Orto Plutonia arc

Sketch

Chopper woke before dawn. He hoped to find Sketch. The sergeant who had escorted them had said Sketch was usually out in the field for pre-dawn physical training. Chopper remembered that from Christophsis; Sketch and Punch would wake early for a run or sparring together. At least they had until Slick decided that wouldn't do. He'd changed schedule on them; always one of them had duty in the morning.

Chopper knew that had bothered Punch, but Sketch had never said or done anything to indicate what he felt. At the time Chopper had thought maybe Sketch drew his frustrations. Now, he knew it. Chopper had known at the time that he wasn't Slick's only victim but in retrospect he could see all the little things Slick had done to pick his men apart.

Sketch was out in the field in worn workout gear, but he wasn't running. He was leaning against a wall, waiting with a small book of flimsi-pages in one hand. He turned his head and gave a hesitant smile at Chopper's approach.

Chopper said nothing until he was next to Sketch and leaned his own back against the wall. Silent, they watched light dawn along the horizon then Chopper glanced down, looking at the genetically perfect grass of the field, wondering what words to say. He nodded and turned toward the other trooper who'd also been silent. "It's good to see you, Sketch." Chopper dropped his head to stare at the ground again, slightly ashamed of the hutt'uun he had been when they'd been in the same squad. He should have told Slick off. Chopper's head came up again; he was better. "I wanted to tell you. For a long time, since Slick, I've wanted to tell you I appreciate the fact that occasionally you told Slick he was wrong."

"I didn't understand then, Chopper." Sketch shook his head with a twisted frown that matched Chopper's. "I didn't understand what he was doing. I thought he just didn't know how bad he was pushing you and Jester." Sketch sighed and looked over the field. "How are you doing? Sergeant Kire told me you're with the 501st now."

Chopper nodded his head. "I'm doing well enough. Due to the court martial I can't be promoted for three years but Captain Rex is a fair man and I have no cause for complaint." Chopper turned his head to Sketch. There was a glint of something Sketch couldn't identify for a moment then realized it was pride. "The Jedi padawan commander has chosen me as her second. I've received a couple of commendations." Chopper smiled. "General Skywalker has called me one of his best troopers."

"And they obviously trust you for special assignments like this one." Sketch smiled, slightly wider, slightly more genuine. He sat down, bringing up one knee and draping his arm over it. "I thought you were coming to call one-on-one for not doing more at the time." He paused, glancing down and Chopper, with shock, realized Sketch was ashamed as well. "I'm glad you're doing well, Chopper."

"So's Jester." Chopper slid his back down the wall to sit next to Sketch. "He's with the 212th and just made sergeant. He's the one told me you were with Coruscant Guards, Gus with the 41st Elite. Gus had a little trouble at first, fitting in but I understand he's doing better now. He made assumptions of his new sergeant based on what he learned with Slick."

Sketch nodded. "Yeah, that would mess up anyone." Sketch turned to a page in the flimsis and spread it for Chopper to see. As always, Chopper admired the pure technical expertise, feelings told with a few sparse lines.

"I can't say I like your choice of subjects, Sketch. Ugly cusses like me should look at art, not be a part of it." His finger touched the page, then wandered down to the faces of six clone troopers; identical but uniquely different under Sketch's talented fingers, back when they'd been under the watchful, malignant eyes of Sergeant Slick. He could see the emotions in their faces - fear and confusion in Jester's, anger in Punch, an odd combination of pride and shame in Gus. Only Sketch's face showed no emotion and Chopper supposed capturing your own emotion on paper might be hard. Chopper's finger touched Slick's image; his head up, eyes lidded and the curling edge of a sneer on one side of his lips; arrogance writ plainly for anyone to see. His finger moved to his own face on the flimsi.

"That's good, Sketch. I can see the brittleness in my eyes, in my entire body. I'm so hard, I'm about to break."

"You did, Chopper. This was about three days before you brought a droid finger back to the barracks and named yourself. Two days before Slick invited us all to the bar."

Chopper sighed then rubbed the side of his face, the scarred side, with his fingers. "You know Slick paid her to laugh; to be close to me, get me all hopeful and excited and then to laugh."

Sketch shook his head. "I didn't know that, Chopper. Does it make a difference? Knowing?"

"It wouldn't have then, but the hurt was still raw. I've learned since that some women aren't scornful of scars." He gave Sketch a quick smile. "Most women aren't afraid of scars; the best don't even particularly notice them other than an instant's sympathy."

Sketch nodded. "After you left, Slick took the rest of us to the women's rooms." Sketch closed his eyes and leaned his head back in his own remembered pain. "Jester didn't even try, just sat there angry and hurt at what had happened to you. Maybe he knew it was a trap. Me and Punch, we tried. Laughing and touching those women, their soft flesh against ours. Neither of us could perform. The only thing running through my head then was laughter – that woman's laughter and Slick's laughter as you staggered away. Gus? Well, the less said about Gus the better. Slick used him in more ways than one." Sketch nodded thoughtfully in memory, his eyes closed, seeing it all before him again.

"Have you seen anyone from the squad, Sketch?" Chopper lightly touched Sketch on the arm and Sketch opened his eyes again, suddenly back on Coruscant and no longer in a shadowed room flesh to flesh with laughing, dark-haired women.

Sketch shook his head. "I was surprised to hear that you'd asked about me. You seem to know where everyone is. Do you know…"

"Jester told me that Punch was with the 224th on Mimban. Jester was the one who asked." Chopper gave a slight shrug with his shoulder. "Guess that's why he's a sergeant. I didn't care at the time; Gus thought they didn't want him to know. Jester asked."

"Mimban," Sketch said thoughtfully.

"The casualty list is a couple of weeks old, but Punch wasn't on the list as of last night when I check. Most of the casualties were in the first days; now it's a lot of maneuvering and less face to face fighting."

"That will come," murmured Sketch sadly and Chopper nodded, hearing the sorrow in Sketch's voice at not being able to cover his brother.

After a moment of silence, of Sketch nibbling at his lip nervously, Sketch took a breath and spoke. "Chopper, about your scars…" Sketch began and waited for acknowledgement from Chopper to continue. Sketch smiled with Chopper didn't flinch; when Chopper looked at him merely waiting for him to continue. "When you first came to the squad, your scars were fairly new and still red and raw. It was only because of their newness that Slick could use them against you."

Chopper tilted his head with a small frown, not understanding.

"They've healed, Chopper. Even by the time Slick was found out, they had already silvered and begun to blend in with your skin. The scars on your face, they aren't that noticeable anymore."

Frowning, Chopper rubbed at a scar. He could feel it, the indentation where hot shrapnel had cut into his face then the raised ridge of healed skin. "If you say so, Sketch."

Sketch, seeing disbelief, opened his lips to explain but Chopper held up his hands. "It's ok, Sketch. Less and less, I care about them. You say they're fading on my skin. I don't know, but I do know they're fading in my mind. They're fading in importance."

"That's even better, Chopper." Sketch put his hand to Chopper's shoulder. "I'm glad, vod."

Next up - in a day or two

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