Kessel Run, Week 9: Write a story inspired by the song "Mirage" by Ivan Torrent with a minimum word count of 300 and no maximum word limit.

This entry ended up being a tad darker than I initially thought it would be, though I hope the influence of the song can still be seen.

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The Campfire

53 ABY

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One night after a particularly lucrative job, Hondo's Sithlings find themselves sitting on logs around a campfire on Gath, long after the rest of the crew has either passed out drunk or gone to bed, or both. A bottle of whiskey makes the rounds, along with a bottle of some strong, spicy blue liquor, and with each swig they loosen limbs, sprawl, laugh too loud, give open mouths to the shadows inside.

It starts with Yaanis, who asks an innocent enough question: "Do you guys ever miss home?"

Joor laughs at the question, with enough boozy warmth to plausibly deny the layer of scorn underneath: "What's home?"

Yaanis again, his cheeks flushing a deeper green, unsure how to explain something so fundamental: "You know… where you came from? Before?"

The whiskey lands in Joor's hand; he takes a long drink before handing it off to Shadow, and spreads his knees as he settles back against the log. "I'd rather rot in every hell than go back to that slimy mudhole ever again."

Jax snickers into his hand, but Gelki takes pity on Yaanis. She removes her vocoder to take a drink of the blue liquor, grunts loudly and extensively in her native tongue, then lets out a happy sigh before putting the device back in place. [My home-clan lived in a great mountain cavern that opened high above the world. I climbed the mountain every day with my family. It was a nice place to live, and I miss it.] She holds the bottle in the air and waggles it back and forth, her long white fur swaying hypnotically in the firelight. [Take a drink, and tell.]

Yaanis accepts the bottle with a grateful nod and tips his head back to drink. He splutters a little but keeps it down, and Gelki slaps him hard on the back when he starts to cough.

[Good?] she says.

Yaanis wheezes as he sticks one suckered thumb in the air: "It's great." He wipes his snout with his sleeve and blinks his big black eyes. "I do miss Telos, sometimes. My parents used to take me to the parks in our neighborhood. My favorite was this one where they let the grass grow real long, and I'd pretend I was on a safari or something, hunting like my ancestors."

"I thought your ancestors lived in trees?"

"Shh," Dessa hisses from her place between Veeran's outstretched legs. "Let him tell his own damn story, Jax."

Yaanis hesitates, looking down at the bottle in his hand. "That's it. We were poor, but it wasn't bad. If it weren't for the syndicate, I'd probably still be there with them, working a job for little pay and going to those same parks." He offers the liquor to Jax. "Here."

Jax accepts the bottle with eager fingers; he's already had too much tonight, but that won't stop him. He drinks greedily before raising the bottle in a loud, irreverent salute: "What can I say about the orphanages in Cappestian? They were crowded and dirty and I might have accidentally burned one of them to the ground."

Joor cocks his head back to study Jax more closely, grinning. "You really are a little bastard, aren't you?"

"That's what they always told me!" Jax leans forward, laughs, thrusts the bottle into Joor's hand. "Your turn! Let's hear about the mudhole."

Joor takes the bottle and props his other arm up on the log behind him, completely heedless of the way his fingers brush Shadow's thigh, or how she stiffens and flushes in response.

"What would you like to know, Jaxxy?" he says in a cheery voice. "Wanna hear 'bout how my old man used to drink himself senseless with our grocery money? Or how he beat me senseless if I tried to hide the credits from him? Or how I got kicked out of our building after he threw himself in front of a maglev, and I started running with some Black Sun wannabe street gang so I didn't have to sleep out in the actual kriffing mud?"

Jax snaps his mouth shut and shrinks back on his log, glancing around the circle. Joor tosses his head back and swallows, and then he holds the bottle up to the light, examining its remaining contents. "I ain't like the rest of you. The Sith didn't take me. I wanted to go. I'd do it again." He lowers the bottle and stares at the fire, until a sharp crack fractures the fleeting silence, releasing tiny embers into the air. Joor tilts his head toward Shadow. "You're up."

Shadow reaches for the bottle, her gaze unfocused. She gulps once, twice, her pale gray lekku shuddering as the liquor slides down her throat. "I had two sisters," she says, accent heavy despite her attempt to carefully enunciate each word. "They were very beautiful, admired by all." A deep breath, another drink. "I wasn't like them. I was the last, and I killed our mother."

Jax's eyes go wide. "On purpose?"

Dessa straightens up across from him, her expression turning stone sharp: "Jax. Shut up."

"What? I was just asking."

Dessa glares at him until he looks away, then takes the bottle from Shadow. "Sorry," she says.

Shadow shrugs. "I don't miss it."

"Neither do I." Dessa takes a swig and leans back against Veeran's chest. "But I guess if I had to pick between scraping by in the stinking undercity or being taken by the Sith, I'd have gone with the undercity." A sympathetic but bitter laugh as she looks at Shadow again: "Be glad you weren't like your sisters – Pravus never would have left you alone."

The flames come under assault from a strong breeze, flickering wildly. Dessa covers her mouth with one hand and passes the bottle over her shoulder to Veeran. He sets it aside and whispers in her ear, and the ensuing silence stretches on until Gelki clears her throat and stands.

[It's late; we should all sleep now.]

"No, no, no." Joor climbs to his feet, the almost empty whiskey bottle clutched once more in his hand. "We still haven't heard from the Jedi boys." He points at Veeran, staggering back a step. "Come on, Jedi boy, tell us all about your wonderful Jedi home. It must've been real nice."

Veeran's boots scratch in the dirt as he starts to stand; Dessa grabs his wrist to hold him down, her usual toughness wearing thin tonight. "That's enough, Joor," she says.

"What, he can't answer for himself? Still needs you to protect him, eh?"

This time Veeran doesn't allow himself to be held down. He rises smoldering from the ground, calling the bottle of blue liquor to his hand with sudden, violent force, spurred by the promised catharsis of breaking the glass over Joor's head. They step toward each other, magnets drawn to their opposing pole, when suddenly—

"It was nice," Dorian's voice cuts through the intoxicated, angry blur to say.

Veeran and Joor snap back to themselves, collision averted. Everyone turns to look at Dorian, sitting by himself at the end of one of the logs. He's hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped in front of him. Watching them.

Joor blinks, slowly. "What?"

"Our wonderful Jedi home," Dorian says. "It was nice. It was really nice." He nods toward the fire. "And now it's nothing but ash."

The others continue to stare as Dorian stands and stretches his arms. Jax is the first to return to his senses. "You didn't take a drink," he says.

Dorian extends a hand to his twin, who relinquishes the bottle without a word. He holds it up to the firelight. "Huh. Looks like it's empty." He tosses the bottle into the fire and walks out of the circle. "I'm going to bed. Don't burn the place down."

Joor looks down at the whiskey bottle in his hand, uncertain. But after a few seconds, he gulps down the last of it and casts it into the fire. "I'm done, too."

One by one, Hondo's Sithlings retreat to their bunks, until only Veeran and Dessa remain at the campfire, waiting for the flames to die down. Veeran sits back down behind Dessa, wrapping both arms around her waist. She settles into his embrace and closes her eyes. "Would you go back, if you could?" she asks in a quiet voice.

"I don't know," he says distantly. "Doesn't really matter now."

"Yeah. I guess not." She tilts her head up to kiss his cheek. "You want to go to bed? I can stay out here and take care of the fire."

"No, I'm fine." He shifts, pulling her closer. "I'll stay."

They fall asleep against the log, lulled by the dying embers, and when they wake in the morning, all that's left of the campfire is a couple of bottles and a pile of ash.

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