Caloka Oneshots

Little Commander

I know I said I would not be posting soon, though a surge of productive energy somehow bursted yesterday, and so, here is a slightly more laid back story featuring Caleb Dume and 'the boys' of the 501st, in a timeline where Ahsoka stayed in the order to act as a supervisor for the younger Padawan.

He was 14 when introduced to the role of a Padawan.

He was 14 when assigned to the 501st, with an exclusive offer to gain prerequisite knowledge of war and responsibility.

He was 14 when a proposal was made by a band he then recognised as the boys, encouraging his stepping into adulthood through a night on the batter.

"You want me to go where?" Caleb squeaked, his worry perceptible.

"Our dorm with the boys, where we can all drink and scream without any manner of fear whatsoever, and don't worry, we'll take care of you, kid."

"You know better than to call me kid, Fives."

He rolled his eyes.

"Anyways, I really don't know Fives, it seems like a rather dangerous mission. As a Padawan, I'm supposed to be in my dorm by 2300."

"Well then, we'll guarantee to finish at 11 now, won't we?" Jesse commented sarcastically.

"Before 11." Caleb urged, "I said I must be back by 11, not depart at 11."

"Would you calm down, kid, it'll be fun." Assured Kix, who dragged his left arm, with Fives tautly grasping the other. Even at 14, a Jedi was not to be trifled with, though unbeknownst to the young apprentice, he became increasingly eager, to the eventual point when he scampered avidly into the gargantuan bunk that was their cabin.

"The youngling?" Hardcase queried, "Why have you brought him here?"

"Hey, no one calls me a youngling!" He berated, to which the boys responded with an assortment of laughter, clearly meddling with the teen, who infinitely reflected the charisma of their first Padawan.

"What's so funny?" Caleb deemed, evidently peeved.

"Nothing." Fives simpered with a chuckle, "We'll tell you later."

"Ready for some drinks?" He continued, emptying the bottle contents with a single gulp.

Caleb was stunned, his stomach churning in gleeful dread, whilst his pupils constricted immensely at the sight of his inborn talents, those being the ones genetically engineered to withstand a greater pressure point.

"Umm, I'm not sure about this, boys, what if Captain Rex, or the general, or worse, the commander finds out?" Dogma addressed.

"Oh, come on, Dogma. That's the oldest rule in the book: when attempting something risky, never tell your superiors." Fives inputted, "And as a wise Jedi once said, 'your devotion to rules is sometimes inspiring, and sometimes maddening.' Isn't that right?"

Caleb chortled, "You have no idea who said that, do you?"

"Umm...why?"

"I'll tell you later." He mimicked, conjuring his best impression.

"Oho, you're on!" Fives screeched.

"Let's see how well you perform with this Rodian creation." Fives motioned, presenting him with a glass. The other boys glared in courteous delight, all with gleaming and encouraging gestures.

Such pressure only increased in tenfold when the words 'bottoms up' were murmured amidst the crowd.

After a brief pause, he complied. Caleb was not earning the label of a spineless and pouty Padawan on his primary hangout with his fellow inmates. His success would imply the true sign of a grown man. If he wished to discard the title of 'youngling' or 'kid', he must first prove himself. Thus, with a single swell swoop of the tracheal muscles, he bitterly ingested the liquids in a matter of minutes, pausing periodically to reacquire his strength, until ultimately harnessing the final push.