milliways_bar | Happy New All Skate!

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all skate

Happy New All Skate!

"You know what, let's have a party."

Dinah threw her platinum card (thanks, Oracle) on the Bar and as a result there is free flowing champagne for everyone whose culture, age and religion permits champagne - and top quality soft alternatives for the rest. There are bar snacks doing the rounds around the tables, and delicate winter flower arrangements on each surface.

And most importantly, on the TV screen is a lot of dancing, a giant countdown, and a big ball ready to drop.

...and when the ball drops, something happens.

Welcome to another Milliways All-Skate!
All welcome - yes, that means all. Whether they're retired, deleted, AU, original or already being played by someone else, bring 'em along.

Usual all-skate rules apply:
1. Everyone's stressed out of their mind right now, so have fun!
2. Communication is key.
3. Gratuitous behaviour (either of a violent or sexual nature) will not be tolerated in the bar proper. Take that to an OOM, and then Content Warning the hell out of it before you link it.
4. Much like Vegas, what happens in All Skates, stays in All Skates (in most cases)
5. Please don't be a dick.

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"Okay."

He pauses to look out of the window, taking stock of everyone in the bar through their Force presences, working out where to start.

"Do you know what a clone is?"

"Of course. A virtual genetic duplicate of a previously living organism. The technology for such a thing's existed for years, but it's illegal to clone humans." Rumor has long had it, though, that it has been done.

"It is under the Empire," Warlock confirms. "But it wasn't under the Old Republic, which cloned millions of copies of a specific human to fill the ranks of their armies when they went to war with the Separatists.

"There was no indication then that any of their copies could end up being strong with the Force."

He would say that making clones, endless human clones, to fill an army is beyond ghastly. But he doesn't want to insult this specific clone. Who is, of course, a living being.

"But you are apparently the exception. Did the army know?"

If any of that reflection comes out as an emotion, Warlock agrees, and he gives him a sideways look to confirm that.

"Pulled me out when I was just a cadet," he says. "Took me away from my brothers, trained me in the ways of the Force, and put me back in the war as an officer, rather than droid fodder.

"If you're wondering, yes, they did that with all the apprentices. The Masters were generals, the students were by their side."

"So a vast army of clones led by an order of monks with special powers. Against...droids?" He could guess but would rather not.

"Androids?" Warlock offers. "Artificial killing machines that filled our enemies' ranks - two sides packing their armies with disposable soldiers, it was as devastating a war as I guess you're imagining.

"And it turned out to have all been staged. The Chancellor of the Republic, the Leaders of the Separatists, both worked together to lead the galaxy into a war just to cement their own power."

Charlie stares for a few minutes as he absorbs this. He's heard some outlandish conspiracy theories over the years, some he was able to prove and many he could reject. But he's never really heard of a war that fought on so vast a scale and was all a fraud.

"My god. How many died just so this conspiracy could form the Empire."

"Millions of civilians," Warlock says, "tens of millions of clones, and ten thousand Jedi, at the end."

He is of course not finished. He reaches up to his head, fingers burrowing into the two centimeters of hair growing evenly across his scalp, and fingers a scar that not even bacta could heal.

And decides not to mention that.

Charlie wonders what that is about, but respects the man's privacy.

"I am sorry. For your civilization and your brothers in the Jedi and the clone army."

"Thank you," Warlock says.

Honestly the whole thing about the chip - when it comes down to it it just adds extra layers of utter shit to an already awful story.

He takes a second, lets the pain go and offers a faint smile. "Told you it was a story."

"I would be disappointed if it weren't a story. That's the wild thing about Milliways. Everyone has a story." Almost makes up for how little success he's had at answering the questions here.

"Arguably everyone has a story," Warlock offers. "In and out of Milliways."

"Sometimes, however, the stories aren't that exciting. Or the storyteller can't find the words." He wouldn't ask an accountant for a life story.

"I don't think we ever introduced ourselves. I'm called Charlie."

"Or they don't realise what their story is." After all, accountants may not realise how interesting they can be.

"My name is Warlock."

"In my culture, that word usually means a male user of the dark arts. A wizard."

"Less of the dark," Warlock says, with a hint of amusement. "But yes, it means a wizard - that's why my brothers gave me the name."

He knows that's not how other people acquire names, but names are important in clone culture.

"And since they gave it to you, you keep it as a memorial?" Charlie, having refitted the name foisted upon him in the foster care system, is one for freedom of choice in names. Sometimes.

"I keep it because it's my name," he says simply.

But maybe it needs explanation? He remembers that Charlie said 'I am called' rather than 'I am' or 'my name is.' So he waits for the next question, to see where Charlie wants to take it - because he's never been asked why he goes by his name.

"That's fair." He can tell that Warlock, like most people, doesn't really think about what it means that someone else gave you the name you have to use for everything.

He offers, then: "we weren't really given names, officially. Too many of us, you see. Just a rank and a number.

"Names we gave each other, or chose for ourselves... I think it maybe means more to us than to other people."

He shakes his head, fond. "I've met many brothers since that have changed their face, even to look like a different species, to avoid being caught and shot as a deserter. I don't think I've met a single one who would dream of changing his name."

"I can't begin to understand what that must be like. I have enough trouble understanding Earth military culture, and where I come from, it's entirely a volunteer army these days. For the entire army to be brothers..." It boggles the mind and he will no doubt spend days pondering it.

"Most of them are still in service to the Empire?"

"Not at all, the facilities were..." he chooses not to elaborate "...closed shortly after Empire Day. Now the troopers are mostly conscripts and recruits. Some clones survive, still, but time is never kind to soldiers in the best of times."

It's hard to make sense of his age, given the givens, but it would be hard to place Warlock as older than his mid thirties.

You don't need to be an empath to feel the immense sadness of an army created, used, and thrown away in the garbage.

"Time isn't really kind to any of us, though, is it?"

"No, that's true," he agrees readily. You're wise to make the best of your unique gift."

Which he's sure Charlie doens't need to be told.

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52_dropoff - 2021-01-13 21:55 (UTC) - Expand

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