Thinking About Bly's Armor Reflecting Sunbeams During Golden Hours On A Crowded Dirty Plaza

Thinking about Bly's armor reflecting sunbeams during golden hours on a crowded dirty plaza

Usually Bly would comm Fox to get a second opinion on resolving hostage situations swiftly and with no to minimum casualties, especially those like the one he was facing now: situated in a densely populated area, surrounded by thousands of unaware civvies.

This however wasn't an option right now.

His youngest batcher hadn't bothered to pick up his call over the official lines, which definitely was a first and frankly a bit worrying. That man was always on duty and never willingly passed on an opportunity to gather intel on missions he shouldn't even know existed. Nor on collecting blackmail on his fellow commanders to "ask" for a favor or two in an unknown future. It wasn't like they would deny reasonable requests from other units but what exactly did Fox need all those extra rations for? He would leave a message in their private chat later.

Right now time was of essence and it was slipping through his fingers, so with a sigh Bly decided to try the line of another brother he knew was also very versed in crowd regulation and conducting missions while staying under the civvies' radar: Ponds. What he didn't account for was his oldest brother not picking up as well. A bit frustrated he opened his HUD and shot a quick message to the full group chat. He'd really prefer a second opinion, if possible not disturbing his general.

[open channel <g4r/cc/000/17ahpla?>]

5052: anyone available rn <80:18>

5052: whatever just call asap <80:81>

[close channel <g4r/cc/000/17ahpla?>]

Why did he have a bad feeling about this? He caught a sudden commotion at the corner of his field of view and turned is attention towards his men standing close to the area. Galle was trying to calm down a natborn gesturing around but clearly didn't succeed in his placating attempts. They seemed to be agitated by the sight of clone troopers lingering planetside for no apparent reason. Just when Bly decided to ask his Lieutenant to evacuate the plaza in front of the building they were about to move in on a call patched through on his internal comm:

[connected]

"Marshall Commander, we need you to stay put and not interfere. Don't try to enter the building, it will trigger the detonation before you can recover the hostages."

[disconnected]

Why the frick was a very young very familiar voice in his ear and how did they know about his current situation.

[alert from channel <g4r/cc/000/17ahpla?>]

8826: you better tell me you found Boba. got a report about Ponds waking up from a forced nap but nobody's seen the kid <88:34>

[close alerts]

Bly's bad feeling quickly evolved into a tight knot in his stomach and the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He signed for Galle to wrap up his conversation and come over.

"Commander?"

"I need you to keep an eye on the situation on the plaza. Don't enter the building unless I tell you to. The General won't be happy if we kark this up, I got intel there's bombs inside and children involved. No heroic actions, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. For now just keep entertaining the locals. Maybe you can actually get some info to evaluate further."

He could feel the other narrowing his eyes at him through the visor before nodding and turning to resume his post. Bly scrolled through the contacts on his HUD before landing on [bitesized].

[connected]

"Why the kriff are you here, how do you know I am here and how did manage to leave 000 without a chaincode trail.."

"Sorry Bly.. I didn't exactly plan on leaving Coruscant, really! But it was either playing stow away on that shitty G9 rigger or letting the Weequay who knocked Ponds out vanish into space.. Also I can see your markings from three levels above with how low the suns are. It looks pretty."

"Kid you're supposed to call Fox or whoever is available planetside when something happens! You must not go after someone thrice your size while you're unarmed and on probation!"

"It's kinda hard to call someone who is unconscious."

"Boba.."

"I promise I had nothing to do with it! The idiot clearly misjudged the dosage he used to drug Fox cause he is still out cold. We're currently alone in here. I can't get closer but I can't see any blood on him or any major injury.. though it's hard to tell with that kriffing red armor. Wait.. hold on a seond. I think Fox is waking up."

[disconnected]

[open channel <g4r/cc/000/17ahpla?>]

5052: Boba is with Fox <103:09>

5052: Fox is one of the hostages I am supposed to retrieve <103:17>

...

3636: who is wearing Fox armor at my General's meeting with the Chancellor

[attached holocall_100:44] <105:58>

Even though he's beyond tired Thire instantly clocks that Wolffe's miniscule head tilt means the Commander of the 104th realized he's just a stand in pretending to be Fox. Thire's posture doesn't change at all.

Also thinking about Fox red armor hiding blood stains all to well. Clones helping clones and eventually saving themselves is my brand of happy rn

Everyone has a special talent they are admired for but Fox just keeps pretending

Fox may not have Cody's brilliant tactical mind, Wolffe's great resilience, Bly's incredible adaptability or Pond's patient emotional genius, but all CCs - to a certain extent - shared qualities that enabled them to inspire brothers to follow them into any battle. They didn't brag about it but over the course of the war the GAR clearly noticed their commanders and ranking officers excelling in difficult missions, paving new ways by taking personal risks and eventually creating methods better than reg standards.

Fox batchers were aware nobody could outmatch him in his directional subtlety. Other would have called him manipulative but that didn't sit right with them. He used his talent to support his brothers, not to harm them. The batch knew their youngest brother was always able to catch what went unnoticed by others but they didn't always realize he could also hide anything in plain sight.

His ability to pretend was a gift morphing into a curse. Fox pretended to punish troopers ruthlessly while actually saving them from greater harm that could not be undone. It slowly turned into the GAR believing the Guard's Marshall Commander was a heartless und cruel Fierfek. Fox welcomed this portrayal to keep as many brothers as far away from the Guard's grounds as possible. His fellow Guard commanders started feeding into the narrative by joining forces with him and stripping their men of their individual armor paints. Better to keep everyone away from 000 and endure the hostility of the ones you were designated to protect on your own.

During the first year of the war his brothers tried to counteract the rumors spreading about Fox and his Guard. They knew him as a sensible and protective brother so there had to be reasoning to his actions. Fox didn't bother to elaborate. The constant deployments kept the batch apart and messages from the front lines became few and far in between.

Fox hadn't been in contact with the GAR outside of official business for months now. Until news of his oldest brother being shot by a cadet pinged on his comm. The whole incident was kept off the datapads so he wasn't able to read up any additional info. Fox felt an icicle lodge into his trachea. He rushed to the healing wards as he was ordered to accompany General Windu safely back and forth between checking on his units and talking to the Chancellor.

General Windu was whispering to a healer from the Jedi temple who he seemed to have been put in charge of taking care of his heavily injured commander. Standing in front of the bacta tank was a cadet in non standard clothing, his shoulders set straight under the thick robes and his face turned up towards the lifeless face distorted by the gelatinous healing substance. Reflected in the thick glass Fox noticed a familiar blank stare and lips set into a thin line. The cadet was clearly pretending to not be affected by looking into the face of a practically dead brother. What was he doing here, alone and away from his brigade?

General Windu turned towards the Guard and signed for them to wait for further instructions. They saluted in perfect synch and kept their position. Behind his helmet Fox eyes drifted to the figure suspended in bacta. His heart rate was dangerously slow, his usual exhaustion drowned by the anguish crawling up his spine trying to claw its way out through his clenched teeth and part his lips. When was the last time he had seen his brother face to face?

The hole inside his chest kept growing and churning and he barely kept it beneath the surface when running on no sleep and food, only caf. However, there was no use in dwelling on past decisions and paths diverging. He didn't regret keeping his batch mates away. Fox knew with them around the smallest outwardly shown signs could endanger their carefully crafted image, his brothers weren't dumb and maybe the Jedi were actually as perceptive as he was led to believe by reports and talks inside of the GAR.

So Fox pretended to be indifferent. He was okay. As the Head of the Jedi Order eventually started moving towards them and addressed Fox personally with unprompted reassurance of his brother being in the most capable hands, the Marshall Commander only thanked him formally and on behalf of the clones for going beyond standard measures to save Republic property. Windu seemed taken aback before swiftly moving out of the healing wards without sparing another look at the Guard falling in step behind him. Fox didn't look back at the two brothers staying behind. He still felt the heavy stare at the back of his bucket. Everything was fine.

Ponds definitely would have picked up on the atypical stiffness in Fox' gait, but his oldest brother might not call him out on his bluffs ever again.

I'm not sure about this drabble as it took a different direction than I intended. It also doesn't properly convey the desperation of reaching your goal of keeping as many people as possible safe from harm at the expanse of your own safety net

Unlike his brothers, Marshall Commander Fox hadn't suffered a single scar on his regulation perfect face over the whole course of the war

The GAR's system armies returned to Coruscant to reunite with those who survived the war that had come to an abrupt break after High General Windu had decapitated the Chancellor to rescue General Skywalker. Suddenly the heart of the republic was flooded by men who had lost everything but themselves to protect it. Men who were trying to recognize their brothers in scarred faces and warm voices.

Fox had always been adamant about wearing his distinctive red armor. His bucket was the only face he'd ever shown to natborns and GAR troopers planetside Triple Zero alike.

The only sentients who had consciously looked into Fox eyes during the years of war shared on Coruscant were those on duty with the Guard. It was not like there was anything special to see, all his features were picture perfect according to the regs set up for the alpha CCs on Kamino. Not a single scar or hair out of place, no glint in his eyes and no personality to his curt responses.

Wolffe didn't recognize his little brother in the man standing in front of him. He didn't know that this was how Fox had been able to wear a thousand faces on Coruscant. That after Commander Stone had vanished during a prison riot one year into the war the Guard had never been able to retrieve his body, only his armor. That since then it had been Fox or Thorn who had worn it. Or how the Marshall Commander still desperately wished he had been the one wearing the SIC armor on an escort mission to Scipio. Wolffe didn't know the recently promoted Guard commander, a young CC named Thire, was way more experienced than his mission profiles let on.

Wolffe didn't know what Fox had not told him. He did not know how every single scar lighting into his brothers body had faded without medical attention. How the pure pain etched into the smooth skin over and over had made Fox numb. There was no sign or proof of what he had suffered. So Wolffe just handed the package he was tasked to deliver over to the blank version of Fox that Triple Zero had spat into his face, his cybernatic eye trying to catch any sign of what thoughts ran through the other's mind. It was one of the first times he could look into Fox eyes with no visor in between. He still came up empty.

A quiet "Thank you Commander" was all Wolffe got when Fox carefully accepted the bundled item with two hands and retreated into the empty room he and Thire had been assigned to. Wolffe wanted to scream at the door closing in front of his face. He just kept staring at it in silence.

Looking at the package didn't give away much about it's origins to Fox. It was a pathetic thing honestly, something small, not bigger than a pauldron but flat, and wrapped in old rags looking like some destroyed fabric from prison blacks. Fox hands began to tremble slightlyat the familiar smell. He carefully turned the bundle around.

There's a small piece of flimsi stuck to the back. Fox recognized the chicken scribble without reading the words. He knew it from thousands of little annotations that had been stuck to his data pads over the last years. He could not bring himself to decipher it.

Fox slowly unwrapped the item. The sharp edges would have cut into his skin if not for the gloves he was wearing. Thire had not yet convinced him to leave more than his bucket on the armor stack in the room.

Fox blinked at the shard in his hand. His own eyes stared back at him. His brothers' eyes stared back at him. His face looked like a million other faces on this force forsaken planet. He could be anyone, there were no actual scars on his skin that had been burned by lightning countless times.

But the face looking back at him was distorted by a single crack in the makeshift mirror, running straight along his nose and down to his left jaw. It was Thorn who was looking back at him. Thorn whose armor had been destroyed on Scipio. Thorn who had carried him through the pain and desperation when they had lost Stone. Thorn who he had trusted the most, whom he he had loved more than any other brother even his own batch. Thorn who had died kriffing a tenday before the war ended. It was Thorn's scar carefully etched into this small unpposio shard.

Fox clutched it like a a lifeline. His breathing started to rasp. Desperate for a word from the brother he had lost he tried to concentrate on the message that had been attached to the fabric. But the flimsi didn't offer any explanation, just two questions stealing more air from his lungs.

"Can you acknowledge that I live? That we lived?"

Fox armor clattered when he fell to his knees. A high keen tore from his throat before he began to weep loudly.

Wolffe overrode the door lock and ran to his little brother.

The cracked mirror resembles Thorn's facial scars to a t. It is wrapped in a piece of fabric of the same kind Stone wore on prison duty the day he died. It still smells like prison. Fox mourns the brothers who can only live on in his memory because Thire hasn't been around long enough. I wish this piece turned out different but I could not find the right words. Maybe I'll rewrite it one day. Inspired by @howdidthisevenhappenanyway's post on how Lichtenberg figures actually fade over time and this post by @cc-tens

OMG the diplomatic service troopers sending small holovids of everything from little black fish to the hues of the sky illuminated by two-toned suns! The filters might falsify the experience but if you live your whole life looking through a HUD you're used to that anyways.. and somehow the shinies flock together in squads making up whole new ecosystems. Like that's Kashyyyk squad - they all just love the color green but there's only so many green items they know so they try to find names to associate themselves with what they like..

Fox is scouting the holonet and sliced databanks for planets suitable to hide troopers facing decommissioning. Confined to Coruscant he asks Bacara for help not realizing his brother had already started to establish a safe space to sent the troopers deemed "not fit" to serve with the Marines to

He'd never seen snow. His eyes were open wide reflecting the earnest wonder the rest of his face didn't convey. The hand previously cardling his fist clutching his encrypted comm close to his heart slowly reached towards the colorless cristalls dancing in the cold air, palms facing towards the grey sky offering more and more of its frozen tears. It was bitingly cold, so cold that their breaths were visible.

They had stepped down the ramp in silence, not announcing their arrival was the safest thing to do. Their dark hair, brows and lashes were already contrasted by white decorations of snow flakes after a few moments of standing still. His eyes began to slowly crinkle in a smile, it was subtle but noticable to anyone who knew what to look for. The few who had seen his smile in the private quarters they had shared back when all of them had still worn blues. Tilting his head towards the one man at his side, Fox closed lips turned upwards and his signature dimples appeared on his slightly gaunt cheeks.

"It smells so nice."

Bacara had never realized how being stationed on Triple Zero meant more than the pressure of working constantly surrounded by natborns. The Guard would've met more cultures and races during their service than any other corps. But they were also working on the planet with the least natural phenomena present, the least space to decompress. The endless jungle of buildings, durasteel floors and artificial skies did a poor job at imitating the galaxy's vastness. It was a poor attempt of representing cultures when there was no room to actually express those in a shared experience even one as simple as maybe gardening. Unless you were karking rich of course. He briefly pondered if all his brothers in the Guard got to know were the everlasting Kaminoan rain and the Coruscanti sunny weather simulation. Then he nodded slowly.

Fox was directly facing him, his eyes closing fully now, while he kept breathing in the clear air deeply as if he had been deprived of it before. He didn't even flinch at the shriek of a local bird but for once seemed to enjoy being oblivious. Existing in this very moment, he looked serene and trusting and safe. The bucket was clipped to his belt and the rest of the cold assault armor he'd lent from the 21st did nothing not hide the warmth Fox radiated into this private moment shared between two brothers. Bacara swore to himself then and there he would find a way to confide in the other commanders to one day gather them to witness the peace of their own secret safe space.

I just think Fox and Bacara would make a terrific (and probably terrifying) duo. But they could also be the best frenemies in the "I am the only one allowed to shit talk about this idiot" way

Perspectives - Star Wars Jedi : Survivor (PS5)

Glimpse - Star Wars Jedi : Survivor (PS5)