicism etched deep into its programming. One of its limbs clicks and whirrs, transforming an extension of its arm with a blinding mass of electrical volts. With every step, you can feel the temperature rise as it inches closer, threatening to stun you with its electrifying burn. Senator Valde regains his composure, adjusting his appearance with a brush of his taloned fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his horns. He chuckles, brushing your dusted footprint off his crimson and gold robes. He engages in direct conflict with you, grappling with your flailing fists as you fend him off while trying not to suffer a beating from his droid. He takes you down with a swipe of his foot behind both your legs, buckling you so that you fall and he’s able to pin you to the floor panels. You struggle and fight for your life, scratching him, biting him, threading your fingers into his hair to knock his skull against the supports of the bridge. In doing this, his horns dig into the meat of your wrists, causing them to bleed profusely when the razor-sharp features cut into you with the effort. Blood pours from your limbs and onto his face, further blinding him and you use this moment to shift your weight further beneath him so that the droid lands his beatings across his back and not on your face or arms.
Senator Valde cannot withstand the intensity of the strikes, crying out in agony when the electric shock travels through him. Due to his contact with you, the current travels and causes you to also seize and thrash just the same. Though, the diffusion through his body impedes a lot of the paralyzing effects to take hold and you’re able to shove his dead weight off between painful blows from the droid.
Valde groans, his psyche swaying on a pendulum between consciousness. Positioning your dominant foot up and towards his stomach, you muster all your strength into hoisting him over the edge. The sudden displacement causes the droid to hobble, holding onto the rail of the bridge as the swinging grows more violent. You’re still on your back, crawling away on your elbows and towards the platform the chromium yacht is parked on. The droid tries to take another swing at you, but the recognizable piercing of a fiery sniper bolt breaks the sound barrier from a distance. The droid’s circuitry is fried instantly as it too falls victim to a long trip through the furthest depths, swallowed whole by the planet.
The darkened space is brightly lit up with sirens from local Coruscant Guard cruisers as well as the investigative squadron of the 212th. Amongst them, you can see Waxer zooming through the air in a determined path to reunite with you, a rifle seen amongst his wares.
You spring to your feet, running in the direction of the clones in order to clear yourself of this bridge that is subject to collapsing at any moment. With every step, you hear the iron creaking louder and louder until it ultimately snaps like a twig. The path in one direction was only a few yards, yet trying to reach it in time before the panels completely fall apart proves to be a true test of endurance and faith between you and the people around you.
The railing detaches from the ship’s platform and there is now a space between the bridge and the industrial infrastructure that is growing by the meter. At the last second, you search for Waxer amongst the chaos, realizing he’s traveling as fast as he can to your position. “Don’t look down!”
You see him bob and weave through other speeders and transports, shuffling through his brothers in a plight to save you. The strobing flashes of light from the bigger ships surrounding you nearly throw you off course, but you reach the end of the bridge’s pathway and leap off of it, nothing below you but the smoggy atmosphere and a desolate trench.
Waxer’s courage is fueled by your own, kicking his speeder-bike into overdrive while extending his arm in a desperate reach for yours. That blessed contact is a double-edged sword, simultaneously thankful for your noble savior while cursing his name for putting you in this position.
He pulls you up and onto his bike and you wrap your arms around his midsection as he returns to park on the platform that is now surrounded. Waxer helps you off and eases you into steady ground, giving you a moment to sit down and breathe. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
He begins looking you over, pausing with fright when he sees your wrists already painted with drying blood. You retract your arms with a noticeable fury, denying him this touch of security to bestow upon you. “Did you know he would take me here?”
“What? No! None of us did!” Waxer removes his helmet, showing you the genuine penitence in his eyes with every inflection of his speech.
The fleeting moment of attempted convergence disappears quickly when Obi-Wan’s shuttle approaches. He and a team of Coruscanti medical staff step off their levitating ship and onto the platform, robbing you and Waxer of any further conversation for the moment. He looks upon you, crestfallen and stricken with guilt for letting this happen to you. He stands in the shadows, putting his helmet back on so as to conceal his true emotions.
“You’re incredibly brave, you know that?” General Kenobi remarks to you. “If not for you, we wouldn’t have found out about this little operation.”
“You knew this was going to happen?” You try not to let the venom in your voice be known, but you have a feeling the General can feel it seething from every pore.
“No, we didn’t know any more than you.” He pauses, glancing at your wounded wrists then ordering his troopers to tend to you with a wave of his hand. “There were rumors this existed, but it was a fortunate turn of events that influenced him to take you to one of his many criminal headquarters across the systems. You were never in any real danger. We’ve been following you since you left the club with him, as planned.”
A fortunate turn of events? You were nearly killed, and he couldn’t have had anyone step in sooner? You are unwilling to continue the conversation, hanging your head and watching as your wrists get a healthy coat of bacta spray misted across the slash marks, then protected by a couple soothing med-patches until you are taken to the infirmary for proper treatment.
“We have located the lair, General.” Cody announces aloud through Obi-Wan’s wrist comm.
“Excellent.” He responds. “Document everything you can and release all prisoners you recover.”
“Sir, yes sir!” Cody signs off and Obi-Wan directs his attention back to you and Waxer.
“Make sure she gets back safely.” He tells Waxer. “There are many people who would like the chance to thank her for her service. We ended up finding out far more than we would have in a formal interrogation.”
“Of course, sir.” Waxer salutes his General upon his departure, rushing directly to you as soon as they leave. Your wrists are painful, sore and inflamed. Your blouse is torn and dirtied and all you want right now is to shower and pass out.
An additional transport is hailed specifically for you and Waxer while everyone else remains at the site for investigation. He helps you on board, but you don’t say a word. After making it to the Jedi Temple where you are afforded some time to yourself to clean up, you finally are able to process what happened back there, and the weight of how being pushed to your limits truly defines you. Waxer can only sit by and hope you will accept his apology when it’s offered, awaiting the right time to do so. Waxer leaves you alone in a private refresher, standing guard at the door while you wash away the torment. “I’ll be right outside. I’m not going anywhere.”
Alone at last, you peel the soiled blouse off your skin, careful not to disrupt the waterproof bandages around your wrists. You impulsively step into the enclosed shower still dressed in your underclothes, the gentle downpour pleasant as you’re eager to feel it, but the sight of red painting the tile at your feet is shocking to see so soon after the harrowing events.
Pulling your eyes away from the floor, you try to search for some semblance of stability in your features but are soon met with the very same shade splattered across your face when you peer into the reflection of the shower’s glass door. Your mind is paralyzed by flashes of the crimson and gold robes, a fanged maw baring teeth, so much blood…
“Hey, the water’s been on for a while now. Everything alright in there?” Waxer is growing concerned about the lack of activity in the refresher. He’s been closely listening for adjustments to the temperature, the noise of toiletries being used, but the sound has been dead and still for nearly twenty minutes now. “Hello?”
He calls but you don’t answer. You can’t even hear him. He calls out to you again and when you don’t respond, he changes his approach. “I’m opening the door. No one else is out here and I am not going to look at you. I promise.”
He enters the room and is taken aback by the foggy obscurity, having trouble locating you through the wall of steam. He doesn’t see you standing upright in the shower, searching lower towards the drain in fear that you’ve fallen and hurt yourself, but in contrast to his expectations, you’re merely curled up in the fetal position seated upright in the corner with your undergarments still on.
“Oh…” Waxer whispers under his breath, opening the door to the shower slowly so as to not alarm you. Though, you still jump when you see that he’s here, having not even noticed that he came into the room, let alone the shower. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. They’re not here. No one is going to hurt you.”
Salty streams pouring down your eyes mix with the shower’s water, drenching you in sorrow. Your jaw trembles, petrified to speak your reality into existence. “I didn’t know I would be killing a man today.”
Waxer would do anything in his power to rid you of that burden, but he knows that a goal like that is impossible. Instead, he does what he can to make it easier to handle as best as he knows how. He cares not for his uniform appearance or indoctrinated presentability at this moment. Right now, all he cares about is joining you on the floor of this shower and holding you in his arms as the hydrating cascade cloaks you both.
Waxer cradles your head, hugging you to his chest as you bury your face into his neck. He holds you close, squeezing you into his space with a pertinent force that is almost suffocating. The resonance of the water falling upon his armor sounds like rain hitting the pavement. You’re mixed up with a whirlwind of emotions, anger, regret, devastation. All of which are battling with the need to feel loved and safe as you are here and now. “I know… I’m so sorry. I should have never done this to you.”
If this were anyone else, they would be telling you to get over it, sing you the song of collateral damage, but Waxer cannot deny the wrath he’s caused you, intentional or not. He takes full responsibility despite no one having a clue it would play out this way. In the back of your mind, you feel silly for being mad at him at all, but for now, the grudge is too powerful to let go.
You stay in his grasp for a few moments more, sniffling and sobbing through the shock. After a while, you lift your head. “I would like to finish up by myself… if that’s okay.”
Waxer pulls away from you, petting your face and soothing your stinging wrists with his thumbs before kissing both bandages, his soul patch below his bottom lip making a slight scratch noise when he touches the gauze. “Take your time. I’ll come and check on you when you’re done.”
He doesn’t even dry off, stepping out of the refresher and into the temple corridors with a sloshing of his water-logged armor to leave you by your lonesome.
Waxer kills some time and air dries by taking a walk amongst the grounds, picking a handful of planted flowers that fill the garden plots in the courtyards. By the time his dampness wears off, he’s accumulated quite a large bouquet of various flowers, the most prominent of which are bright red poppies. He feels proud of them. Their sturdy stems, healthy blooms and striking color ensures this to be a perfect token of apology.
Waxer enters your living quarters. You hear him walk through the narrow halls and travel back to your cozy bedroom where you’re sitting under the covers watching the news broadcasts about the senator you had slain. Waxer has a bouquet in tow but deviates from giving it to you for a moment while he turns the holoprojector off. “You don’t need to be watching that right now.”
“So, you’re the kind of man who uses flowers to do the work for you, eh?” The offense in your voice is loud and clear now that you both are alone with one another. “I don’t want them.”
“Look, I didn’t know that would happen. Please, you have to believe me.” He kneels at your bedside, still holding the flowers he picked in his hand, reaching for yours with the other.
“The way your General explained it, that was always a possibility. Keeping me in the dark was to ensure that he wouldn’t see through the ruse.” You argue back, acknowledging that Waxer is not completely at fault in this, but you would have appreciated a head’s up on what The Republic was really looking for anyway. “Next time, I want a full run-down. All possibilities, all variables, and a specific dossier with everything on the perp. Got it?”
“N-next time?” Waxer is astonished at your stipulations as this certainly proposes that you’re up for more missions of this nature.
“Now that I know what I am getting myself into, I want to prepare for the next one even better .” You confirm.
“Kenobi was right. You really are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” He smiles, pauses then looks down abashedly at the pretty poised poppies in his hands. “Though, if I’m not supposed to give you flowers when I’m sorry, when should I?”
You take them from his hands, spinning the blossoms to aerate the seeds and waft their rich, earthy aroma into your noses. Taking a single flower from the bunch, you place it securely behind Waxer’s ear, caressing his stubbled cheek and leaning in to kiss his full lips. Pulling away, you grin at the sight of his cheeks growing deeper in shade, almost mirroring the same vibrance as the flowers, thus substituting the horror you associated in this color with the radiance of nature’s treasures such as smitten blush and charming fronds. “You give them for no reason, Waxer. No reason at all.”