The planet rose up to stretch across the shuttle's viewscreen in a bright, creamy beige reflection of what Theron knew good and well was the most gods-awfully boring heat and dryness. It didn't even matter how pretty the world looked just suspended there in front of them, growing larger and larger the closer the ship moved towards it. There simply was no time Theron ever visited Tattooine he didn't end up hot, sweat-ridden and miserable.
And usually pretty much shot up and at and over and around, too. Theron was pretty much convinced that the blasted Banthas lumbering across the sands of Tattooine carried blasters, anyway. He grimaced as he glanced over his shoulder, "You know, I really don't like Tattooine. Really. Don't. Like it. But hey! I do like saying Tattooine. Just listen to the way the name rolls off your tongue …" Theron turned more so that he faced the rear of the shuttle and he could actually set eyes on the two men idling there. And really. Where did the alliance manage to nab such a fine piece of space transport, heh. Not that Theron asked anyone on Odessan. Considering some of the characters he'd seen rambling about that place, asking where stuff was being acquired probably wasn't so smart a proposition.
Gaibriel looked up right then to slant Theron a toothy smile, and Theron couldn't help it. Just that much of a glance and his entire frame eased into a more relaxed posture, settled into calm comfort. As if nothing in his world could go wrong … It was always that simple, that easy around Gaibriel. A little grin or sideways look from the handsome turn of his brow, and you ended up relaxed, happy, and go-lucky even. Theron actually wondered for the longest time if the Smuggler had some kind of Jedi mind-trick going on, what with those pretty blue eyes of his, because no one seemed able to garner anger enough once they caught sight of his merest, glancing looks.
Seriously! Everyone loved Gaibriel! Every single one – and regardless of age, gender or even species. Theron was certain blasted Arcann loved him, and just plain didn't want to admit it! Argh! It was maddening!
It had to be a trick! Something strange or weird going on, that only some incredible Jedi master might have gotten to the root of and only after the longest time of delving into it and through it. Plucking away at Gaibriel's mind. Theron considered mentioning it to his mother once upon a time. But he hesitated, worried what the other siblings might have to say or, even worse - do about it. That Sith one …? Scary.
And then Gaibriel was gone, along with the rest of them, and Theron almost nearly forgot his meandering wonderings of Force abilities and how they might show up, or not, in any particular individual.
He was quickly remembering now, of course.
It was why he'd encouraged Lana to send Gaibriel out and about on these missions to gather together allies. Because if anyone could talk such disparate and often-times insane sentients into fighting alongside them, it was the Void Hound himself, damn it!
Now Gaib shrugged, slowly enough the thick, padded leathers on his shoulders settled back against the curves of his frame. The buckles on his chest securing those packs and pouches to straps that criss-crossed his chest stretched slowly and made several scratching sounds in the confined space.
Another thing that seemed to have stayed so much the same, by the way. Oh, and never mind how many years Arcann stole from Gaibriel. Nope, the Smuggler still carried items and materials he deemed interesting and valuable right there on his body and everywhere he went, to boot, still fiddled and played with sundry wires and doo-dads until they formed complex little machines that did wicked and incredible things to people he threw them at. Theron had long since stopped asking him what Gaib intended any particular thing to end up whenever he scavenged it from some random trash pile; like half the other questions he didn't bother asking because some things are just better off not knowing about.
Gaibriel rubbed the tip of his tongue across the corner of his mouth, deliberately thoughtful as he fought back another smile, "Is this the SIS itself admitting they've been sunbathing on the Beach? And here I thought that oh-so-pretty tan of yours was some product of your genes, heh. My bad." Theron chuckled.
He held up both hands, grinning, "Oh, a mom joke! Wow! You're scraping the barrel with that one. And hey. I'm not SIS anymore, remember?" Theron leaned his head sideways, watching as Gaibriel smilingly tucked several more of his small devices into a pouch that hung against his side, just above the curled edge of his belt. He semi-wondered what the little cylinder-looking objects would do once Gaibriel launched them through the air. Semi, mind you … Not a full-blown wondering! No way!
Besides. Gaibriel seemed preoccupied. That joke really wasn't up to his normal standard, mind you. He typically managed something far more inveterate and engaging, something that communicated his desire to know you, understand you. But poking at Theron's family line only distracted, rather than invigorated. What gives, he wondered. "Still not quite sure why you chose Tattooine's Star Fortress for this first run. Alderaan might have been a better option … Duke Organa specially requested our help, in fact."
That's when Khyriel looked up from the cushioned seat in front of the dejarik table, tapped against the game controls with the smallest flick of his fingers. His dark hair flared in spikey tendrils against his neck, inviting attention to the smooth curve of his throat. His leathered chestpiece didn't emblazon symbols of Imperial Intelligence. But it was black and finely stitched in a style eerily reminiscent of those wily figures that long inhabited Theron's darker imaginings … like a hint where Khyriel's loyalties remained strongest, even now.
Khyriel murmured. A throaty purr, that never failed to send a peculiar shiver down Theron's spine. How the man managed to entice such reactions by the merest sound of his voice was almost as fascinating as his brother's eye-trick, Theron thought. Hey! At least Khyriel wasn't flirting anymore. Small blessings, right?
Theron slowly frowned as he realized Khyriel wasn't flirting with anyone at all, actually. He'd been so busy avoiding the Agent over the past weeks he had very nearly missed that telling detail. Theron carefully examined the bent and turn of Khyriel's face as he stood up from the table to better judge his rifle's pinnings and charges. Because it finally occurred to him, how heavy both the men's personalities had become. As if seeing how much was still the same covered the utterly, terrible reality of pain hardening them both.
Khyriel didn't even look at Theron as he mentioned it, either. Like it was so much obvious, and why the hells hadn't Theron remembered, damn it. "Quite surprising, that the SIS would forget so easily where Gaibriel made his home." Then he speared Theron with a long look out of his dark chocolate-colored eyes, "Or perhaps those dossiers were left behind over the years. Forgotten, maybe. There could be value in that, mind you. People we don't want Arcann looking for."
Gaibriel shifted roughly, the angles of his face drawn tight into a look of hard, cold threat so completely alien to Theron's every memory of him that he almost shuddered back from the visage. "Arcann so much as fucking breathes on them, and I'll spit him over a fire to roast alive. Pieces, Khy. Fucking pieces!" Theron suddenly remembered those old stories Corso Riggs idly mentioned now and then, wondered how many of them were really true.
Khyriel shrugged, turning to grasp the rimmed edge of headgear that Gaibriel used whenever they ventured into the field. He tossed the piece of armor in a smooth arc over the length of the shuttle's berthing space for Gaibriel to catch up in both his hands. Khy vowed in a voice just as hard as his brothers, "I would help you at it, rather." Theron watched as the brothers finished their preparations, pulling the last bits and pieces of their armors into place. Down the brief hallway into the shuttle's small alcove that counted as a bridge, Theron could just make out the looming frame of the Star Fortress growing taller in the viewport.
Theron sighed tiredly, found himself actually praying. As if the deities in some long-forgotten universe might even be listening to him, mind you. But he prayed hard. That the brothers he had long since grown to call friends would return safely.
And that the feelers he'd set in motion worked faster to find all their people. The Outlanders were broken people in the meantime, and he should've damn well noticed.
The Star Fortress represents the latest flashpoint activity players can engage in during the "Knights of the Fallen Empire" expansion to the SWTOR game. Players pick the various planets where Fortresses are located, sabotaging each one to earn prizes and rewards that strengthen their overall alliance.
So far my own Legacy characters who've reached the Star Fortresses include only Gaibriel and Khyriel. While the game doesn't allow the two factions to adventure through the flashpoint in teamed events together, I figure my sibling characters would be working together throughout this period of alliance-gathering.
Also, a brief side-note, here. That in Smuggler Cant, the term "The Beach" refers to the planet of Tattooine.