Plo's Bros inc.

Target Practise

Wolffe was conflicted when the General commed him to collect a small group and to get down to the hangar. He'd tried to only think of his brothers but he knew the General would ask about Doryn if she wasn't already there with him. Would he tell him? He reminded himself how many of his men had openly lost it a bit against droids and that a Jedi wasn't allowed to do that. A Jedi had no outlet like he and his brothers did. Maybe a few days ago he would've told the General. He told himself that he wanted to give her a chance and that everyone has bad days. The only thing was, not everyone was a Jedi. Not everyone had that much power. Not everyone was that dangerous. If he lost it without a weapon, he would be able to do a good amount of damage in a fist fight but she could kill easily from a range with nothing but her internal will. Plo Koon, the calm Jedi master, had never given Wolffe a reason to consider Jedi dangerous. It was like his view on reality split in refusal of accepting the girl from the night before and the girl from that morning were the same person. Refusal that the person who'd refused a title out of not feeling she'd earned it was the same person so quick to go against her beliefs.

Wolffe led four of his men into the hangar. Comet and Wildfire, the standard troopers, followed close behind in their standard gear. Scope and Mortar, the cold assault troopers, followed at a distance with only the under layers of their armour. It changed their outline significantly, taking away the smooth sloping edges of their thermals. As they entered, they could feel music booming from a speaker. It was a smaller hangar that had probably been used a lot before the war but the clones had never seen it used for its intended purpose. A few times they'd heard of certain Jedi or nat-born pilots using it accidentally at the beginning of the war because of how set in routine they'd gotten. Wolffe didn't know much about music but the song had an energy to it. He didn't know how to describe it, but he knew there were drums and realised one of the instruments was a voice. The first line he caught was, 'incapable of making alright decisions, and having bad ideas'. He'd heard more of the song but missed what the lyrics after the initial line were as he spent a bit trying to decipher the weird sounding voice. He took a moment to understand what he and his men had walked into. Once he knew, he kept near the exit, not entering too far into the hangar. Doryn was there with her lightsabers connected to make a double bladed one. Her body looked like it flowed with it so naturally. Even her choppy red hair flowed along with the faster movements. He forgot having considered her dangerous an hour before. He couldn't believe something as beautiful as her could pose him any threat. Instead of the dress she'd worn the night before and when leaving the barracks, she had a more casual outfit on. Something which seemed fitting for the lower levels of Coruscant but still captivating from the back. The General was watching her intently with his arms crossed. He was in his standard Jedi robes.

Master Plo turned the music off and it brought Doryn back into the moment. She'd trained a lot to music, let herself get lost in it, as a stand-in for the Force. She powered down her lightsabers and turned to her master. "I think it should work with an extender from Huyang." She unlocked the base of the hilts and slid both of them into her jacket's pockets. It was loose enough to not show much shape. She would've preferred to put them on a belt or on her legs but the jeans she had on were quite well fitted and she couldn't have them on display. She noticed her master only nodded a little before speaking. "I also wanted to get you to do a final practice before sending you out." He moved his head to make it obvious he was looking behind her and she followed it to see Wolffe and some of his men. She thanked the Force that she hadn't been born human. If she were human, she was sure her face would've been bright red. He stood with his helmet under one arm and his body was covered in the same plastoid she'd been pressing herself into less than 12 hours before. Under that armour were the arms that had held her and the chest she'd used as her pillow. His eyes were on her and she soaked up the feeling of having his attention. "Good morning." She kicked herself for sounding like a scared kitten with her wobbly voice and soft tone. She also kicked herself for only saying 'good morning' with the hope that he'd respond with the same greeting he'd used that morning. The same one she'd lost control after.