- Joined
- Aug 17, 2015
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With a fairly unassuming build and short stature, Grizz hardly cut an imposing figure to most sentients. His body is a patchwork of old scars and regrets held together by sheer determination and the wonders of modern medicine. Much to his chagrin, even fierce willpower (or prodigious amounts of hair products) cannot save his receding hairline and he has been bald ever since that fateful day with a razor. His nose is slightly off-set after being broken and put back into place one too many times; a product of getting into one too many scraps that he probably could've avoided in the first place.
In contrast to his rough appearance, the man is ever-jovial and not too far from becoming a bumbling, senile old man. The soldier's antics and various food-related vices are often conduct unbecoming of a man of his age. His volcanic appetite extends itself even to advanced age with a fast metabolism that can only be described as unnatural. He has a propensity to get social with almost everyone he meets, which can be downright annoying and overbearing at times. On the surface, it seems like he has no problems opening himself up to people, after all he's full of stories. Grizz's eccentricities and often misplaced sense of humor have been a much-needed constant for himself out of all people, as a coping mechanism after the terrible things he's seen and done over the decades. For all of his theatrics Grizz is a troubled man with his past experiences weighing heavily on his soul.
Experience and age has mellowed him out a bit, but he's prone to the occasional outburst of emotion. Many of his dangerous and reckless behavior in the past and even now is spurred on by an unconscious desire to rebel against fate. He refuses to acknowledge the notion of prophecies, destiny and that some things are just written to be. However his convictions were shaken to the core in the years that led to the fall of the Galactic Alliance and the reign of the New Imperium. Despite all of his blood, sweat and tears, there was nothing he could do to prevent the deaths of many comrades and the loss of his homeworld to the Imperium. With the Rebellion he can finally find his answer; a validation for his stubbornly held beliefs.
Past his obfuscating stupidity Grizz is a consummate professional when he needs to be and a lot smarter than he lets on. After all, anyone who survived his line of work this far has at least some degree of competence (and more than a few eccentricities apparently). He possesses a wide range of skills from his training and able perform a variety of unconventional missions befitting of a former Galactic Alliance Special Forces operator.
The eldest of three siblings, Grizz was born to a poor working-class family living one of the seedier neighborhoods of Lower Coruscant. From the get-go the Talinus siblings had to look out for themselves, as the meager wages of his parents barely covered the bills and a certain sum was often appropriated by local gangs that had the run-down district at their mercy. Assuming responsibility early on the young man took it upon himself to provide for his family, and had various odd-jobs to make ends meet. Things did not go smoothly along the way however, the elder teen frequently got in fights and even stirred up some trouble with the gangs. Often times for just being too much of a smart-alec for his own good. Sickened by the vicious cycle that was perpetuated in the slums and of his circumstances, he was driven to find a way out.
The answer came in the form of a holo-ad among the countless that perpetuated the Lower Levels as artificial lighting. One word struck out from countless others: Enlist. Inexplicably, Grizz did sign up as soon as he was of age, and his parents reasoned he was better off with the Army than with what they had. Amongst others, he was sent to the surface for basic training. It was the first time he glimpsed sunlight, and the world that was denied to him and so many others. He graduated from basic training eventually, and shipped out to the Outer Rim as an infantryman. Periodically he would send his family a sum from his pay, but he couldn't exactly afford frequent visits back home. Frankly, a part of him never wanted to see that part of Coruscant again.
Dating back to the days before the wars that would plague the galaxy for years to come, it was a peacetime military for the Galactic Alliance. For Grizz days were often slow, and rife with various misadventures with fellow junior enlisted when the hawk-like gaze of their SNCOs were busy somewhere else. As time went on the young NCO matured, eventually taking up command of his own section and at the suggestion of a fellow colleague, applied for the Special Forces program. But even after the rigorous training and years, he yearned for excitement and a deviation from the normality. Little did he know he'd get exactly what he wished for.
When the Sith made their sudden appearance and took over the Empire, the atmosphere changed predictably. Recruitment intensified and the two factions locked themselves in a sort of arms race as they mustered their respective military might over the years of the ensuing Cold War. Both factions employed their intelligence gathering organizations, and Alliance Special Forces worked closely with Intelligence in that regard. Talinus' team, Gharzr Squadron, were amongst others deployed on various worlds for reconnaissance and threat assessment. Their discoveries did not bode well for the Alliance, and it was clear that they weren't ready. For nine years this went on, tensions exacerbated and like the rest of his brethren, Grizz prepared for the inevitable.
By 1012 ABY Grizz had assumed command as his squad's team Sergeant and NCOIC. Like other special forces teams they were deployed in various capacities regular units are not suited for, unconventional warfare, special reconnaissance to name a few. Yet the small victories they managed to achieve was meaningless compared to defeat after defeat that the Alliance suffered for two consecutive years. Grizz watched in futility despite all the blood and sweat, there seems to be no stopping the juggernaut that is the Imperial war machine.. He and his squad were present for the Core World campaigns and the eventual Fall of Coruscant, doing what they've always done for what little good it did. Amongst the G.A units planetside on Coruscant, the squad was not able to make it to the evacuation shuttles in time and were forced to retreat deep into the bowels of lower Coruscant when the bombardment began.
Unfortunately, the soldiers encountered other problems despite avoiding certain death on the surface. There were dangerous denizens deep in the underlevels that they had to deal with. Cthons, creatures that were normally just a way for Coruscanti parents to scare their kids into behaving were quite real. Battered and exhausted from the battle above, more of his squadmates fell. The sergeant, Motor Pool, Patch, Weasel, and Iceman were the last ones left... and they had no way off Coruscant. Not to mention the plentiful of Imperials topside.
For days, weeks even, the team lay low in the lower levels as the Sith continued their conquest, living off scraps and fought for survival as they bid their time. When they did finally reach the surface, the post-apocalyptic wasteland awaited them was not much better from the underlevels. They stole a shuttle from the remnants of the Imperial force that were yet to completely pull out, relying on Motor Pool's skills as a pilot to get them off-world. The remainder of the team took the shuttle to Cyrillia and parted ways there after catching up on the current state of affairs. The Galactic Alliance was no more, and the weary, dejected veteran went into self-imposed retirement. For years Grizz simply drifted from planet to planet while keeping tabs on the activities of the Remnant and Imperium through holos. After countless years of knowing nothing but loss, he saw a glimmer of hope with the Rebellion and what could be done to the Empire after that fateful siege on Manaan.
The Rebellion could use all the help it can get, and this old dog still has teeth.
Formerly an Alliance Special Forces soldier for a number of years, Grizz has had considerable training and combat experience. Counter-insurgency, HVT hunting, irregular/unconventional warfare, and intelligence ops are some of the terms he is intimately familiar with.
Thanks to his squadmates he is cross-trained in various disciplines, such as demolitions, slicing, and combat life-saving. He is also capable of operating most repulsorlift ground vehicles and smaller starships. First and foremost however, he was the weapons guy on Gharzr Squadron prior to becoming their SNCO. In other words, he is an expert in reducing most sentients into their component particles with all manner of small arms and even light artillery if he has to. Grizz is at his best when handling rifles and pistols, and at best an above average shot with other types weapons depending on their size and difficulty. He is also well-versed in several martial arts such as Stava and Teras Kasi and able to hold his own in melee when handling the appropriate weapons (vibroswords, quarterstaffs, etc). Although against Force users with their lightsabers, and specialists he's pretty much minced meat.
While he’s versatile, don’t expect him to be a doctor (he’d sooner kill them with a terrible bedside manner) or a whiz with computers or leave him alone at the helm of a hyperdrive-capable vessel larger than a shuttle (navicomputers are a must have!). Yeah can hold his own with a vibrosword, but he’d rather not let a guy get that close to begin with. There is a reason why he was in a team with far more capable individuals in their respective specializations.
Plus, it’s been a number of years since he’s had a chance to practice, let alone use most of these skills. For the most part he’s been avoiding the Imperium like the plague and blending in. Although from his stint as a grav-ball coach during his short retirement he’s picked up a few things.
Not to mention he’s damn old. Grizz is in pretty good physical condition for his age, but he’s still forty nine. He’s forced to rely more on the intangibles, experience, cunning and treachery, to overcome far more athletic youngsters.
Since joining the Rebellion the ex-soldier had to make do with whatever the Rebellion have on-hand. Most of his gear is hand-me downs and formerly used by the Alliance military. He wore the 'Shogun' variant of the MCU MK-II family, which consisted of an armorweave plate carrier with composite plates over armorweave combat jacket and trousers. An over vest harness with a daypack and various pouches and peripherals on the waist strap is placed over the chest piece. Topped on his head is a composite lightweight helmet with ballistic glasses.
Various items such as spare power packs for his weapons, data card, rations, credit chits, comlink, macrobinoculars, a medpac, and assorted grenades (thermal, stun, frag) are located on the various pouches on the over-vest and in his pack. For his weapons he carried an old A-560 blaster rifle that dated back to his years in the Alliance military, a Merr Son model 79 blaster pistol and a combat knife. Overall, his gear (including armor and weapons)) weighed around 40 kilograms. It was still the standard carrying capacity he’s had for decades now, and while he’s gotten older, he’s still able to carry that amount of weight (perhaps not as quickly as he once did).
SURVIVALIST ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
An underdog all of his life, and the universe didn’t exactly throw the old dog a bone in the recent decade or two. After fighting in the streets of Lower Coruscant, to operations on various hazardous worlds as an operator, and later trying to survive on the post-apocalyptic Coruscant… he is fairly skilled in this regard. Grizz had to make do with very little early on and seen the worst the galaxy has to offer.
TRUE GRIT ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Try to convince him he can’t do something or tell him the odds. Chances are he’d simply redouble his efforts to prove you wrong. There’s no line between perseverance and insanity. He’s pretty inflexible in his convictions. Yeah he’s survived out of a lot of things he shouldn’t have from willpower alone, but there are many predicaments he could’ve avoided in the first place. He'll weather everything thrown at him, even shoulder the burden of others if he has to. Under duress he's noticeably calm and collected, tempered by age and years of experience.
FEEL NO PAIN ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Whether it is through sheer willpower or his nerves are just desensitized from being beaten up all the time, Grizz possesses a high tolerance for pain. Hardened through the years, he'll keep coming back for more after a fight and can weather extreme circumstances for some time. Unfortunately, persistence can only get you so far. You can't get up if your head gets blown off after all.
MASTER AT ARMS ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Properly backed up with plenty of ammunition and arms to choose from, he can use a variety of death dealing devices to send sentients back to their makers at an alarming rate and cause untold destruction on the battlefield. Unfortunately he is not in an ideal world, and unable to carry all manners of firearms he can actually use. As much as he'd like to, he is severely limited by just how much weight he can carry around, and selects his weapon systems carefully to whatever the particular mission requires. He is also in the process of retraining himself with what he has on hand with the Rebellion due to some atrophy from all the years he's spent as a refugee.
FADING AWAY ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Didn’t I mention this already? If there wasn’t an Imperium hell-bent on making life miserable for people, amongst various personal reasons… he’d be well into retirement. He can't carry as much gear as he used to obviously, and things don't come as easily to him as they once did. As he gets older, it's becoming more noticeable, and Grizz himself doesn't know how long exactly he can keep up this difficult lifestyle.
SPECIALIZATION IS FOR INSECTS ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Bleeding out profusely? Let me slap a bacta patch on that wound. Wait, you want me to do what with a scalpel? No sirrie! Do what with the computers? Don’t I just insert the computer spike in the thing to make the slicing go? Do I know Huttese? Sure. Wait, why is he looking at me funny? Need some explosive solutions? Lemme read this demo card real quick and P for plenty. Jack of all trades, he has a good grasp of the specialized skills his team possesses, and extensive training with a large variety of weapons. Grizz doesn't really stand out in all of these areas, and he's only a really good shot with certain small arms, but he knows enough to handle most situations appropriately if he has to.
SOCIAL BUTTERFLY ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
While not physically overbearing, his overall demeanor more than makes up for it. He can seem a bit off, mischievous, kooky even, and not everyone can take his enthusiasm well. Grizz at his best in a team with people he trusts, knowing their particular strengths and weaknesses. He's well versed in handing difficult personalities and integrating them into a team dynamic. Although his people skills need some work beyond smaller groups, and is by no means a born leader. Interacting with high-society is a no-go, he hardly recognizes the intricacies let alone social etiquette. He holds people from such background with a little disdain and no small amount of bitterness that's yet to mellow out completely with age.
BUSHWACKER ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Underhanded by nature from going up against people that are far more skilled or physically superior than he was, Grizz doesn't play by the rules. Honor won’t do him any good other than give him a one way trip into a bodybag. Naturally, portraying himself as a bumbling loon is like breathing, and he's far more perceptive than he lets on. Discerning his true intentions is a challenge on its own if you can you get past the rambunctious personality. In battle Grizz is ruthless and unsympathetic to his opponents, willing to do whatever it takes to win. Chivalry, honor, such things are foreign to him and he views those concepts as rather archaic. There's no point in glorifying war, blood is spilled regardless on how it's done.
VEHICULAR MANSLAUGHTER ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
... Is what will happen if you give have him at the controls of anything larger than a landspeeder on the ground, or a shuttlecraft in space. Grizz would rather have his boots permanently on the ground if he could help it, and is more likely a hazard at the controls of a starfighter or starship. With resources being as precious as it is in the Rebellion, any course of action that leads to him at the helm will be undoubtedly catastrophic. Pose questions regarding starship engineering and the like to a person that knows better, although he can probably explain some mechanics in layman's terms.
FLOW LIKE WATER ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Growing up with a propensity of getting into street fights, at the start he was very much a simple brawler with no formal training. However his later entry into the Alliance military and his interests in martial arts outside of his job gave him plenty. He's proficient enough to be a martial arts instructor in several styles, such as Stava and Teras Kasi. Relying on decades of training, instinct and cunning, he still can hold his own. Grizz was forced to rely on more of these skills in tough situations during hisi years as a refugee, without the weapons he usually employs.
Given his line of work Grizz pursues a pragmatic style of fighting with little in the way of flash and artistry. Instead, he has a thorough understanding on proper application of deadly force in order to subdue or even kill his opponents. Some of the martial arts delve a little deeper into training with various swords, staffs and various blunt instruments, which is where Grizz derives most of his skills with melee weapons. The cultural aspects are unimportant to the ex-soldier, and he was notorious for mispronouncing katas and various concepts. Results and putting steel on target are what counts after all.
RECKLESS ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Age and experience has mellowed a little of Grizz's impulsiveness. Just a little.
SHORT STORIES (and some not so short):
1. INSPIRED ADVICE[beebox4=600px]
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GRISWOLD "GRIZZ" TALINUS
""Experience is what you get right after you need it."
FULL NAME GRISWOLD TALINUS
ALIASES GRIZZ, COACH, SIR-MUNCH-ALOT
FACTION GALACTIC REBELLION
HOMEWORLD CORUSCANT
RANK REBEL
SPECIES HUMAN
AGE 51 GSY (1025 ABY)
GENDER MALE
HEIGHT 1.75m | 5'7"
WEIGHT 70kgs | 154lbs
EYES DARK BROWN
HAIR BLACK
STRENGTH
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
DEXTERITY
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
CONSTITUTION
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
INTELLIGENCE
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
WISDOM
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
CHARISMA
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
""Experience is what you get right after you need it."
FULL NAME GRISWOLD TALINUS
ALIASES GRIZZ, COACH, SIR-MUNCH-ALOT
FACTION GALACTIC REBELLION
HOMEWORLD CORUSCANT
RANK REBEL
SPECIES HUMAN
AGE 51 GSY (1025 ABY)
GENDER MALE
HEIGHT 1.75m | 5'7"
WEIGHT 70kgs | 154lbs
EYES DARK BROWN
HAIR BLACK
STRENGTH
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
DEXTERITY
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
CONSTITUTION
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
INTELLIGENCE
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
WISDOM
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
CHARISMA
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
PERSONALITY & APPEARANCE
With a fairly unassuming build and short stature, Grizz hardly cut an imposing figure to most sentients. His body is a patchwork of old scars and regrets held together by sheer determination and the wonders of modern medicine. Much to his chagrin, even fierce willpower (or prodigious amounts of hair products) cannot save his receding hairline and he has been bald ever since that fateful day with a razor. His nose is slightly off-set after being broken and put back into place one too many times; a product of getting into one too many scraps that he probably could've avoided in the first place.
In contrast to his rough appearance, the man is ever-jovial and not too far from becoming a bumbling, senile old man. The soldier's antics and various food-related vices are often conduct unbecoming of a man of his age. His volcanic appetite extends itself even to advanced age with a fast metabolism that can only be described as unnatural. He has a propensity to get social with almost everyone he meets, which can be downright annoying and overbearing at times. On the surface, it seems like he has no problems opening himself up to people, after all he's full of stories. Grizz's eccentricities and often misplaced sense of humor have been a much-needed constant for himself out of all people, as a coping mechanism after the terrible things he's seen and done over the decades. For all of his theatrics Grizz is a troubled man with his past experiences weighing heavily on his soul.
Experience and age has mellowed him out a bit, but he's prone to the occasional outburst of emotion. Many of his dangerous and reckless behavior in the past and even now is spurred on by an unconscious desire to rebel against fate. He refuses to acknowledge the notion of prophecies, destiny and that some things are just written to be. However his convictions were shaken to the core in the years that led to the fall of the Galactic Alliance and the reign of the New Imperium. Despite all of his blood, sweat and tears, there was nothing he could do to prevent the deaths of many comrades and the loss of his homeworld to the Imperium. With the Rebellion he can finally find his answer; a validation for his stubbornly held beliefs.
Past his obfuscating stupidity Grizz is a consummate professional when he needs to be and a lot smarter than he lets on. After all, anyone who survived his line of work this far has at least some degree of competence (and more than a few eccentricities apparently). He possesses a wide range of skills from his training and able perform a variety of unconventional missions befitting of a former Galactic Alliance Special Forces operator.
BIOGRAPHY
The eldest of three siblings, Grizz was born to a poor working-class family living one of the seedier neighborhoods of Lower Coruscant. From the get-go the Talinus siblings had to look out for themselves, as the meager wages of his parents barely covered the bills and a certain sum was often appropriated by local gangs that had the run-down district at their mercy. Assuming responsibility early on the young man took it upon himself to provide for his family, and had various odd-jobs to make ends meet. Things did not go smoothly along the way however, the elder teen frequently got in fights and even stirred up some trouble with the gangs. Often times for just being too much of a smart-alec for his own good. Sickened by the vicious cycle that was perpetuated in the slums and of his circumstances, he was driven to find a way out.
The answer came in the form of a holo-ad among the countless that perpetuated the Lower Levels as artificial lighting. One word struck out from countless others: Enlist. Inexplicably, Grizz did sign up as soon as he was of age, and his parents reasoned he was better off with the Army than with what they had. Amongst others, he was sent to the surface for basic training. It was the first time he glimpsed sunlight, and the world that was denied to him and so many others. He graduated from basic training eventually, and shipped out to the Outer Rim as an infantryman. Periodically he would send his family a sum from his pay, but he couldn't exactly afford frequent visits back home. Frankly, a part of him never wanted to see that part of Coruscant again.
Dating back to the days before the wars that would plague the galaxy for years to come, it was a peacetime military for the Galactic Alliance. For Grizz days were often slow, and rife with various misadventures with fellow junior enlisted when the hawk-like gaze of their SNCOs were busy somewhere else. As time went on the young NCO matured, eventually taking up command of his own section and at the suggestion of a fellow colleague, applied for the Special Forces program. But even after the rigorous training and years, he yearned for excitement and a deviation from the normality. Little did he know he'd get exactly what he wished for.
When the Sith made their sudden appearance and took over the Empire, the atmosphere changed predictably. Recruitment intensified and the two factions locked themselves in a sort of arms race as they mustered their respective military might over the years of the ensuing Cold War. Both factions employed their intelligence gathering organizations, and Alliance Special Forces worked closely with Intelligence in that regard. Talinus' team, Gharzr Squadron, were amongst others deployed on various worlds for reconnaissance and threat assessment. Their discoveries did not bode well for the Alliance, and it was clear that they weren't ready. For nine years this went on, tensions exacerbated and like the rest of his brethren, Grizz prepared for the inevitable.
By 1012 ABY Grizz had assumed command as his squad's team Sergeant and NCOIC. Like other special forces teams they were deployed in various capacities regular units are not suited for, unconventional warfare, special reconnaissance to name a few. Yet the small victories they managed to achieve was meaningless compared to defeat after defeat that the Alliance suffered for two consecutive years. Grizz watched in futility despite all the blood and sweat, there seems to be no stopping the juggernaut that is the Imperial war machine.. He and his squad were present for the Core World campaigns and the eventual Fall of Coruscant, doing what they've always done for what little good it did. Amongst the G.A units planetside on Coruscant, the squad was not able to make it to the evacuation shuttles in time and were forced to retreat deep into the bowels of lower Coruscant when the bombardment began.
Unfortunately, the soldiers encountered other problems despite avoiding certain death on the surface. There were dangerous denizens deep in the underlevels that they had to deal with. Cthons, creatures that were normally just a way for Coruscanti parents to scare their kids into behaving were quite real. Battered and exhausted from the battle above, more of his squadmates fell. The sergeant, Motor Pool, Patch, Weasel, and Iceman were the last ones left... and they had no way off Coruscant. Not to mention the plentiful of Imperials topside.
For days, weeks even, the team lay low in the lower levels as the Sith continued their conquest, living off scraps and fought for survival as they bid their time. When they did finally reach the surface, the post-apocalyptic wasteland awaited them was not much better from the underlevels. They stole a shuttle from the remnants of the Imperial force that were yet to completely pull out, relying on Motor Pool's skills as a pilot to get them off-world. The remainder of the team took the shuttle to Cyrillia and parted ways there after catching up on the current state of affairs. The Galactic Alliance was no more, and the weary, dejected veteran went into self-imposed retirement. For years Grizz simply drifted from planet to planet while keeping tabs on the activities of the Remnant and Imperium through holos. After countless years of knowing nothing but loss, he saw a glimmer of hope with the Rebellion and what could be done to the Empire after that fateful siege on Manaan.
The Rebellion could use all the help it can get, and this old dog still has teeth.
SKILLS & ABILITIES
Formerly an Alliance Special Forces soldier for a number of years, Grizz has had considerable training and combat experience. Counter-insurgency, HVT hunting, irregular/unconventional warfare, and intelligence ops are some of the terms he is intimately familiar with.
Thanks to his squadmates he is cross-trained in various disciplines, such as demolitions, slicing, and combat life-saving. He is also capable of operating most repulsorlift ground vehicles and smaller starships. First and foremost however, he was the weapons guy on Gharzr Squadron prior to becoming their SNCO. In other words, he is an expert in reducing most sentients into their component particles with all manner of small arms and even light artillery if he has to. Grizz is at his best when handling rifles and pistols, and at best an above average shot with other types weapons depending on their size and difficulty. He is also well-versed in several martial arts such as Stava and Teras Kasi and able to hold his own in melee when handling the appropriate weapons (vibroswords, quarterstaffs, etc). Although against Force users with their lightsabers, and specialists he's pretty much minced meat.
While he’s versatile, don’t expect him to be a doctor (he’d sooner kill them with a terrible bedside manner) or a whiz with computers or leave him alone at the helm of a hyperdrive-capable vessel larger than a shuttle (navicomputers are a must have!). Yeah can hold his own with a vibrosword, but he’d rather not let a guy get that close to begin with. There is a reason why he was in a team with far more capable individuals in their respective specializations.
Plus, it’s been a number of years since he’s had a chance to practice, let alone use most of these skills. For the most part he’s been avoiding the Imperium like the plague and blending in. Although from his stint as a grav-ball coach during his short retirement he’s picked up a few things.
Not to mention he’s damn old. Grizz is in pretty good physical condition for his age, but he’s still forty nine. He’s forced to rely more on the intangibles, experience, cunning and treachery, to overcome far more athletic youngsters.
EQUIPMENT
Since joining the Rebellion the ex-soldier had to make do with whatever the Rebellion have on-hand. Most of his gear is hand-me downs and formerly used by the Alliance military. He wore the 'Shogun' variant of the MCU MK-II family, which consisted of an armorweave plate carrier with composite plates over armorweave combat jacket and trousers. An over vest harness with a daypack and various pouches and peripherals on the waist strap is placed over the chest piece. Topped on his head is a composite lightweight helmet with ballistic glasses.
Various items such as spare power packs for his weapons, data card, rations, credit chits, comlink, macrobinoculars, a medpac, and assorted grenades (thermal, stun, frag) are located on the various pouches on the over-vest and in his pack. For his weapons he carried an old A-560 blaster rifle that dated back to his years in the Alliance military, a Merr Son model 79 blaster pistol and a combat knife. Overall, his gear (including armor and weapons)) weighed around 40 kilograms. It was still the standard carrying capacity he’s had for decades now, and while he’s gotten older, he’s still able to carry that amount of weight (perhaps not as quickly as he once did).
STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES
SURVIVALIST ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
An underdog all of his life, and the universe didn’t exactly throw the old dog a bone in the recent decade or two. After fighting in the streets of Lower Coruscant, to operations on various hazardous worlds as an operator, and later trying to survive on the post-apocalyptic Coruscant… he is fairly skilled in this regard. Grizz had to make do with very little early on and seen the worst the galaxy has to offer.
TRUE GRIT ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Try to convince him he can’t do something or tell him the odds. Chances are he’d simply redouble his efforts to prove you wrong. There’s no line between perseverance and insanity. He’s pretty inflexible in his convictions. Yeah he’s survived out of a lot of things he shouldn’t have from willpower alone, but there are many predicaments he could’ve avoided in the first place. He'll weather everything thrown at him, even shoulder the burden of others if he has to. Under duress he's noticeably calm and collected, tempered by age and years of experience.
FEEL NO PAIN ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Whether it is through sheer willpower or his nerves are just desensitized from being beaten up all the time, Grizz possesses a high tolerance for pain. Hardened through the years, he'll keep coming back for more after a fight and can weather extreme circumstances for some time. Unfortunately, persistence can only get you so far. You can't get up if your head gets blown off after all.
MASTER AT ARMS ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Properly backed up with plenty of ammunition and arms to choose from, he can use a variety of death dealing devices to send sentients back to their makers at an alarming rate and cause untold destruction on the battlefield. Unfortunately he is not in an ideal world, and unable to carry all manners of firearms he can actually use. As much as he'd like to, he is severely limited by just how much weight he can carry around, and selects his weapon systems carefully to whatever the particular mission requires. He is also in the process of retraining himself with what he has on hand with the Rebellion due to some atrophy from all the years he's spent as a refugee.
FADING AWAY ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Didn’t I mention this already? If there wasn’t an Imperium hell-bent on making life miserable for people, amongst various personal reasons… he’d be well into retirement. He can't carry as much gear as he used to obviously, and things don't come as easily to him as they once did. As he gets older, it's becoming more noticeable, and Grizz himself doesn't know how long exactly he can keep up this difficult lifestyle.
SPECIALIZATION IS FOR INSECTS ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Bleeding out profusely? Let me slap a bacta patch on that wound. Wait, you want me to do what with a scalpel? No sirrie! Do what with the computers? Don’t I just insert the computer spike in the thing to make the slicing go? Do I know Huttese? Sure. Wait, why is he looking at me funny? Need some explosive solutions? Lemme read this demo card real quick and P for plenty. Jack of all trades, he has a good grasp of the specialized skills his team possesses, and extensive training with a large variety of weapons. Grizz doesn't really stand out in all of these areas, and he's only a really good shot with certain small arms, but he knows enough to handle most situations appropriately if he has to.
SOCIAL BUTTERFLY ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
While not physically overbearing, his overall demeanor more than makes up for it. He can seem a bit off, mischievous, kooky even, and not everyone can take his enthusiasm well. Grizz at his best in a team with people he trusts, knowing their particular strengths and weaknesses. He's well versed in handing difficult personalities and integrating them into a team dynamic. Although his people skills need some work beyond smaller groups, and is by no means a born leader. Interacting with high-society is a no-go, he hardly recognizes the intricacies let alone social etiquette. He holds people from such background with a little disdain and no small amount of bitterness that's yet to mellow out completely with age.
BUSHWACKER ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Underhanded by nature from going up against people that are far more skilled or physically superior than he was, Grizz doesn't play by the rules. Honor won’t do him any good other than give him a one way trip into a bodybag. Naturally, portraying himself as a bumbling loon is like breathing, and he's far more perceptive than he lets on. Discerning his true intentions is a challenge on its own if you can you get past the rambunctious personality. In battle Grizz is ruthless and unsympathetic to his opponents, willing to do whatever it takes to win. Chivalry, honor, such things are foreign to him and he views those concepts as rather archaic. There's no point in glorifying war, blood is spilled regardless on how it's done.
VEHICULAR MANSLAUGHTER ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
... Is what will happen if you give have him at the controls of anything larger than a landspeeder on the ground, or a shuttlecraft in space. Grizz would rather have his boots permanently on the ground if he could help it, and is more likely a hazard at the controls of a starfighter or starship. With resources being as precious as it is in the Rebellion, any course of action that leads to him at the helm will be undoubtedly catastrophic. Pose questions regarding starship engineering and the like to a person that knows better, although he can probably explain some mechanics in layman's terms.
FLOW LIKE WATER ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Growing up with a propensity of getting into street fights, at the start he was very much a simple brawler with no formal training. However his later entry into the Alliance military and his interests in martial arts outside of his job gave him plenty. He's proficient enough to be a martial arts instructor in several styles, such as Stava and Teras Kasi. Relying on decades of training, instinct and cunning, he still can hold his own. Grizz was forced to rely on more of these skills in tough situations during hisi years as a refugee, without the weapons he usually employs.
Given his line of work Grizz pursues a pragmatic style of fighting with little in the way of flash and artistry. Instead, he has a thorough understanding on proper application of deadly force in order to subdue or even kill his opponents. Some of the martial arts delve a little deeper into training with various swords, staffs and various blunt instruments, which is where Grizz derives most of his skills with melee weapons. The cultural aspects are unimportant to the ex-soldier, and he was notorious for mispronouncing katas and various concepts. Results and putting steel on target are what counts after all.
RECKLESS ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Age and experience has mellowed a little of Grizz's impulsiveness. Just a little.
SHORT STORIES (and some not so short):
1. INSPIRED ADVICE
1010 ABY- ALLIANCE SPECIAL FORCES TEAM ROOM- GHARZR SQUADRON
“Coach.”
The man I called out to turns to me, head slightly tilted and one eyebrow raised. Coach was our team’s senior noncom, and unofficially the leader of this particular bunch of reprobates. We do have a Captain, but he was so fresh from the infantry that he’s mostly relegated to stamping Coach’s ‘recommendations’ and trying to make himself relevant by busting ass all the time. Well, at least he’s trying and genuinely seems like a good kid. Coach hasn’t cut him yet anyway, which says a lot.
“Motor pool,” he calls me by my nickname, waving me over to sit next to him. I took one look at the shit-eating grin he wore and sighed. Of course he knows why I’m here. That little bastard Patch probably spoiled our little chat last night, or maybe Coach was listening in all along and was never asleep to begin with. You can never tell with this guy.
“… So, when is it?” He asks me.
“…. Tomorrow.”
He nods.
“Have you gotten her anything yet?”
At least he doesn’t mince words. By –her- of course he means my girlfriend (it’s pretty serious), and by –when- he means her birthday tomorrow. I sputtered it all out once I was coherent enough. I couldn’t find anything for her gift, and I’m desperately out of options. I guess I could go out with her on a shopping spree? I was on comms earlier with my mother, and her counsel was more like a lecture she often gave me in the past, pointing out the many things I should’ve thought of in hindsight. In other words, nothing useful for the moment.
Alas, it seems like my would-be rescuer realizes my predicament, and places a hand on my shoulder. Perhaps I was right to do this. He was practically our team dad anyway, and no doubt an expert on female management.
“Well, it’s pretty late to buy a gift,” he began sagaciously. “And frankly you only thinking of the short term.”
“Here’s what you need to do,” he lifts up a finger for emphasis. “Go to a store, and get supplies to make her a card. Use lots of glitter. G-L-I-T-T-E-R. Remember that.”
I look at him completely dumbfounded, and regretting my earlier assumption. He was an idiot. I immediately voice my lack of enthusiasm.
“Wait wait what? How is arts and crafts going to help me?!”
Suddenly, he looks at me very seriously. His gaze is laser-like, and I had the unnerving sensation that he was staring into my very soul. A shake of the head and he continues as if he was speaking to a small child all of a sudden.
“Listen Genos,” he addresses me by my real name. Uh oh. “The immediate impact is that you’ve given your dearest a gift from the heart, something no one else in the galaxy can possibly give or something you can purchase. Truly romantic.”
A pause.
“… and for the long term benefit several years down the road, you’d inevitably be out with the boys on unapproved business. When you return to her, covered in glitter as you inevitably would… Just tell her, ‘I was making a card like I did before’!”
I simply stared at the older man, speechless. His serious façade melts and his raucous laughter filled the barracks.
“Coach.”
The man I called out to turns to me, head slightly tilted and one eyebrow raised. Coach was our team’s senior noncom, and unofficially the leader of this particular bunch of reprobates. We do have a Captain, but he was so fresh from the infantry that he’s mostly relegated to stamping Coach’s ‘recommendations’ and trying to make himself relevant by busting ass all the time. Well, at least he’s trying and genuinely seems like a good kid. Coach hasn’t cut him yet anyway, which says a lot.
“Motor pool,” he calls me by my nickname, waving me over to sit next to him. I took one look at the shit-eating grin he wore and sighed. Of course he knows why I’m here. That little bastard Patch probably spoiled our little chat last night, or maybe Coach was listening in all along and was never asleep to begin with. You can never tell with this guy.
“… So, when is it?” He asks me.
“…. Tomorrow.”
He nods.
“Have you gotten her anything yet?”
At least he doesn’t mince words. By –her- of course he means my girlfriend (it’s pretty serious), and by –when- he means her birthday tomorrow. I sputtered it all out once I was coherent enough. I couldn’t find anything for her gift, and I’m desperately out of options. I guess I could go out with her on a shopping spree? I was on comms earlier with my mother, and her counsel was more like a lecture she often gave me in the past, pointing out the many things I should’ve thought of in hindsight. In other words, nothing useful for the moment.
Alas, it seems like my would-be rescuer realizes my predicament, and places a hand on my shoulder. Perhaps I was right to do this. He was practically our team dad anyway, and no doubt an expert on female management.
“Well, it’s pretty late to buy a gift,” he began sagaciously. “And frankly you only thinking of the short term.”
“Here’s what you need to do,” he lifts up a finger for emphasis. “Go to a store, and get supplies to make her a card. Use lots of glitter. G-L-I-T-T-E-R. Remember that.”
I look at him completely dumbfounded, and regretting my earlier assumption. He was an idiot. I immediately voice my lack of enthusiasm.
“Wait wait what? How is arts and crafts going to help me?!”
Suddenly, he looks at me very seriously. His gaze is laser-like, and I had the unnerving sensation that he was staring into my very soul. A shake of the head and he continues as if he was speaking to a small child all of a sudden.
“Listen Genos,” he addresses me by my real name. Uh oh. “The immediate impact is that you’ve given your dearest a gift from the heart, something no one else in the galaxy can possibly give or something you can purchase. Truly romantic.”
A pause.
“… and for the long term benefit several years down the road, you’d inevitably be out with the boys on unapproved business. When you return to her, covered in glitter as you inevitably would… Just tell her, ‘I was making a card like I did before’!”
I simply stared at the older man, speechless. His serious façade melts and his raucous laughter filled the barracks.
2. ALL GOOD THINGS COME TO AN END PT.1
[beebox4=600px]
Coruscant burned as the dark energies unleashed tore the planet’s surface asunder.
With that final blow, the Imperium ensured their victory. The Galactic Alliance was dead, the Jedi were gone, and the balance of power in the galaxy would never be the same again. The fighting was finally over, or at least it seemed to be. Deep in the bowels of Coruscant however, a group of Rebel soldiers were fighting against a different enemy.
***
1013 ABY - SOMEWHERE IN THE UNDERCITY
Red streaks of light lit up the otherwise near pitch-black level somewhere far below the surface. Sounds of struggle and the distinct discharges of blasters echoed in the distance. In the duracrete ruins and maze of compacted trash, the remnants of Gharzr squadron fought on. Flares were haphazardly strewn around the makeshift perimeter they formed. From the shadows what seemingly looked like corpses flung themselves at the weary soldiers with reckless abandon.
Upon closer inspection, the creatures known as Cthon were definitely very alive. Their flesh were mere loose flaps of skin, but their build were sinewy and possess surprising strength. Rows of sharp teeth adapted to rip and tear swiftly through flesh. The similarity to the typical humanoid sentient is hard to dismiss. Once can only shudder as to what caused these beasts to be brought onto this world at all. Many Coruscanti are not even aware of their existence; only those who were foolish enough to venture beyond the realms of artificial lighting deep below the surface knew the truth. They don’t usually live to tell the tale either, and for the most part the Cthon were simply tall tales. Stories used to scare children into behaving, the boogeymen who would snatch them up if they don’t relent to their parents’ wishes.
Of course, a certain senior noncom really wished that was all they were. Myths.
Grizz and the surviving members of Gharzr Squadron had managed to escape the fate so many didn’t on the surface. Trapped when they were cut off from their extraction site by legions of Storm Troopers, the team Sergeant made a quick decision to use one of the massive ventilation shafts that led down below. So they ran, and ran, using routes that he knew ages ago from time spent on Triple Zero’s lower levels. Imperial patrols persisted even through the Underworld, so they went further via the labyrinth sewage system that ran throughout all of the levels. At first, in the darkness that was the Undercity, they merely encountered strange, vile beasts that were otherwise harmless if left alone. They circumvented the hive rat nest via his guidance. As a Coruscanti native he knew how to avoid them from experience. An -adventurous- phase of his childhood that was cut –very- short by a near-death encounter with giant, mutated rats several times his size.
The lack of lighting was a problem to say the least, but they had a capable man running point and rear. Out of them all the Sullustan nicknamed ‘Iceman’ and the Selonian nicknamed ‘Weasel’ were the only ones that can see worth a damn in these parts. The rest of the squad had to make do with their night-vision function on their modified MCU-MKII helmets per SF specs. But the duo can see everything without technological assistance.
Calmly, and without as much as panic working into his voice per his namesake, he had alerted them swiftly of the Cthon pack approaching.
And so, here they were.
Grizz made a tactical assessment of the situation. Iceman, Motor Pool, Patch, and Weasel were still up. Breach was down but not out, and Guts was definitely KIA. They had set up a rough perimeter with flares amidst the compacted trash squares stacked up all around them, which they used as makeshift cover. Cthon’s were particularly sensitive to light, and he quickly surmised that they’d do poorly against the flares (Gharzr originally had them so their Alliance brethren can spot them for extraction). Guts was lost when the Cthon struck first, despite the warning from Iceman he was caught a fraction too slow and snatched just like that. He distinctly remembered the Duros’ blood-curdling screams as he was devoured on the spot. Grizz didn’t have time to mourn, putting his plan into motion immediately before he could lose anyone else. Breach has sustained injuries from the battle above, and was currently on the ground circled by the rest of them. Blood seeped from the large wound on his ruined MCU, which he kept pressure on with his left hand. The five still with their weapons formed 360 security, their rifles trained on the shadows that darted back and forth.
The sergeant frowned. This standoff would not last long since these flares can’t last indefinitely, nor their power packs. In addition, by his estimation there’s at least twenty of these walking nightmares out there. His priority was keeping Motor Pool, Patch and then the rest up throughout all this mess. The reasoning was fairly simple, Motor Pool was the only one with the expertise to fly them out offworld should they make it to the surface. Patch was the only surviving medic out of the two on their full ten-man team prior to the mission, and his medical expertise was invaluable considering their predicament. The rest of them including himself, was expendable in comparison. The maintenance shaft they were heading to prior was less than a hundred meters from their current position, northwest.
“… Coach...” He heard Breach call out hoarsely, but kept his eyes trained on the Cthons lurking in the darkness. An ear shattering scream interrupted the soldier, and a gray blur erupted into motion on his sector.
Whomp whomp.
… Less than a second later, a proper corpse was sent to the ground with a satisfying thud. The rest of the Cthon stayed back in restraint. They had some measure of intelligence at least, and were patiently waiting. “I already know what you’re gonna say young man,” the SNCO starts, a frown working its way into his features. “And no means no.”
“B-but, y’hafta leav-“
“You idiot,” hissed Patch before Grizz could reply. He knew that had they were not forced to be on constant security, the irritated medic would’ve walked over and slapped Breach on the head for even bringing it up. “You’re only making your wound worse, and I just fixed you up. Shut the hell up and stop wasting our time.”
To this, the young demolitions specialist had no retort. The old NCO sighed, of course they knew what he was talking about. It was the pragmatic decision to make after all. Breach had multiple blaster hits and two went straight through the battered MCU. He’d last a couple days tops with all the supplies they had. Chances are if they try to make a run with him they’d end up losing more people. Grizz had considered this approach for the briefest instant.
1013 ABY - SOMEWHERE IN THE UNDERCITY
Red streaks of light lit up the otherwise near pitch-black level somewhere far below the surface. Sounds of struggle and the distinct discharges of blasters echoed in the distance. In the duracrete ruins and maze of compacted trash, the remnants of Gharzr squadron fought on. Flares were haphazardly strewn around the makeshift perimeter they formed. From the shadows what seemingly looked like corpses flung themselves at the weary soldiers with reckless abandon.
Upon closer inspection, the creatures known as Cthon were definitely very alive. Their flesh were mere loose flaps of skin, but their build were sinewy and possess surprising strength. Rows of sharp teeth adapted to rip and tear swiftly through flesh. The similarity to the typical humanoid sentient is hard to dismiss. Once can only shudder as to what caused these beasts to be brought onto this world at all. Many Coruscanti are not even aware of their existence; only those who were foolish enough to venture beyond the realms of artificial lighting deep below the surface knew the truth. They don’t usually live to tell the tale either, and for the most part the Cthon were simply tall tales. Stories used to scare children into behaving, the boogeymen who would snatch them up if they don’t relent to their parents’ wishes.
Of course, a certain senior noncom really wished that was all they were. Myths.
Grizz and the surviving members of Gharzr Squadron had managed to escape the fate so many didn’t on the surface. Trapped when they were cut off from their extraction site by legions of Storm Troopers, the team Sergeant made a quick decision to use one of the massive ventilation shafts that led down below. So they ran, and ran, using routes that he knew ages ago from time spent on Triple Zero’s lower levels. Imperial patrols persisted even through the Underworld, so they went further via the labyrinth sewage system that ran throughout all of the levels. At first, in the darkness that was the Undercity, they merely encountered strange, vile beasts that were otherwise harmless if left alone. They circumvented the hive rat nest via his guidance. As a Coruscanti native he knew how to avoid them from experience. An -adventurous- phase of his childhood that was cut –very- short by a near-death encounter with giant, mutated rats several times his size.
The lack of lighting was a problem to say the least, but they had a capable man running point and rear. Out of them all the Sullustan nicknamed ‘Iceman’ and the Selonian nicknamed ‘Weasel’ were the only ones that can see worth a damn in these parts. The rest of the squad had to make do with their night-vision function on their modified MCU-MKII helmets per SF specs. But the duo can see everything without technological assistance.
Calmly, and without as much as panic working into his voice per his namesake, he had alerted them swiftly of the Cthon pack approaching.
And so, here they were.
Grizz made a tactical assessment of the situation. Iceman, Motor Pool, Patch, and Weasel were still up. Breach was down but not out, and Guts was definitely KIA. They had set up a rough perimeter with flares amidst the compacted trash squares stacked up all around them, which they used as makeshift cover. Cthon’s were particularly sensitive to light, and he quickly surmised that they’d do poorly against the flares (Gharzr originally had them so their Alliance brethren can spot them for extraction). Guts was lost when the Cthon struck first, despite the warning from Iceman he was caught a fraction too slow and snatched just like that. He distinctly remembered the Duros’ blood-curdling screams as he was devoured on the spot. Grizz didn’t have time to mourn, putting his plan into motion immediately before he could lose anyone else. Breach has sustained injuries from the battle above, and was currently on the ground circled by the rest of them. Blood seeped from the large wound on his ruined MCU, which he kept pressure on with his left hand. The five still with their weapons formed 360 security, their rifles trained on the shadows that darted back and forth.
The sergeant frowned. This standoff would not last long since these flares can’t last indefinitely, nor their power packs. In addition, by his estimation there’s at least twenty of these walking nightmares out there. His priority was keeping Motor Pool, Patch and then the rest up throughout all this mess. The reasoning was fairly simple, Motor Pool was the only one with the expertise to fly them out offworld should they make it to the surface. Patch was the only surviving medic out of the two on their full ten-man team prior to the mission, and his medical expertise was invaluable considering their predicament. The rest of them including himself, was expendable in comparison. The maintenance shaft they were heading to prior was less than a hundred meters from their current position, northwest.
“… Coach...” He heard Breach call out hoarsely, but kept his eyes trained on the Cthons lurking in the darkness. An ear shattering scream interrupted the soldier, and a gray blur erupted into motion on his sector.
Whomp whomp.
… Less than a second later, a proper corpse was sent to the ground with a satisfying thud. The rest of the Cthon stayed back in restraint. They had some measure of intelligence at least, and were patiently waiting. “I already know what you’re gonna say young man,” the SNCO starts, a frown working its way into his features. “And no means no.”
“B-but, y’hafta leav-“
“You idiot,” hissed Patch before Grizz could reply. He knew that had they were not forced to be on constant security, the irritated medic would’ve walked over and slapped Breach on the head for even bringing it up. “You’re only making your wound worse, and I just fixed you up. Shut the hell up and stop wasting our time.”
To this, the young demolitions specialist had no retort. The old NCO sighed, of course they knew what he was talking about. It was the pragmatic decision to make after all. Breach had multiple blaster hits and two went straight through the battered MCU. He’d last a couple days tops with all the supplies they had. Chances are if they try to make a run with him they’d end up losing more people. Grizz had considered this approach for the briefest instant.
But of course, the rest of the team wouldn’t forgive him and he couldn’t be able to forgive himself either. The past two years had forged the strongest of bonds between the soldiers, especially the ones from the original roster of Gharzr. They were practically family at this point, and he considered each and every one of them his own blood for what it’s worth. Much to his annoyance they started calling him Dad even. Mostly Motor Pool anyway. Grizz found himself not disliking it as much as he thought he would. Not that he would ever –ever- admit that.
They already lost damn too many people anyway.
“Really Breach?” Motor Pool snorted. “This early in the season, and you want out?! What kind of team you think we’re running here! Coach is definitely going to trade you when get back… where did you sign him from anyway Grizz?”
“Eh? Major Nuisance’s team. Stole him when their front office wasn’t looking.”
Despite himself, he found it hard not to smile. Motor Pool came a long way from the kid he was a few years ago, they all did in their own way really. But Motor Pool had leaps and bounds in growth, the way he carried himself, and his confidence. He’s developed a sense of humor too… Grizz could remember a time where he was busy fumbling over himself. And for some reason, glitter out of all things. Hrm.
He heard a chuckle or two from the other guys. Per his namesake, it was pretty common for them to be making these jokes. The hardest part was explaining it all to Weasel when he joined Gharzr. Even when they did, he had a feeling it wasn't the same. Who knows, maybe it was the cultural barrier. Or maybe they don't have grav-ball underground... He remembered though, the first time Weasel came, and watched a grav-ball game at a local sports bar near their base. The questions he asked were amusing to say the least, and much fun was had by all.
An animalistic roar interrupted his reminiscence, and Grizz jolted back to the present. “We’re banging out. You know where to go, Iceman first, Motor Pool then Patch with Breach. Weasel and I’ll hold it down, and I’ll be the last man. Check?”
The rest of the squad gave their affirmatives, except Breach. The young man’s eyes was slightly glazed as he reached for his belt, pocketing a spherical-shaped device the rest of the squad knew all-too well. Grizz’s eyes widened when he saw the metallic glint out of the corner of his eyes.
“Sorry Coach, I’m scratchin' up the play...”
He thumbed the deadman’s switch.
All the color left Motor Pool’s face. Patch was already yelling. Iceman raised an eyebrow. Weasel muttered something intelligible in his native tongue that vaguely sounded like disapproval.
Grizz on the other hand, stopped himself to notice how the Cthons took this opportunity to surge forwards to meet the group, sensing their sudden shift in body language. He didn’t waste any moment and started firing. “BANG OUT NOW! ICEMAN, GO!” He yelled to the others. It took the others a second or two to get going, but Iceman immediately broke into a run with his riifle in a high carry. "Bounding!" The rest of the squad covered his escape. "Set!" His voice came up again, this time through the crackle of their squad's comlink. The team gradually broke away themselves one by one as Grizz called their names out. Grizz struggled to keep up with the Cthons, who had been denied their food for so long that they practically ignored the blaster bolts before going down to mortal wounds.
When it was turn to go, he cast one last glance at Breach and the two men looked at each other in the eyes. Breach was smiling dumbly, his breathing shallow and gave the older man a thumbs up with his off-hand. "Last man," he called out into the comms. "Bounding," Grizz simply gave a solemn nod before breaking into a run as the Cthons came bearing down on the downed soldier. To his credit he managed to clear a significant distance when the thermal detonator went off, the shockwave sending him off his feet. A flash of light illuminated the dark den briefly as a miniature sun went off and vaporized everything in a six meter radius.
He was faintly aware of a voice yelling at him to get up; his own feet moving on their own accord and propelling him forwards the foursome pulling security around the maintenance shaft designated as their exit. Not once did he look back.
***
For now, they were safe.
Relatively, anyway. The Cthons did not follow them up, and they managed to find an abandoned district with at least the lighting still on. To their knowledge there wasn’t an Imperial presence anywhere nearby yet. The Sergeant had retired into one of the rooms in the building the squad took temporary refuge in. Iceman and Motor Pool were pulling security while Patch tended to Weasel’s wounds he had sustained during their hasty escape. Grizz was up next, sustaining various shallow cuts on his person, and the pain on his chest from the blaster round he got topside returned with a vengeance.
But all he could think of and see were their faces.
They already lost damn too many people anyway.
“Really Breach?” Motor Pool snorted. “This early in the season, and you want out?! What kind of team you think we’re running here! Coach is definitely going to trade you when get back… where did you sign him from anyway Grizz?”
“Eh? Major Nuisance’s team. Stole him when their front office wasn’t looking.”
Despite himself, he found it hard not to smile. Motor Pool came a long way from the kid he was a few years ago, they all did in their own way really. But Motor Pool had leaps and bounds in growth, the way he carried himself, and his confidence. He’s developed a sense of humor too… Grizz could remember a time where he was busy fumbling over himself. And for some reason, glitter out of all things. Hrm.
He heard a chuckle or two from the other guys. Per his namesake, it was pretty common for them to be making these jokes. The hardest part was explaining it all to Weasel when he joined Gharzr. Even when they did, he had a feeling it wasn't the same. Who knows, maybe it was the cultural barrier. Or maybe they don't have grav-ball underground... He remembered though, the first time Weasel came, and watched a grav-ball game at a local sports bar near their base. The questions he asked were amusing to say the least, and much fun was had by all.
An animalistic roar interrupted his reminiscence, and Grizz jolted back to the present. “We’re banging out. You know where to go, Iceman first, Motor Pool then Patch with Breach. Weasel and I’ll hold it down, and I’ll be the last man. Check?”
The rest of the squad gave their affirmatives, except Breach. The young man’s eyes was slightly glazed as he reached for his belt, pocketing a spherical-shaped device the rest of the squad knew all-too well. Grizz’s eyes widened when he saw the metallic glint out of the corner of his eyes.
“Sorry Coach, I’m scratchin' up the play...”
He thumbed the deadman’s switch.
All the color left Motor Pool’s face. Patch was already yelling. Iceman raised an eyebrow. Weasel muttered something intelligible in his native tongue that vaguely sounded like disapproval.
Grizz on the other hand, stopped himself to notice how the Cthons took this opportunity to surge forwards to meet the group, sensing their sudden shift in body language. He didn’t waste any moment and started firing. “BANG OUT NOW! ICEMAN, GO!” He yelled to the others. It took the others a second or two to get going, but Iceman immediately broke into a run with his riifle in a high carry. "Bounding!" The rest of the squad covered his escape. "Set!" His voice came up again, this time through the crackle of their squad's comlink. The team gradually broke away themselves one by one as Grizz called their names out. Grizz struggled to keep up with the Cthons, who had been denied their food for so long that they practically ignored the blaster bolts before going down to mortal wounds.
When it was turn to go, he cast one last glance at Breach and the two men looked at each other in the eyes. Breach was smiling dumbly, his breathing shallow and gave the older man a thumbs up with his off-hand. "Last man," he called out into the comms. "Bounding," Grizz simply gave a solemn nod before breaking into a run as the Cthons came bearing down on the downed soldier. To his credit he managed to clear a significant distance when the thermal detonator went off, the shockwave sending him off his feet. A flash of light illuminated the dark den briefly as a miniature sun went off and vaporized everything in a six meter radius.
He was faintly aware of a voice yelling at him to get up; his own feet moving on their own accord and propelling him forwards the foursome pulling security around the maintenance shaft designated as their exit. Not once did he look back.
***
For now, they were safe.
Relatively, anyway. The Cthons did not follow them up, and they managed to find an abandoned district with at least the lighting still on. To their knowledge there wasn’t an Imperial presence anywhere nearby yet. The Sergeant had retired into one of the rooms in the building the squad took temporary refuge in. Iceman and Motor Pool were pulling security while Patch tended to Weasel’s wounds he had sustained during their hasty escape. Grizz was up next, sustaining various shallow cuts on his person, and the pain on his chest from the blaster round he got topside returned with a vengeance.
But all he could think of and see were their faces.
He still remembered Guts telling about his father's shipyard above Duro and how he used to marvel at the ships that passed by. The young man wasn't good enough to be a pilot like his father wanted him to be, and got in the Army instead. Just a couple days ago he was talking excitedly to Motor Pool about maybe some lessons with the squad's dropship in the future. Breach wanted to go back to school eventually to finish his education. The Zabrak was quite the sketch artist in his spare time, and drew caricatures of everyone in the squad. Good men. It was too soon for either of them.
Gearhead. Reaper. Bones. Guts. And now Breach.
And so many more he couldn't save.
Gearhead. Reaper. Bones. Guts. And now Breach.
And so many more he couldn't save.
3. SOMETHING IS MISSING...
[beebox4=600px]
1010 ABY- ALLIANCE SPECIAL FORCES TEAM ROOM- GHARZR SQUADRON
All things considered, this isn’t too bad of a gig.
So far my first few days went pretty well. No embarrassing nicknames for yours truly, and the squad’s Team Sergeant seems to be a nice enough guy, if a little odd. His name is Grizz but they call him 'Coach'. It’s pretty clear that he’s the one with the only shred of authority in this team. We’re all NCOs here anyway, and we’ve yet to get a replacement team leader from the one that just left. Someone on the squad, I think his name was Juicy (he certainly looked like he was on it), said Coach ‘cut’ him from the team for being terribly incompetent. I guess this guy has some a lot of pull with this group. Speaking of, he’s disappeared. Apparently to consult our company Sergeant Major, ‘Mother Superior’ and the rest of the team made themselves scarce soon after as well. I had to unfortunate pleasure of being in the vicinity of Mother Superrior when she chewed out some poor sod. She scares me. If anything, she reminds me of my grandmother on Devaron…
Suddenly, I’m glad to be far far away from home.
Anyway, at least for the moment I have some peace and quiet. I think I’ll jus—
Beeep. Beeep.
Oh drak, already?
“Hello,” I answer my comms. A familiar voice crackles from the other line, what was his name again? Tomer Zaal? I could’ve sworn he was in my team, I must’ve seen him in lunch earlier too. “Yo man, thank the Force. I had to jump a fence because I locked myself out of the house and I caught myself trying to straddle it. Might’ve ruptured something real bad, you mind checking it out? I really don't want to explain this to Coach.”
Oh why not, it's a start to exert my influence on this band of misfits. “… Come to the team room,” I said grimly before cutting the channel short. Of course he had to be an idiot and get himself hurt. I suppose it’s going to be my life for years to come, fussing over these guys. Oh well. At least I’ve had more excitement since med school in these last few months.
The man to the voice arrives shortly after, looking very anxious. I wave him over, put on some gloves, did away with his shorts and took a look to see what all the fuss was about. Needless to say, it wasn’t what I expected.
“Well? What is it? He asks.
I wasn’t quite sure how to put it to him.
“…. Uh.” I murmur. “Give me a second…”
Unless I somehow forgot human anatomy, I believe they were supposed to have two testicles? Where in the Force can the other one go? I think I must’ve spent the next ten minutes searching to no avail. I poked and prodded everywhere, thinking it might have retracted itself in there somehow. The other man was clearly getting irritated. Well, he had been standing there with his junk out for a while now. If anything I was more bothered about this than he was. There was no way it could just up and disappear. Testicles don't have a mind of its own do they? Perhaps that was why there are so many of these humans in the galaxy, I thought to myself.
How did he do this to himself I will never truly know. Suffice to say that my irritation gave way to an outburst or two, of which I will not speak of. This Zaal fellow has maintained his silence through it all, an impressive feat for a human. I expected him to be chattering away and trying to make conversation. For some reason though, his was twitching a lot. Was he trying to keep me from seeing that he was indeed in pain? Or perhaps he is suffering from another condition altogether...
“… I… try going to the Med Center?” I offered this to him.
He stops, lowering his head for a second before breaking out into laughter.
I blinked.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”
I can hear laugher coming from outside now too. The door burst open to reveal all of Gharzr, and Coach was wiping tears from his eyes as he walked over to Zaal. The older man’s hand came up and gave him a resounding high-five. I could’ve sworn I saw Mother Superior in the back too, shaking her head and the slightest hints of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Flawless performance… One-Ball,” he nods and grins at me. I realize that I had been duped all along by this insidious man. “You dropped out of med school for this, eh Patch?” He proceeds to explain that 'One-Ball' had been the victim of a freak training accident that led him to his current predicament. Truly this man is a devil in disguise. No wonder he managed to assert his authority on these plebeians.
I yell fruitlessly into the heavens, and made my rage known to the powers that be.
“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-”
All things considered, this isn’t too bad of a gig.
So far my first few days went pretty well. No embarrassing nicknames for yours truly, and the squad’s Team Sergeant seems to be a nice enough guy, if a little odd. His name is Grizz but they call him 'Coach'. It’s pretty clear that he’s the one with the only shred of authority in this team. We’re all NCOs here anyway, and we’ve yet to get a replacement team leader from the one that just left. Someone on the squad, I think his name was Juicy (he certainly looked like he was on it), said Coach ‘cut’ him from the team for being terribly incompetent. I guess this guy has some a lot of pull with this group. Speaking of, he’s disappeared. Apparently to consult our company Sergeant Major, ‘Mother Superior’ and the rest of the team made themselves scarce soon after as well. I had to unfortunate pleasure of being in the vicinity of Mother Superrior when she chewed out some poor sod. She scares me. If anything, she reminds me of my grandmother on Devaron…
Suddenly, I’m glad to be far far away from home.
Anyway, at least for the moment I have some peace and quiet. I think I’ll jus—
Beeep. Beeep.
Oh drak, already?
“Hello,” I answer my comms. A familiar voice crackles from the other line, what was his name again? Tomer Zaal? I could’ve sworn he was in my team, I must’ve seen him in lunch earlier too. “Yo man, thank the Force. I had to jump a fence because I locked myself out of the house and I caught myself trying to straddle it. Might’ve ruptured something real bad, you mind checking it out? I really don't want to explain this to Coach.”
Oh why not, it's a start to exert my influence on this band of misfits. “… Come to the team room,” I said grimly before cutting the channel short. Of course he had to be an idiot and get himself hurt. I suppose it’s going to be my life for years to come, fussing over these guys. Oh well. At least I’ve had more excitement since med school in these last few months.
The man to the voice arrives shortly after, looking very anxious. I wave him over, put on some gloves, did away with his shorts and took a look to see what all the fuss was about. Needless to say, it wasn’t what I expected.
“Well? What is it? He asks.
I wasn’t quite sure how to put it to him.
“…. Uh.” I murmur. “Give me a second…”
Unless I somehow forgot human anatomy, I believe they were supposed to have two testicles? Where in the Force can the other one go? I think I must’ve spent the next ten minutes searching to no avail. I poked and prodded everywhere, thinking it might have retracted itself in there somehow. The other man was clearly getting irritated. Well, he had been standing there with his junk out for a while now. If anything I was more bothered about this than he was. There was no way it could just up and disappear. Testicles don't have a mind of its own do they? Perhaps that was why there are so many of these humans in the galaxy, I thought to myself.
How did he do this to himself I will never truly know. Suffice to say that my irritation gave way to an outburst or two, of which I will not speak of. This Zaal fellow has maintained his silence through it all, an impressive feat for a human. I expected him to be chattering away and trying to make conversation. For some reason though, his was twitching a lot. Was he trying to keep me from seeing that he was indeed in pain? Or perhaps he is suffering from another condition altogether...
“… I… try going to the Med Center?” I offered this to him.
He stops, lowering his head for a second before breaking out into laughter.
I blinked.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”
I can hear laugher coming from outside now too. The door burst open to reveal all of Gharzr, and Coach was wiping tears from his eyes as he walked over to Zaal. The older man’s hand came up and gave him a resounding high-five. I could’ve sworn I saw Mother Superior in the back too, shaking her head and the slightest hints of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Flawless performance… One-Ball,” he nods and grins at me. I realize that I had been duped all along by this insidious man. “You dropped out of med school for this, eh Patch?” He proceeds to explain that 'One-Ball' had been the victim of a freak training accident that led him to his current predicament. Truly this man is a devil in disguise. No wonder he managed to assert his authority on these plebeians.
I yell fruitlessly into the heavens, and made my rage known to the powers that be.
“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-”
4. ALL GOOD THINGS COME TO AN END PT.2
[beebox4=600px]
1013 ABY - SOMEWHERE IN THE UNDERCITY
The squad sat circled around the makeshift fire they had made from the many compacted trash cubes that were piled on the sides of the streets. Grizz had recently returned with Weasel and Patch with many… dead undercity denizens in tow. They varied in shapes and sizes, some were hawk-bats that strayed too far from the pack, encountering some very hungry armed sentients like the team Sergeant. The team also encountered some more hive rats, but Patch insisted on passing them on for food, saying something along the lines of: “Sewage-eating mutant rats that can grow taller than all of us combined? How desperate are we anyway?” Grizz had agreed with his medic’s assessment, chances are they’ll catch something just by getting real close let alone consuming one.
“It’s not bad,” assessed Iceman. The Sullustan took another bite of the hawk-bat meat and chewed thoughtfully. The rest of the team followed with a series of nods and affirmations. “Probably the best meal we’re going to get down here,” Motor Pool shrugged, before turning to Grizz. “Did you three find anyone else down here? I mean, there must be some people that made it like we did right?” The question hung in the air as a dead silence followed, Patch and Weasel looked at each other before their eyes settled on the team Sergeant. The older man took a large bite and simply shrugged at his teammate. “No signs of life. Any place we passed by were completely abandoned. We won’t really know until we go up further, but I don’t want to risk running into Imperials.” The Sergeant worked his way through the bone before tossing it aside. All he saw were more creatures of the dark than he can count, certainly not people.
There was so much chaos in the battle up above he wasn’t sure if even a tenth of the planet’s population made it out when the evacuation was called. At least in this section of the undercity, some of the heating systems that ran through the entire planet were still working. Depending on the damage done, some of the lower to middle sections of the levels could be without electricity and heat. Anyone still there would probably freeze over soon, unless they went up to where the sunlight could reach.
It was a fate he hoped no one he knew had to live through.
Still, it was hard to believe it was it. Generally, once you capture Coruscant, the center of the Galaxy and certainly that of the Galactic Alliance… it was all over. Sure, pockets of resistance would be left in the rest of the Core and beyond. Certainly the Corellians will not go away without a fight. But what then? Against the might of the Imperial war machine, none were safe now that the Galactic Alliance was done with. Looking over at the ashen faces of his comrades, it was clear that they were having similar thoughts. After seeing what the Sith had done to Coruscant, could they watch as their homes suffer similar fates? Which begs the question that was unspoken…
“So,” the NCOIC broke the silence, his eyes darting from one team member to another. “You all know what’s up. What’re you going to do now?” He had a feeling of what was coming next, knowing each and every one of them for as long as he did. Weasel spoke first, “I assume we will want to find a way off-world… but after that… I will make for Corellia.” His black orbs gazed at the Sergeant intently. “I… have strayed too far from my den. It is time I make amends, despite that what I have done so far is for their sake. The New Sith Imperium will no doubt make their claim upon my world, and I will defend it like the rest of my brethren and the Corellians.” Grizz simply nodded but he was hoping Weasel wouldn’t say it. Chances are, he’d be heading into certain death with that decision, and the Sergeant would’ve been the one to let him go. Though ttechnically Grizz had little authority on him left to hold him back, all things considered.
“Here’s hoping you have better luck with it than I did.”
The Selonian nodded pensively, but his curious gaze lingered on Grizz. He knew when the man desperately wanted to ask a question, but was unsure of the ramifications it held or whether it was socially appropriate to do so. It was a lot for a Selonian to just up and leave the den, let alone the system of Corellia. ‘Weasel’ was unnaturally curious of the world he was seemingly denied of, and often asked them everything from their respective homeworlds, customs and the like to their personal lives. It was a bit overwhelming, given what little crash course he had on social etiquette, and he was brutally honest.
“Y’know… you might as well ask. We have all the time in the world down here,” the sergeant’s smile never wavered. Motor Pool on the other hand, was gesticulating wildly at the Selonian behind the team Sergeant, mouthing the words ‘too soon’ and slashing across his throat with one hand several times for emphasis. Patch and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder, shaking his head.
“Very well … I confess I am unsettled,” the Selonian admitted, noticeably ignoring Motor Pool’s antics. “I am struggling to understand your easy acceptance at the destruction of your homeworld. Perhaps it is because I… as you have said before… ‘wear the sleeve on my heart’, as you have mentioned before in our past talks.”
“… Force, you don’t mince words do you Weasel?” The Devaronian medic cradled his head with both hands, and sighed. “And I think the heart goes on the sleeve in that particular expression…”
“Ah, my apologies Patch. You are indeed correct.”
Great, he was actually forced to think about it now. The reality of it all hadn’t really sunk in, after all the old NCO had his hands full with keeping his boys alive through the shitstorm. He had no straight answer for Weasel if that was what the Selonian was looking for, but it was clear he needed to appease his squadmate. Grizz scowled slightly, he supposed he’d have to spill it and try to convey his thoughts to the best of his ability. Although everything was a little disjointed up at the moment. Most likely from the lack of sleep, he’d been running on fumes for the past day or so. Caf. That was what he needed, but this was hardly the place to get any…
“You boys fasten your seat belts, this is gonna be a long one. Even for me.”
Truth to be told, he didn’t know where to even begin. But here goes. They deserved to know at least, and he trusted them. No one else was going to hear him down here anyway.
“I… I don’t know how I should feel,” he ran a hand through his scalp, shaking his head ruefully. “You have to understand, Weasel, I didn’t exactly have the best of memories of home. Sure, I had my moments, but for the most part it sucked. We lived alongside trash, and weren’t really treated any better either. Actually, I was given the impression by my own parents that I’d never even see the sun. I’d be down here in the gutters like the rest, rotting away while others thrived in the Corusca gem that everyone else in the Galaxy is so enthralled with. They don’t see that underneath the glittering surface, it’s just as black and rotten as any hive of scum and villainy you’d get in the Outer Rim. You know what my ma told me when I said I’d get off-world? Stop dreaming. Dreams are for the people up there, not for us.”
A pang of bitterness worked its way into his voice. He remembered how he felt still, betrayed, dejected by his own mother’s words of all things. Blinded by anger. But he never gave up. He refused to bow down where others had. “I hated it. I hated it when I see her work twice as hard as anyone for so little. I hate how my pa would come home with bruises and refuse to tell me about it, but I know better. I hated how they’d talk in hushed whispers about credits and how much they have to pay the gangers that made our neighborhood their domain. I was sick of it all. I was sick of the life I was made to believe I’d have.”
“I got out, obviously, and the rest is history. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not bawling my eyes out over the destruction of my world. That up there? That’s not my home. This is. I’m almost underwhelmed that this didn’t get wiped too. Still smells like podoo down here.” The sergeant spat to the side, and got up. Tch, even he was amazed at the bitterness suddenly dredged up by that conversation. “I need to take a walk dammit. Clear my head a little. Weasel you’re on watch, Iceman you’re up next. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Also, don’t pick on him,” he jabbed a finger at Weasel, who looked around nervously. “He didn’t do anything wrong, and if I see or hear anything I don’t like… there’ll be consequences. Clear?” The squad nodded their heads and gave their respective affirmations. Standing up, he made sure to look at everyone dead in the eyes to make his point across, before walking over to Weasel, who was already doing as he instructed. The poor kid’s face was so guilt-stricken, Grizz couldn’t resist ruffling his furry head and slapped him on the back.
“Don’t feel bad about it, ‘twas all me young fella.”
The Selonian nodded, but said nothing. Grizz gave a wry smile before walking off their encampment, finally alone with his thoughts.
“It’s not bad,” assessed Iceman. The Sullustan took another bite of the hawk-bat meat and chewed thoughtfully. The rest of the team followed with a series of nods and affirmations. “Probably the best meal we’re going to get down here,” Motor Pool shrugged, before turning to Grizz. “Did you three find anyone else down here? I mean, there must be some people that made it like we did right?” The question hung in the air as a dead silence followed, Patch and Weasel looked at each other before their eyes settled on the team Sergeant. The older man took a large bite and simply shrugged at his teammate. “No signs of life. Any place we passed by were completely abandoned. We won’t really know until we go up further, but I don’t want to risk running into Imperials.” The Sergeant worked his way through the bone before tossing it aside. All he saw were more creatures of the dark than he can count, certainly not people.
There was so much chaos in the battle up above he wasn’t sure if even a tenth of the planet’s population made it out when the evacuation was called. At least in this section of the undercity, some of the heating systems that ran through the entire planet were still working. Depending on the damage done, some of the lower to middle sections of the levels could be without electricity and heat. Anyone still there would probably freeze over soon, unless they went up to where the sunlight could reach.
It was a fate he hoped no one he knew had to live through.
Still, it was hard to believe it was it. Generally, once you capture Coruscant, the center of the Galaxy and certainly that of the Galactic Alliance… it was all over. Sure, pockets of resistance would be left in the rest of the Core and beyond. Certainly the Corellians will not go away without a fight. But what then? Against the might of the Imperial war machine, none were safe now that the Galactic Alliance was done with. Looking over at the ashen faces of his comrades, it was clear that they were having similar thoughts. After seeing what the Sith had done to Coruscant, could they watch as their homes suffer similar fates? Which begs the question that was unspoken…
“So,” the NCOIC broke the silence, his eyes darting from one team member to another. “You all know what’s up. What’re you going to do now?” He had a feeling of what was coming next, knowing each and every one of them for as long as he did. Weasel spoke first, “I assume we will want to find a way off-world… but after that… I will make for Corellia.” His black orbs gazed at the Sergeant intently. “I… have strayed too far from my den. It is time I make amends, despite that what I have done so far is for their sake. The New Sith Imperium will no doubt make their claim upon my world, and I will defend it like the rest of my brethren and the Corellians.” Grizz simply nodded but he was hoping Weasel wouldn’t say it. Chances are, he’d be heading into certain death with that decision, and the Sergeant would’ve been the one to let him go. Though ttechnically Grizz had little authority on him left to hold him back, all things considered.
“Here’s hoping you have better luck with it than I did.”
The Selonian nodded pensively, but his curious gaze lingered on Grizz. He knew when the man desperately wanted to ask a question, but was unsure of the ramifications it held or whether it was socially appropriate to do so. It was a lot for a Selonian to just up and leave the den, let alone the system of Corellia. ‘Weasel’ was unnaturally curious of the world he was seemingly denied of, and often asked them everything from their respective homeworlds, customs and the like to their personal lives. It was a bit overwhelming, given what little crash course he had on social etiquette, and he was brutally honest.
“Y’know… you might as well ask. We have all the time in the world down here,” the sergeant’s smile never wavered. Motor Pool on the other hand, was gesticulating wildly at the Selonian behind the team Sergeant, mouthing the words ‘too soon’ and slashing across his throat with one hand several times for emphasis. Patch and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder, shaking his head.
“Very well … I confess I am unsettled,” the Selonian admitted, noticeably ignoring Motor Pool’s antics. “I am struggling to understand your easy acceptance at the destruction of your homeworld. Perhaps it is because I… as you have said before… ‘wear the sleeve on my heart’, as you have mentioned before in our past talks.”
“… Force, you don’t mince words do you Weasel?” The Devaronian medic cradled his head with both hands, and sighed. “And I think the heart goes on the sleeve in that particular expression…”
“Ah, my apologies Patch. You are indeed correct.”
Great, he was actually forced to think about it now. The reality of it all hadn’t really sunk in, after all the old NCO had his hands full with keeping his boys alive through the shitstorm. He had no straight answer for Weasel if that was what the Selonian was looking for, but it was clear he needed to appease his squadmate. Grizz scowled slightly, he supposed he’d have to spill it and try to convey his thoughts to the best of his ability. Although everything was a little disjointed up at the moment. Most likely from the lack of sleep, he’d been running on fumes for the past day or so. Caf. That was what he needed, but this was hardly the place to get any…
“You boys fasten your seat belts, this is gonna be a long one. Even for me.”
Truth to be told, he didn’t know where to even begin. But here goes. They deserved to know at least, and he trusted them. No one else was going to hear him down here anyway.
“I… I don’t know how I should feel,” he ran a hand through his scalp, shaking his head ruefully. “You have to understand, Weasel, I didn’t exactly have the best of memories of home. Sure, I had my moments, but for the most part it sucked. We lived alongside trash, and weren’t really treated any better either. Actually, I was given the impression by my own parents that I’d never even see the sun. I’d be down here in the gutters like the rest, rotting away while others thrived in the Corusca gem that everyone else in the Galaxy is so enthralled with. They don’t see that underneath the glittering surface, it’s just as black and rotten as any hive of scum and villainy you’d get in the Outer Rim. You know what my ma told me when I said I’d get off-world? Stop dreaming. Dreams are for the people up there, not for us.”
A pang of bitterness worked its way into his voice. He remembered how he felt still, betrayed, dejected by his own mother’s words of all things. Blinded by anger. But he never gave up. He refused to bow down where others had. “I hated it. I hated it when I see her work twice as hard as anyone for so little. I hate how my pa would come home with bruises and refuse to tell me about it, but I know better. I hated how they’d talk in hushed whispers about credits and how much they have to pay the gangers that made our neighborhood their domain. I was sick of it all. I was sick of the life I was made to believe I’d have.”
“I got out, obviously, and the rest is history. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not bawling my eyes out over the destruction of my world. That up there? That’s not my home. This is. I’m almost underwhelmed that this didn’t get wiped too. Still smells like podoo down here.” The sergeant spat to the side, and got up. Tch, even he was amazed at the bitterness suddenly dredged up by that conversation. “I need to take a walk dammit. Clear my head a little. Weasel you’re on watch, Iceman you’re up next. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Also, don’t pick on him,” he jabbed a finger at Weasel, who looked around nervously. “He didn’t do anything wrong, and if I see or hear anything I don’t like… there’ll be consequences. Clear?” The squad nodded their heads and gave their respective affirmations. Standing up, he made sure to look at everyone dead in the eyes to make his point across, before walking over to Weasel, who was already doing as he instructed. The poor kid’s face was so guilt-stricken, Grizz couldn’t resist ruffling his furry head and slapped him on the back.
“Don’t feel bad about it, ‘twas all me young fella.”
The Selonian nodded, but said nothing. Grizz gave a wry smile before walking off their encampment, finally alone with his thoughts.
***
The ramblings the rest of the team were spared of continued in his head. For what felt like hours, the old sergeant walked on undisturbed. Abandoned belongings spilled into the streets from the empty neighborhoods he passed, chilling reminders that they were once full of people. Again, he saw no survivors and scowled at the prospect.
He and his men fought, and bled for the better part of two years for what? This? The Galactic Alliance was gone, at the cost of the lives of too many good men and women. Too many worlds gone, ones he strangely felt for more than the miserable dump he stood on. Thousands, maybe millions were dead, but if they were down here they were spared a long, pitiful existence amongst the rats. His parents had passed already at this point, and his siblings had moved off-world. Not that he maintained much contact with them, the army was his life after all for the past years. Gharzr, his brothers in arms, was the center of his attention. Yet he couldn’t save them all. The spiel he gave earlier about his apparent apathy wasn’t exactly truthful either, or not complete rather. He was bitter for sure, which may have edged over in his little outburst, but above all conflicted. What happened to Coruscant was just another stark reminder of the inevitability of all of their struggles, and that bothered him for than anything.
Was it all for nothing? The G.A was gone, and technically… so are his obligations. For all of them, in fact.
C'mon now, he steeled himself. You still have them. If anything else happens to them, only then. They’re your responsibility.
But after? I suppose I’ll think of something when I get to that point.
With that squared away, the soldier started to make his way back. He wasn’t at all satisfied at his conclusion… but it’s a start. Force, he hoped he didn’t go too far. He never meant to go this far, but Grizz supposed that he was a little distracted. Weasel’s question hit him harder than he anticipated… he supposed he still had his own issues to deal with. For his team’s sake, they couldn’t see him like this. They needed someone to dependable in these times, and he sure as hell wasn’t the guy but damn it all he’d try. He pretty much knew what they were worrying about too for the most part, Weasel aside. Motor Pool had a wife on Eriadu and a possible kid on the way must’ve been worrying sick about him since he last saw her. Iceman and Patch had families on Sullust and Devaron respectively, but they weren’t particularly close. Especially the latter. He doubted the medic even talked to his parents in a while, ever since he made the decision to join the military instead of doing what they wished. Well, not that medical school would’ve fared any better. Patch was smart for sure, but his calling was elsewhere. Iceman probably would not be concerned with his immediate family. His fiancée on the other hand was on Duro with her family, presumably to try and convince them to leave.
He and his men fought, and bled for the better part of two years for what? This? The Galactic Alliance was gone, at the cost of the lives of too many good men and women. Too many worlds gone, ones he strangely felt for more than the miserable dump he stood on. Thousands, maybe millions were dead, but if they were down here they were spared a long, pitiful existence amongst the rats. His parents had passed already at this point, and his siblings had moved off-world. Not that he maintained much contact with them, the army was his life after all for the past years. Gharzr, his brothers in arms, was the center of his attention. Yet he couldn’t save them all. The spiel he gave earlier about his apparent apathy wasn’t exactly truthful either, or not complete rather. He was bitter for sure, which may have edged over in his little outburst, but above all conflicted. What happened to Coruscant was just another stark reminder of the inevitability of all of their struggles, and that bothered him for than anything.
Was it all for nothing? The G.A was gone, and technically… so are his obligations. For all of them, in fact.
C'mon now, he steeled himself. You still have them. If anything else happens to them, only then. They’re your responsibility.
But after? I suppose I’ll think of something when I get to that point.
With that squared away, the soldier started to make his way back. He wasn’t at all satisfied at his conclusion… but it’s a start. Force, he hoped he didn’t go too far. He never meant to go this far, but Grizz supposed that he was a little distracted. Weasel’s question hit him harder than he anticipated… he supposed he still had his own issues to deal with. For his team’s sake, they couldn’t see him like this. They needed someone to dependable in these times, and he sure as hell wasn’t the guy but damn it all he’d try. He pretty much knew what they were worrying about too for the most part, Weasel aside. Motor Pool had a wife on Eriadu and a possible kid on the way must’ve been worrying sick about him since he last saw her. Iceman and Patch had families on Sullust and Devaron respectively, but they weren’t particularly close. Especially the latter. He doubted the medic even talked to his parents in a while, ever since he made the decision to join the military instead of doing what they wished. Well, not that medical school would’ve fared any better. Patch was smart for sure, but his calling was elsewhere. Iceman probably would not be concerned with his immediate family. His fiancée on the other hand was on Duro with her family, presumably to try and convince them to leave.
Pretty much, if and when they can secure passage off-world, everyone had a place to go. Err, he supposed with Patch… it’d be with Motor Pool. The two were practically inseparable at this point anyway. Well, he supposed he was wrong with that assessment, he never really figured out it for himself. With the Galactic Alliance on its knees, Coruscant gone… there’s really nowhere else for him to go. He could tag along with any one of them if he’d liked…
No.
A burden, that’s all he’d be. He had no right to intrude on their lives. Not after this.
Grizz stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted an object on the street. The old man bent over and picked it up, a spheric-ah. He recognized it now! It was a limmie ball, or a makeshift one at least. Kids down here were often too poor to afford one, so they’d stuff all sorts of things into old socks and make a ball out of it. He remembered playing street ball barefoot when he was little with all the others of his age. Of course he'd get all sorts of scuffs, cuts and bruises, and his smother scolded him to no end when he'd come home late after playing. But he didn't care and kept coming back, only stopping when he got older and shouldered some responsibility for the rest of his family. It was such a long time ago and such a small thing, but it was one of the few memories he cherished growing up. No one cared who he was or what he was, they all just played for the love of the game. He had forgotten. But maybe…
Could he still..?
The sergeant let the ball drop, and kicked it right back up just before it hit the ground, and again. After the second bounce of course he had lost his balance a little, due to all the gear he carried, and the ball bounced away. It wasn’t anything impressive, but to him, after so many years he just laughed it off. Grizz was amazed that after so many decades, that one particular set of muscle memory hadn’t gone away. It was simple, but cheered him up far more than any talk could. Fairly pleased with himself, he continued his way towards Gharzr’s encampment.
Ah, maybe it wasn’t a complete loss after all.
No.
A burden, that’s all he’d be. He had no right to intrude on their lives. Not after this.
Grizz stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted an object on the street. The old man bent over and picked it up, a spheric-ah. He recognized it now! It was a limmie ball, or a makeshift one at least. Kids down here were often too poor to afford one, so they’d stuff all sorts of things into old socks and make a ball out of it. He remembered playing street ball barefoot when he was little with all the others of his age. Of course he'd get all sorts of scuffs, cuts and bruises, and his smother scolded him to no end when he'd come home late after playing. But he didn't care and kept coming back, only stopping when he got older and shouldered some responsibility for the rest of his family. It was such a long time ago and such a small thing, but it was one of the few memories he cherished growing up. No one cared who he was or what he was, they all just played for the love of the game. He had forgotten. But maybe…
Could he still..?
The sergeant let the ball drop, and kicked it right back up just before it hit the ground, and again. After the second bounce of course he had lost his balance a little, due to all the gear he carried, and the ball bounced away. It wasn’t anything impressive, but to him, after so many years he just laughed it off. Grizz was amazed that after so many decades, that one particular set of muscle memory hadn’t gone away. It was simple, but cheered him up far more than any talk could. Fairly pleased with himself, he continued his way towards Gharzr’s encampment.
Ah, maybe it wasn’t a complete loss after all.
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