Archive of Our Own ^beta

It takes Obi-Wan a few moments longer than it should have to process Anakin's words, but when he does, he gasps. He spins on his former Padawan, absolutely aghast.

"No, I don't think so at all! And Anakin, show some respect, he's right here!"

Cody himself appears as impassive towards Anakin as ever.

Anakin's shoulders droop, and he scritches his head apologetically. "Alright yeah, that was pretty rude of me. Sorry 'bout that, Cody."

"I'm not bothered, sir."

Obi-Wan hopes that's the end of it, because he really needs to personally apologize for his former Padawan's atrocious manners to Cody. He knows Anakin's never been the best at what Obi-Wan honestly considers common courtesy, but to think he'd be comfortable so casually insulting a man's natural appearance in front of all of his men on the kriffing bridge--

But no. Because Anakin apparently can't read the room, or in this case Obi-Wan's rapidly disintegrating remaining patience, he continues, "But I mean. All of the 501st have cool patterns and stuff on their wings. Haven't seen any other clones that are just one color, let alone a normal color like brown."

If Obi-Wan had not been a Jedi, he would have no doubt exploded. As it is, no amount of releasing his frustration (and embarrassment, and shame, and all the other emotions that come with watching someone you're partially responsible for dig his own grave) stops the vein from pulsing in his forehead.

As though sensing that Obi-Wan's about to give his fellow General a very public chewing-out, Cody's palm twitches towards Obi-Wan in a subtle motion that says stand down.

Out loud, Cody says, "I wouldn't know, sir. We can't control our wing coloration or patterns."

Anakin seems to finally notice that Obi-Wan is red-faced and vibrating, and sheepishly backs off at last. "Yeah, gotcha, that's fair. Sorry again, Cody, just me running my mouth again. Your wings are fine."

"Thank you, General," Cody says, as neutral as can be, and then Anakin beats an awkward retreat while giving Obi-Wan a wide berth.

As soon as the doors slide shut behind him, Obi-Wan opens his mouth, prepared to unleash an avalanche of apologies, when suddenly, the deck officer working closest to them sniggers.

"General Skywalker said that the Commander's wings are boring."

The man beside him lets out a snicker poorly disguised as a cough, and then suddenly every clone on the bridge is quietly laughing, even as they diligently continue to face their various stations.

Mixing seamlessly with the laughter is a quiet rustling: all of the men are subtly shifting their wings, their base muscles flexing slightly in an involuntary response to mirth. Although each movement is quiet, the dozens of massive wings add up to a sound as noticeable as their laughter.

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan fails to see what's amusing about the situation at all. He assumes it's some kind of clone-only inside joke, one he hopes his Commander isn't the brunt of. He turns to Cody to helplessly.

"I'm so sorry about Anakin, Cody. He shouldn't have commented on your wings like that. I think they're lovely."

Cody looks amused--he knows very well what Obi-Wan thinks, since he'd awkwardly blurted it the first time they ever managed a casual conversation. Remembering it still makes Obi-Wan's ears tint red, and to be fair, even now he's not entirely sure of the correct etiquette regarding discussing wings.

While the clones are near-human, they're exactly that--not fully baseline human. To be fair, almost no one is fully "baseline human" nowadays, given the diversity and variation of biologically compatible humanoid species in the galaxy, but some are more drastically outwardly different than others.

The clones are one such sub-species, and they all inherited the massive wings and gift of flight from their template, who may have been the last of his kind. To be in the presence of beings with such unusual and formidable appendages, massive and powerful and taking up well over double their body volume even when folded--it's near impossible to ignore them, at least for a comparatively more "baseline" human like Obi-Wan.

And so, not long after they were first assigned together, when the good Commander finally relaxed enough around Obi-Wan to chat casually outside of duty, they'd been having a lovely conversation with both of them slowly easing towards something like friendliness--at least, until Obi-Wan had ruined it all by blurting:

"Your wings, they're beautiful."

Cody had startled, and Obi-Wan had clamped his hands over his mouth.

The clones did't really talk about their wings, at least in front of nat-borns, and Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling that they were something private and sacred. And so, Obi-Wan hadn't mentioned them either--or at least, he'd tried, until he was relaxed in his Commander's presence, appreciating the warmth and strength of his Force presence.

Then, the dim lighting in the Negotiator's office had glanced off of a few of Cody's feathers at a certain angle, and they'd glowed. It wasn't like light glancing off of a regular reflective surface, or even a precious metal--if anything, it looked almost like the glow deep in kyber, a powerful radiating warmth like a condensed star, almost like Cody's very Force-presence given physical form--

Well, Obi-Wan thought he'd had more manners than Anakin. But perhaps he'd been arrogant.

But Cody had laughed it off, the first time Obi-Wan had heard the sound, and it had thrown him. Cody's laugh was as lovely as his glowing, mysterious wings, and it dazed Obi-Wan. He sounded jarringly boyish as he'd thanked Obi-Wan, a little awkward but gut-wrenchingly charming. Obi-Wan must have said something, because Cody had assured him that he wasn't offended; Obi-Wan's reaction had just startled him.

Obi-Wan honestly doesn't remember much else of that conversation, but he remembers he'd stared quite a bit, and later, alone in his bunk, wondered whether Cody would rightfully start avoiding him.

Cody hadn't. And at a later time, when they were even closer, he'd explained that it meant a lot to most clones when their wings were complimented. After all, their human bodies were all more or less identical--but even the Kaminoans couldn't force uniformity on their wings, which developed their own unique colors and patterns, no two pairs alike, as varied as can be within their base shape.

It's why, Cody had said, so many clones latch on whenever the Jedi say that their Force signatures are unique. Because while they're Force null and honestly aren't entirely sure what a Force signature even is, they know that their wings are unique. So maybe, their Force signatures are like a Jedi-only perception of their wings.

All of this to say--wings, and their unique colorations are important to clones. Obi-Wan doesn't like the thought of anyone making fun of Cody's wings, even his own brothers. His wings are gorgeous, as simple and uniform as their coloration may be.

Cody shifts so there's plenty of space behind him, and then starts unfolding the first joint of his wings, just the slightest amount so as to keep their mass mostly contained. The movement causes the dim, cold lighting on the bridge shift over his feathers, making a few tiny facets gleam.

Obi-Wan's prepared for the next action, but still jolts when a resoundingly CLAP rings through the bridge as Cody snaps his powerful wings closed. Even though his wings had only moved slightly, he'd still generated enough wind to buffet Obi-Wan's robes.

At the sound, every clone within hearing range immediately shuts up, their backs going ramrod straight and any relaxed wings also closing with similar, if quieter snaps. It's a more effective way of communicating than Cody roaring with his lungs--an order that's understood at an instinctual level to be quiet, pay attention, and get back to work.

Cody's clearly done with the topic of his wings. Obi-Wan isn't; he hasn't apologized nearly enough yet. He opens his mouth--but Cody levels him a flat, unimpressed stare. It's just as effective as a wing-snap. Obi-Wan shuts his mouth.

~~

Later, Obi-Wan's able to ask about it (or rather, tack it on after a long vent regarding Anakin's lack of manners) to Waxer and Boil.

Waxer laughs too, while Boil sighs and rubs his temples.

"Well of course they found it funny," Waxer says when he finally seems done twitching his wings about. "The thought of the Commander's wings being," snicker, "boring."

"They're not," Obi-Wan insists, though he doesn't know why he's being defensive when he feels like Waxer isn't saying they are.

"If anything, they're the farthest thing from it," Boil reluctantly steps in, attempting to be more helpful. "You know how we clones apparently have better vision, and also see on a slightly different spectrum than most baseline humans? Well, we see the pigments on our wings differently too."

"Ah," Obi-Wan says, because well, that does make sense.

His men frequently benefit from being able to see things at incredible distances and in poor conditions that humans like Obi-Wan require binoculars or scanners to ping. They're a hunter species--they're sensitive to movement as well as detail, and can see in darkness without problems. That alone would be enough for their wings to look differently in the dim artificial lighting that they frequently find themselves in--but if there are additional differences due to visual spectrums...

"How do Cody's wings look to you?"

"Insane," Waxer breathes, and then suddenly unfurls one of his own wings. The mess hall, like the rest of the ship, is designed to accommodate clone wings, and there's enough space for Waxer to twist and splay out his massive un-armored wing on the table before Obi-Wan.

Waxer's wings are lovely, too. They all are, every clone's, but Obi-Wan finds himself especially partial towards those of the 212th. While there was more color variation among them when the men first joined, and even now when they pick up new troops, the wings of every man in the 212th gradually shifts colors until they all fall into a similar color palette: white, black, grays, beiges, and browns, along with the same deep, glimmering gold that covers the entirety of Cody's wings.

Every one of the other men has a combination of at least two colors, including the gold. Waxer has more gold than most, with his primaries and shorter base feathers being almost solid gold, and his secondaries having some lovely white and black striping.

"See this color here," Waxer points at the gold, "it's our special color."

"The 212th gold? It's my favorite," Obi-Wan murmurs distractedly, once again entranced by the deep warmth of the color.

Waxer's wing shifts again, and this time it's accompanied by a slight flaring of flight feathers that Obi-Wan's come to understand is the equivalent of a clone puffing up his chest with pride.

"Well, we certainly get more of it than most of the others, given we're directly under the Commander," Boil says, his own folded wings bobbing slightly inwards towards his head--a bashful movement. "But it's more accurately Cody's gold."

"Glory's Gold," Waxer whispers, faux reverent, except Obi-Wan senses there's far more sincerity there than he's willing to let on.

He also gets the distinct feeling that they're letting him in on a secret--a Vode secret, that few if any natborns are probably privy to. Obi-Wan remains quiet, admiring Waxer's wing, and listens.

"See, this gold, it's not like the other colors," Waxer says, running a thumb over one of his feathers and showing the range of colors as the fibers shift. "I've been told it can be pretty shiny to human eyes too, at least in direct sunlight, but to our eyes...General, it's like a beacon."

"Put the Commander in a pitch dark cave and we don't need any other light to see," Boil nods.

"And it's hard to explain, but it's not just bright, visually. It's almost like...it gives off energy? Just looking at it, makes us feel better. It calls to us, definitely, but not just because it's pretty. It makes us feel safe, gives us energy, rallies us up like nothing else."

"We could probably march forever, if we followed the Commander's wings." Boil shakes his head. "When we were cadets, some of the batches who weren't used to him literally got drunk just looking at his wings. Still happens a bit now with the shinies, even though they're told to expect it."

"That much?" Obi-Wan is startled. He'd never heard of any being getting drunk off of a color before. "How was Cody born with such wings?"

"Oh he wasn't," Boil says. "He was decanted just like the rest of us, with useless little fluffs of white 'n gray. Our patterns develop as we develop, shift with our individual personalities and experiences. Our colors develop with our affiliations--those in our flock, our brothers closest to us, those we follow. Our flock heads develop the most distinctive colors, and those in their flock adopt their coloring."

"Cody made this gold," Waxer says, running his hand through the shimmering downy feathers layered over his muscles. "Cody earned it, and then shared it with the rest of us."

Obi-Wan tries to take a moment to process that. If their "flock leaders" coincide with the Commanders of various battalions, it explains why each group of clones has their own unique color palette, distinct from their other brothers. In the 501st, all of the clones share the dark blue that dominates Captain Rex's wings, and Plo's Wolf Pack all have variations with gleaming metallic gunmetal.

But also, gold isn't limited to just the 212th. Sure, the 212th has more of it on their wings, but the 501st have golden accents too, on top of their blue. As do all of the clones Obi-Wan has ever seen, he realizes.

Before Obi-Wan can form his conclusion, Boil cuts in.

"So basically, we find it funny that General Skywalker called the Commander's wings boring, because it's as if he'd walked up to Senator Amidala wearing a headdress and gown made of literal supernovas, who's simultaneously blinding the entire Senate while personally generating all of the energy that powers Coruscant--and then General Skywalker tells her that her outfit is boring."

Obi-Wan laughs this time, and he's joined by his men, including those nearby who'd been listening in. The thought is amusing--and Obi-Wan relaxes, now that he realizes that his men hadn't been making fun of Cody at all. Cody's refusal to talk about it more likely stemmed from his own humble embarrassment of his brothers' near worshipful admiration of his wings.

Waxer slowly moves his wing off the table, but not before he tilts it back and forth so Obi-Wan can once again admire the light that gleams off the gold. "Wish you could see it, General," he murmurs. "Wish you could see how our wings look--how the Commander's wings look--as we see them."

Obi-Wan already thinks they're magnificent, easily the most beautiful physical features he's seen on any beings he's come across in the galaxy. It's a bit ironic, that he's told he's missing out on their full potential--in many ways, the Jedi feel similarly for beings who can't see how beautiful the life Force within them looks.

Perhaps their wings do look like the manifestations of their Force signatures--in which case, they're no doubt glorious indeed.

~~

It's only later, when he's alone in his quarters, that Obi-Wan's eyes snap open.

It shouldn't be a surprise--Marshall Commander is already the highest rank a clone can attain, and Cody'd earned his rank in every conceivable way. There are only a handful of others who share his rank, and Obi-Wan's always felt they somehow deferred to Cody.

But GAR-assigned military rank, and group social dynamics that directly affect their physiology--those seem very different.

Glory's Gold, Waxer had called it. The gold that's on every clone's wings, and somehow gives off a strange power that both energizes and unifies them. The gold that covers the entirety of Cody's wings.

Obi-Wan isn't sure what to do with the knowledge that every single clone appears to be a member of the flock that his own Commander is the head of.

Obi-Wan remembers the shock of seeing the man standing so close to him. Fett's humanoid body is larger than his own, but not by much, especially when Obi-Wan is wearing voluminous robes. But his wings. Folded neatly behind his back, they easily add a meter to his height, and Obi-Wan can only imagine his full wingspan (he'd seen a shadow of it as he'd taken off into the night on Coruscant, but not enough to form a clear mental image).

Obi-Wan's first impression of them is that they look powerful. This close, he can see the muscles rippling beneath the feathers as they flex languidly. Sleek, deadly, the wings scream hunter, and they suit the man well.

His second impression forms as he speaks to the man. While Obi-Wan keeps his eyes locked onto Fett's face, it's easy enough to catch glimpses of his wings behind his head.

What he'd first assumed is a uniform gray...is actually silver. Nor is it the dull silver of durasteel--it's actually closer to chrome. Arching so high overhead, they're mostly shadowed and dark from Obi-Wan's position, but when they catch the light, they gleam.

The wings are undeniably beautiful, but still intimidating, dangerous. In contrast, the individual feathers...they look almost delicate. Like precious metal, meant to be handled with care. They also appear soft and vulnerable, exposed somehow more than the rest of Fett as he stands there in his soft loungewear.

It leads Obi-Wan down other trains of thought--whether underneath all the thick, corded muscle visible even through layers of feathers, his bones are hollow and light. Whether Fett will protect his wings while fighting, given how large and visible a target they are. What it would mean to fight beside an army made in his image.

They fight, in the rain. And though Obi-Wan has chances to strike at Fett's wings, a far easier target than his humanoid body, he can't. It feels wrong somehow, to strike at his wings, even though the man is trying to kill him. Obi-Wan just can't.

But then he learns he needn't have worried at all.

The arena on Geonosis--Obi-Wan watches as Mace swings his saber, something sickening churning in his gut as the killing blow flies towards Fett, and--

Fett's wings come up, and the saber glances off with a spray of sparks.

Obi-Wan could have sworn his feathers looked soft, his wings organic, but he's only seen one substance deflect a saber like that, and--

Mace is too experienced to let surprise slow him down, and he knocks Fett back harshly with the Force. Given his previous injuries, when the man goes down, he stays down.

Obi-Wan wonders if Mace will end his life--it's uncomfortable, ending the life of a downed opponent, but Fett is bound to get up soon, and in this battlefield they can't let a dangerous wild card like him stay loose.

But before Mace can move, there's a shrill screech, and then a blur of gray descends from the sky, forcing Mace back with frantic gusts of wind that settle to reveal--a child.

Boba, Obi-Wan recalls, Fett's son. The child's face is twisted with far more fear than rage as he crouches over his father's prone form. His wings, still downy and soft gray without the sleek shine of his father's, are fully extended and flared to make him look bigger, both to intimidate and shield. He hisses, rather like a feral tooka, and for a moment it looks like his eyes flash silver. His entire body is shaking, his wings rattling as though buffeted by winds, but the blasters in his hands are surprisingly steady.

Obi-Wan senses a stray blaster bolt heading their way, and deflects it on instinct. He somehow doubts Boba's wings will provide as much defense as his father's, and the boy is too focussed on Mace to notice much else.

He loses track of them after that, because the clones arrive. Thousands of them pour from the ships from the air, the entire arena going dark as though a cloud has passed over it. The clones' wings, Obi-Wan thinks in a daze, are blocking out the sun.

The thundering, pulsing beat of their wings drowns out all else.

In the cleanup after the battle, Obi-Wan learns that Slave I is nowhere to be found.

~~

After Geonosis, in between getting hurled from one campaign to another, Obi-Wan digs up everything he can on Jango Fett, not satisfied with simply reading the report provided by the Council.

He learns that Fett's species has been classified as Mandalorian Shriek Hawk. From what little Obi-Wan's able to find in the Archives, he understands there's mixed opinions whether Fett's people, the humanoid Shriek Hawks, are the same as the pseudo-mythological beast that shares the name, or if they coevolved.

Shriek Hawk people were once native to Mandalore, but when it was discovered that their feathers hold many of the same properties as the prized beskar, they were hunted to near extinction.

Those who remained scattered, hiding themselves off world or in the forests of Mandalore's moons, or found protection in the Mandalorian clans they integrated with. Fett had been the former, but was later adopted into the True Mandalorians, a group that boasted the highest number of Shriek Hawks out of any of Mandalore's many factions at the time of the civil wars.

Mand'alor Jaster Mereel was human himself, but the support of so many Shriek Hawks in combination with his possession of the Darksaber led many to believe he had the Manda's blessing. That he had chosen Fett as his heir, the first Shriek Hawk Mand'alor in over a millennia, gave him significant respect even among his enemies.

Death Watch, a rival faction, was not among those who cared for Mereel--they despised him, perhaps in part because he had so many Shriek Hawks under his protection. Death Watch's symbol is based off of the Shriek Hawk, and yet they haven't had a single one in their midst for ages.

There's a convoluted history there--House Vizsla had once been lead by Shriek Hawks, until their blood diluted from breeding with other species. Changing ideologies meant fewer new Shriek Hawks were willing to join, and more went to other factions, which angered those of the House who felt that their claim to being the House of Shriek Hawks, and therefore their own ancestry, was threatened. Conflicts escalated, wars became bloodier, and House Vizsla made a reputation for itself as Shriek Hawk hunters.

Korda VI, followed by Galidraan--Death Watch's planned destruction of the True Mandalorians, by using the Senate, and through them, the Jedi's hands. Through Death Watch's manipulations, the True Mandalorians were massacred, leading to not only the destruction of the faction, but also the extermination of all of the last remaining known Shriek Hawks--save for Fett.

Obi-Wan knows of Galidraan, there are few Jedi who don't, though not many share Obi-Wan's personal investment in Mandalore. But he'd always read more into the politics (and failings of the Order) that had caused the tragedy. The fact that the Jedi had more or less driven a people to extinction...that part is unfortunately new.

New, and uncomfortable, but a reality that Obi-Wan feels is necessary to understand--especially now that clones of the last Shriek Hawk are their direct responsibility.

Fett's wings were able to deflect lightsabers because his feathers are living beskar, as the archives had called them. Beskar itself is a rare, expensive, and highly sought metal that provides unparalleled protection against blasters, lightsabers, and even the Force. The mining of it combined with nonstop wars had made the planet of Mandalore mostly uninhabitable. Living beskar provides all the same benefits, except rather than coming from ore, it comes from the wings of Shriek Hawks.

While on one hand, it comforts Obi-Wan to know that his men won't be so easily cut down by blaster bolts to their massive wings--it also worries him.

Shriek Hawks were hunted to near extinction even before Galidraan. The sudden reintroduction of millions of them into the Galaxy...Obi-Wan can't see that going well.

His fears are realized when, barely a few rotations after the Battle of Geonosis and the start of the war, there are reports of clone wings and feathers on the black market, as well as living clones on the slave market. Bodies of fallen brothers taken from their very first battlefield, and more abducted by opportunists not at all limited to Separatists.

It's terrible, and the scale of it is too much, there are so many clones. The Senate doesn't stop hurling them from campaign to campaign, won't stop to address the black market issue, and there simply aren't enough protections in place for the clones. The Jedi are all scrambling, but keeping their men safe isn't even on the list of the Senate's priorities, and every time they land, the Force swims with darkness and greed, not only from their enemies, but also those they're trying to protect--

Obi-Wan doesn't know how to protect his men.

He asks Alpha-17, the Captain assigned to him, desperate for any ideas. The man looks grim, but just shakes his head, shrugging massive shoulders supporting even more massive cobalt wings.

"We don't have the resources to spare on our protection. The boys know to stick together, to distrust nat-borns, to properly dispose of the dead. The hunters will get bored soon--not much comes from taking the wings of our dead, and the living will be too much of a pain to deal with."

Obi-Wan looks lost, and Alpha-17 sighs, looking more annoyed than anything. He opens his wings slightly, taking up even more space in the tiny command tent, and then shakes them with enough force to rip the tent flaps open.

A few stray feathers flutter out, and Seventeen grabs one, and thrusts it in Obi-Wan's face. "See this," he says, the deep rumble of his voice distracting enough that Obi-Wan almost misses catching the feather when he lets go of it. "This is what happens to a feather that falls naturally, or is taken by force, or is from a dead vod."

The beautiful, shimmering blue feather lying in Obi-Wan's gently cupped palms remains beautiful for only a few moments--before it starts to lose its shine. Then, before his very eyes, the color seems to seep out of it, until nothing remains but a dull, pale gray.

The sleek shine is gone, Seventeen's unique color is gone, and the strange, seamless flexibility is gone too. It looks...

"Just like any other worthless bird feather," Seventeen snorts. "Unless it's specifically willingly gifted from a healthy, living vod, they don't have any interesting qualities, beskar or otherwise. All of those hut'uune picking our corpses will soon realize that those feathers they're selling aren't worth a damn."

Obi-Wan hopes Seventeen is right--but things are rarely as simple.

~~

While feathers may be useless when taken from a dead or unwilling clone, they do serve other clones a purpose, Obi-Wan soon finds.

Obi-Wan is wandering, having just been kicked out of the med tent. He'd done the best he could, helping with their wounded, but they'd still lost so many. Too many. But now there's nothing left to do but let those who survived rest, and pray they'll pull through.

This war is miserable. All wars are, but this one feels exceptionally hopeless in the moment. They'd won, but victory is hollow next to the men they'd lost. And for what purpose? Obi-Wan had had to personally stop a group of civilians who tried to drag a clone body off the battlefield--civilians that the clone had died to protect.

Obi-Wan is a Jedi. He forces himself to let go--let go of his pain and loss and anger, even as he immediately drowns in it all over again when he feels it from all of his men. He'd very nearly snapped and raised his saber at civilians. Instead, he'd forced himself to lift the fallen vod--a cheerful young man who hadn't even found his name yet--and limit his outward reaction to a sharp glare when a persistent civilian tried to reach for a wing that dragged in the mud.

The fallen brother's once beautiful blue and white wings, accented with gold, had already faded to gray.

He'd deserved to find a name, Obi-Wan thinks as he stares up at the so very gray sky, gray as a dead vod's wings. They all deserve that, and so much more, and yet here they are. Stuck on a mud hole, surrounded by bodies of good men gone too soon, and harassed by an ungrateful populace that would rather sell their dead than have their protection.

"Kenobi," he hears, and turns towards Seventeen. "You're a mess," the Captain grunts. "Come with me."

Obi-Wan doesn't have the strength to argue, and drags himself behind Seventeen to the tent he shares with Fordo. The other Alpha-class Captain glances up when Obi-Wan enters, but just nods before returning to his task.

His task...Obi-Wan stares.

Fordo is carefully laying out his armor on a tarp, and Obi-Wan gets a rare look at what's on the inside of the plastoid. It's not at all what he expects.

Where he'd expected just more plastoid, or possibly padding, there are feathers. Feathers of a mix of colors and sizes, all neatly pressed on to cover every gap.

Many of the feathers gleam, living feathers, Obi-Wan remembers Seventeen calling them. From the colors, most of them clearly aren't Fordo's own.

But many other feathers are dull and gray, a color Obi-Wan knows unfortunately well. These feathers no longer lie flat with their brethren, and instead fluff away from the plastoid, swaying with each movement of Fordo's hands overhead.

Obi-Wan feels the dull throb in his head and heart grow. He knows why they look like that.

Seventeen ushers Obi-Wan to a bench, and doesn't mention how the Jedi is shaking beneath his massive hand. Then, he too starts laying out his armor, which is similarly coated with feathers on the inside. Once all of the pieces are arranged in neat rows, both of the Alphas get to work.

Obi-Wan watches silently as the pile of dead feathers grow, swiftly picked out of the living feathers which remain stuck to the inside of the armor. It makes sense, Obi-Wan thinks, that they have feathers on the inside of their armor. The clones wear plastoid, nothing as sturdy (or expensive) as the beskar Jango and other Mandalorians wore. But their wings are naturally made of an equally strong material. Contrary to Obi-Wan's initial belief that wings are the clones' most vulnerable body parts, they're actually the most heavily fortified. It makes sense to distribute those defenses to their actually vulnerable human bodies.

Seventeen had specified that there's a difference between feathers that just fall, are taken without consent, or are from a dead vod, versus willingly gifted. These feathers had all been gifted, Obi-Wan understands. And those that had turned gray...are from brothers who had fallen.

"It's part of how we process death," Seventeen says as he works, gruff but still willing to teach. "We feel what they've given us, know that they protected us, and we protected them, one last time. Then, we let them go, and carry the gaps they've left. But life goes on, war goes on. We'll fill the holes again, so that we can keep fighting, but we'll remember those we've lost."

Obi-Wan bows his head, and looks at the piles of gray feathers next to each of the Captains. He's no longer shaking, but the numbness remains.

And when later that night, they light the pyre and he sees every clone release feathers into the flames--he understands.

(And when, years down the line, he has a vision of Boil cleaning his armor and realizes that almost all the feathers lining its insides are dull and gray, and that Boil isn't removing them...he understands then, too. For clones, the inability to move on manifests as very literal gaps in their defenses--and Obi-Wan aches, knowing that Boil would rather be vulnerable to a blaster bolt to the chest than to let go of Waxer.)

~~

The day Seventeen and Fordo are to return to Kamino to begin their new assignments as trainers, they take Obi-Wan to a secluded corner of the ship.

Obi-Wan doesn't wonder if Seventeen will give him a farewell speech--he's not the type. This is probably for a far more practical reason.

Force, Obi-Wan will miss both him and Fordo, after all they've been through together in the past few months. He knows it was for duty, and Obi-Wan is a Jedi, he's used to farewells and letting go--but this war will be even colder, even lonelier, without their steady and supportive presences at his side.

Seventeen and Fordo are apparently satisfied with their isolation, and turn to nod to each other. Then, to Obi-Wan's shock--they reach into the base of their wings and in one smooth, synchronized motion, each rip out one of their feathers.

The Alpha-class clones are large. They're easily a head taller than their brothers, and Obi-Wan's head barely reaches their shoulders. Their wings are proportional. The feathers that are presented to Obi-Wan are both longer and wider than his forearm, and had been taken from their secondaries, close to the base of their wings. There's a noticeable gap where they once were, and the feathers themselves glint with blood at the base.

"What are you doing?" Obi-Wan whispers, horrified, as Fordo carefully wipes the blood off of his lovely crimson feather, the motion reluctantly copied by Seventeen.

"We're leaving today," Fordo says, voice softer than the usual sharp barks Obi-Wan hears on the battlefield. He's always so gentle when off duty. "These will help protect you, when we can't."

"Don't lose them, like you do your damn robes," Seventeen growls. "Keep them on you, but be careful around natborns, don't want them getting any ideas. The Vode can see them though, especially the fresh ones, it'll make them listen. In fact, make sure your new Commander sees them on you." Seventeen actually laughs, a deep rumble that shakes his wings. "I hope someone takes a holo of Kot'ika's face."

Obi-Wan doesn't fully understand the significance of the gifts, but he does know that they are significant, and takes the two massive feathers with reverence. Fordo's is a deep, blood red, tipped with two stripes of gold, and Seventeen's mirrors the pattern but in rich cobalt instead of red. Even as Obi-Wan admires them, the colors don't fade, and they continue to gleam.

"They're not delicate, and they'll be both shields and swords for you," Fordo says, and then leans forward to press his forehead gently but firmly against Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan hears the unsaid, stay safe.

"Don't die," Seventeen says, before moving to take Fordo's place, much rougher, their brows colliding almost painfully, but the sentiment is the same.

After their transports have departed, Obi-Wan takes some threads, and ties the feathers securely to his belt at the sides. He doesn't have armor to put them under, and even if he did, they're just too large. Hanging at his sides, in most situations they'll be covered by his robes. He hopes this is what Fordo and Seventeen wanted.

It's an observation Obi-Wan makes early on, as early as Geonosis, as he sits on the back of a transport while clone medics swiftly and professionally strip him of his pants to check the saber burn on his thigh from Dooku. He's tired, dazed, and his attention is scattered between his unconscious Padawan in the next room over, memories of Dooku and Yoda's fight, the ache in the Force from the passing of countless Jedi...and of course, the troopers themselves.

Obi-Wan is used to medics, as much as he avoids them, and these medics are clearly just as professional as the ones in the Temple. It's easy to leave his care in their hands, and he spaces out as they clean his wound and apply bacta. What he isn't so used to are the massive wings that somehow move about without hindering their owners. There are at least three clone medics swarming over him in the small transport, all handling various medical equipment, but their wings never seem to run into each other or anything around them. The wings seamlessly and perhaps subconsciously flex and weave around each other, and to Obi-Wan's exhaustion-blurred vision, they appear as vague, giant shadows behind each clone. Obi-Wan must have been quite out of it by then, from a combination of exhaustion and drugs, but he rather thinks the wings look like they're their own creatures, with sentience separate from that of their bearers.

Later, when he's a little more coherent, he has a similar thought. The clones have naturally expressive body language around their peers so that they can be read even through armor and helmets. Their wings, the most exposed part of themselves, are clearly part of that expression, and are constantly twitching and stretching and shifting, all while being immensely conscientious of their own bulk and the limited space surrounding them.

When around non-clones--or nat-borns, as Obi-Wan finds himself adopting the clones' own terminology--the clones can be terrifyingly still. They've been trained since the moment of their creation to be perfect soldiers, and they can be as still as statues for frankly inhuman amounts of time if the situation calls for it.

In these situations, their wings seem to be the sole exception to their stillness. They give away the fact that the clones aren't rows of droids arranged in perfect formation, but living, organic beings. The wings move unobtrusively and subtly, their movements easily mistakable for wind shifting through them, if only any wind could be found indoors.

When Obi-Wan is forced to listen to senators drone on for far too long about their very important thoughts that they must share regarding the clone army, all while the poor men themselves are forced to stand in perfect formation the entire speech, he finds himself watching their wings. He notices a few men shake them, gentle rustles that barely make a sound. Others slowly open and close them the slightest amount, causing their wings to expand and contract in gentle, pulsing undulations that match the expanding of their lungs. Others still twitch their individual feathers, imperceptible when looking at the clones at face-height, but visible when one looks to the floor, where their longest feathers end. The flight feathers spread and move, almost like fingers.

Obi-Wan assumes it's all involuntary. It looks natural, like other humanoids curling their fingers, except perhaps less controllable. There aren't any nerves or muscles in the individual feathers, after all; if anything, they're like stiff hairs. Obi-Wan wonders if feather movements are anything like whisker or tail movements on a tooka--able to express their will when they wish it, but otherwise moving with a life of their own.

After spending months beside the troopers, working and living and aching beside them, Obi-Wan comes to the gradual realization that he may be entirely wrong about his earlier assumptions.

The clones want their wing movements to look involuntary, that's for sure. And they're very successful at making said movements appear to just be a natural part of having wings.

But Obi-Wan now thinks there might be more to it.

Obi-Wan first notices something when he is, once again, on a medical transport. He has a concussion, probably, and all he hears is an unfortunate ringing in his ears after a grenade exploded too close. His medic Stabber is glowering, and Obi-Wan gives him what he hopes is an angelic if slightly bloodstained smile, and is stabbed with several needles for his trouble.

A junior medic scrambles toward them, holding a kit with probably more syringes for Stabber to stab with. Stabber doesn't even look at him, but suddenly the man freezes, before darting away to grab a different kit.

Curious, Obi-Wan thinks, unable to focus on anything except the visual with his ears utterly useless. He hadn't seen Stabber say anything, or sign anything, since his hands are busy sewing in Obi-Wan's guts. Maybe Vax remembered to bring a different kit on his own.

Stabber had shifted his wings though. And Obi-Wan has the sudden thought: maybe their wings speak a type of sign language too. Maybe Stabber told Vax he had the wrong kit with just his wing movements.

Obi-Wan doesn't remember much else after that, because Stabber finally stabs him with enough drugs to put him under.

But it's the first thought that he has in his mind when he wakes up later, tucked into his bunk on the Negotiator.

Wing talk. Huh.

~~

Obi-Wan observes the mens' wings more carefully after that, though he tries hard to avoid appearing like he is--almost as hard as his men are trying to look like they aren't communicating with them.

In the mess hall, Trapper shifts his wings, and it looks like he's rolling his shoulders, but the others seem to know exactly where he wants to sit and make space for him.

When in line to pick up replacement gear, Wooley twitches his wings, as though he has an itch, and the inventory master seems to know exactly which armor parts need replacement before he speaks.

After a harsh battle, Boil gives Waxer a meaningful look, and shuffles his wings from the entrance of the medical tent they're in. Waxer smiles weakly back.

It's the small, seemingly random movements that interest Obi-Wan--different from larger, noticeable commands like wing snaps, and also different from obvious physical actions like wing claps, and obvious reactions like wing shakes from laughter. He's not even sure there's a line to draw at all between these different types of movements; it's hard to differentiate.

Perhaps they really are just involuntary physical ticks. It's entirely possible and likely that the men don't always need actual language to understand their brothers. Obi-Wan has no evidence to support the idea that wings are necessarily tool in their own form of actual communication--all his observations could just be natural movement to accompany something that the clones already innately understand in one another.

Either way, Obi-Wan is hardly going to ask about it. If a language exists, then it's private, and the fact that they haven't mentioned it to him is proof enough of that. No matter how close Obi-Wan is getting to his men, there are still things that they should have for themselves, that Obi-Wan will not intrude upon unless expressly invited.

His observations of their potential wing-talk already seems invasive of their extremely limited privacy. He tries to settle his curiosity, and makes an effort to pointedly avoid looking for any specific patterns.

That attempt at respecting their privacy shatters in the midst of an exceptionally difficult mission.

Obi-Wan and the small team of Ghosts he'd brought with him are hiding on the side of a sheer cliff face. The men are all flat against the cliff itself, the claw blades in their calf armor allowing them to dig into the vertical surface. The men are considerably calmer than Obi-Wan would expect from any other sentients in their current situation, but he can't tell if it's because of their training, or the fact that they're completely at home with heights.

Obi-Wan is trying to match their calm, but he feels he isn't quite as successful. He's standing on the tiniest lip of a ledge, which would be fine, except he's holding onto Cody. Cody, who had taken a hard hit to the head, and is current unconscious, depending entirely on Obi-Wan's death grip on his waist and their precarious balance on the tiny ledge to keeping them from plummeting to their deaths.

Or maybe not to their deaths. Obi-Wan thinks the men will be able to catch them. But not without considerable risk to themselves, and not without getting noticed by the droid scouts and sensors.

Their luck, as usual, is unfortunate: there's also a sand storm. The wind keeps throwing thick clouds of choking orange sand at them in relentless roaring waves. It's a blessing in that it hides them well, and Obi-Wan's grateful for the warmer coloration of his mens' wings that helps them blend in. The royal blue feathers of the 501st wouldn't fare nearly as well in this situation.

The wind is also a curse: unconscious, Cody's wings aren't folded tightly against his back, and the wind catches on them like they're enormous kites, threatening to rip them both off the cliff face. Obi-Wan unfortunately can't manually close them with his hands--he needs both of them to hold on to his Commander and the cliff. Praying he doesn't hurt Cody, he tries to use the Force to gently fold his wings closer to his back, but it isn't working so well. All he's managing to do is fold Cody's wings slightly, before they slowly open again when Obi-Wan removes the pressure of the Force, and Obi-Wan doesn't quite have enough stamina left to maintain the hold.

Obi-Wan suddenly feels intense attention trained on them, and squints through the sand storm towards their men. Waxer, closest to them, appears to be moving his wings.

It's the same movement, repeated again and again, his wings rising and the first joint opening the slightest amount, before closing. The movement is subtle at first, but becomes more pronounced and exaggerated with each reiteration, until it's unmistakable that it's intentional.

He's trying to communicate with Cody, Obi-Wan realizes. Cody, who's unconscious, but whose wings have been moving because Obi-Wan's been trying to close them. Obi-Wan has no idea if the unintentional wing movements he'd caused actually mean something, and he prays that if they do, they aren't orders or the like.

Obi-Wan has no idea if Waxer is saying something in response to Cody's wings, or if he's just asking for a general sitrep, but either way Obi-Wan's options are limited. He glances down at his comm, but no--using it would trigger the sensors, which is what they're down here avoiding in the first place. He thinks about trying to use hand signs, but he doesn't want to risk letting go of the cliff or Cody, and also doubts his fingers will be visible through the sand anyway.

Or maybe they will be. His men have far better eyes than Obi-Wan does, and their faces are also protected by their buckets. Obi-Wan's head feels considerably heavier than it should from all the sand clogging his hair and beard. Obi-Wan grudgingly admits that perhaps there are some benefits to helmets, though he's not sure he wants to admit it to Cody's face.

Either way, he decides hand signs are worth a shot. The next time a gust of wind lifts Cody's wings, Obi-Wan twitches his hand at Cody's waist. There are only a few limited signs he can make with the fingers he's willing to lift, but he manages to say Man Down, to at least try to communicate that Cody is out.

No human would be able to see his fingers twitching in the shadow of Cody's wings, at this distance away, and through a sand storm.

But Obi-Wan's men always exceed expectations, and he feels Waxer's jolt of surprise and worry in the Force.

His wings move again--a different pattern. Obi-Wan doesn't know what he's saying, but he can guess.

Alive, Obi-Wan signs next, and it's a bit of a struggle to lift his pointer finger, and his heart leaps to his throat when Cody slips a little. He readjusts his grip on Cody's plastoid, and decides it's not worth the risk to make that sign again.

Waxer apparently gets the message though, because his attention turns from Obi-Wan and Cody to the rest of the squad, who are now all anxiously looking their way. Waxer's wings flurry with movement, and some of their tension drains.

Then, to Obi-Wan's immense relief, he feels Cody waking up.

~~

"General, do you understand...?"

Every clone currently in the medical room freezes as Waxer very deliberately flares his wings the barest amount, before wiggling his individual flight feathers with shocking dexterity.

Obi-Wan blinks.

"Oh, no...I knew you wanted to speak to Cody, but that's all I'm afraid."

A very strange expression passes over Waxer's face, and this time Obi-Wan doesn't miss his eyes flicking lightning fast over his shoulder. Cody's sitting on the bed behind him, Obi-Wan realizes. The movements of his massive wings are so gentle that Obi-Wan can't feel the air around them moving at all, and he knows he can only hear the faint rustling of feathers because Cody's letting him.

Waxer's wings slowly move again. A movement that is intentionally defined so Obi-Wan can see, individual flight feathers and wing joints flexing in a way that looks just like a natural shuffle.

Then he and the others silently file out from where they'd been crowding around Obi-Wan's bed, including Stabber, who shoots a very pointed look over Obi-Wan's shoulder, along with more wing movements. A warning, perhaps, not to push it.

Only when they're alone does Obi-Wan turn around to look at Cody.

Cody has proclaimed himself "fine," though Stabber had demanded he sit still for at least another six hours. The bed he's sitting on is raised higher than Obi-Wan's, and is tilted and pulled further from the wall to accommodate his folded wings hanging over the back.

Obi-Wan himself had been pelted on the head with a few stones while they were making their exit, and though he also thinks he's fine, Stabber had confined him to his own medical bed for at least an entire rotation. Which, is entirely excessive, but at least the medic had allowed Obi-Wan to stay close to Cody. With his comparatively more compact baseline human frame, Obi-Wan is used to his bed being crammed into whatever space is available around the much larger clone beds. Tucked into a corner with Cody suits everyone fine.

It takes quite a bit to seriously hurt clone wings, but even the smallest injury requires massive space. The Republic cruisers are supposed to be designed to support their soldiers, but after especially hard battles that require more than a handful of wing bones to be set, space can be scarce.

Cody's wings were luckily undamaged this mission. From the limited view of them Obi-Wan has, he can see the feathers rippling in a familiar contemplative movement.

"I thought you might suspect we were communicating with our wings," Cody says at last, and Obi-Wan's glad he sounds more exasperated than tense.

"A suspicion only, my dear," Obi-Wan assures. "One I never intended to confirm. I understand it's private, and you and the men are allowed your own language."

Cody hums, and his wings move more expressively now. Obi-Wan wonders if it's an extension of his contemplative movement, or if he's actually thinking "out loud" to himself. Out of respect for Cody's privacy, Obi-Wan turns away to face the far wall before he can observe more closely.

"I think," Cody begins, and Obi-Wan takes that as permission to focus on him again. He notices that Cody has turned sideways on the bed so that his wings no longer hang over the backrest, but from the side--leaving them more visible. "I think we can agree that it might benefit all of us if you can understand us."

Though he says it casually, Obi-Wan understands what the stakes must be like, for Cody to make such a declaration. It can't be something that he does lightly, to invite a non-clone like Obi-Wan to learn what must essentially be Vode-only code. To trust him, a nat-born superior officer, with one of the few ways they can truly communicate amongst themselves in complete privacy. The weight of what it must mean to grant that permission, on behalf of all of his brothers.

But Cody doesn't mention the secrecy, or what it must mean to them. Instead, his voice is soft, but utterly confident in its decision. In the Force, he gleams with gratitude, for Obi-Wan's attempts to look away from it despite knowing it existed--for showing them, through his past actions, that he understands the meaning of what they are going to share with him.

It's an utterly unnecessary gratitude, because Obi-Wan's the one who is being granted this immense privilege, and the depth of their trust--but Cody understands, Obi-Wan knows.

Obi-Wan still wants to say it, and from the quirk of his lips, Obi-Wan knows Cody knows this too.

But before Obi-Wan can speak, Cody's wings move, and his lips pause, already parted.

There's a deliberate pattern, in this way his flight feathers move, followed by a ripple in his secondaries. The ripple makes a brilliant line of gleaming gold skate over Cody's entire wing, and it's a struggle not to be mesmerized.

The pattern is slowly repeated, deliberate, and when Obi-Wan's eyes flick to Cody's face, the man looks infuriatingly smug in a way he never shows around his subordinates. Yes, he was successful at distracting Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan scowls, unable to turn back the conversation, because apparently they've moved on.

"This is what we use to refer to you, 'General Kenobi'..."

Well. They do have some time to spare, and Obi-Wan supposes there's no time like the present. He sits upright as well.

Their stay in the medical is very productive.

~~

It must have spread while Obi-Wan was sleeping, after Cody was shooed out of medical. But when Obi-Wan steps out back into the halls, he notices that all the men are instantly hyper focussed on him, while moving their wings very visibly, and with intent.

"We don't really have a word for this, speaking with our wings," Cody had said. "I suppose you could call it wing talk, or wing sign. We've never officially taught it to anyone outside of the Vode before, so we've never referred to it verbally, and there aren't any official definitions in basic."

("Officially...?"

Cody shrugs. "Wolffe spilled to General Koon."

Obi-Wan laughs, loud enough that Stabber comes by and glares at both of them along with a wing sign that is clearly meant to be rude. "Of course Plo would know," Obi-Wan adds in a much more medical-appropriate voice, and Cody sighs.)

The men still instantly become more subtle when there are any other nat-borns around, but for the most part, they stop hiding their communications in front of Obi-Wan. During his initial crash course with Cody in medical, Obi-Wan learned a great many of the more basic signs, along with how to recognize variations.

Obi-Wan's always been good at languages, and this is hardly his first non-verbal language, including the military sign that the GAR uses, along with the 212th-specific sign they'd developed as a battalion. In fact, many of the 212th signs actually borrow patterns from wing speech, which makes the patterns even easier to read.

The key, Cody had said--while Obi-Wan admired how his Commander shone as a teacher--is that their wing movements are divided into three main categories: the movement of their individual wing joints, the more general flexing and twitching of their muscles and the shorter covert feathers that cover them, and the more specific combinations of individual feather movements of their large flight feathers.

While all three types of movement are important to their language, what's actually used in communication is almost always a shorthand: their muscles aren't visible while they're wearing armor, and they always have to adapt depending on the specific movements they can make in any given situation. Context is key.

After all, another point of the language is that it can't look like a language--every movement has to be carefully incorporated into their natural wing movements.

There's a great deal of specific movements and seemingly intentional patterns that mean nothing at all, that are solely meant to throw off anyone who may be looking for a pattern.

"We've had a lot of experience, hiding it from the long-necks and trainers," Cody had admitted. "And they're much more observant on Kamino, always tracking everything we did. The other nat-borns out here...well, they mostly don't even think to look."

The initial sets of signs had apparently been from Fett, imparted upon the Alpha batch. He was, after all, the only one left who could speak it. It had spread rapidly from there, developing on its own as the Vode adopted it and added to it as it fit their needs.

Obi-Wan had been concerned about how his men would receive his invitation to learn their private tongue. He knows that Cody has their respect, and that he likely has the authority in the flock to make the decision, but it still feels intrusive. It may be useful for Obi-Wan to be able to understand his men on the field in this manner, but mere practicality seems a cruel justification for stepping in on this beautiful and hidden part of their culture they've built for themselves.

He needn't have been worried--his men practically sparkle in the Force as they show him their wings, and perhaps more importantly, stop hiding. It must be a relief, Obi-Wan thinks. They have hiding the language down to an art form, but to be able to use it in the open. To be able to share it, to be able to have an outsider appreciate it for the absolute brilliance that it is--it's a joy the men have never experienced before, and it's one they deserve, and Obi-Wan's own worries are swept away in the pure delight that rolls off of them in waves.

Obi-Wan takes it that the men have been told to focus on using the most crucial signs around Obi-Wan, so that he gets the most exposure to them. But it hasn't even been a full rotation before Longshot marches up to Obi-Wan while he's sitting in the mess eating with some of the others, and announces, "General! See this, this is what we say when we don't like someone!"

His words are accompanied by some very distinctive wing shifts, and Waxer snaps, "Longshot!" even as Boil pinches the bridge of his nose.

Wing talk, Obi-Wan finds, is immensely more colloquial than the extremely professional, military-appropriate Basic that has been drilled into the men. It also seems a lot less caring of rank, given that no nat-borns can understand it.

Meaning, of course, there is a lot of rude language, and Waxer seems appalled that these are the words his brothers seem most excited to share with their General.

Obi-Wan is absolutely delighted.

~~

Captain Tarkin is giving a presentation.

Obi-Wan is doing his duty of paying attention, but finds himself distracted by the nonstop stream of commentary being shared by the very neat, orderly rows of Vode lined up across from him. They're completely still, other than the gentle movements of their wings, timed to merge seamlessly with the wind blowing across the plaza--the speech is conveniently outdoors, allowing the wing movements to be more blatant without arousing suspicion.

Obi-Wan sees the sign again and again, scattered among the Vode, always timed so no one does it at the same time. It's the We Don't Like This Guy sign.

Obi-Wan is both proud and happy for his men, and their ability to so subtly express their displeasure to their brothers, right in front of the subject of their displeasure, all without breaking their professionalism. He'd always been too concerned about disappointing Qui-Gon to try anything similar himself as a Padawan, but Quinlan had done all sorts of clever things with the Force behind people's backs.

Obi-Wan finds he quite envies his men now.

Except...hmm.

From where his hands are tucked into his tunic sleeves, Obi-Wan feels the silky softness of the countless feathers woven into them. If he flipped his tunics inside out, they would gleam with soft, lovely gold and a few other colors: gifts from his men.

It hadn't taken long after being assigned to the 212th that his men noticed the enormous feathers from Seventeen and Fordo hanging from his hips, along with the feathers of a number of other Vode before they'd been reassigned from his command.

It also hadn't taken Cody long to realize there's another way to win against Obi-Wan's stubborn refusal to wear armor.

Obi-Wan can hardly refuse precious gifts pulled from the wings of his own men, desperate to protect him.

When Obi-Wan tried to argue that there's no need, fine he'll wear the damn armor, he'd rather that to his men feeling they need to pull out their own feathers--Cody had responded by ripping out one of his long, stunning Command-class back feathers, and a crisp statement that he'll hold Obi-Wan to his word--but Obi-Wan will also be wearing the feathers too.

It's a statement, not a request, and when Rex quietly whispers to Obi-Wan that their long back feathers are the only feathers that don't grow back--well. He can hardly not wear it.

The next thing Obi-Wan knows, several of his tunics are gone, and when they reappear, the insides are lined with a fine, astonishingly soft layer of downy feathers, with longer flight feathers pinned neatly to dangle under his sleeves and at his sides, to be mostly hidden by his outer robes. They'll be visible if Obi-Wan sheds the robe, but the men had apparently come to the consensus (without Obi-Wan's input) that they'd still rather Obi-Wan have sturdier flight feathers protecting him.

So now Obi-Wan has rows of stunningly beautiful flight feathers hanging at his sides, and inside the baggy sleeves of his robes, with Cody's long back feather curling from his own back. They're all neatly sewn in place by their master seamsters, and minus Cody's feather...the other feathers are arranged almost like wings.

Hmm.

Obi-Wan uncrosses his arms and lets them hang at his sides, relaxed. Then, he waits for the next gust of wind to billow his robes out, and then subtly, oh so very subtly, uses the Force to shift the feathers hanging at his sides using the longest feathers from Seventeen and Fordo as the "points" in his "secondaries," accompanied by barely there twitches from the "primaries" in his sleeves.

He thinks...ah yes, there, he did it.

Obi-Wan isn't able to savor his success, because suddenly one of the clones on the row across from him--it's Wooley--breaks formation with a gasping cough, his wings shaking uncontrollably.

Tarkin pauses. "Is there a pro--"

"Captain, could you elaborate on the preparations needed for your operation? It seems almost ready for implementation," Obi-Wan cuts in smoothly, even as another gust of wind blows, and he repeats the motion. It's smoother this time, integrating better with the natural movement of his robes.

More clone wings shake, but as a collective, it looks much more like an effect of the wind.

"Your interest is appreciated, General Kenobi. As I was saying..."

~~

Cody's brows are knitted tightly together when he approaches Obi-Wan in the nat-born free isolation of The Negotiator's halls.

Obi-Wan shifts the feathers in his robes--repentant, calm down.

Cody doesn't look surprised at Obi-Wan's admittedly still awkward attempts at wing sign, and responds with his own wings: at ease.

Out loud, Cody sighs. "Whoever showed you that sign, did they tell you what it means?"

Obi-Wan puts on his most charming smile. "I've been told it's the appropriate thing to say when you don't like someone, and I'm afraid I'm not the most fond of Captain Tarkin. I saw that it's a common sentiment among our men, and felt I could...express my agreement."

If possible, Cody looks even more pained.

He stands silently, before seeming to come to a regretful decision.

"General...because I feel you should understand." Cody sighs, loudly. "It unfortunately means 'I drop excrement on your head.'"

Obi-Wan beams, and Cody turns to hide his face in his wing, letting the feathers absorb his groan.

Obi-Wan blinks at the nat-born officer standing before him, even as his hand naturally extends to take the datapad. He only vaguely recognizes them, and thinks they might be a recent transfer. Obi-Wan doesn't recall having ever interacted with them before, and unfortunately can't even recall their name.

"Certainly, if you're referring to Lieutenant Waxer," Obi-Wan says politely.

"Yes, that one. Thank you, sir," the officer says, before hurrying away without a backwards glance.

Obi-Wan stares after them for a moment, before blinking down at the datapad now in his hands. He's tired, and shockingly enough, had actually been preparing to retire. But, it's still no trouble to take a little walk, and it might even do him some good to get his mind off of the next campaign. It's only a slight detour from his own quarters anyway.

As Obi-Wan finishes passing by the area of the Negotiator dubbed the "nat-born zone" by the vod'e--the area containing the nat-born officers quarters, barracks, and the facilities used by them--the halls get darker. The nat-born zone halls are lit at all hours, but at this time in the night cycle, few people other than clones have reason to venture through the rest of the ship. Given that the clones have perfect night vision, the areas of the ship that they primarily occupy have the lights dimmed to conserve energy. The only lights come from the faint line of safety lights along the floor and the panels next to every door, as well as datapads and wrist comms on the few troopers that Obi-Wan passes by, whom he greets with nods.

It's more than enough for Obi-Wan to navigate these familiar halls, and if anything, the quiet is peaceful. They're in a massive ship traveling through hyperspace, so the buzz of electronics isn't entirely escapable, but at least he can rest his eyes a little from staring at artificial lighting. He can only imagine how much worse it is for the men with their superior vision.

Obi-Wan had initially been given quarters in the nat-born officers area, but it had been too far away from Cody and the other clone officers with whom he spends far more time. He'd requested a room transfer to the section with the clone officers quarters, which had been granted with a frown, and he hadn't understood why until he'd seen his new room.

The clones take up a very different type of space than more baseline humans, and Obi-Wan had felt it all the more acutely when he first entered his new quarters. Although they had given him one of the largest rooms available, the floorspace is laughably small, even by military standards. The small cot they'd brought in for Obi-Wan almost fills exactly half of it and spans from wall to wall, barely leaving enough space for a tiny corridor from the entrance to the door to the attached 'fresher.

In exchange, the room has a much, much higher ceiling. Partway up, there's a small ledge suspended between two of the walls with a bar in front of it, positioned slightly higher. Seventeen had explained to Obi-Wan that this was a "perch," and is the standard sleeping setup provided to most mature clones in place of a bed.

Because of their massive wings, clones usually don't find sleeping horizontally nearly as comfortable as humans, and in order for it to be comfortable, they'd need far more space than is provided to them. Sleeping on their backs is uncomfortable, as it pins their wings; sleeping on their sides can be acceptable, but requires significant space behind them for their wings to not feel trapped, as well as significant bed height so the wing closer to the floor won't constantly brush the ground. Sleeping on their fronts can be acceptable, but can be stifling, and again requires significant space above the bed for stretching their wings.

Luckily, the differences in their physiology means that being upright while resting isn't nearly as uncomfortable for them as it is for most near-humans. If anything, having space for their wings to fold and their feathers to hang downwards without anything bending them is a greater priority than the position of their humanoid bodies.

The "perch" is designed so that a clone can fly up and sit on the ledge like a bench, with plenty of space for their wings to hang down behind them. The padded bar in front is situated so they can rest their upper bodies on it.

Obi-Wan had looked at the simple setup dubiously, because despite Seventeen's insistence that all clones have been trained to use them, it doesn't look comfortable. Seventeen had responded by bluntly informing him that his cot doesn't exactly look comfortable either, and Obi-Wan conceded the point; by most human sleeping furniture standards, the GAR cots are definitely on the wretched side. So perhaps the perches are roughly the same.

The clone barracks, Obi-Wan discovers, also don't contain any beds, but rows upon rows of perches stretching all the way up to the high ceiling. While the padded bars are at one-person intervals with breaks in between so the men can easily pass between them, the benches are continuous for the row, allowing clones to huddle together if they wish.

This means that despite taking up more physical space than their wingless humanoid counterparts, each clone's designated perch area actually takes up less space than a human bunk would. The first time Obi-Wan had observed the barracks, they reminded him uncomfortably of the bird perches inside messenger bird cages--that is, barely providing enough space for them to pack inside, maximizing space efficiency with zero regard for personal space or privacy.

His men had assured him time and time again that the perches aren't so bad, and make sense for them. But within the first few months on board, the men found a far better alternative, with Seventeen's grudging acceptance and Obi-Wan's whole-hearted approval.

Even after Seventeen and Fordo left them, the newly formed 212th had adopted their forebears' legacy.

Obi-Wan knocks and takes a quick peek into the barracks as he passes them, but he doesn't expect to find Waxer there. It's mostly empty, as it usually is nowadays, save for when a brother needs some quiet or privacy or wants to get something. The perches have been repurposed as storage, and the men really only all gather there when there's a nat-born inspection. Obi-Wan nods at the few men quietly minding their own business, and continues onwards.

He passes by his and Cody's own quarters as well. After the initial surprise, Obi-Wan had adapted to his new quarters and finds it works quite nicely. While the perch is too high up for most nat-borns to reach, Obi-Wan is able to use the Force to easily jump up there. He'd asked the men for help attaching a metal board to the bar, allowing it to function as a desk. While Obi-Wan admittedly prefers his cot to balancing precariously on the bench to sleep, the perch is a perfectly functional seat for working, with enough space for Cody to join him as well. It's actually quite relaxing, having his feet dangle in the air and getting to take some pressure off of them.

Past the barracks, Obi-Wan finally reaches a portion of the hall that has one entire wall missing as it opens up into the main flight deck.

The Negotiator, like all Venator-class Star Destroyers, comes equipped with a massive dorsal flight deck that is half a kilometer long and runs the length of the center of the ship's main body. When their ships need to deploy, the shield goes up, and the armored bow doors open to allow their ships easy passage into space.

When not active, however, the flight deck is a valuable area to the clones: the sole location on the entire ship where they can truly stretch their wings. The flight deck is long enough, vertically tall enough, and unobstructed enough that his men can actually fly. And given that stretching and exercising their wings is just as important as the rest of their bodies, it isn't uncommon to see groups of them flying laps, or just riding on the air currents produced by the vents.

It's also valuable for another reason: the higher areas are incredibly difficult to access for those without wings. The bow doors are certainly so high up that Obi-Wan can barely see the individual panels from his position in the hall. It's not impossible for someone with a safety harness to laboriously climb their way up, but it would be challenging, dangerous, and time-consuming.

It's one thing to be told you'll be given privacy, and another to personally guarantee it. Obi-Wan understands that the men have grown up with constant surveillance by the Kaminoans and trainers. Outside of Kamino, with the slightest bit more leeway and a General who endorses them finding ways to be as comfortable as they can, Obi-Wan isn't surprised that they've found a way to create their own truly Vode-only zone.

Obi-Wan can't see it from his current position, but he knows that on the ceiling of the flight deck, there's a trench-like indent between the part that connects to the bow doors and the walls of the ship hangars to the side. And it is within this ceiling trench that most of the men spend their time resting.

Obi-Wan glances down at the datapad in his hand, and wonders if he should have just left it on Waxer's perch in the barracks rather than looking for him here.

Before he can decide, he feels a slight breeze against his back, and a familiar Force-signature.

He turns around--and right behind him is a massive shadow and two glowing, golden eyes.

As Obi-Wan blinks up at the eyes, supposes he can understand why nat-borns don't like to venture into the clone areas during the night cycle. Even though the dim lights reflect off of their white armor, their massive wings seem to meld into the darkness; an immense, shapeless, and inhuman presence in the looming in the shadows. Combined with the way their eyes reflect like that of many predators with night vision, as well as their ability to move completely silently and suddenly drop out of literal thin air, Obi-Wan can grudgingly see why others less accustomed to his men may find them a little alarming.

Obi-Wan admittedly isn't even really using his eyes. In the Force, sight matters not, and Longshot's presence is as warm and vibrant as it would be in any other situation.

"What brings you do our humble side of the ship, General?" Longshot asks with a teasing lilt, shifting his bucket on his cocked hip. Obi-Wan can hear his wings rustling, and even though he can't see Longshot's feathers well enough to decipher their movements, at this point he's familiar enough with Vode wing talk that from the sounds alone, he can guess it's the happy to see you sign.

"Just a night-time stroll before I retire, my dear," Obi-Wan says easily, and oh, this is actually convenient. "Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"A favor for our General? Of course I'm always happy to help, sir," Longshot grins while shifting closer, and his teeth flash along with his eyes before he's close enough to the open wall that he steps into lights from the flight deck and becomes visible to Obi-Wan's eyes.

"It's this," Obi-Wan says, gesturing at the 'pad. "I was asked by a nat-born officer to deliver it to Waxer, and I assume he's above."

Now Obi-Wan can clearly see the way Longshot's face scrunches up in disgust. "What nat-born officer has the nerve to ask High General Kenobi to be an errand boy?"

Obi-Wan pauses; he supposes this is slightly below his station, but he hadn't considered it. He supposes he really is tired, but either way, it doesn't particularly matter because Obi-Wan doesn't mind. "I'm afraid I don't recall their name, or even their face," Obi-Wan says honestly.

Longshot snort-laughs, and Obi-Wan clearly hears his wings rustling with amusement. "Figures you never forget a vod name or misidentify one of us, but you can't remember a nat-born officer."

Obi-Wan shrugs helplessly. "I'm afraid I just don't spend much time in their company compared to you."

Longshot hums. "Well, it's true that Waxer's probably up there, and I can guess in which section, but..." his eyes suddenly light up, rather literally as his head jolts and his pupils reflect a flash of light. "General, you should take it to him yourself!"

Obi-Wan blinks, then looks out into the flight deck, then back at Longshot, who is nodding to himself with incredible satisfaction.

"My dear...that might be a little difficult."

"No worries sir, I'll take you," Longshot smiles winningly. His wings shift in anticipation, and in the glow from the flight deck, Obi-Wan can see the distinctive bold double line cutting across the tips of Longshot's feathers, much like the double line tattoo going down his body.

Obi-Wan hesitates, and looks down at the little datapad.

Longshot must take that hesitation as rejection, because his wings immediately droop. "...Or, I could just bring the 'pad up. Whichever you'd like, sir."

"It's not that I'm not interested," Obi-Wan says quickly, and nudges the Force to shift the feathers in his sleeves to sign I'm curious. "It's just that, that area is a private area for you and your brothers. I wouldn't want to intrude."

Longshot instantly brightens, drooping wings snapping upright, and for a moment Obi-Wan imagines them to almost be like massive tooka ears perking up. "That won't be a problem, sir! We've been wanting to show you for a while, and this is a good excuse! In fact, the Commander's been thinking of how to get you up there." He pauses. "...Commander might not like that I offered first. But...y'know what, Commander always gets privileges. I want to do this. If that's acceptable to you, sir," Longshot says, partially to himself before his attention is pinned on Obi-Wan again.

Obi-Wan hesitates for another moment, but it's true that he is curious about what the men have set up up there. And if his presence is welcome...

"Perhaps a short visit then, if you don't mind," Obi-Wan accepts. "Although I'll have to trouble you to help me back down as well. I really shouldn't linger long." Which is true, but Obi-Wan also doesn't want to intrude for longer than is necessary either.

"Of course sir, I don't want Ashe and Stabber to shorten my lifespan for detracting from your rest," Longshot says easily, without the slightest hint of worry. "Now, I'll need you to hold my bucket for me, General!"

With that, Longshot thrusts forward his bucket, and Obi-Wan blinks and automatically takes it, tucking it into his arms alongside the datapad. It's only when Longshot steps forward that he realizes precisely how the vod intends on taking him up.

"Oh, hold on a moment, dear, I don't think--"

"Not to worry, General! I won't drop you, and you've already been carried this way by the Commander so it'll be fine!"

"I hardly think getting carried off a battlefield while unconscious is--"

Obi-Wan cuts off with a yelp as Longshot bends, and with an arm behind Obi-Wan's back and knees, easily scoops him off his feet.

Obi-Wan blinks up at Longshot's face, which is suddenly much closer. Longshot's armored arms and armored chest aren't exactly comfortable, but Obi-Wan feels incredibly stable, and Longshot appears to be lifting him with embarrassing ease.

"Any problems, General?" Longshot ask cheekily, shifting him slightly without the slightest tremor in his arms. At this range, it's apparent that Longshot's chest and arms are much thicker than Obi-Wan had assumed from afar.

"...None, my dear. You're very strong," Obi-Wan says distractedly, wondering how tight the armor must be on the inside right now, given how Longshot's arms are flexed. He wonders if all of his brothers also--

Obi-Wan's sleep-deprived brain catches up to his mouth, and heat races to his cheeks even as he tries to hide his face behind Longshot's bucket.

Longshot luckily doesn't tease him, but just laughs merrily. "I sure am, General! These arms come with being a sniper," he says, and casually bounces Obi-Wan in his arms like he's a crecheling. Obi-Wan can imagine his wings flaring with pride behind his back. "Well then! Don't drop my bucket!"

It's all the warning Obi-Wan gets before Longshot casually strolls off the edge of the hall and into the six story plummet below.

Obi-Wan is no stranger to falls and knows he could easily slow their descent with the Force. It's still an entirely different matter to trust someone else to slow the fall, and while he doesn't doubt Longshot, he still tenses slightly until his wings snap out with a deafening clap.

Longshot beats his wings once, twice, and then Obi-Wan hears a slight whine as his jetpack ignites, turning on for a short burst to provide an extra boost until his wings can catch an air current from the vents. Then, he soars, and Obi-Wan subconsciously leans into Longshot's chest at the dizzying speed at which the floor of the flight deck shrinks.

It's one thing to know the Negotiator is a large ship, and to see the massive flight deck from the ground, and to feel the distance it takes to walk across parts of the vessel. It's entirely different to survey it from the very top of the largest space in the ship. Star destroyers really are essentially mobile military towns, and not even particularly small ones.

Snug in Longshot's arms, Obi-Wan curiously peers down at the specks below, because he really hadn't realized just how high up the ceiling is, nor how dark it would be, this far away from the lights in the hangars. Not quite a night sky, but it doesn't quite feel like they're in the ship anymore either--a sky in its own sense.

Obi-Wan gets the feeling that Longshot's letting him enjoy the view, taking a few slow, easily circles, the deep and slow pumps of his wings tangible even through the plastoid of his chest plate. Then, he heads towards the side walls, towards their destination.

It's dark enough that when they approach the ceiling trench, at first all Obi-Wan can see are tiny pinprick dots of light. Not stars--not even mistakable as firebugs, the way that every light is part of a pair. The dots increase exponentially in number as they get closer.

They're eyes. Hundreds of glowing eyes, turned in their direction as Longshot flies closer.

Obi-Wan's eyes have adjusted enough that as they approach, he can begin to make out shapes, and he stares in awe at what the men have set up.

It can only be called...a nest.

Or perhaps, more accurately, an artificial canopy that is covered in an intricate network of nests. The trench in the ceiling is now spanned by countless durasteel bars and horizontal pillars, some with additional metal branching off that acts as solid support "branches." Then, between and along the branches are countless structures shaped roughly like shallow bowls. As Longshot glides closer, Obi-Wan can see that they're constructed from familiar parts: pieces of broken ships and transports, other scavenged machinery parts, even some pieces of droids. Some of the larger parts have been drilled or soldered into place, but the nests themselves are primarily held together by metal cords, wires, and rope all expertly woven together.

While the nests and branches are the most prominent structures, Obi-Wan realizes that's hardly all that the men have constructed. Connecting many of the nests and branches are what Obi-Wan can only call hammocks. Sturdy netting strung between the more solid structures, taut enough for dozens of vod'e to recline within with space to spread their wings or hang them off the edge. There are other creative structures as well, such as durasteel boards with cords attached on both ends, dangling below the branches as a kind of makeshift swinging benches. Obi-Wan spots a cluster of hanging juggernaut wheels with men lounging inside, and in another area, the frames of LAATi turret spheres with missing transparisteel panels that now function as single-seating hanging pods. Some of the "structures" could perhaps barely even be called thus, and would certainly be too precarious for most ground-bound people, but the men seem at ease balancing on them, completely at home in the air.

Almost everything that makes up the structures here is a repurposed part of something familiar. Given that the men barely have any belongings and no credits, it unfortunately makes sense that they've had to use what can be found around them, but what they've built despite their limited resources is genuinely breathtaking.

Absolutely none of it is visible from anywhere on the ground. It's even invisible to ships that pass through the bow doors, given that every structure is hidden within the trench.

Longshot makes another slow circle beneath the branches, before pumping his wings and slowly rising, expertly weaving between the structures. Obi-Wan sees flashes of his mens' faces as they pass, and while many look surprised, he's relieved that no one looks alarmed. Given their vision, they'd likely seen Longshot coming long before they were in range, so they'd at least had some warning before Obi-Wan had gotten close. The Force is more peaceful here than anywhere else on the ship, reflecting the contentment of his men, and now it seems to tinge with a sleepy vibration of excitement.

Longshot heads to the largest nest that Obi-Wan has seen so far, perhaps large enough to comfortably fit roughly twenty men inside. One extra burst of his jetpack and Longshot flies above it, before settling lightly on the tightly woven edge.

"Cody's going to mope about you bringing the General up here before him," Waxer says in place of a greeting to Longshot. Towards Obi-Wan, he smiles and says, "Welcome to our little nook, General. Hope you don't mind what we've done with the place."

Waxer's words are casual, but there's still an underlying implied worry--the Vode had modified a part of the ship, completely out of regulations. Obi-Wan is quick to diffuse that worry.

"It's amazing," Obi-Wan says as Longshot carefully lowers him into the nest. Despite the variety of parts making up the outside, the inside is surprisingly even, all of the cracks stuffed with smaller debris and then covered and hardened with multiple layers of mesh, tarp, fabric, and likely anything else the men could get a hold of. Past the very edge, the nest is lined with much softer and finer materials, and without being prompted, Obi-Wan takes off his boots to imitate the men resting inside.

Waxer looks the most relaxed that Obi-Wan's ever seen him--all of them look more relaxed than they ever are on the ground. It only occurs to Obi-Wan now just how tightly the men must keep their wings closed when on the ground, no doubt to keep their massive appendages from hindering themselves and others in confined quarters. But here, they have space, and they've intentionally constructed their environment to conform to them. Waxer's wings are lazily spread, loosely contoured to the curve of the nest's wall, while Boil is lazing along the far rim, his wings hanging entirely out of the nest. Crys is leaning forward on the pillow-like structure at the center of the nest, his wings lazily fanned out behind him, one overlapping Wooley, who is dozing while curled into a loose ball.

Most of the men in this particular nest are part of Ghost Company, but Obi-Wan sees a few shinies from their newest batch from Kamino. They feel slightly nervous at Obi-Wan's presence, but taking their cues from their older brothers who haven't gotten up to salute him, they hesitantly stay seated as well.

While Obi-Wan was taking in the nest, Longshot was stripping out of his armor, latching each piece onto invisible hooks on the rim of the nest. Boil tosses him a set of red fatigues like what the rest of them are wearing, and though Obi-Wan quickly averts his gaze when Longshot begins to strip his blacks, he's not quite fast enough to avoid catching a glimpse of an incredibly toned body and yes, very muscular arms indeed.

The nest feels incredibly stable despite the comparatively narrow beam it's been attached to, but Obi-Wan still feels rude standing, and moves to seat himself along the edge when, without even lifting his head, Crys raises one wing and lazily gestures for Obi-Wan to come here.

At the explicit request, Obi-Wan shuffles closer to the center so he's next to Crys, who again, without moving the humanoid part of his body, simply uses his wing to scoop Obi-Wan closer. Obi-Wan blinks when he suddenly finds himself flush against the blond vod, and Wooley makes an incomprehensible mumble before butting his head against Obi-Wan's thigh.

"I brought him here, so that's super unfair," Longshot says, but shifts closer himself, avoiding Crys's wing suddenly flaring out to try to jab him in the face. Wooley makes a soft sound of complaint at the movement, and Crys grudgingly settles and allows Longshot to press into Obi-Wan's other side.

Obi-Wan blinks, because he's suddenly very warm, and surrounded on all sides by even warmer bodies that are pressing against him liberally. He's not entirely sure how he got here.

"Oh yeah, forgot you had this, Boil hook it in for me?" Longshot reaches over and plucks his bucket from Obi-Wan's arms before tossing it towards his brother, who grumbles before hooking it in place next to the rest of Longshot's armor.

"Comfortable, General?" Crys drawls, one eye lazily cracked open. Everything about him feels languid, which is normal enough for Crys, but right now it almost feels infectious, the sense of him seeming to pull Obi-Wan closer in the Force.

"Incredibly," Obi-Wan says, and Crys lets out a low trill of contentment before spreading his wing a little more, his lovely golden feathers draping over Obi-Wan's lap like a living blanket. Longshot groans quietly before shifting, and suddenly his wing overlaps Crys's in a double layer of wings. With Wooley pressing closer under their wings, his head almost in Obi-Wan's lap, he finds himself thoroughly trapped.

Obi-Wan blinks at the two shinies staring owlishly at him. "Hello, Cheeky, Tats."

"Hello, sir," they chorus, and both of their eyes flicker between Obi-Wan and Waxer before Waxer rolls his eyes, his wings signing at ease. Cheeky relaxes first and reclines against the side of the nest, and Tats eventually follows his brother's lead.

No matter that they don't seem to mind too much that Obi-Wan is here, he's still acutely aware that he's intruding, and that his presence must be incredibly nerve-wracking especially for the vod'e who don't know Obi-Wan well. Obi-Wan is comfortable, but that shouldn't mean others should be less comfortable as a result, especially in what is clearly their own home.

In fact, Obi-Wan is so comfortable that he's getting sleepy, which is quite dangerous. He remembers that he came here with a specific task to complete. He reluctantly nudges Crys and Longshot's wings enough to free his shoulders and then an arm, and holds the datapad out towards Waxer, who had been watching them with something akin to fond amusement.

"I really didn't want to intrude, but I actually came because an officer asked me to pass this along to you, my dear. I apologize for bothering you while you're off duty," Obi-Wan says, and given how relaxed everyone is, he isn't surprised when rather than getting up, Waxer extends his wing. Obi-Wan gently places the 'pad on his long flight feathers, and is fascinated when Waxer tilts his wing and angles his feathers so the device slides smoothly down, all the way until it falls neatly into his open hand.

"A nat-born officer, making our General run errands?" Boil scoffs.

"That's what I said," Longshot mutters.

"No need to apologize. Thanks for this, General," Waxer says as he thumbs through the 'pad. "This isn't urgent, it's just the nat-born rewording a document that I wrote, so they can take credit, of course. They probably didn't want to get written up by their superior for forgetting to give it to me while I was on the ground." Waxer tucks the 'pad into an invisible compartment behind him, and apparently that's all he plans on doing with it.

Obi-Wan is suddenly stuck in a dilemma: he should really be getting up to return to his own bunk. But in order to do so, he should probably enlist help, because he has a hunch his men would object to him simply flinging himself over the edge of the nest and free-falling, although that's certainly a viable if tiring method of reaching the ground. But at the same time, no one here seems remotely inclined to move and he would hate to force them to do so. It also feels terribly rude to leave so soon without expressing more appreciation for the miraculous environment they've shared with him, but Obi-Wan also doesn't want his presence to keep any of his men from fully enjoying the privacy they're denied everywhere else.

He needs to stay awake to take any action, but Crys and Longshot's wings have snuck over him again and are a pleasant, warm, and steady weight that oh so very gently pushes him down, down. The fabric under him is warm, and so very familiar--Obi-Wan realizes that it must be from one of his "missing robes," which he knows that his men have been using--that's why he intentionally keeps "losing" them. The familiar wool texture is relaxing him even more...it's all so very soft, and Wooley's head is a warm weight against his thigh, and Crys's breathing has completely evened out and is close enough to feel against Obi-Wan's neck. Longshot's very heavy arm has crept over Obi-Wan's chest, and is now pinning him against the pillow. Obi-Wan needs to stay awake. But his men are sleepy, the Force is sleepy, and he's sleepy...

Two massive shadows silently land on the edge of the nest, eyes glowing, but no one moves. Obi-Wan doesn't move either, because he doesn't even need the Force to recognize their familiar forms and movements. One is relieved, the other fondly exasperated.

"Oh it's a bloody miracle, good, keep him there," Stabber snorts, before the medic flops bonelessly next to Boil and is out before his wings even settle.

Cody just shakes his head. "We were planning on giving you a tour during day cycle," he tells Obi-Wan, keeping his voice low enough not to disturb his sleeping brothers. "It appears someone has kidnapped you before we could offer you a proper welcome." He raises an unimpressed eyebrow towards Longshot.

"Didn' 'nap," Longshot mutters, one wing shifting in a gentle kriff off gesture that has Obi-Wan snorting. "Also, you can' have my spot." The feathers on the wing draped over Obi-Wan raise subtly, puffing up in challenge but also too lazy to do it properly.

Cody shakes his head again, and moves to secure the bags he and Stabber had brought with them--they'd apparently already changed into their fatigues before arriving, but still carried their armor with them, likely in case of an emergency. He then settles himself against the edge of the nest facing Obi-Wan, and Longshot's feathers slowly settle when he realizes his position isn't being threatened.

As Cody rolls his shoulders and stretches his wings languidly, Obi-Wan notices that everyone in the nest subtly turns their heads towards him, even those who are deeply unconscious. Without any armor obscuring them, the solid gold coloration of Cody's wings must be even more visible to the clones' eyes, Obi-Wan realizes. He remembers Waxer telling him how mesmerizing their leader's wings can be.

Their leader. Cody may not be able to speak for all of his brothers, but Obi-Wan still feels he needs his explicit permission to be here. This is the Vode's domain--Cody's domain.

"Cody--"

"Stay."

Obi-Wan blinks. His eyelids suddenly feel much heavier.

He vaguely thinks Cody is smiling. The incredibly faint light from far below the nest gives Cody's silhouette the slightest glow, especially his wings. Even though Obi-Wan can't see them like the vod'e, he still feels hypnotized.

"Sleep, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan sleeps.

To be fair, it isn't just his own private 'fresher that had taken damage. Apparently the brief skirmish they'd just come out of had managed to jostle the Negotiator just the right amount to damage both the water pipes and energy lines to the 'freshers and sonics specifically in the clone officer quarters. The rest of the ship seems fine, for which Obi-Wan is grateful, because really it could have been much worse.

But this brings him to his current predicament: he would really like to cleanse himself, but can't using his usual facilities.

His second choice of 'freshers would have been to ask Cody if he could borrow his, as the Marshal Commander's quarters are also equipped with a shower and sonics. But alas, Cody's quarters are also in the affected area--as are the quarters of every single one of the other clone officers.

That leaves Obi-Wan with two options: the communal nat-born 'freshers, or the communal clone 'freshers.

He probably really ought to just go to the nat-born 'freshers, given that there are a far fewer number of nat-borns on board which means they presumably get less traffic. But Obi-Wan admittedly isn't nearly as close to any of the nat-borns, even the officers, compared to his men--as shown by how he doesn't even really consider them "his men." He'd also heard rumors that the nat-born facilities are better than those provided to the clones, and well, he doesn't like the thought of taking advantage of privileges denied to his men.

That leaves the communal clone 'freshers. He just hopes the men don't mind.

He briefly contemplates comming Cody to ask if it would be appropriate, but decides it would feel too strange to ask him for permission to simply freshen up. Either way, even if Cody agrees, Obi-Wan doesn't want to assume that that means that the men who will be present at the time will be comfortable with his presence. Better to just go and ask in person.

His plan of action decided, Obi-Wan bundles together his toiletries and a change of clothes and leaves his quarters.

~~

Obi-Wan's lucky, because he manages to catch Boil just before the entrance to the clone communal 'freshers. Obi-Wan wouldn't have wanted to enter without permission, and had been prepared to wait for someone to pass by.

He explains his situation as briefly as possible, and Boil slowly nods at the end. "I hadn't even realized the 'freshers were down, sir. We almost always use the communal ones anyway." His wings shift, a sheepish motion. Boil is an officer who ranks high enough that he and Waxer also have shared quarters in the affected area. "Of course it won't be a problem with the men if you want to use the communal 'freshers. Although..."

He pauses, and stares at Obi-Wan. His emotions feel muddled in the Force, with hints of concern, and perhaps embarrassment.

"If it's even the slightest bit uncomfortable, I do have other options available to me, and it isn't any problem for me to use those instead," Obi-Wan says, already beginning to turn away.

"It's not that, General." Boil spreads one of his wings, subtly blocking Obi-Wan from backing away, and uses it to gently guide Obi-Wan back towards the door to the 'freshers. "The boys may be a little...excited, but. It'll probably be a good bonding activity. I hope." He mutters the last part to himself, before seeming to harden his resolve.

Boil keeps his half-spread wing folded around Obi-Wan's back, a gesture that Obi-Wan's found that a lot of his men have been initiating lately. It functions much like an un-winged humanoid's arm around his shoulder, except with the benefits of a greater reach and leaving the vod's arms free. It's also a significantly more difficult hold to escape from, given the area that the wings take up behind Obi-Wan's back. The men seem to enjoy the gesture because it's significantly easier to use on wingless Obi-Wan compared to their fellow winged brothers, and Obi-Wan can sense how amused they are by how easy he is to herd around to their liking with their wings. Boil has apparently decided that Obi-Wan is far more likely to back away due to worrying about his lack of welcome than he is to back away from personal discomfort, and is now essentially holding Obi-Wan's hand through the door. He can hardly refuse.

Inside is a spacious locker room that immediately reminds Obi-Wan of the barracks. The floor space of the room is plenty large, but far more impressive is the height. The rows of lockers go all the way up to the ceiling, so high that Obi-Wan can't see the top, and benches are also arranged vertically, much like simplified perches. The sound of beating wings and rustling feathers and quiet chatter echoes through the chamber, and perhaps due to the dim lighting and shadows flitting high above, Obi-Wan has the bizarre feeling that he's standing in a cathedral of sorts, rather than a military locker room. Obi-Wan blinks when a downy feather, glimmering softly, wafts down and lands on his nose.

"Sorry about the mess," Boil cringes, and plucks the feather from Obi-Wan's nose. He peers around, and seems to spot something that isn't visible to Obi-Wan's eyes. "Hey, Wooley! Save that locker for the General!"

He then proceeds to guide Obi-Wan five rows away, to where Wooley is standing frozen by a ground-level locker, eyes wide. Boil had apparently seen him and the empty locker through the grid holes in the lockers--from five rows away. Obi-Wan quietly shakes his head, because even after all this time together, his men never cease to impress him.

"The General's joining us?!" Wooley asks, his face breaking into a wide grin and his wings flaring with excitement, banging loudly into the locker door behind him, the sound echoing loudly and making Boil cringe again. "Here, Obi-Wan, you can take this locker!"

"Thank you, Wooley," Obi-Wan says, feeling warm at Wooley's use of his name, given how reluctant most of his men seem to be to take him up on being more casual while off duty.

That's certainly the only reason why he feels warm, he tells himself firmly. It has nothing to do with the fact that Wooley is buck naked and seems utterly unconcerned about the fact.

Obi-Wan is perfectly comfortable with nudity, and the Temple has communal bathing facilities as well. He, too, should be utterly unconcerned--it must be because he's simply used to his men being so covered, that the sudden expanse of bare skin is jarring. He smiles and keeps his gaze firmly above Wooley's chin, within familiar territory, as he moves to put his things in the locker.

"No other ground level lockers," Boil mutters. "Wooley, I need to go a few levels up. Stay here with the General, and wait until I come back."

"I can take him to the sonics," Wooley says brightly, with perhaps too innocent a smile.

"No, stay here, we'll take him there together," Boil growls, before bending his legs and taking off, his wings a thunderclap that conveniently cuff Wooley's head as he passes.

"He's not as nice to me anymore," Wooley sighs, rubbing his head while Obi-Wan laughs softly.

Obi-Wan strips everything, finding the locker laughably spacious for his meager clothing, no doubt because the lockers have clearly been designed to fit a full suit of clone armor including wing armor. He grabs his little mesh bag of toiletries and closes the locker, only to come face to face with Wooley staring at him.

"You have little dots on your skin," Wooley blurts, before he flushes bright red and ducks his head, wings coming up to hide his face.

"It's alright," Obi-Wan laughs, and uses the Force to nudge the outside of Wooley's wing, much like he's seen the men do to each other with their wings, a reassuring touch. "They're called freckles. Many humanoids have them."

"They're not scars? You weren't hurt?" Wooley's wings have retreated, and he's back to blatantly staring, unable to stop his curiosity.

"Not at all, they're natural," Obi-Wan reassures him, and twists so he can see his shoulder better, where he's aware he has quite a few freckles. And then it suddenly occurs to him, "I suppose you haven't seen many non-vod'e naked."

"Haven't seen any non-vod'e naked," Wooley says, and his eyes slowly trace Obi-Wan's entire body. They lack any sexual heat, but are instead filled with pure childish curiosity from seeing something new and foreign. When he flushes and rips his gaze away, to Obi-Wan it feels far more like the embarrassment of getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar so to speak, than as a result of anything untoward.

"You may look all you like," Obi-Wan says easily, without much thought. "Consider this a learning opportunity."

Wooley's head snaps up, and now with permission, he immediately goes back to staring, his eyes wide as though it'll help him take in more. Obi-Wan then becomes aware of more attention drawn towards himself, this time from others--and he realizes that many of the other men in the locker room probably also heard his words. And, well...he hadn't exactly intended on having a large audience gawking at his naked body, but he also won't rescind the offer or clarify that it's just for Wooley. Curiosity is natural and healthy, and he has no problem showing his men what a body that's different from theirs can look like, especially given that he's intruding on their 'freshers.

A silent gust of wind announces Boil's return, and Obi-Wan turns to hear him sighing in what appears to be deep resignation. "You really had to go and say that," he says, and without his armor (without anything, really), it's easy to see how the downy feathers along his wing muscles twitch, a movement Obi-Wan associates with exasperation. It's fascinating just how much their wings give away when one knows what to look for, especially with nothing covering them. "You'll be prepared for every single vod present taking you up on that offer to look, General."

"I don't mind in the slightest," Obi-Wan assures, and is rewarded by Boil staring right at him too. It occurs to him that Boil had been showing restraint.

"Waxer'll be pissed that I didn't comm him," Boil mutters, before once again using his wing to guide Obi-Wan away from the lockers, to what appears to be a small empty clearing by the wall. A lot of vod'e (bare naked vod'e) are taking flight and landing, and Obi-Wan cocks his head at the mysterious space.

"Boil, can I take the General?" Wooley asks, eyes sparkling, even as he boldly starts wedging himself between Boil's wing and Obi-Wan's back.

"No, I'm the senior officer here," Boil says gruffly, attempting to squeeze his wing back in, but Wooley's pressed too close. Obi-Wan focuses on breathing calmly and trying to see where the men are coming and going from, rather than being too aware of the too-hot bare skin pressed up right behind him.

"But, I've never gotten to carry the General, and I'm right here," Wooley says, and Obi-Wan can tell from just his voice that he must be giving Boil his devastating tooka eyes.

"I haven't gotten to carry the General either, most of us haven't," Boil says coolly, and Wooley wilts, his wings drooping pathetically so his elegant flight feathers drag on the ground.

"Waxer would let me!"

"I'm not Waxer," Boil mutters, but he's apparently relented because he reluctantly allows Wooley to push his wing away. Wooley's wings perk right back up as though nothing had happened. Obi-Wan chuckles at the interaction; Wooley always did manage to get his way with the his older brothers.

"Are you going to take me somewhere, Wooley dearest?" Obi-Wan asks as delicately as he can, trying very hard to ignore how Wooley apparently doesn't shy from direct skin-to-skin contact in the slightest and is now practically plastered to his back. Obi-Wan can feel every twitch of his muscles. They're significantly more developed than he would have expected from the younger trooper, Obi-Wan thinks distractedly.

"Yup, we gotta go up," Wooley chirps. "Pardon me, Obi-Wan!"

Then, he bends down, and scoops.

Obi-Wan gasps, his arm instinctively curling around Wooley's neck, to his bare back, and oh.

That's a lot of bare skin.

Obi-Wan's bare side is pressed against Wooley's muscular chest and torso, Wooley's arms easily looped beneath his back and thighs, much like the way Longshot had carried him up to the nest. Except Longshot was wearing armor, and Wooley, well--

That's a lot of bare skin.

Obi-Wan feels his smile strain as he keeps his gaze locked on Wooley's sparkling eyes. His face is very close too. He has very smooth skin, with fine pores which betray his youth. Obi-Wan tries to focus on that.

Wooley doesn't seem to notice anything wrong with Obi-Wan, for which he's incredibly graceful, and hums as he spreads his wings and begins to beat them. Obi-Wan can feel his chest flex with the motion, and is momentarily distracted by how odd it feels. It doesn't feel quite like what he'd expect most humanoid chests to feel like while flexing; it's almost as if something below his muscles is moving, both in terms of position and layers. Which makes sense, Obi-Wan realizes, because Wooley's arms are immensely stable and moving only the slightest bit from where they're wrapped around Obi-Wan's person. Of course it feels unlike anything Obi-Wan's felt before, because Wooley and his brothers must have additional muscles for wings that wingless humanoids like Obi-Wan lack. That would certainly explain why his men are so much thicker in the chest, Obi-Wan thinks, and he wonders--

Thoughts fly out of Obi-Wan's chest as he dips when Wooley bends his knees, and then the ground promptly goes away.

Obi-Wan briefly wonders whether his extra weight will be a problem, since Wooley doesn't have a jetpack on him (or anything on him at all), and tightens his arm over Wooley's neck, but it doesn't seem to be a problem. The lack of armor and weapons and clothing must help, Obi-Wan thinks, eyes now pinned behind Wooley's back where he can see his wings moving with deep, powerful pumps. He can feel each movement through Wooley's chest, and his arms move slightly with each pump too, flexing perhaps involuntarily to match the powerful movement of his wings. His wings themselves have rippling definition that Obi-Wan can see even through his feathers, and it fascinates Obi-Wan, given that this part of the clones' wings are usually covered by armor. While the men are very muscular overall, as Obi-Wan has observed time and time again, he determines that their wings are likely still the most built part of their entire bodies. They not only have the ability to carry their entire body weight and more in the air, but even on the ground and in resting position, they have to remain constantly flexed to keep their wings from dragging.

Very impressive indeed, Obi-Wan thinks distantly. It's hard not to be appreciative.

Appreciative. Yes, that's all, of course. It would be deeply inappropriate to feel anything other than appreciation.

The flight is luckily a short one, mostly vertically straight up for what Obi-Wan assumes is a floor or two. There's a dimly lit opening in the wall that looks not unlike a hangar bay, and this is where all of the clones have been flying to and returning from.

Wooley lands so carefully that Obi-Wan isn't even jostled. Obi-Wan expects to be set on his feet, but Wooley gives him a wide grin and keeps his arms where they are.

"Set him down, vod'ika," Boil growls right in Wooley's ear, and he yelps before reluctantly following his orders.

Obi-Wan pats Wooley's shoulder in thanks, even as he looks around himself. The "hangar" appears to filled with rows of sonics, and they're unlike any Obi-Wan has ever seen before. The sonics he's used to are usually shaped like cylindrical cubicles, with smaller ones shaped like capsules, just large enough for a humanoid to stand vertically within with a little space for moving their arms. The smaller the space, the closer the user's skin is to the holes of the sonic jets, and the more effective (if sometimes uncomfortable) the sonics can be at blasting off grime and sweat. While more luxurious sonics may be more spacious with stronger and finer jet control, by definition sonics can't be too large.

This hangar is filled with rows of clear transparisteel boxes, each a few feet taller than a clone but much, much wider. Given the transparency of the boxes, it's easy to see that there are only few strips of sonic jets along the side walls, and most of the holes are on the durasteel roof. There's a line of clones outside of each sonic box, the men waiting for their turns inside the single-occupancy sonics.

Boil wraps his wing around Obi-Wan's shoulder again, walking confidently past the rows of sonics, and the men all peer curiously at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, too, can't help but look, and he soon realizes why the sonics are shaped the way they are.

As each clone steps into the sonics, he raises and fully spreads his wings. The boxes fit their massive wingspans perfectly. Then, the sonics activate, and Obi-Wan can physically see when they hit the clones' wings, the powerful initial blast causing loose feathers to jolt out, before they're sucked down through the filters.

The sonics are specifically designed to focus the most power on their wings, Obi-Wan realizes, fascinated. It makes sense; the clones' wings have the greatest surface area of any part of their bodies, and given the nature of the feathered appendages, they're also the most likely to trap the most dirt. Cleaning their wings manually must take a considerable amount of time, time that is a luxury during war. These sonics are specifically designed to cut down the most time-consuming part of the clones' self-grooming rituals.

It also makes perfect sense why the officers would prefer these facilities to the private 'freshers. While Obi-Wan had felt that his private sonics were larger than average, they would barely fit a clone with tightly folded wings, and probably aren't nearly as effective as these sonics in getting them clean.

Boil, with Wooley trotting along beside him, guides Obi-Wan to one of the sonics at the very end of the other side of the hangar, close to another sudden drop. Obi-Wan sees a pair of very familiar faces lined up outside the box, and they both turn their way. This must be the sonics that Ghost Company uses, Obi-wan guesses, though he's not sure if it's due to preference or assignment.

"General!" Longshot cheers from the front of the line, before the automatic sonics doors hiss open. Trapper, behind him, gives him a none-too-gentle shove forwards, and Longshot throws a reluctant look over his wing before he steps inside.

"Ah, private 'freshers are broken," Trapper nods solemnly. "Heard about that. These are nicer though, so you're in the right place, General."

Trapper steps to the side, smiling politely while gesturing with his inky black wing for Obi-Wan to take his spot as the next one in line. Obi-Wan tries to refuse, but Boil ushers him forward. Boil attempts to follow, but Trapper's wing abruptly slices between them, effectively putting Trapper right behind Obi-Wan instead. Trapper's lips curl up into a subtle smirk even as Boil's feathers fluff with indignation.

"You fell for that," Wooley sniggers, and Boil mutters about Trapper's stupid traps before reluctantly lining up behind Trapper, but not before shooting a glare his way.

Trapper smiles, oozing smug satisfaction, and places himself right at Obi-Wan's back. Obi-Wan decides that the complete and utter lack of any sense of personal space while naked must be a general vod thing rather than a Wooley-specific thing.

"General, you must be cold, with your bare back," Trapper says, faux sympathetic, and casually drapes his wing over Obi-Wan's shoulder, folding him in far closer than Boil's more professional touch had done.

"I see what you're doing, my dear," Obi-Wan chuckles, even as he accepts the cover. It's admittedly a little chilly, and while he'd foregone a towel to follow the lead of his men, he isn't used to walking around this bare for so long. Trapper's lovely dark feathers, glimmering with speckles of Cody's gold, feel incredibly soft against his bare skin.

Obi-Wan looks ahead, and he wonders if he should avert his gaze to give Longshot privacy, but then he sees Longshot waving enthusiastically. Longshot spreads his massive wings inside the sonics box, flaring his feathers wide to show off his bold stripes. A moment later, a dull beep announces the sonics activating, and Obi-Wan clearly sees the sonic burst knocking out what appears to be hundreds of loose feathers. The feathers swirl like a miniature tornado within the enclosure for a brief moment before they're sucked through the vent in the floor.

The sonics are timed, as most sonics are, and what feels like a minute later, another dull beep sounds. The door on the other end opens, and Longshot steps out through there. It reminds Obi-Wan slightly of a fly-through speeder wash.

The doors in front of Obi-Wan open. "Your turn, General," Trapper sighs, and removes his wing with exaggerated reluctance. Obi-Wan shivers at the way his feathers drag over his body.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan says, focussing on the task at hand as he peers at the opening. He's sure he can figure out sonics, but there don't seem to be any standard controls.

"Oh, the settings are automated unless manually adjusted," Trapper says. "We usually just step inside and let it do its thing."

"Fair enough," Obi-Wan nods, and steps forward--

"Don't move, General!"

All heads turn towards the thunderous sound of wings beating too close to the ground, and Obi-Wan looks up in time to get an eyefull of Stabber dropping feet first from above.

That's certainly not an angle I've seen a naked vod from before, Obi-Wan thinks, trying and utterly failing to erase the vivid mental snapshot of his medic's nether regions.

He's distracted enough that he almost steps forward--but Stabber grabs his arm and pulls him back, right before the doors slide shut.

"Which of you idiots brought the General up here, hmm?" Stabber asks, eyes maniacally wide as he leans towards his brothers, all while keeping Obi-Wan tucked firmly under his arm.

Trapper immediately points to Boil, who sputters. Wooley tucks his wings in close and shuffles off to the side away from the accusing finger and Stabber's rabid attention.

"...Should I not have?" Boil tries to sound composed, but his twitching wings give away that he's sweating bullets under the medic's gaze.

"Oh Boil, I am going to shove so much reading material down your kriffing throat," Stabber breathes, before he leans back, chuckling to himself.

"Stabber darling, it's not Boil's fault. I was the one who asked, because my 'freshers aren't functioning," Obi-Wan says quickly, placing a hand on what he realizes is his medic's very naked chest. It's surprising how quickly he's gotten used to all the naked touching.

"Of course, General," Stabber says, still chuckling. He gently takes Obi-Wan's hand, and runs his thumb over his skin, almost reverently. "But you see, I'm still mad, because come 'ere, look," and here, Stabber turns around, taking Obi-Wan with him so they both face the closed sonics box. "You were about to step into that."

Obi-Wan looks. The sonics are empty, but he still hears the dull beep, followed by the air inside the box seeming to blur from the sonics vibration. He frowns. He sees nothing amiss.

"What's wrong with that?" he can hear the frown in Trapper's voice, who also apparently sees nothing amiss.

"That," Stabber says sweetly, while lifting Obi-Wan's hand to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss on his knuckles, "would have stripped the skin from our dear General's flesh."

Obi-Wan hears a whimper that's probably from Wooley, and he feels it in his bones. He suddenly feels very cold, gooseflesh rising along his arms. Stabber coos and presses Obi-Wan flush against his side, rubbing said arms comfortingly.

"You're alright, General. But see, this is why you always check in with a medic," Stabber says, slight admonishment in his voice even as his hands soothingly massage Obi-Wan's shoulders and his wing tucks securely around Obi-Wan's body. "Clones and nat-borns have a lot of physiological differences, and you never know when it can get you hurt, yeah?" He pets Obi-Wan's hair, fingers incredibly gentle. "Luckily for you General, I guess the Force is with you today, because your amazingly capable chief medic heard a little birdie tweet that, gasp! The General's going to be using the Vode sonics today! And then your medic literally dropped a vod on his ass to fly up here in time to stop what may have been a tragedy. A really bloody tragedy," Stabber ends cheerfully.

"Ah," Obi-Wan says, feeling slightly faint.

"Ah," Boil and Trapper echo.

"Ah!" Wooley whimpers.

"So, now that I'm here and everything's alright, a little lesson for all of you, especially you, High General Kenobi sir," Stabber says, voice rising so that all of the eavesdroppers nearby can hear. He guides Obi-Wan's hand to the soft feathers of his own wing, now wrapped snug across Obi-Wan's ribs. "First, a little quiz: what's an alternative name for our feathers?"

Obi-Wan's head is still ringing from the jarring shift of events, but the tactile stimulus beneath his hand grounds him. He runs his fingers through the incredibly soft, silvery-gray feathers of Stabber's right wing, and finds himself soothed by how lovely they look in the dim lighting. Stabber seems to sense that Obi-Wan finds his wings comforting, and brings his left wing forward as well, this one more heavily gold-colored. Obi-Wan always finds it interesting how unlike most clones, Stabber's wings have asymmetric coloration, but he supposes it's fitting given how it reflects his asymmetric eyes.

"Vode feathers are also called 'living beskar,'" Obi-Wan recites dutifully, remembering the first time Seventeen taught him of the unique properties of their wings.

"Excellent!" Stabber pats Obi-Wan's head as a reward. "Next question: why are they called living beskar?"

"Because they are incredibly durable, and provide protection comparable to beskar metal," Obi-Wan answers.

"You're on a roll General! You might be able to pass cadet training if you keep this up," Stabber cheers. "But now, we're at a harder question: given these facts, why might it be a poor idea for someone who doesn't have living beskar growing out of their bodies to step into sonics designed to clean people who do?"

"Because without the feathers that you and your brothers have gifted me that are currently in my tunics, I lack that protection," Obi-Wan says, but frowns. "I'm afraid I don't understand. The sonics cleanse from all 360 degrees, and vod'e are hardly entirely covered by feathers."

"Ah, clever General, very true that it appears that way," Stabber nods sagely. "And you're right, most of our bodies are far less protected than our wings. It's why the strongest sonic blasts are from above, and we're trained to raise our wings while inside so they take the brunt of it--need to take the brunt of it, really, to get them any semblance of clean. But that doesn't mean the rest of our bodies don't have feathers either."

He takes his arm not snuggly wrapped around Obi-Wan's waist and brings it forward, right up to Obi-Wan's face, and Obi-Wan momentarily goes slightly cross-eyed trying to follow it.

"Look closely, General, what do you see?"

Stabber's arm has the same smooth brown skin as most of his brothers, rippling with definition despite his position as a medic. Obi-Wan doubts that that's the point here; he instead focuses on the fine dark hairs dotting his skin. None of the vod'e that Obi-Wan had unintentionally glimpsed today are what he would consider hairy by baseline human standards, but fine natural body hair is certainly present.

"Body hair," Obi-Wan says, still admittedly confused.

"Right on!" Stabber smiles, and his sharp canines glint. "Except more correctly, body feathers."

Obi-Wan blinks, then grabs Stabber's arm to bring it even closer to his face. Yes...he supposes they are body feathers. They look like human hair at first glance, but close up, each individual "hair" is actual a thin feather shaft lined with extra fine barbs. Curious, and assuming he has permission, he gently runs his hand over Stabber's arm and notes that something about the way the body feathers feel and move seems different from more baseline human body hair, in a way he can't quite put his finger on.

"Body feathers." Obi-Wan pulls back, feeling strangely stunned. He'd spent over a year with these men, and given how baseline human their bodies appeared, he'd assumed they had hair. But clearly he was mistaken. If their "body hair" is actually feathers, then he assumes that means the "hair" on their head is feathers too.

Stabber hums, letting Obi-Wan process, even as he provides further explanation. "See, wouldn't it be weird to have both hair and feathers? Most of our bodies resemble humans, but all of our 'hair,' down to the thinnest body strand, is all actually feathers."

"Which means, that all of your bodies are protected to an extent by living beskar," Obi-Wan concludes.

"Exactly. So, when we go into skin-shredding sonics, we have a nice little natural beskar mesh that helps disperse the vibrations and keep our innards inside," Stabber grins. "And you, darling General, don't have that. But that's alright, because ol' Stabber is here, so we can make it work!"

The sonic doors have opened again, and this time Obi-Wan eyes the seemingly innocuous box warily. Stabber doesn't seem to share his worry, but the medic's arms and wings also haven't moved from their positions around Obi-Wan.

"I think--" I can go to the nat-born 'freshers, Obi-Wan is about to say, because if it's a choice between sharing sonics with nat-born officers and ripping his own skin off, his preference is clear--but Stabber steamrolls over him.

"Trapper, lower the power settings, all the way down," Stabber barks, and the usually composed Ghost scampers to do his bidding.

"All the way down? That's hardly a tickle," Trapper mutters.

"Down, or you'll be mopping the General's blood!"

Trapper shuts up and follows orders.

Stabber plucks the little bag of toiletries from Obi-Wan's limp hand. "These'll all burst if you bring them inside, and the sonics will be strong enough that you don't need any other products," he says, before tossing the bag to Wooley.

Obi-Wan glances back at the sonics. "Stabber dear, I'm really not sure--"

"You'll be fine! Just do as I say, I'm your medic," Stabber cackles maniacally. Obi-Wan doesn't find that particularly reassuring.

That being said, his medic has never steered him wrong, so Obi-Wan grits his teeth and lets him guide him inside. He's surprised when Stabber enters with him, but certainly doesn't complain. The doors hissing shut behind them sound ominous, and he can feel the worry of the ever-growing number of spectators on the outside. He admittedly feels nothing but apprehension himself. Worst comes to worst, he's sure he can block the sonic waves with the Force, but he's not sure that wouldn't break the whole contraption.

"Oh, one more thing General," Stabber says, his voice strangely loud in the sealed chamber. Obi-Wan lets out a muffled sound of protest when Stabber suddenly squeezes his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth. "You have a very lovely tongue, sir," Stabber's voice is low, whispered directly into Obi-Wan's ear. "I'd hate for you to lose it. So bite down." And with that, he shoves the side of his own forearm into Obi-Wan's mouth, muffling any protests.

Obi-Wan is vaguely aware of once again being pulled flush to Stabber's side, under one arm that gently covers his eyes, the arm on the other side of his body clamped in Obi-Wan's mouth. He chooses to keep his eyes closed, but is aware of a shadow falling overhead, likely Stabber's wings cocooning him and pressing him flush against the medic's body.

It's muted, but he hears the dull beep of the sonics activating.

And then it hits.

Obi-Wan gasps and is suddenly grateful for his medic's foresight because he gets why the arm in his mouth was necessary. Vibrations from sonics usually feel like a mildly irritating buzz on his skin, but this--it penetrates down to his bones, and is just on the bearable side of pain.

He subconsciously bites down to prevent his jaws from jolting off and very likely biting his tongue off, and he distantly considers that Stabber's skin doesn't have the same give he'd expect of human skin. The body feathers, he realizes, they must be blocking his teeth to an extent. They'd looked so fine and sparse, so inconsequential, he'd assume they'd behave like human body hair but clearly he's mistaken. Obi-Wan thinks he'd be far more interested if he didn't feel like his brain was going to rattle out of his skull. He hopes he won't get a concussion or the like--but he supposes Stabber would know. He's not the 212th's CMO for nothing.

After what feels like too long but also barely a moment, the vibrations stop, and Obi-Wan feels cool air that accompanies the hiss of the exit door opening. He realizes that his own arms are locked tight around Stabber's arm, and that he can't really seem to move.

Stabber seems utterly unaffected by the power of the sonics--a tickle, Trapper had called them. The medic easily loops his arm around Obi-Wan's waist and picks him up and out of the sonics. Obi-Wan's vaguely aware of being set on the ground, Stabber extracting his forearm, and then his expert hands flicking over Obi-Wan's body to check him over.

"How we feelin', sir?" Stabber asks, far too cheerfully.

"Rattled," Obi-Wan manages, "very literally so. But fine." And certainly clean, Obi-Wan thinks. He feels thoroughly blasted of any grime.

"That's the spirit!" Stabber grins and gives him a slap on his shoulder. "Now sit still for a bit, and you'll be good to go before you know it! But don't get up until I say, alright?"

Obi-Wan nods, and leans against the wall he's been propped against. This "get clean" ordeal is turning into much more than he'd expected. He stares forward and sees Stabber's very toned bare buttocks between his back feathers as the medic faces back towards the sonics, yelling something at Boil. He finds he no longer has the energy to care about nudity.