Before the Saga Makings of a Peacekeeper— OC Origin Story

Author: rktho
Title: Makings of a Peacekeeper
Era: 53 BBY-32 BBY
Characters: Original characters: Genèue-Safriçon "Gen-Saf" Doqvic, Ori Kokkinakis, Nogah Kokkinakis, Legró Doqvic, Gim Igimi; Canon characters: Tera Sinube
Genre: Drama
Summary: How thirteen year-old Genèue-Safriçon Doqvic went from a spoiled brat to a model galactic citizen.

7918 C.R.C.

Legró Doqvic folded his arms. “What do you have to say for yourself, Genèue-Safriçon?” he demanded in Ghor.

The young curly-haired lad on the other end of the ray shield partition merely glowered at his father.

“You want to fight, is that it?” Legró persisted.

“I want to go home,” Genèue-Safriçon replied sourly.

“That is exactly where I am taking you.”

“I want to go home, Father,” Genèue-Safriçon glared. “To Ghorman.”

“Ungrateful brat,” Legró snarled. “If you want to sneak down to the undercity to behave like an animal, then so be it. Go to as many fights as you want. This is the last time I bail you out, young man. If you are arrested again, I will not come for you, no matter how desperately your mother weeps.”

Legró waved to the guard, who deactivated the partition. Genèue-Safriçon rose from the cell bench and followed his father out of the room. “And one more thing, boy,” Legró hissed in his son’s ear. “You’re not getting a single credit from me and your mother anymore. You want money in your pockets, you get a job. I don’t care if you have to become a plongeur in some diner— from now on, you will earn your own spending money, do you hear?”

“A plongeur?” Genèue-Safriçon exclaimed, aghast. “That’s droids’ work!”

“It will still be a smaller indignity than the shame you bring upon our family with your rampant delinquency,” Legró growled. “Or you can stay at home and do nothing all day. Whichever you prefer. At this point, I could not care less.”

—

Ori perked up her ears at the door chime. Poking her head out of the kitchen, she saw an adolescent human with wild blond curls shuffling into the restaurant. “Shalmo! Sit anywhere ya want, I’ll be there in a second.”

She grabbed her datapad and gave her dark purple ponytail a toss as she approached the boy, who had elected to sit at the counter. “Welcome to Nogah’s Nosh. What can I get fer ya?”

The boy regarded her with a sullen blue eye. “Plo du mec Gen-Saf. Mo creuf trove fé.”

“Oh…” Ori chewed her lip. “Do you speak Basic?”

“Dja,” the boy nodded haughtily. “Mo viere.”

“Okayyy…” Ori furrowed her brow. “Maybe just point to what ya want. Have you ever had Lasat food before?”

“I am not interested in your menu, madam,” the boy replied coldly. “I am seeking employment here.”

“Oh!” Ori perked up. “Lemme ask my dad about that.”

Ori’s heart raced as she ran to the basement. “Bava, there’s a boy here lookin’ fer work!”

“A droid lookin’ fer work?” Nogah Kokkinakis replied incredulously as he squinted at a purple pepper. “What is the galaxy comin’ to when even a droid can’t find work?”

“Not a droid, Bava, a boy,” Ori said more loudly as she approached the vegetable crate. “There’s a Ghorman boy lookin’ for work.”

“Is there a sign out front?” Nogah’s right ear twitched. “Did I say we were lookin’ fer a new employee?”

“Well, no, but…”

“So send him away.” Nogah put the pepper in the “good” pile. “Unless he wants to order somethin’ first.”

“He doesn’t,” Ori sighed, ears drooping. “But Bava… you really should think about hirin’ extra help.”

“I have thought about it,” Nogah scoffed. “Here’s me thinkin’ about it. ‘Do we need more help? No, we don’t.’ Whaddayeh think this is, the Galatina? Yeh think we’re some bigshot high-end restaurant that needs an army of footmen to run it? No! It’s just you and me. What more do we need fer such a little place?”

“It would be nice to not have to juggle between sweepin’ and waitin’ on customers at the same time,” Ori muttered.

“You can sleep when we close fer the day.”

“Sweep, Bava, sweep,” she repeated into his good ear.

Nogah grumbled and pushed up his magnifying goggles. “Fine, fine. Let me speak to this Gamorrean boy.”

“He’s Ghorman, Bava, not Gamorrean.”

Nogah waved past her, limping toward the stairs. Ori took his hand. “Is your ankle botherin’ you again?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Nogah insisted. “Go check the rest of the peppers that just came in.”

Nogah leered at the boy sitting at the counter with his cheek squished impatiently into the heel of his hand. He looked to be about Ori’s age, maybe a little older. His clothes were far too fancy for an establishment like Nogah’s.

Nogah picked up the datapad. “What can I get fer yeh?”

“A job,” the boy said rudely. “Didn’t your daughter tell you I’m looking for a job here?”

“Why would a boy like you wanna work in a place like this?” Nogah probed suspiciously.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t,” the boy snapped. “But all the good places use dishwashing droids. I need some way to make money.”

“We could use a delivery boy!”

Nogah turned around. “I thought you were supposed to be checkin’ the peppers.”

“I finished,” Ori replied, not even bothering to sound believable. “Anyway, how about it, Bava?”

Nogah swiveled his good ear toward her. “How about what?”

“Deliveries,” Ori repeated patiently. “We could have him deliver orders for us.”

Nogah frowned. “We’ve never done that before.”

“Only because we don’t have anyone to deliver for us,” Ori pointed out. “What’s yer name?”

“Gen-Saf.”

“Can yeh drive a speeder?”

“Dja, I can,” Gen-Saf confirmed.

Ori cast a meaningful glance at her father. “Think of the business!”

“We’d need to hook up a comlink,” Nogah mused.

“We can use the comlink upstairs,” Ori replied.

“Have customers call the house?” Nogah made a face. “We’d never have a moment’s peace.”

“It would just be temporary until we get one hooked up down here,” Ori reassured him. “It’d be less than a week.”

Nogah stroked his graying goatee. “But what will the customers think, when they call a Lasat restaurant and hear a Ghorman on our frequency? They’ll think they’ve got the wrong com code. Or worse— they’ll think we’re not authentic.”

“I’m very good with accents,” Gen-Saf piped up in an uncanny northeastern Lasat accent, startling them both. “If I talk like this on the com, no one will know the difference.”

Nogah finally cleared his throat. “Ori will answer the com. Just drive the speeder.”

“So I’ve got the job?” Gen-Saf raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, yeh’ve got the job,” Nogah waved. “Just don’t ever do that again.”

Gen-Saf frowned as he watched Nogah return to the basement. “Did I offend your father with my suggestion?”

“It was in poor taste,” Ori nodded, chewing her lip. “But how’d ya do that? Whenever humans try to imitate us, they don’t usually sound anything like Lasat. How’d ya get so close?”

“I told you, I’m very observant,” Gen-Saf replied. “I couldn’t quite get the arre sound correct, though. I suspect that is… What is the Basic word? Physiological.”

Ori nodded. Then, with a smile, she said, “Well, come back tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll be able to put ya to work then.”

“Until tomorrow…” He paused, not knowing her name.

“Ori.” She extended her hand for a shake. “Ori Kokkinakis.”

Gen-Saf, in Ghorman fashion, took her fingers and pressed them to his lips. “Until then, Ori Kokkinakis.”

Ori waved goodbye and hurried back behind the counter, face burning.

Spoiler: Chapter Notes

This is the first of I'm not sure how many chapters yet. I intend to tell this story through brief vignettes. Those familiar with Detective Doqvic— or young Gen-Saf, as he is known in this story— may remember him from The Doqvic Method and Pulling Up the Ladder. I was inspired to explore his youth after watching Season 2 of Andor and deciding to retcon Doqvic to be Ghorman. Doqvic will feature in my Stars In Their Multitudes series at some point in Book IV, marking his first appearance in the OT era.