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The thing about not sleeping, was that when you did sleep, you felt so much worse than when you’d been running on nothing but stims, caff and a general ‘I hate you all’ attitude, or at least that was the truth for Fox.
As the Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard, as the highest-ranking clone on 000 at any given time, as head of the military police and Palpatine’s personal secretary, he didn’t get much sleep. It had grown worse when he and his men had taken over the duties of the frankly idiotic CorSec and the Senate Guard, who were less inept, but just creepy.
So yeah, Fox didn’t sleep, and when he did, he was like a demon out of the depths of Kamino’s waters. In the barracks, without his bucket, everybody gave him a wide berth, unless it was to replace the cups of caff that were perpetually in his hand. Each time he drained the boiling hot liquid, another would be handed to him.
Drinking seven cups of caff may have seemed excessive, but with how watered down it was, Fox doubted it counted for more than two cups. He did have that special blend that Master Kenobi had gifted him when Fox hadn’t arrested Skywalker for attempting to sneak into Senator Amidala’s rooms when he had not been on the approved visitors list, but he wasn’t quite at the level where he needed that. Yet.
Honestly, how they thought they were being subtle…
But still, as bad as they day had been, and by day Fox meant the last three at least, it hadn’t been enough to warrant a cup of the good stuff. That was the type of caff, flavoured with a salty-sweetness and nutty, that should be enjoyed, unlike the rancid speeder-acid Fox was currently drinking.
Which had to be drank in three swallows lest it turn into an eldritch horror of sludge and slime that would choke the life from him.
“Bossman.” Thorn greeted, replacing the empty cup in Fox’s hand. “We found Vos in a dumpster again.”
“Did he die?” Fox questioned.
“Eh, no sir.” Stone blinked. “How many is that? Grinder says you’re not allowed more than five unless you want to have a heart attack.”
“Pity about Vos, more paperwork for me. You’d be surprised how much simpler is when the Jedi just die, rather than when they nearly die. Or when they apparently die, and then turn up alive…” Fox shook his head, it wasn’t like he was even supposed to be doing that sort of work, but Palpatine liked to play the old man with arthritic fingers card. “And I’d have to have a heart for it to have an attack.”
Stone looked at him then, and Fox could feel his eyes roving over every inch of his body, not that much could be seen through the plastoid for the only piece of his kit that Fox wasn’t wearing was his bucket, and Thorn took a step forward.
“Even think about reaching for that mug and I will break three of your fingers.” Fox warned.
“You’re really mean, ori’Fox. I remember when you were nice.” Stone pouted, but his hand, which had been inching closer to the cup of caff, stopped.
“Too many concussions and not enough bacta, vod. He was never nice.” Thire announced, appearing out of thin air to pet Stone’s ridiculous head.
“He made Alpha-17 look like a teddy bear.” Thorn whispered.
“I’ll tell him you said that.” Fox smiled, his sharpened, mutated teeth glistening. “And one night, you’re gonna wake up and Seventeen is just gonna be standing over you.”
“Evil.” The trio muttered, but they were all smiling despite it.
It was these moments Fox lived for. It was these men, from his fellow Commanders to his Captains and his shinies that he lived for. He tried to be their wall, tried and so often failed, to keep them alive on a planet that decried their very existence.
He wasn’t stupid enough to believe they were safe. But he would do everything to keep their barracks, their home on this hellish planet, safe.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” Thorn asked.
“Those two are going for a nap before they run through drills with the kids.” Fox said simply. “I’ll be doing Palpatine’s paperwork before I meet Master Yoda and get to see the wrinkled old fuck close up.”
“Hey.” Thire grumbled. “Yoda’s nice.”
“I meant Palpatine.” Fox rolled his eyes, draining the last of his caff. “Yoda’s just crazy.”
“All the Jedi are crazy.” Thire shrugged. “All of them. Even the tubies.”
“Yeah.” Said Stone. “They float.”
“Children shouldn’t float, that doesn’t seem safe.” Thorn muttered, as though they had not grown-up on Kamino, as though they had not had blasters in their hands when they were three (or seven, nobody really knew how the aging worked, and well, it’s not as though they’d survive to see the effects of it, right?).
“Are there adults around supervising to make sure the very squishy children do not get squished?” Fox asked, tapping through his datapad, scowling at the alerts and notifications, especially those coloured yellow. “That their skulls do not crack open against the very nice marbelite floors?”
I hate my boss. I hate my boss. Why can’t he just fall over those ridiculous robes and snap his neck? Why can’t he fall down a turbo-lift shaft and die.
“Yes.”
“Then let them float in peace.”
Peace. Fox wanted peace. He wanted to sip colourful cocktails in some resort somewhere far away from Coruscant, far away from Senators, and very, very far away from Palpatine.
With lots, and lots of cocktails… ah if only they were paid. But if the blasters don’t get paid, and the ships don’t get paid, why would the clones? They’re just military hardware after all.
“As lovely as this is.” Fox’s tone was dry and uncaring. “I have to go commit fraud on behalf of our beloved Chancellor.”
And I’m definitely taking his money… it’s not like he needs any of it, and it’s not like I care where its come from.
***
There was a tense silence within the usually harmonious chambers of the Jedi High Council. All of them were home for the first time in a long time, each of them called back by a beacon of glowing hope in the Force. It was, in fact, what led to their predicament.
The Chancellor had been irate knowing the Jedi had returned, but he, as a Force-Null, would never understand the pull. He would never understand that this was the reward granted by the rather unorthodox reprieve on the warfront.
Namely that the battles had just stopped.
“You have to go.” Mace said, rubbing his temples. The shatterpoints were particularly shattery today, and he did not like it.
“Want to, I do not.” Yoda grumbled. “Old I am, suffer, I will.”
“Care we do not.” Plo snorted. “You lost the bet; therefore, you have to deal with Palpatine.”
“Respect your elders, you should.” Yoda’s ears drooped and he let out a long-suffering sigh as he stared at his favourite great grand-padawan. “Obi-Wan…”
“Absolutely not.” Said Jedi huffed, fingering his beard. “I would do anything for you, Master, but I will not endure Palpatine for any longer than have to, and as it happens, I do not have to.”
“Besides.” Depa began, lips curled and delighted. “You two, in your advanced age, should have so much in common. Perhaps you could get the esteemed Chancellor to invest in some skincare? Force knows he needs it.”
“A reflection of his inner hideousness, I’d imagine.” Obi-Wan said. “Oh, did I say that out loud?”
“You know you did.” Mace shook his head, secretly delighting in the play, and though his face did not show it, his Force-presence sang with love-warmth-home. Then he looked back at Obi-Wan. “However, Yoda does have a point, you do liaise regularly with the Senate.”
“I do not.” Obi-Wan blushed, he knew where it was heading, he karking knew.
“Liaising.” Kit said, smirking. “Is that what the kids call it these days? Those long meetings you have with the good senator, his gracious, royal wife. All of those fancy dinners? Are they not acts of liaison, Obi-Wan?”
“Senator Organa and I do not liaise, because we do not discuss politics.” Obi-Wan said primly, that irritating heat spreading further but thankfully his beard and no Quin, that isn’t why I grew it out… covered it. “Can friends not enjoy dinner together?”
“Oh I’m sure you enjoy yourself.” Ki-Adi snorted. “I’m just delighted to know you’ve learned to shield. Force… do you remember when we thought the Temple was under attack?”
Obi-Wan sunk into his seat, and threw his hand over his face. It was hardly his fault Quin had decided to try that little trick with his tongue after a particularly decedent sparring match.
“Remember, I do.” Yoda said safely. “Scarred I am, still, from shielding the younglings. The questions they would have had, too young for them, they were.”
“Oh, go enjoy your lunch with Palpatine.”
“Now, now, Obi-Wan.” It was Depa, of course it was Depa. “We are Jedi, we do not condone torture.”
That sent a tittering wave of laughter through the room, but perhaps what was the most beautiful was the threads of shimmering that pulsed with their joy. The war had taken much from the Jedi, it had taken their brothers and sisters, it had taken their children, and it had shattered their resolve more than once.
But it would not, could not, rob them of what it meant to be family.
“Now, Yoda, you have to go, otherwise you’ll be late.” Mace said, staring out to the skyscape as a pop of vibrant magenta blurred, the shatterpoint it had been contained within pale and milk-white as it healed.
Huh.
“Late, I never am.” Yoda muttered. “Remember this, I will.”
Yoda climbed down from his chair, and walked out of the council chamber, leaving the other occupants, for they were all home, safe and loved in the warmth of the Temple, very confused.
“Did he just threaten us?” Kit questioned. “Because I feel threatened.”
“Who knows with Yoda.” Ki-Adi shrugged. “Lunch?”
“Lunch.” They agreed.
Little did they know that the lunch they were about to enjoy together, would herald in a lifetime of peace and prosperity for a Galaxy that may not deserve it…
***
It was Thire that met Yoda when his feeder stopped outside of the incessant pool is nauseating greed that the wizened old Grandmaster associated with politicians. It had turned darker during the war as senators made backroom deals to further their own interests, and credit score.
War brought out the worst in sentients, Yoda had found, but chief among the worst was slavers and criminals and politicians. There were a few of course that were not terrible, though fewer still were there those who respected the Jedi and their new-found children.
For to Yoda, everybody was a youngling. From his Council brothers and sisters to the youngest crechling who had not even seen six months. She’d been found screaming into the Force by none other than Anakin Skywalker, her presence so you young yet so scarred that Yoda had spent days in the Halls of Healing tangling his own essence over the child like a blanket made of an incomprehensible mix of peace-safety-you-will-be-loved.
“Master Yoda.” Thire greeted. “Would you like a lift?”
Yoda smiled, patting Thire’s pauldron with a claw. He loved all of the clones, for how could he not? But just as he had his favoured Jedi (No surprises as to who it is) he had his favourite clones. Thire was up there, as was Jek, and surprisingly, so was Fox.
Maybe it was because they were both crabby old men who were tired and tried their best and continued to fail.
“Not so old I am, to need assistance out of my speeder, yet.” Yoda huffed.
“Then I’m afraid, Master, you’ll have to park further away.” Thire said, grin evident in both his voice and his Force signature which burst with pinks and yellows. “Unless you have your pension card?”
Yoda grumbled and patted through the robes of his pocket, but his ears twitched in delight. It had taken the younglings in red far longer to trust the Jedi than it had for their brothers, but Yoda and a few others: Mace, Obi-Wan, Vos and of course Shaak and Plo, had managed it. It hurt Yoda to feel their pain, to hear the words thrown at their faces, to sense the disgust and vitriol uttered about these men and women.
Each one of them, so bright and beautiful in the Force. Each one as unique and beloved to Yoda and his people, as they were to the troops. The clones may have been made for the Jedi, but the Jedi, Yoda knew, needed them just as much.
Even guardians needed protecting.
“Do this every time I come here, must we?” Yoda questioned, handing over the card that essentially said ‘Please let this old man park wherever he wants so long at it isn’t inside something or someone. Or on top of them.’
It had been signed by every Chancellor, and was renewed every three years. Yoda noticed that Palpatine’s signature had been different the last time, not in the way it was written no, but rather in how it felt.
It isn’t good for young Fox’s heart to hold so much hate…
“Come along, Master Yoda.” Thire said after a long moment validating the ID, which basically meant he was taking a break from senators and their shit. “The Chancellor is expecting you.”
“Late, the Chancellor will be.” Yoda hummed. “As he always is. So late I shall be.”
Thire snorted and led petty weird green gremlin over to the priority search area. One of his brothers actually inspected the Jedi, and they certainly didn’t take their lightsabres from them, yet every single time, the Jedi offered without fail.
It wasn’t as though the Guardians of the Republic, the reason it was still standing, however shakily, were going to assassinate the Chancellor, now, were they?
No. It was much more likely that Fox would snap and snap Palpatine’s neck. Or throw him out the window. Or bash his head in with a spoon. Or poison him. Or, Thire decided, shoot him with a high-powered blaster rifle….
Yeah, Fox still had the longest recorded shot on Kamino. He’d do it again. If only to kill Palpatine, and maybe Amedda. Besides, it wasn’t like anybody would miss the guy, and they certainly wouldn’t miss all of his unnecessary pauses and his abnormally large forehead.
Well, Skywalker might, but he’d be fine.
“Master Yoda.” Fox appeared out of nowhere with a tumbler full of coffee and Thire sighed. “Our esteemed Chancellor has decided not to be late to his own office today, shall we?”
“Hmm.” Yoda looked at the coffee, and Thire realised it was one of those terrible concoctions that Fox sourced far into the undercity that was definitely laced with something. “Not had one of those in a long time, young Fox. Cassa, banned is it not?”
“For Sapient consumption.” Fox challenged. “And since we’re not Sapient, what’re they gonna do?”
“Okaaay.” Thire called. “I’m gonna head out now.”
“Sector seventeen.” Fox ordered. “Don’t think I won’t know if you don’t, Thir’ika. I will. I see everything.”
Oh Gods. No wonder it was banned. We might not be sapient in the eyes of the law, but we are biologically. You cannot die, we wouldn’t last ten minutes. Also… why are you so creepy?
Thire only heard the echoing huff of laughter in his internal comm as Fox, with a rhinestone covered tumbler that had surely been a gift from Vos (which was definitely found in a dumpster).
Yeah, yeah. At least I’m not stuck with Palpatine.
***
In the turbo-lift, with his bucket clipped to his belt, Fox took a deep, long drink from the nefarious mixture in his bejazzled cup. It was delightfully sweet, like what Fox imagined mango and papaya would taste like. Like one of those sweetened drinks somebody would sip by the white sands and cresting, foamy wages.
I really need a vacation.
“Not good for you, that is.” Yoda huffed. “Protest is this?”
“Nope. I’ve just slept three hours in nine days, sir.”
“Not good for you that is.”
Fox shrugged. There wasn’t a lot he could do about it. Unless… Yoda was Yoda… whatever made Cassa so dangerous surely wouldn’t affect him, right?
“You want some?”
“Yes.”
Fox made a face, took one last drink, and handed it to the most powerful frog he knew, and watched as he gulped it down through the straw. There was a satisfied ahhh from the Master, and Fox thought it was an adorable sound, not that he would ever admit it.
Only, Fox realised he may have fucked up when Yoda swayed, and when his eyes, giant and as dark as black hole, and turned to him with a look of utter delight.
When Yoda opened his mouth, that was when Fox knew he had fucked up.
“Some good shit that is…”
Of course the amount of Cassa that was in the drink was enough to give Fox the boost, that gentle soothing hum of energy and ‘I couldn’t give less of a fuck’, would have impacted Yoda differently. He was two karking feet, half the tubies were bigger and they had literally just been pulled from the vat the last time Fox had been on Kamino.
Oh no. Palpatine.
“Master Yoda.” Fox said, in his usual ‘I need you to behave because we are in public and I cannot throw you over my shoulder unless I want to die’ voice which was usually reserved for Senator Amidala and her crazy… “We have to go meet the Chancellor.”
“Know that I do.” Yoda hummed, and his was stroking his Gimmer stick. “Whack Sheev like I do the unruly younglings, I will.”
“Do not do that.” Fox despaired. “Do not.”
“Whack him, I will not.” Yoda grumbled. “Not worthy of my stick.”
Karking fuck, I should record this. Then I’d get the credits for my holiday without having to embezzle.
“Exactly. Now. Just… behave and I’ll bring you to Grizzer’s pups. And no, you cannot eat them.”
“Nibble?”
“With those teeth? Not a chance.” Fox left his jewelled cup behind the ugly potted plant and secured his bucket. “But you can cuddle.”
Fox prayed to every deity that had forsaken his brothers and himself, he prayed to the stars and the universe, and even to the Force. He knew Yoda was crazy at the best of times, but he wasn’t entirely sure what a Yoda with self-control and a wickedness would inflict upon himself.
As long as he didn’t go too crazy, and you know, turn into a psychotic little gremlin with a stabby glowstick, Fox didn’t care. He wasn’t paid, which meant he wasn’t paid enough to care, and part of him wanted Yoda to make Palpatine’s life a living hell for the duration of the meeting, if only to allow Fox the opportunity to revel in his horrible boss’s misery.
Okay…. Maybe it wasn’t that terrible.
“Do not whack the Chancellor.” Fox hissed as he pushed the door open. “Your Excellency, Grandmaster Yoda of the Jedi Order.”
Grateful for his bucket, Fox rolled his eyes at the way Palpatine’s face scrunched. Honestly, Fox didn’t understand why the old fucker had such an issue with the Jedi, other than the fact they’d obviously deemed he wasn’t powerful enough to join their Order when he was a kid.
Fox was sure, that even though Palpatine could make shit float he didn’t have the right… temperament, to be a Jedi. Apparently, the old guy could hold a grudge, which probably was another reason he’d been rejected.
“Thank you, Commander.” Palpatine smiled, and it was not a nice smile. “Please, have a seat, both of you.”
“Stand, I will.” Yoda muttered. “Uncomfortable your chairs are.”
“Pardon?” Palpatine choked on his tea, eyes bugging in the same way Fox had imaged they would if he’d wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed the life from his throat. “They are perfectly comfortable.”
“Stand I will.” Yoda huffed. “Be here long, I hope not.”
Oh sweet fuck, we’re all going to die.
Fox, however, didn’t care if the seats were uncomfortable, mainly because he’d never known comfort in his life, but it didn’t matter too much, so he sat down. He was surprised when a moment later, there was a tiny green Jedi attached to his shoulder, his claws clacking on Fox’s armour.
“Master Yoda, are you quite alright?” Palpatine wondered. “You are not acting like yourself.”
“Happy I am.” Yoda said, and Fox watched as Palpatine frowned because Gods forbid anybody be happy. “Home, my brothers and sisters on the Council are. Peace, there is.”
“We are at war.” Palpatine reminded, rather befuddled. “You are here to discuss what trickery is behind this apparent lull in the war efforts.”
“Stopped fighting the Separatists have.” Yoda shrugged. “Know why, we do not. Commed my errant padawan, I did. Replied to me, he has not. Better manners, I thought I had given him.”
“You communicated with Count Dooku.” Palpatine said slowly, rising from his seat. His garish robes flowed. “My, my master Jedi, that does not reflect well upon you.”
“Messaged me first, he did.” Yoda giggled, and in a fit of something he had not felt in hundreds of years, he called on the Force to ruffle the edges of Palpatine’s robes…
Only, in his inebriated state he pushed too much, and Palpatine, who had been walking around that horrific slab he called a desk, tripped, and fell. There was a yelp, and while Fox could have caught him, he was too concerned about jostling the ancient gremlin that was dwelling on his shoulder.
And so, Sheev Palpatine, former Senetor of Naboo, and the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, and also Darth Sidious to those in the know, fell dead when he cracked his rather large forehead off the table. If that had not been enough to hill the Sith, the awkward angle at which is neck bent would have been.
Fox and Yoda blinked. Silence descended on the room. And even though Yoda was higher than he’d ever been when he had smoked the kyber meth in his youth, he felt the light-love-warmth-welldonemysons that sang around them.
(In the Jedi Temple, Mace screamed before he fainted, his face falling flat into his spiced rice pudding which had been the dessert of the day.)
“Well shit.” Yoda said, his ears twitching. “Dead is he?”
“How about you hop off my shoulder and let me see, and if he’s not, well I’ll make sure he is.” Fox bargained, and he was already reaching for Yoda.
It seemed odd, but he placed the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order onto the murder weapon, and he removed his bucket, wanting to see Palpatine’s dead body with his own two eyes.
He knelt beside the corpse, and a smile, a true smile that had not graced his lips since he had decided upon his name, tugged at his lips. Sure enough, old Palpatine was very, very dead.
“Yeah. He’s dead.”
“Tragedy this is.” Yoda was smiling.
“If you want people to believe that, you’re gonna have to stop smiling. Now, we’re gonna cover this up.” Fox shook his head, grinning. “They’ll blame you for this, you know.” Fox reminded. “These walls are bugged, and you did technically admit to treason. They’ll spin it that you murdered the Chancellor for your former Padawan and that all the Jedi are traitors.”
“Oops.”
“It’s fine.” Fox patted down the corpse, wondering if there were any credits in those pockets. “Not the first body I’ve had to hide, won’t be the last.”
There was something cylindrical in Palpatine’s fluffy, voluminous robe, and Fox wanted it. He’d already slid three credit chips into his gloves, but whatever it was, well, it could be expensive.
You can never have too much money. Looks like I’m taking the kids on holiday…
“Hey. I thought you guys rejected him from the Order.” Fox said, pointing at the lightsaber. “Isn’t that why he hated you?”
“Force-sensitive, he was not.” Yoda huffed. “Known we would have.”
“Evidently not.” Fox replied, brandishing the lightsaber. He saw the ignition button, and unlike Cody, Fox had never actually gotten to use a lightsaber… it would make moving Palpatine so much easier. “Oh fuck.”
A crimson blade sprung forth, and Yoda flinched as the screams of the corrupted kyber crystal called to him.
Sith lord in the senate. You have already lost. You can never win, my master.
“Found the Sith, we did.” Yoda said sagely. “Report to the Council we must.”
“After we clean up the crime scene.” Fox grumbled. “Just, stand there. We’ll get the cleaning cart and you can float him into it and hide it in the secret passage.”
“Good at this, you are.” Yoda mentioned. “If we are caught, blame me, you will.”
“I’m not sentient, therefore I cannot be charged with a crime.” Fox said. “And if they want to charge me, they’ll have to say all the clones are sentient, and sure, I’ll die, but my brothers will have rights.” Fox scrubbed a gloved hand over his face. “We’re not gonna get caught.”
“Still, inform the council we will have to.”
That couldn’t be too bad, right?
***
Wrong.
Informing the Jedi Council that Fox and Yoda had accidently murdered Palpatine because Yoda was high, did not go down well, even when it had been revealed that Palpatine was the Sith.
Fox worried about Kenobi, who damn near looked to be in tears as he rocked back and forth in his seat. He wasn’t sure if they were happy tears, or sad tears, but then again, Fox didn’t know a lot about crying.
“I left my padawan alone with that thing.” He cried. “Oh Anakin.” Another pause and the council froze as a collective. “Oh no. Anakin can’t know.”
“Why?”
“Knight Skywalker.” Plo began. “For some reason liked the Chancellor. And he’s terrible at keeping secrets… He thinks we don’t know about his marriage to Senator Amidala.”
“I mean.” Fox’s voice turned slightly, twisted humour evident. “We thought it was like, a sugar baby thing before we realised he was married.”
“Excuse me?” Obi-Wan looked ready to vomit. “No. No. Say less.”
“So.” Mace began. “Palpatine was the Sith Lord and the reason the Separatists have stopped fighting is because Fox had been embezzling the misappropriated Senate funds Palpatine was using to pay them. Yoda has been in contact with Dooku, who I’m gonna punch in the face next time I see him. Yoda and Fox killed the Sith Lord. Did I miss anything?”
“Not really.” Fox shrugged, he held out the lightsaber, ad Yoda was too busy tracing pattern in the air to do much. “Only, I’m keeping the money. I want to go on vacation. Can I keep this too?”
“No.” Shaak said gently. “You can keep the money, and once we have disposed of the body, we will see that you and your brothers are healed from whatever effects linger from being such close proximity to the Sith. But you cannot keep the lightsaber.”
“Worth a shot.” Fox shrugged. “So, how exactly do you dispose of a Sith?”
“Burn them.” Ki Adi said grimly.
“Cool.” Fox clapped his hands together. “I know just the spot.”
“I’ll bring the marshmallows.” Plo called.
“Nobody outside this room can ever know that we were involved.” Oppo pointed out. “This stays between us.”
“Worry not.” Yoda said, and he attempted to tap his gimmer stick onto the arm of his chair and failed miserably, instead whacking Mace. “Excellent, young Fox is, at committing crime.”
“Good.” Mace muttered. “Because I am not filling out the karking paperwork.”
In the end, burning Palpatine was rather anti-climactic, but Fox did enjoy the sweet goo of melted marshmallows as he roasted them. Not over Palpatine’s corpse, because ew, but over a smaller fire that Mace and Depa had lit.
It was nice though, watching Obi-Wan Kenobi curse up a rather shocking storm as the Jedi council hacked Palpatine into bits before they burned him.
Who knew murder could be so soothing?
***
Seven months later
Fox relaxed on the recliner, shades over his eyes and lips puckered around the straw of a sweet, vibrant cocktail. The heat of the sun was beating down, and there was the gentle crashing of waves. In the distance, he could hear Thorn screaming as Wolffe, who joined them on account of the fact that Plo was there, tried to drown him.
Said Jedi master was in the shade, a variety of snacks protected under his large umbrella. There was a fanny pack secured around him, full of first aid supplies as though he was looking after a bunch of tubies. He was ensuring Fox did not burn to a crisp, and that he drank something other than alcohol, and that Yoda, who had also come, alongside Mace and Ponds for some reason, didn’t cause too much trouble.
If Ponds were to wake up with penises burned into his skin, well, Fox wouldn’t know anything about that… He and Yoda were the devils when put together. Murder makes for good friends, Fox had found.
“So, Master Plo.” Grey, who had come because Depa had come, asked “Why did you come? And how did you pay for it, Fox?”
“Ask me no questions and tell no lies.” Fox hummed.
“I came because Yoda needs adult supervision at all times.” Plo said calmly.
“Isn’t he ancient?”
“I said adult… See look, he’s trying to eat the eel. YODA, PUT IT BACK.”
The little green Jedi huffed, and Fox was sure he was pouting. “Snaccie, I was.”
“Have a juice box.”
You know, Palpatine, you’d hate this so much it makes it all the better. I hope you’re watching…