Saga - ST Vacation on Ibrix [technically WIP, but no progress since converting to 'Star Peace']

VACATION ON IBRIX​

Characters: Baille Harte, Mitch Nifesta

Purpose: This was intended to be a disaster story that brought the First Order's Snoke, his Weeping Angel 'Statue of Liberty' partner, Armitage Hux, and Phasma, together; but with the launch of @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha 's Star Peace Fic Index thread, this was the nearest project of mine to that ideal, and I just decided to keep it 'chill'.

Note: Ibrix is a fanon waterworld created by @Gamiel

​

Being an Imperial V-Wing flight lieutenant on an airless moon seemed so far away, like another life, to Baille Harte as she sat at the outside buffet, warm air caressing her skin, picking over her breakfast with her adopted father, the near immortal Twi'lek, Mitch Nifesta.

They were at the Dry Schna Ibrix, an oceanic hotel resort on the planet Ibrix, a sort of half waterworld, where the white installation that they had just started their first week, comprised the usual things that you found at such places, a self-contained world apart, with accommodations, places to eat, bars, swimming and paddling pools, occasional places to get pampered, and sun-drenched walkways between each.

She had been with Mitch a few years now, by her reckoning, though that was all that she could go by, for her Dad deliberately made no attempt to mark out the passage of her years. Regardless, this was the first time that he had taken them on vacation.

Harte gathered that Mitch wanted to experience life as a family patriarch, and as ideas or concepts crossed his path, he would incorporate them, and package holidays were a recent discovery.

Their starship home, the Consular-class Republic cruiser, the Darth Unlucky, was berthed at the nearest spaceport on the nearest landmass, some two hundred miles away.

She leaned over her plate to bite into one of the delicious pastries, cupping a hand over her mouth and chin to hide the avalanche of flakes that ensued, trying to stop too many from going down the front of what was quite the cute swimsuit with wide horizontal bands of lime green, pink, and aqua, that faded into each other; sprinkled with metallic stars and galloping equines. The design a bit busy for her tastes, though she was secretly quite fond of the shiny horses.

Baille wryly sympathised with the perceived challenge faced by the elder Nifesta when he was clothes shopping for her. As childish and sweet as possible, without making himself sick, whilst also being large enough to accommodate her adult frame.

She chewed the morsel, savouring the texture and taste, swallowed and licked her lips; then even though she was shaded by the pink and white parasol over their small white table, she shaded her eyes against the sunlight behind the Twi'lek as she enquired as to their activities on their first full day.

"Well, you are going to be a Pteri' Girl." Mitch told her, matter-of-factly. Unusually for him, his normal tan robes had been replaced by a bright white ones that suited the environment, and were not so stark against his ivory flesh.

She had already told him that she approved.

"Terry Girl? What's that?"

"Younglings activity group. The Pterosaur Club. Keep you entertained and out of Daddy's hair for a few hours. You get to have fun with the other kiddies whilst Daddy sits in the bar and reads, or, I dunno, whatever else occurs."

"You don't have any hair!" The young Corellian reminded, wondering if she should be surprised that that was her first reaction to the news, rather than having to suppress a groan. In fact, it was a surprise that he was letting her out of his sight in the first place; he was usually so loathe to do that for anything but the most controlled of situations, and those he had either baby-proofed beforehand, or instructed her closely on what she was and wasn't allowed to do.

The actual sea, a rippling deep blue water whose waves reflected the sunlight innumerable times, lapped at the resort's outer walls, which were either ferrocrete, ceraglase, or another material that she had not been bothered to identify as she had disembarked the boat the evening before, pulling her luggage after her.

As long as she did not try to walk along the top of the sea wall, or fall into the water, there wasn't that much trouble that she could get into, must be her Dad's thinking on this.

The Empire had been defeated, so no threat there.

The resort's geographical (marine?) footprint was not enough to give the Twi'lek EPE (Extraordinary Powered Entity) a headache if he had to rush to save her. And she was sure that she had at least two locator beacons on her, if he needed to find her.

In her pink plastic-banded SGIS wrist-communicator (separate to the distress beacon that she had to manually activate), and in Wanda, the chubby white-frocked human doll that sat on the table close to Baille's glass of dipao juice, the artificial baby reaching clumsily for one of the bent red straws sticking up from the glass.

Harte noticed the sun casting its glare into Wanda's face, so adjusted the floppy hat that the thing wore to give its eyes more shade. She was past having to tell herself that she cared for her dolls more because Mitch enjoyed watching her do so, than because she liked to do it. He had given short shrift to her claim that she was too old for the things.

"And obviously, take Wanda with you." Mitch reminded, reaching for his own fruit drink, water condensation running down the tall glase vessel.

"Of course. Wouldn't want her to miss the sand pit." She took another bite of her pastry, letting her tongue slide through the dissolving debris in her mouth as she again tried not to have any fall over her swimsuit, which was all she was wearing beyond her flat-soled silver sandals.

Several other tables around them, were either occupied - singly, couples, or families - or unoccupied, wiped clean, and awaiting someone who had just awoken and dressed to come out, or had gone for a swim first.

The sea breeze ruffled at her red hair, and she wiped some strands from her face, where they had adhered to the moisture on her lips.

Brushing crumbs from her fingers, she commented on the fat bottle of sun cream laying on the table near to Nifesta's forearm. "That stuff is really good. With my hair and complexion, I ought to flame up like an exploding Death Star in this heat."

Mitch glanced at the bottle. "Good point. Remind me to give you a top up before we visit the Pterosaurs."


After breakfast, Nifesta led his charge, now shiny with liberally-applied sun cream, to meet the contact being for the Pterosaur Club, and there were lines of other adults of all species, with their attendant younglings, in either abbreviated holiday wear, or clothing intended to protect them from the environment, coalescing on the pathway as they neared the correct spot, a gaily painted shack designed to look like a log cabin, adjacent to a children's play area with included the blue waters of an outdoor swimming pool, and a rather clean looking sand pit that a bipedal droid was pulling a rake through, making sure there were no food wrappers, lost toys, or other debris beneath the yellow granules.

They queued for a short bit, then approached a Cathar female standing beside a table piled high with folded, crisp white t-shirts, and several laminated name and holopic identity cards held on loops of scarlet fabric.

The Cathar smiled, the points of sharp teeth showing at her mouth as the whiskers on the sides of her black nose, moved upwards."Ah, Mister Nifesta. Good morning." She turned to regard the Corellian woman, who was a couple of heads shorter than her. "And your youngling. Baille, isn't it?"

Baille managed a wan smile and a bit of a wave from waist level.

"Well, I am Miss Drabbo, and I will be running the Pterosaur Club during your stay." She turned to the table and scooped up the topmost t-shirt from one of the piles, which appeared to be arranged by size, handing it over whilst the Twi'lek, taller and more substantial than both femmes, observed the introductions with a smile.

He was pleased to note that there were no questions about him and his child being different species.
And why would there be? The Galactic Civil War had displaced a lot of families, orphaned a lot of children.

Society did not have the luxury of matching races.

That his little girl looked like a mature human was a matter that he had had to address when he had made his holiday booking, and why he was pleased to have an organic in charge of this Club.

Droids, however well intentioned, could have been problematic.

"This is the club t-shirt, Baille. Don't worry, it is in your size. Put it on now, and you need to wear it every day that you are with us, so that we can tell at a glance, where all of our young charges are."

Baille took off the pink macrobinocular case that carried the doll and its accessories, and placed it between her feet whilst she held both sleeves to regard the finned beast pictured on the front, then negotiated the tee over her head, and put her arms through the abbreviated sleeves. It was long enough to extend below her swimsuit, and to halfway down her pasty-white thighs, the legacy of living on a starship, and playing under Christophsis' weak sun.

She pulled her tresses around the back up from inside the neckline to on her shoulders and down her back of her neck. In addition to the cream that Mitch had massaged in, it was extra protection from the sun.

She squatted to retrieve her pink satchel, the colour going with the white better than it went with her swimsuit, although mauve and pink were not exactly distant cousins on the colour palette.

"And this is your lanyard." Miss Drabbo held out the identity card, which Baille noticed had her name and a 3-D depiction of her head, from some occasion when she had been wearing a big blue ribbon at the back. The God of Cops thought she looked adorable like that, so it was no surprise to see that that was the holo he had provided. "It tells staff who you are, if you have any medical issues, and who is authorised to pick you up."

"They'll get a hernia, whoever they are." She quipped, unsmilingly.

"I mean, who is allowed to take you from my charge." The Cathar clarified.

"Whichever way you meant, it'll be me anyway." Mitch further clarified. He glanced down at his daughter. "Do you have any questions for Miss Drabbo, Sweetheart?"

Slipping the lanyard over her head, and repeating her earlier adjustments with her hair, she looked up and asked, "Do I have to wear this top in the pool as well?"

"Yes, Dear. All the time that you are with the Pterosaurs." Drabbo gestured a light-furred hand at the imposing Twi'lek. "When you get picked up in the evening, and go off to dinner with your father, you don't have to wear it then.

Baille nodded. "Okay, cool."

Drabbo gestured into the shack beyond the trestle table, where the silhouettes of shorter younglings that had arrived earlier, could be seen moving around. "Alright, if you head in there, you can see what you want to be doing first, and one of the staff will give you the equipment you need. Hug Daddy goodbye for now."

Harte turned to Nifesta and gave his wide form a tight hug, her face flat against his sternum. He reciprocated, both holding their embrace for a few seconds before releasing each other, and Mitch gave her bottom an encouraging smack as she turned away from him. "Have fun, Kitten. Daddy will see you tonight."

"Bye, Daddy." She stepped into the doorway, and turned in the shade to watch his departure, making sure that that he actually did leave, and breathed a sigh of relief as his white-robed form seemed to shimmer in the bright sunlight as it dwindled along the terracotta-tiled pathway.

She didn't care if he was heading to one of the bars, or to pick up a nice femme, as long as he was away from her.

His over-protective presence could be as wearing on her, as his desire to keep her safe must wear on him, and granted, while she was still being treated like a child by someone else, the chance for a few hours away from him, was not to be sniffed at.

She had long become accustomed to the reality that she was no longer allowed grown-up responsibility, and except for rare emergencies and exigent circumstances, even trusted at an adolescent level, but she had learned that there was no value in kicking up a stink about it.

She observed Miss Drabbo for a moment, already dealing with the next family, and preparing to hand over the t-shirt to their youngling, then rubbed her own hands together in anticipation and backed into the relative shade inside the clubhouse, careful not to mow down any of the normal-scale younglings already in there as her eyes adjusted to the drop in light levels, and to be fair to Miss Drabbo, their white tops did make them easier to see.

* * * *

Baille had chosen to sit in the paddling pool, her back reclined against the sloped side below the water, so that the water was above her shoulders, and the rest of her was stretched below the surface, inadvertently tripping up inattentive younglings, though that certainly was not her intention.

Their water wings prevented anything more than their heads dipping below the surface, and gave them the bouyancy to get back up, tears intermixed with the water running down their faces as they bawled at the shock of the sudden dip.

Like them, she too had been issued with a pair of inflatable devices that pressed around both of her biceps, initially making the position less comfortable than she would have liked, but she didn't notice them now, two hours later.

The staff had praised her when she had sniffily informed them that "I can swim, y'know", which mollified her a bit, but the things were compulsory for Pteri Girls and Boys if they were doing something water related, or were going near the pools.

She had downloaded a host of holofics for teens onto her wrist-com, so that she could just relax in the water and read the holographic text, though she had had to adjust the text and background so that she could contrast and see them against the pool water and her fellow younglings.

Wanda was out of her satchel, and sitting obediently on the tiled edging to the right and behind Baille's head, drawing the interest of many a passing little girl, mostly human, humanoid, and even a foot-high reptilian kid whose idea of a first greeting was to stick her maroon forked tongue out a couple of times, tap the chest of her Pterosaur tee with a taloned digit, and proudly proclaim that she was a Tiss'hari.

"Nobody asked." Baille had retorted, with more brusqueness than she had intended. She silently defended her response by reasoning that she had been an only child with her natural parents; and she might as well be,with Mitch, given his other kids had long departed by time she had been rescued; and she had been the same age as her peers at school. This would not stand up to even casual examination, and she knew it.

Undeterred, the snouted kid had dropped to all fours beside the doll that was almost the same size as she was, the front of her t-shirt hanging down under her, and enquired, "What's her name?"

Baille had to shift slightly to her left and turn her head to get a better look at the being engaging her. "Wanda."

She did that tongue-flicking again. "That is a pretty name."

"I s'pose." Baille squinted up. "You ever heard of Wanda Starflare?"

"No."

"Human holo-actress from my home planet, Corellia. They have the same colour hair."

Its face turning to whichever of the girls was speaking, Wanda was clearly listening to them, though Baille had no idea how much the droid actually understood. Although she certainly recognised and noted when Baille used words that the Twi'lek regarded as unsuitable from the mouth of his 'little girl', transmitting her misbehaviour to Mitch at the first opportunity.

The Tiss'shari narrowed its malevolent-looking yellow eyes. "Do...do you mean Wynssa Starflare?"

Baille stared. There was something that sounded right about that name. "Is that her name?"

Wanda was looking at her now, and the former pilot fancied that the doll's look was accusatory, though she would have no clue who Starflare was. Or shouldn't do, anyway.

"I think so, yes." The youngling shifted and dropped onto her bottom. "I can ask my Dad later. He likes films a lot. My Mum, not so much." She inevitably added, "Can I play with her?"

"With your Mum? Sure."

"No, with your dolly."

Baille honestly did not have a problem with an actual genuine youngling playing with the doll, but she had not trusted the others who had asked, not to run off with it; disappearing before she had even gotten enough purchase to stand up in the pool, let alone get out and stop them, and she had had to say no.

Each had accused her of being 'mean', or words to that effect.

Now though, it was occurring to her that Mitch was sure to ask her if she had made any friends. If she told him 'no', she could see a risk that he take her out of the club and keep her with him all week, or however long they were going to be here. What sort of holiday would that be?

"Alright, what's your name?" Harte sighed, wanting to establish an ID in case this one scuttled off with the doll.

"Frilla."

Baille almost laughed, thinking, What's that short for, 'Thrill Killer'?. After pressing her lips tightly to prevent the guffaw that threatened to explode out of her face, and bringing a dripping hand out of the water to help cover her mouth, she was able to calm enough to echo, "Frilla?"

"Frilla of the Emerald Clan. What's yours?"

"Baille. Baille Harte of the Nifesta clan, I suppose." She dropped her hand, resting that arm on the pool edge, close to Frilla's clawed feet, but trusting that she would not catch Athlete's Arm from the other species. "My Dad will be very angry if I don't keep Wanda close by me, so if you do play with her, you have to stay right here next to me. Deal?"

"Deal." Frilla happily gathered Wanda up and set her onto her own lap, while Baille watched her play, not yet trusting her enough to turn back to her reading.

To be continued..., though I would not hold your breath.

 

What a lovely location and a unique situation for our snarky Baille Harte!

 

A nice story

It feels like how vacation time in the SW-'verse could look like

 

Thank you both for reading, and for the positive reception.

 

Ibrix Reunion​

Baille, in her frilly-hem'd sundress, stared into the disbelieving eyes on the reptilian little girl, whom she had befriended last year.
The other child was in a Pterosaur Club t-shirt, though Baille could not tell if she had grown into last year's, or if this was a new one.

Et tu, Wanda? Baille thought towards her similarly attired doll, as it shuffled on all fours along her bare legs, towards the child that she obviously remembered from last year, too.

Frilla had grown a little bit, of course; and seemed to be aware that Baille should either have grown too, or stayed the same, but certainly not have lost more than two thirds of her height and body mass.

The Corellian was now considerably closer to the height of the Tiss'hari youngster, but half a foot taller.

They were in one of the bar areas, roofed over to protect from the strong sunlight, but open-sided to allow the briny sea air to sweep through.

There were low, glase-topped circular tables, and cushioned armchairs that seemed to have been woven out of thin dried sticks.

Their respective parents, out of sight, somewhere nearby, had pushed two chairs together to form a kind of manger, and both children were able to sit back in each, with her delicate bare feet, overlapping with Frilla's thick-ankled, clawed ones. They had strict instructions not to climb down.

"Why aren't you bigger?" Frilla addressed the bantha in the room, narrowing her orange eyes.

Harte sighed. Personally, she thought that Mitch was full of **** with his explanation as to why she had regressed from her Twenties, to looking about eight years old, overnight; but the Twi'lek vehemently stuck to his story, and reacted so negatively - going instantly for the slipper - to her merely expressing doubt, not even outright accusing him of lying, that she felt understandably reluctant to broach the subject any further with him.

"I don't remember, but Dad maintains that we encountered a clearly signposted 'Fountain of Youth' on some planet, and that my first thought was to jump in and go for a paddle. That does not sound like me. By time he found a way to get me out, I looked like this." She pressed a finger to the starched bodice, the tip brushing one the small embroidered pink flowers there.

That rankled. Or rather, what she felt under her bodice, did. Her habs...they always say you don't appreciate things till you don't have them any more. She had a little boy's chest now, completely flat, and no amount of Empire-waisted dresses and layers of air-catching petticoats, were going to redress that.

She wasn't wearing petticoats now, of course; even Mitch recognised that she would melt in this weather.

And apparently, freshwater interferes with his ability to use the Force! After a moment, she relaxed her expression and mood. No sense in Frilla picking up her mood and getting upset as well. "So, how're things with you?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

A gust of wind blew in from the sun-drenched view behind Frilla, catching Baille's skirt and blowing it up and back to her. She tamped it back down, but not before Frilla pointed a claw at what she had on underneath.

"Oh, you have to wear CatchItAlls now!"

Baille scowled. "Well, I don't need to wear them."

"So why are you?"

Harte pressed both hands down on the sides to help straighten, and craned her neck over the sides of her chair, till she could see Mitch at a curved, bronzium-finished bar area, alongside Frilla's Dad. The Tiss'hari's mother was participating in the pool aerobics.

"Daaad! Frilla wants to know why I'm in CatchItAlls."

Nifesta leaned back from the bar, so he could see and call past Mr Frilla. "It's because you are a baby now, Sweetheart, and it is what babies wear."

Baille lowered herself back down, gazed at her counterpart, and waved an arm in the direction of their fathers. "There you go."

Wanda was now close enough for Frilla to reach up and gather her up, hugging the droid in close, and murmuring how she had missed her.

The parents returned, and sat in the other chairs serving their table. Their was a glass-on-glass clinks as drinks were set down, then Frilla's Dad handed her an ice cream with the cone wrapped in a square white flimsi.

Even seated, Mitch towered over Baille and leaned in with an ice cream for her, then hesitated, elbow resting on the wooden edging of her chair.

"Your CatchItAlls, do you want me to take them down?"

She blinked up at him. She didn't need to wear CIAs, thank you very much, but those words, "take them down", had been deliberately chosen, and had connotations that she was not keen on having realised.
She looked down from him, her fingers nervously playing with the delicate pleated lace covering her lap. "No."

"Well, quit talking about them."

"Frilla brought them up." A genuine sulky tone entered her voice. It was clear that he was not happy with her.

"What did I just say?"

"Quit talking about them." To end this as soon as possible, and hopefully on a positive note, she apologised softly into her chest. "Sorry, Daddy."

"Atta girl. Now take your ice cream before it melts all over my hand."

Baille's ice cream was brown and when she licked it, tasted like Sunstrike, an alcoholic variant that had been popular among the girls of her V-Wing squadron, during their off-duty hours.

Frilla's was off-white, and sprinkled with little pink cubes of rehydrated Womp Rat.

Each to their own.

Harte attacked her ice cream, enjoying the taste transmitted through her tongue, the sugar rush helping to brighten her mood. This was part of what helped her enjoy her life, and this vacation, now. Warm breeze caressing her, and fluttering at her ruffles.

She glanced up at Frilla, to see her counterpart doing the same with her treat, the epitome of contentment.

Two little girls, together.