insurrexion: (Bucket ready)
insurrexion ([personal profile] insurrexion) wrote in [community profile] starmores 2018-02-01 07:30 am (UTC)

"Nothing sinister about stims and bandages," Rex agrees. There's to be a load of bacta patches in their forthcoming cargo, but he's been informed they'll be packaged as splints and cast-form sheets. The Alliance is desperately in need of bacta, but hasn't yet hooked any suppliers able to provide liquid bulk. A bacta tank is a commodity beyond their current reach, but Rex can't say he much misses watching people he cares about bob around in the smelly goop.

He takes them to the designated port town, where a contact should be waiting for them with codewords and countersigns. Better to think about those than dwell on what he may or may not have heard back at the station. As questions emerge from the swirl of his thoughts, he plucks them out and puts them squarely on a shelf where they can be safely ignored. Questions like: Where are you from? What faction were you with during the Clone Wars? How does a Mando merc come by a lightsaber and walk into an Alliance op?

Where'd you come by that beskar'gam?


Rex no longer wears anything approximating Phase II armor, and he has no clan ties to acquire and reforge the real thing for himself. But he's kept his jaig eyes on every change of clothes or fatigues, painted on some bit of blast-reflective surface in 501st blue. It isn't much, and it might get him IDed one day, but they're his. He earned them.

"You're designated man on the ground," Rex says as he takes the shuttle through planetside landing procedures. His face is too recognizeable, and someone refusing to remove a helmet attracts the wrong kind of attention. "Unless you want the company."

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