Era of Rebellion - Navigation

Christopher Levy and Anonymous.
Zero years after the Battle of Yavin (35:8:13) in the Yavin system: Yavin 4 (Great Temple).
Jargel Bogg and El-Nay Darr.

All good things come to an end and this happened to be one of them. They needed a distraction to land their mark and to get the hell off planet. Well what better way than to put the ship on auto pilot and let it take off from the landing port right into one of the nearby towers. It caused such a disarray they had collected the Imperial Agent they had been tasked with recovering and getting into the sky on his ship without inspection. Now, what did he fly? Well it wasn't fantastic, but it definitely wasn't cheap either. It was a small cargo ship that had been outfitted with two guns and engines tampered with to help them out run what was needing to be outran. He was no fighter pilot and as such, he put all his energy into making this ship one of the fastest in darkspace. After all, he might not win a fight out here, but he sure as hell wasn't going to die in a dogfight if they can't catch him. He learned some things, if you aren't the biggest dog in the fight, you better be the smartest. She had been able to catch some of the explosion because down below one could still make it out as they were going towards the planet's top level of atmosphere. "Secure the cargo." With that he would push the man hard and purposely off the wall, head first. His arms were shackled behind his back. "He is to be delivered to a set of rebels and from there what is done to him is their problem." So, training was about to begin, well first they needed to get this person dropped off. "I am going to take you to a place where we can truly make a hunter out of you. That armor ... needs to be put up. Find something on board, we are not Mandalorians to the world around, not if you want to live to see them be reborn." Why hide? Well, for now until she was trained, until they found others to support a cause to pick up arms, one must simply wait it out. "Get some rest and I will be at the helm until we make port again." He figured she probably had questions. He didn't wear armor, where was his armor, how did a Nautolan wear a helmet, why did he choose a slugthrower over a blaster, and many other things probably.

It had taken more than a year of saving back on Corellia to purchase that second hand ship, but it mattered not to her anymore ... she had earned enough money in her early bounties to buy a fleet of broken down Corellian transports. What mattered now was that they were off that horrid world and now on their way again. When he started giving her orders she hesitated for a moment out of instinct, but only for a moment and then quickly took control of their Imperial prisoner and began the process of securing him properly inside of the ship that she was still familiarizing herself with. As she worked she listened to the Nautolan, quite surprised that he was seemingly in league with the Rebellion. She hated the Empire for what they were doing on Mandalore, and while she had flirted with the idea of joining their cause ... she did not feel it likely they could make a difference and chose more selfish pursuits as a boreya. Once the prisoner, or 'cargo', was secured she stood in front of him obediently as he instructed her to remove her beskar'gam. She did not like the idea of concealing her heritage, and in these instructions he echoed the words of her parents. In fact, the armor she now wore had been largely untouched since the Clone Wars. Her hands once again went to the side of her helmet and she quickly removed it, revealing her young face, and along with her matted artificially dyed hair. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you have a refresher on this garbage scow..." she muttered as she began the process of removing the armor, which she did so delicately and gingerly because of her blaster wound. Once the upper portion had been removed and she witnessed the extent of the wound she felt a bit queasy ... as it was her first ... as she began to scour the area for a medpac. Finding a partial one, she proceeded to remove the remainder of the armor before slinking off to the refresher. She did not mind undressing in front of him as he was a member of her clan ... and much older. She was a wounded mess and there was an odor about her, and she was thankful that the Nautolan had at least managed to operate a craft where she could properly clean and treat herself. After a few moments a loud scream echoed through the ship, as El-Nay realized that the refresher unit was out of service. Next there was the sound of metal clanking against metal as she angrily started throwing everything she could get her hands on around the ship. When she emerged she was glowing an angry shade of red, and her chest was heaving as she filled with an uncontrollable rage. There were many things she could tolerate ... but the lack of a refresher was not one of them. The Nautolan would now have to deal with the fact that he was sharing his personal space with a woman.

Oh the screams were splendid, they sounded like a symphony of organs playing a beautiful set of classical music. The way they let out their bellows and howls, it would match the same notes she hit in her complaining. "Eh... youngster will learn a couple things about hard work, just by repairing things that needed to get fixed." He was talking to himself, he figured it was best not to piss off the kitten, their teeth tended to be sharper than that of an adult cat and he did prefer being intact. He waited a good hour before he spoke out clearly, loud enough over the intercom system, so that way there was no way for her to miss his message. "I suggest grabbing a wrench and getting to work. If you want it working you might want to learn a thing or two. There are a couple datapads on basic repairs." Why had he not done it himself? Well, he's been a little busy with taking down targets, smuggling goods and just trying to keep his head above his own grave ... just enough to live at the very least. "I will keep the com open, just talk or ask. We have sometime to kill." Well that was nice of him right? He was going to at least give her some company while she worked on a couple things. He was going to stay right there in the cockpit and make sure to keep an eye on anything and everything that might decide to jump out at them. Also, it was to give him sometime before he was going to face the headache of training a new Mandalorian and to break her already bad habits that she formed from her lack of proper training. Oh this was going to make him have an ulcer.

El-Nay angrily muttered angrily as she listened to the Nautolan over the comm system ... was this his idea of training ... refresher maintenance? She clenched her right hand angrily into a fist and punched it into a left palm to relieve her anger, but it was met with a sharp twinge of pain in her wounded shoulder as her rage had momentarily blinded her to her injury. She shook her head as she grabbed one of the datapads, which she was amazed was still functioning giving her new surrounded, and began to read about refresher maintenance. She got through about eight minutes worth of reading when she became confused and felt her head began to hurt, and angrily threw the datapad onto the ground causing it to shatter into pieces and cause sparks to fly. "Haar'chak!" she cursed angrily, as she folded her arms in front of her chest and seated herself in the rear compartment of the ship. "When we get wherever it is we're going, why don't we get a droid to fix it?" she asked, thinking this job more suited for a droid than a warrior. As she was seated she began rotating her head clockwise while extending her shoulders to try and improve the tension that had built up from being blasted. She reached for her cigarra, a vice that did not suit her, and quickly lit it to attempt to calm her mood as she did not want to offend the newfound member of her aliit. She lay down on the makeshift cot, and took a long drag, before exhaling a plume of smoke skyward. She was not sure what was worse ... the wound or the feeling of being filthy from the lack of a working refresher.

She wasn't really liking the fact of having to do maintenance on the ship. She was acting like a little teenage girl. It was sort of sad, but he would have to beat it out of her somehow. Though with the request of getting a droid, he just seemed to scoff at the thought. "And deprive you of the knowledge of fixing and surviving. I am going to teach you to be a Mandalorian, not some di'kut." She really was going to have to suck it up and learn how to use some tools. "Think of it like this, this is the first part of your training. So, why ... why do you want to be apart of a dying culture? We are hunted, we are the prey and we are no longer lead by a Mandalore. Our people are few and far or dead." There were many things that many Mandalorian's have forgotten over the years, many things that were left behind. Rituals and other practices, but he had spent his time as a Mandalorian searching and recovering. What she was going to find out, is he was like a historian. He was not the biggest dog in the fight, nor the fiercest. He was the most educated and knowledgeable on past battles. He spent hours upon hours just researching. Thing was, where was all this data? She would find soon enough. There was a lot of work on the ship that needed to be done, so she would have plenty of things to do. You see there was a reason he didn't get a droid to do it. She needed to learn there were no short cuts in life.

El-Nay grimaced uncomfortably as she listened to him describe the state of their people, but she could not disagree with him. While he was correct on all of his facts that did not mean she had to like it. "You speak as if we have already lost," she said as coldly as the gray of her eyes, before taking a slow drag on her cigarra and exhaling in sharp bitterness. "Where is your ka'rta?" she asked dismissively, unmoving from her prone position on the poorly constructed, uncomfortable cot she feared would be her bed for the foreseeable future. "I do not want to be part of Mado'ad ... I am part of Mando'ad," she said proudly, showing some life for the first time in the conversation. The time she had spent on Mandalore was a distant memory, as her family had fled the planet shortly after the Empire began taking interest in mining the beskar and beginning harsh restrictions on the world. To her Mandalore ... the people, the planet, and the leader ... were impossible ideals that never would meet her expectations. What she knew of her people came only from her mother, who taught her only in secret, whilst hiding amongst the Corellians. Thus far it had proved barely enough to give to give her a passing knowledge of her culture and background. "As long as we live ... the Mado'ad live," she said confidently, as she stubbed out her cigarra, and rolled on her side, eyeing the broken refresher with the same longing that would have been expressed by seeing a long lost love. "You support the rebels then..?" she asked slowly, changing the subject, as she was curious about why he had been hunting an Imperial agent, and where they were going ... wherever it was she hoped there would be a working shower.

Their time together remained separated through the flight. He put her to work, any time she decided to complain, he would let her know there was something else that could be fixed. If he wasn't mistaken the last thing he told her to do was to scrub down the entire interior of the ship, give it a fresh scrub. Why was he doing that? Why would he make her do something a droid could do, something that he could do? Well that was the point. He had done it growing up. He wasn't allowed to complain, if he complained it meant he had more energy to work. Her father was raised the same way. She happened to be raised in a different time, different rules. What he needed to do first was turn her into a soldier and beat the rebel out of her, well at least into her subconsciousness, because it does come in handy not to always follow the rules, but first she needed to learn them and follow them. He was not apart of any Rebel group, he didn't support anyone that didn't benefit his cause. The Rebels, happen to be for now on his side. "We're landing, grease ball." She hadn't had a bath, she really didn't get much privacy, but he really did this to break her down. Had any of it been working? "I am going to drop off our cargo, get the reward. You finish the wipe down and then ... we are off." Actually, he intended to stay a night, get some real rest and let her get cleaned up. Let the droids on, but what he was waiting for to drop all of that was her to mouth off one more time. "Is that understood?" Was she going to get that he didn't care if she grumbled, she didn't have to like it, she just needed to do it. Jargel Bogg, a true name for a Mandalorian, but when he was here he was no man of armor. "For now, we are simply a pair of smugglers that have to have a unique talent for extraction of ... rare items. In this time those who wear our armor, are troopers. We will one day be proud to wear it once again, for now. We layer our hearts instead and trudge on." With that he would begin to walk from her, making his way towards their lovely cargo.

When she was a child growing up on Corellia she had read fairy tales involving young women who had been forced to endure such domestic chores only to be rescued by a prince. El-Nay was exhausted from scrubbing the rickety old vessel, but while the ship had gradually become spotless, she had rapidly become filthy. She hoped that there was a point to all of this, and if it turned out there was not she likely would consider pursuing his bounty once more. As she felt the ship enter the atmosphere she let out an exasperated sigh, tossed the rag down, and prepared herself for what she would hoped would be a chance to get clean. "Grease ball?!" she muttered to herself beneath her breath as she rose from the floor, and only then did she realize what a mess she had become. "Wait ... we're not staying? We're just going to leave?" she asked incredulously, as she lifted her left arm and attempted to smell her pit. "Ugh. Gross!" she squealed in extreme discomfort, before folding her arms in front of her chest stubbornly. "Listen. I am willing to follow your teachings, but I have got to get clean..." she pleaded with him, following after him as he moved towards the prisoner. She was now in ill-fitting clothes that were designed for a man that she had found thrown around the craft that concealed her feminine form. Her work pants were stained in grease, most of the sole of her boots had been eroded, and the flight jacket she wore was likely older than her ... it might have amused him, but it humiliated her. "The enemy will smell me long before they see me," she informed him, hoping the tactical disadvantage would convince him to change his mind. In frustration she raised her hand to run through her hair, having forgotten that her hand was stained with grease. "Haar'chak!" she cursed upon realizing what she had done, and in a fit of uncontrolled anger she balled her right hand into a fist and thrust it at the wall. "Argh!" she screamed in pain, as she recoiled her arm and brought her left hand to cover her wounded right to conceal the wound. So far this had been a terrible experience for the young wannabe Mandalorian.

Well she just didn't get the point yet. She was too hard headed to simply understand the underlying problem that she was neglecting. He had given her an order, a chance and instead of sucking it up and accepting it she would break down again. "When an order is given you, you take the order. If you don't like the order you can meet me in combat." With that he just shook his head. "You are a child still and do not understand what it truly means to be a warrior. Do you think you get to stop every day to bathe? Do you think there are not days where you don't eat? If you are behind enemy lines and you pulled this shit, the man to the left or right of you ... your brothers would kill you. You are too focused on your own personal needs." That's when he just left. He didn't sit around to talk with her or deal with her crap any longer. This was the first and most important thing about their lifestyle, it was to give up the self identity and become the clan, the family. You may have your name, but a name is only to identify you when you are searched for. This culture was not about bloodline supremacy, nobility. He may be cruel in his approach of such a concept of giving up oneself for the family, for your brothers, to take orders. "If I was Mandalore, she would of long been killed for ignoring my decree." Well he was mostly speaking to himself, but the cargo needed to be dropped off to the actual rebels. He didn't align himself with them, but he did not believe in the Empire and their ways. War had always been an interest to the Mandalorians, but that did not mean that one where enslavement and suppression was running wild, had been apart of it. After all they had always adopted the young orphaned children under their wing and raised them as their own children.

El-Nay stood there expressionless as the older warrior talked down to her, and for once she had no smart aleck reply or backtalk ... instead she remained silent as she was left behind. No one had ever dressed her down in such a way ... not even her parents ... and it struck her deep to the core. She bit her lower lip as she sulked in quiet contemplation, before taking a seat on the makeshift cot that had become her bed. She let out a demoralized, broken sigh as she turned her head to watch Jargel lead the 'cargo' off the ship while she was forced to remain behind. It was at this moment that she was close to breaking and she wondered if would be easier to just run home to her mother and admit defeat. She had accomplished little in her 'career' as a boreya so far, and now she found herself wounded, filthy, and in the company of a clan member who help her in contempt. Had her father been right about her all these years? The self doubt was creeping in, but what pride she had left refused to let her give in. Subconsciously her hands balled into tight fists as she literally attempted to squeeze the tension from her body. As much as she wanted to follow him, and investigate who and what they were dealing with ... and whether they had a refresher ... she reluctantly remained aboard the ship as he had instructed. "What am I doing..." she muttered to herself in frustration, as she brought both of her greasy hands up to her face and roughly rubbed at her skin. Before she could be built up she would have to be broken down ... and she was very nearly there.

Time passed, she could of left within that time. She could of run away and did her own thing. He had delivered their cargo to the Rebels. He wasn't a rebel himself, but he did aid those who helped his own cause. This light tan skinned Nautolan took his time as he walked up the ramp. "El-Nay..." He spoke out as he was waiting for a response from her. Even if she wasn't there and she didn't even respond he spoke out clearly. "We are getting a room." Mind you he intended to have a maintenance droid to come work on the remaining parts of the ship that she had yet to repair. He knew she was dressed in clothing that had become filthy, she was filthy and looked more like a male muck diver. Not that her gender to him meant anything more than the fact she could produce a child in her own body. "Two minutes and we are leaving." He needed to come in himself and get things situated and prepared for a droid to come aboard while he was not present. He made sure to seal off his own chambers. His armor and her own was inside and locked away. Once and for all things were taken care of an sealed, making his way down the hall he would just look from one room to the other. "Leaving, keep up." He wasn't really lurking or waiting around for her at all. He didn't even notice her there because he was more focused on the task at hand. He had brought along his rifle that was slung over his shoulder while he left. She would be able to bathe and enjoy some of the things she had been taking for granted. He was not heartless, he was more out to prove a point to her. With his dark brown speckled tendrils resting back down along his neck, his tendrils were very short and there had been a couple black leather straps that either had color beads, feathers or even different creature's teeth or claws hanging from them. That fur lined collar was high on his neck.

When she heard that they would be getting a room a large, uncharacteristic smile came upon her young, soiled face that had not been seen in quite some time. She wanted to leap in the air and cheer the news, but she remembered who she was in restrained herself, containing her exuberance. It had been a difficult journey to the Rebel base, filled with tedious labor, and a neverending desire to get clean. El-Nay had no trouble keeping up with him as they moved through the facility, and would have easily passed him ... if only she knew where they were going. "See. You're not all bad," she said with a small laugh, and a warm smile, as she imagined the delight of the shower to come. No. A bath. Definitely a bath she thought to herself, as she began to lose herself and drift off into fantasy land. "Do these Rebels pay good?" she asked, as her mind returned to the amount of credits she had passed up by choosing to drop his bounty ... not that it was very likely she could overcome him anyway. Part of her felt she was entitled to a share, but had a feeling he was planning to pay her only in knowledge and experience ... which had value in their own way. "Is it much further?" she asked, sounding as if she were his child on some journey to a magical location. Each step brought her closer to her goal, and she was beginning to squirm inside the filthy, ill-fitting clothes that she had been forced to wear during the transit. "I sure hope they have some clothes that fit..." she said, before realizing how truly pathetic she sounded. It was not that long ago that she was on Corellia with her mother in a modest home with virtually everything she could ever want, and now she had reached the point where a refresher and proper fitting second hand clothes had become a luxury. It was worth reflecting on later, but for now all she could concentrate was a bath ... a glorious bath.

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