Kip's excited chatter filtered in over the comm., informing Thrice of the relay's status. On another frequency, further branches of the recon team reported in and informed him that they were now at the meeting point and awaiting their briefing. He had only to inform them of their objective before they swept the area.
And so he did. From his position by the barracks, Thrice rallied their forces and issued the order for them to mobilize. He would meet them halfway, and together, those droids wouldn't know what hit them.
Orders given, Thrice retreated into the barracks - far too cramped and temporary for his liking - to retrieve his gear. Special modifications for his comm. and DCs he'd gotten his hands on during the war, as well as some of his own. He'd been an awfully creative bastard, come to think of it.
Tiny storage containers had become their lockers until they found something more permanent. His sat at the end of the hall, mostly empty save for a less than a handful of personal belongings. He pulled it open to retrieve his gear.
The little droid was always up to some kind of mischief, having just hidden some of Kuno's hydrospanners after doing some things for Ishua. The little red-domed droid peered in after seeing the clone, slowly turning and making his way into the room where he began to beep inquisitively, leaning forwards as his third wheel ascended. The robot, scanning the objects in the case, then opened one of his slots and extended his scomp arm, pointing at something paper hidden behind all the various weapons in the back of the container, letting out a quick "thweep" to the point that the astromech droid was cleary asking about what that was. After all, paper wasn't very commonly used except for hard copies, some written instructions, and the occasional field order. After all, the droid believed paper was exceedingly rare after almost exclusively working with holocrons and holobooks for so long.
At first, Thrice only scoffed at the droid. Didn't it have something better to do, something with the Jedi? Surely they were more in need of its help than he. Still, he couldn't exactly push it away, so he ignored it, fitting his gear to the belt at his hips.
"Don't you have something better to do?" he murmured offhandedly, glancing down at the droid for just a brief moment, brow quirked. "Hey-- get your little paws out of there."
From the back of the locker he pulled a flat, disk shaped object, and stored that away as well. Only then did he realize what the droid had been warbling about. Thrice frowned. He reached into the back of the locker and carefully hid the little slip of flimsi behind the junk.
"S'nothing. Go away."
The droid, perhaps as persistant as the Thrice, booped a bit as he retracted his scomp arm, instead attempting to use one of his to pull out the piece of paper when the clone trooper wasn't looking. After all, how else was the droid able to pull off his many pranks and hijinks? The droid was especially careful not to make any noises, trying his best not to startle the clone. After all, paper was so tantalizing rare to the droid that he had to know what, if anything, was inscribed on it.
With the last of his equipment secured safely, and his helmet firmly under one arm, Thrice closed the locker and, with one firm glance at the droid, locked it. He slipped his helmet on, but as he made to leave the barracks - and the damned droid - behind, he caught sight of... something clutched in one of the droid's spindly little arms.
Oh. Of course. Had the General warned them of this?
Thrice expression soured and he made a half-cough half-hiss, pivoting to face the droid fully. At his sides, he appeared to be trying very hard not to tear the paper out of its hands.
No good tin-can. "Give it here," he reached out one hand, "and I WON'T hand y'over to Kip."
The Jedi General had in fact warned the clone about this, and all of the Jedi from Ossus new very well to hide things that the droid might discover and get rather curious about. It was always good to introduce the droid to new things, but he would often play pranks or look for more things when his curiosity ran amok. Thankfully, unlike some other astromechs, Rusty was much more of a curious little bugger than kleptomaniacal tin can. The droid had carefully used both of his grips to open the folded paper, although he had barely a chance to see it before beeping in a manner, giving it to the clone before retracting one of the arms and closing the panel before pointing at part of the paper and then to Thrice, emitting a low-pitched "woooo" followed by the odd beep or two, the little astro droid clearly attempting to ask a question of some sort to the clone trooper, or as if say that he identified him on the paper.
Thrice slumped a bit when the droid ignored him. He smoothed the creases in his forehead, sighing. He didn't speak a lick of binary, but the motions were clear enough, along with the questioning bleeps. The commander nodded hesitantly
"Don't need me to tell you what that is, droid."
The image, from what he could recall, had been a doodle of him early on in the war, outfitted in full armor and standing beside a sloppy rendition of a child. It'd been an interesting... gift. He'd been developed and experienced enough to understand the sentiment behind it.
And that sentiment meant having it viewed by eyes - or sensors - outside of his own was a breach of privacy. Never had that mattered to a clone, but this was different.
"Kids appreciate it when you kick the droids out of their backyard. No offense."
The droid then looked at him curiously, his dome rotating slightly before extending his arm to attempt to tap the clones shoulder, although he only made it to about the clone's elbow in attempt to copy some of the motions that some of the many organics he knew had made while giving a faint series of whistles, seemingly an apology and something motivational that the clone couldn't quite understand due to not understanding binary. Then, pulling it back, he released the thinner of the two clamps holding it out- it seemed the droid was trying to give the droid a "thumb's up," as it were, with the kindness of relative innocence behind the emotionless dome.
Thrice tilted his head as the droid's words - or lack of them - flew right over his head, but he'd heard enough of those beeps and trills to figure out what they meant.
And at least the droid had a sense of humor. Thrice could work with that. He copied the droid's action-- a thumbs up, or what he assumed to be one, before he slipped his helmet on.
He took the doodle, folded it up, and stashed it somewhere safe.
"For good luck, I guess."
The droid beeped happily that he was able to communicate with the clone troopers, hopping from side-to-side for a brief moment before leaning backwards to activate his third wheel, circling the droid for a moment before heading back the way he came. After all, even the droid had duties to attend to in this makeshift camp of theirs, but the little curious thing was happy that he thought he had just made a new friend.
Thrice rubbed the droid's dome like he would a pet. He supposed having a droid around wasn't...
absolutely terrible. A watchful eye in its direction would be in order.
He met up with the recon team shortly after running a fully check of his DCs. He greeted his men and their handful of volunteers and held up the metal disk. From its center, an image appeared providing a clear overview of the immediate area, albeit missing a few details that would need to be filled in by the team.
It was standard, the briefing, with a few reminders to record every nook and cranny from here to the dark side of the planet. There were Jedi here, after all, which meant they needed this place mapped and locked down as soon as possible. As Thrice stowed the disk in a pouch at his belt, one of the volunteers sidled up beside him, decked out in well-kept armor and looking decidedly
exhausted.
His helmet was of mandalorian make, but by the way he held himself, he was more
hunter than
warrior. "You worked with the Jedi before, right? You know the big head of the whole operation?"
Thrice froze mid-step. "What?"
"Jedi Master. You know him? Them?"
"Uh..." Thrice shook his head. "I work with them. That's... that's all."
The mandalorian nodded. "He's not a very organized person, is he? Don't even know what I'm doing here. And they hired me!" He nudged Thrice's pauldron with his elbow. "Rhett. Your volunteers are all mine."
"... Right. Everyone here calls me Thrice. I suppose you can too." He resumed his walking, trying and failing to ignore his new companion's heavy footfalls. He was awfully loud, wasn't he? And then they were left in silence, with only the crackle of leaves under their boots to fill the quiet. Thrice cleared his throat. "Which Clan?"
If a visor could light up with glee, that's exactly what Rhett's would have done. And immediately after the question left his mouth, Thrice felt regret.
Rhett would not shut up.
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