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WHO: Everyone!
WHERE: An hour outside De Chima
WHEN: January 10-12
WHAT: imPorts are treated to a Swear-In that’s nothing but a weekend of relaxation at a brand new resort and spa!
WARNINGS: Possible mild nudity

It’s been a long few months, hasn’t it imPorts? Between the invading monsters (yikes!), evading the apocalypse (double yikes!) and then some fear toxin on behalf of your good pal Joker (triple yikes!), imPorts are overdue for a vacation. And wouldn’t you know it? One is coming right up.

Oh, yeah. It’s a Hot Springs Episode.

Welcome to Elysium Resort and Spa! When you come in, you’ll get a brochure with all of their offerings. They’re a little confused, perhaps, espousing relaxation ideals of every culture, clearly having just thrown all of their relaxation spaghetti at the wall to see if it sticks, but they’ve got the spirit! The smell of eucalyptus fills the air as you toe off your shoes and change into the slippers and robes that they have available for you as they usher you into what must be, for some, absolute paradise.

You can find rooms for all persuasions here, all purporting various health benefits. They have your typical fare - salt rooms, saunas, steam rooms, buckets of water with ladles resting in them to pour over the heaters to allow them to sizzle - but be warned! Some of these rooms climb up to ridiculous temperatures, leaving the bottoms of your feet red and toasty as you jump in (they suggest sandals, but who reads instructions anyway?), and other rooms are filled with ice as you’re plunged into what may as well be a walk-in freezer. Sometimes the doors are a little fiddly, though. Don’t worry - you won’t get trapped in here long enough for any real harm to come to you. But you might get a little uncomfortable as you rattle at the door, one of the employees eventually hurrying to let you out and offering their sincerest apologies, and won’t you have a gift certificate?

If those rooms aren’t enough for you, you can check out the baths. Salt baths, chilled baths, and hot tubs galore are here for imPorts, but that’s not all. Ever wanted to bathe in tea? In wine? Would you like to sink into a bath filled entirely with clay? How about getting all your dead skin chomped off by fish? It’s all here for you! Just try not to drink the bathwater - or, heavens, eat the fish. Those aren’t for you!

As imPorts stroll outside, they’ll see a beautiful vista overlooking the mountains, attached to a spacious hot springs (it’s natural, they claim, but who’s checking?) where imPorts can simply relax and enjoy the scenery. After that, why not pop inside to where some of the technicians will absolutely insist that you get a massage. Or a mani-pedi - yes, even you, big guy. Or, really, anything that your heart desires.

Once you’ve been poked and prodded and primped to your heart’s content (or discontent, as it may be), the spa open until the wee hours of the morning, it’s time to go and dine on some of the local cuisine, prepared fresh by the resort’s resident chef with a distinct eye to fresh, clean flavors and a truly ridiculous amount of salad. They want to make sure that you’re healthy inside and out, after all!

Before arriving at the spa, everyone was able to choose who they wanted to room with. But it seems that their systems got a bit scrambled during their grand opening, so you may find yourself bunking with a stranger instead. They’re deeply apologetic, of course, but it really would be easier for them if you’d just be nice for an evening and give it a shot. It’s only one evening, right? It’s not like you’ll be roomed with a serial killer. Probably. Given the imPort population there’s, what, a five percent chance?

The hotel rooms themselves are beautiful and spacious, each with a window looking out over the lovely view of the scenery below. It’s the perfect way to end your night… until 3 AM when an alarm begins to blare and all of the guests are ushered outside in the chilly winter air while firefighters come to check the place out. It’s a false alarm (some brat must have pulled it, the manager says apologetically, ready with more gift certificates), but hey, maybe this is a good chance to get to know your neighbors!

The next day, guests are free to take advantage of the resort’s facilities once more, or they can go hiking in the mountainous trails available to them, complete with regular rest stops with firepits, with the staff more than happy to pack lunchboxes and fixings for s’mores.

After they come back and have a thankfully uneventful night’s rest, buses will be ready to take them back to civilization, along with goodie bags filled with luxury goods and an earnest invitation to come back anytime! But maybe next time, wait a couple of months so they can iron out the kinks in their system.

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i. someone’s salty
[For Fett, Swear-ins serve a practical purpose; they give him a chance to see who the newest imPorts are and to scan for any he recognizes. The Porter does seem to have an affinity for bringing in those from their galaxy—and if that includes any familiar faces, Fett would prefer to have advance warning.

Plus, sometimes Swear-ins get attacked, which always makes his week more interesting.

He’s less interested in the “Resort and Spa” side of things. Still, it seems that submitting to some degree of mandatory “relaxation” is the price of entry here, given that visitors have to pass through a “Rejuvenation Room” to reach the facility proper. Fett picks the one he wagers to have the fewest other takers (Halotherepeutic Salt Room) and resigns himself to enduring a few minutes of pretentious quackery to get inside.

He isn’t quite sure what to make of a room that’s literally just rows of lounge chairs surrounded by salt. Once the few guests have shuffled into the room, the technicians start exhorting visitors to breathe the salty air, remove their shoes to feel the grains between their toes, or perhaps even take a handful of salt to rub into their pores.

At this point, Fett’s helmet turns marginally towards the other imPort in the room. He’s certainly not doing any of those things; are you?]

ii. lucky five percent
[’It’s just one evening, they said. ‘It’s not like you’re going to be roomed with a serial killer.’

Except, whether you know it or not, you kind of were.

Fortunately, this particular murderer usually only kills when he’s being paid for it, so you’re probably safe. Unless you happen to accidentally sneak up on him before he’s been informed of the impromptu rooming situation, in which case you’ll likely find yourself staring down the barrel of a blaster rifle.

Upon seeing that the other person doesn’t appear to be a hostile, Fett’s helmet tilts slightly to the side. He doesn’t lower his blaster.]

I was told I’d have a room to myself.

[Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just a flat, unemotional statement of fact.]

iii. fire drill
[The problem with Fett’s armor-summoning ability is that technically, it has a time limit. Usually, he can manage around eight hours with nothing but a short break here and there, but eventually, the armor disappears and he has to sleep before he can summon it again. This cycle was already complicated by the arrival of an unexpected roommate. Still, Fett had thought he could risk a catnap while the other person was asleep.

Apparently, someone had different plans. Which is how he ends up standing in plain clothes with everyone else out in the cold, feeling unpleasantly exposed without his helmet to cover his face. Even before the firefighters arrive, he’s eyeing the now empty resort building, as if considering slipping back inside.]

There’s no fire, [he mutters to no one in particular. With the flat way he talks, it’s difficult to tell if he’s relieved, disappointed, or neither.]

[in Martin's defense, all of these rooms are exactly the same. the doors, anyway. and some of the numbers are the same, so it's easy for him to jumble the sequence up and mess up!

he didn't expect to mess up to the point of opening a door to a gun. he doesn't actually understand that at first, just standing frozen and confused as he stares at it...and then the helmet.

oh. it's...]

...Lucky?

[he blinks, his head starting to tilt, going still again when that statement gets uttered.]

Oh. Um. Sorry. [he hesitates, looking down at his key card.] I could've got the numbers wrong...

[The blaster lowers when Fett sees that it’s Martin. To his credit, the boy hadn’t seemed too shaken by having a firearm pointed at his face.]

Or they booked more imPorts than they expected.

[Or perhaps they’d mistaken his room for Rex’s. None of the options are particularly impressive.

Fett holsters his blaster, nodding to the card in Martin’s hand.]

What’s the number?

[perhaps he'd have been more afraid of the gun if he had a better sense of being afraid of guns in general; he doesn't spend a lot of time around them, let alone having them pointed at him.

in any case, more fear had come from the faceless helmet than anything, but having quickly recalled it as Fett's, his fear was more just the general bundle of nerves he always is, mixed in with a pinch of relief for something familiar.

glancing down at his card for a moment, he decides to just walk over and hand it over to him instead of guess. he trusts other people's judgment more than his own, after all.]

Rex told me to find the room and put my stuff in it. [aforementioned stuff being in a backpack over his shoulder.]

[Fett takes the card, flipping it over to see the number and… it does appear to indicate this room. He takes his own card to compare and sure enough, they show the same number.]

Someone made a mistake, [he says, handing the card back to the boy. It could be worse. Of all the people they could have accidentally placed him with, Martin is fairly inoffensive. He’s more irked that they seem to have confused him with Rex.

He makes room in the doorway for Martin to enter if he chooses.]

You should tell Rex where you are.

[Maybe the clone can sort this out—and deal with the vouchers for various, ridiculous spa features they’ll no doubt off as recompense.]

[naturally, the second mention of a mistake is made, Martin's mind immediately concludes it was his doing. maybe he picked the wrong card (impossible; Rex gave him the card, and Rex doesn't make mistakes like that)? maybe...Fett...picked the wrong card...

even if he did, he can't dare suggest it.

he remains at the doorway even when space is made, prickling with his usual, nervous energy, heightened by the pointed-out error and the mystery surrounding it, considering the suggestion Fett made.]

Um. So--do I...tell him we're all sharing, then? Is that right?

No.

[It comes out a little more sharply than Fett intends. He may have a grudging respect for the clone, but he has no interest in sharing a room with him. That might risk an actual conversation about what had happened the last time they saw each other.]

Tell him there was a mistake and someone at the resort placed you with me instead of him. He can take it up with management.

[Implying that Fett doesn’t care enough to take it up with them himself. And he doesn’t; Martin is, for the most part, a known variable and one that Fett knows he can tolerate for a day. The pushy resort staff, on the other hand, are a headache he’d rather avoid entirely.]

[that intense no causes Martin a little fright, one that has him straightening up and stiffening without realizing it. his eyes snap to him only for the briefest of moments before flickering back down, lest he stoke any ire for staring.]

...Y...Yessir. Sorry. I'll--I'll go, then.

[and he shifts, ready to do so, but hesitates.]

Ss...sorry. Do I...take the card back with me? [the one Fett has in-hand.]

[Fett is accustomed to causing fear. Usually, it’s a good thing. Frightened prey makes mistakes and intimidated clients pay more and pay promptly. So he recognizes easily enough that he’s scared Martin.

He doesn’t feel remorse about it. He hadn’t done anything to make Martin afraid—hadn’t threatened harm or loomed over him. He also hadn’t ordered him to leave. He supposes the dissatisfaction he feels lies in Martin hearing something that he didn’t say.

He holds out the card to Martin for him to take.]

I’m returning it because it’s your card. [Not because he’s angry or has any strong opinions about where Martin stays. That should be obvious, but then, Fett remembers from that ill-fated driving lesson two decades back that Martin often needs things spelled out for him.] Take it back to Rex or stay here. Choice is yours.

[he quickly retrieves the card, backing up just as quickly as to not get caught up lingering too long. interacting with Lucky had been a challenge from the start, but with him so different in age and height, it just makes it more difficult; he's predisposed to being passive, non-confrontational, and obedient to authority -- authority being practically everyone else based on age, on height, on knowledge...

being told the choice is yours makes his stomach clench.]

Sorry. I don't-- [he doesn't want to make a decision that makes him mad or unhappy!] I mean...it's better to go back to Rex, right?

[The question gets a shrug from Fett, shoulder plates clanking dully.] It makes no matter to me.

[Fett is sure Martin would prefer he just tell him what to do one way or another, but he’s choosing not to indulge that weakness. Martin had already been old enough to make his own decisions when Fett had been here as a boy and more so now with the time that’s passed. As far as choices go, this one is trivial enough as to be inconsequential, but it still feels like he’s having to shove Martin towards it.]

Choose whatever benefits you more.

[It’s what he does whenever he’s in doubt.]

Whatever...benefits me...

[he gets one of those scrunched, thoughtful looks on his face as he considers that. it's a perspective he doesn't actively think about, even if it's common to lean in toward options that provide him comfort -- that comfort doesn't strike him as benefit.

it makes no matter to Lucky, or at least, he says so. so...]

Um. Well. I'll...go talk to Rex. He'll know what's better.

[sure, it's ultimately passing the choice off to Rex, but it's still...kind-of a choice he's just made? baby steps.

in any case, he nods, resolved to that.]

I can come back later and tell you.

[...Fett supposes that staying firmly planted in one’s own comfort zone could be considered choosing the option of most personal benefit. If Fett didn’t know any better, he’d characterize Martin as being incapable of leaving it. But Martin had kept secrets from Rex before—his secrets, to be exact. So Fett lets it go with a shrug.]

Suit yourself.

[It sounds like neither disapproval nor praise; just an impassive repetition of already-given advice.]

[Judd simply stares down the barrel of the blaster, his expression as expressionless as Fett's voice.

And his own.]

As was I. [A beat.] There was some sort of mix-up, and here we all are.

[The man’s demeanor speaks of one used to having firearms pointed in his face. Fett doesn’t holster his blaster, but lowers his arm to his side so that the barrel now points at the stranger’s midsection rather than his head—a meager courtesy.]

I don’t know you. [Blunt and matter-of-fact once again as his eyes search the stranger for weapons. ImPorts don't necessarily need weapons to be dangerous, but old habits are hard to break.

A beat and then:] Do you have your keycard?

[Judd indeed isn't carrying. While he's proficient in using weapons, he sees no reason to bring one along unless necessary. And this place was hardly necessary.]

Will you allow me to reach for it?

[Of course, he didn't need his hands to manipulate it into Boba's view... but there was no way he was going to lay out all of his cards right now. Not in the middle of some kind of stand-off.]

[This one’s careful. He’s also not anyone Fett recognizes, which causes the likelihood of him having harmful intentions to fall dramatically, but best not to take chances. After all, the man seems rather... familiar with these kinds of confrontations. Fett nods, blaster unmoving at his side.]

[The upside, if such a word could be used, of having a dangerous profession back home is that you get desensitized to all sorts of crazy things. Growing up rejecting emotions makes things even easier.

With slow, deliberate movements, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his key card, holding it up for several seconds before tossing it to the newcomer.]

Feel free to try it in the door.

[Fett’s eyes follow the man’s hands as they reach behind him, shoulders tensing just slightly. Unlikely as it may be that this man is an enemy, it’s easier to fall back on instinct than it is to let his guard down. But when the stranger’s hand emerges again, it carries no weapon—just the keycard as promised.

Fett’s own hand flicks up to catch the keycard when it’s tossed to him. As it does, the thick gloves that normally cover the skin suddenly split and peel away, leaving his fingers bare as he catches the card. However, he doesn't move to test it in the door. Instead, he turns it over in his hand as if testing the texture.

He feels no malevolent emotion or intent from the card. Of course, it is possible to kill dispassionately—he’s done it enough times before—but it’s another mark against the likelihood that the man is here to do harm. And then there’s the question of the number. Fett glances down at the glossy keycard, then back up at the man. Sure enough, the card shows the same number for the room they’re currently in.

Another beat and Fett finally lowers the blaster to his side. With his free hand, he tosses the card back to the stranger, the glove from before rematerializing over his skin almost immediately after.]

Can never be too careful, [he remarks dryly.] I’m sure you understand.

[Well, that's interesting. Judd watches, face impassive, as gloves seem to disappear into thin air. He was growing accustomed to things behaving differently from what he expected, but that was the first time clothing behaved so strangely.

The motion that follows--the one where his masked roommate touches the card from all angles--is more familiar. Psychometry? Or something similar. At least something makes sense in this backward world.

Though the Ps-Psy he knew back home would hardly wear anything like that.]

You'd be surprised how few people are as careful as they could be.

[Judd understands. No insult perceived, Fett.]

[Fett nods, silently confirming to himself that this stranger seems the type used to staring down the barrels of firearms—and not taking particular offense to it afterwards. That’s good. Not everyone is so practical.

Finally, Fett holsters his blaster.]

So. It appears we’re expected to share the room.

[Fett can’t say he’s pleased about that. It’s the second time in recent memory something like this has happened and, though he rates this man as less likely to try and kill him in his sleep as Princess Organa, it’s still an unwanted interruption to his usual solitude. But if that’s the way things are, he might as well know who he’s stuck with.]

Who are you?

[Self-protection is practical. Who is he to discourage someone from adhering to it.]

Yes, it appears so. Judd Lauren.

[He nods his head in greeting, not offering his hand to shake. While Judd doesn't mind physical interactions, he's grown up avoiding such practices, so he doesn't engage in it unless the other party initiates it.]

Would you prefer to expose yourself to the window or the door?

Boba Fett, [he offers back, also making no move to shake hands. At the question, his eyes flicker towards the room’s two beds in the 360 display under his helmet. If it weren’t for his powers, he’d prefer not to sleep at all with someone else in the room, but running out of energy would mean losing access to his armor. That’s even less of an option with so many people in proximity.]

Take your pick, [he says after a long moment, indicating the beds with a tilt of his helmet.] I’ll take the couch.

[Perhaps that makes Fett’s mistrust a little obvious, but then, the man seems the kind to understand. If anything, Fett’s been impressed with just how pragmatic he’s been so far.]

[Judd merely nods once in response.]

It isn't necessary, but if that is what you prefer.

[He takes his spartan backpack and puts it on the bed closer to the window. It gave him a better overall vantage of his surroundings. He then carefully removes his boots, still laced, and places them next to his bed, where he can promptly put them back on should the need arise in the middle of the night.]

I plan on waking up at 0400 and leaving for a morning run. I will not take up too much of your time.

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Boba Fett | Star Wars (Legends) | OTA

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