boxofmisfits | Mirror Image

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Mirror Image

In forty years, Thrawn had kept the galaxy, mainly the Unknown Region, safe from many threats. He did it with his beloved at his side, living a full life with the one he loved, even when Glenn remained young while Thrawn grew older. They both knew there would come a day when they would have to say goodbye forever.

That day came, and Thrawn's last wish was to see Csilla. Many strings were pulled, and the Ascendancy allowed Thrawn his request, as well as agreeing to rescind his exile, seeing as he wasn't going to cause more trouble.

On his deathbed, Thrawn had given Glenn some parting words: "I hope you understand why I never told you this. I had to keep it a secret, to ensure the galaxy's safety. Not even Pellaeon or Parck knew of this. Forty years ago, I placed my genetic material into a cloning cylinder, in the event that I was ever killed. The cylinder was programmed to activate once I was declared dead." He'd reached into his pocket and given Glenn a datacard with directions to where he was keeping the clone. The card also contained the same message Thrawn had given Glenn, in the event that he died before he could tell his mate. "Go there, Glenn. Keep him safe until he is done. Know that you made the galaxy a brighter place for me."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo died the next day. A few loyal Chiss and Empire of the Hand members attended his funeral, where he was put to rest in the Mitth family crypt, alongside his brother. Thrawn had made sure his brother's remains had been found and given a proper resting place.

Meanwhile, on the edge of the Outer Rim, a cloning cylinder activates.

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Glenn nods, and leaves Thrawn to his reading, getting up to stretch and give the other man a little bit of space. Out of habit, he starts to head in the direction of the now-vacated cloning chamber, but then remembers that there's no need to sit at its feet anymore.

His gaze is still drawn to it, though.

Shaking free of wordless thoughts, he meanders about on relatively silent, scarred, bare feet, quietly purr-clicking to himself in an attempt to self-soothe away the small flares of anxiety from the new change.

Despite how softly he makes those noises, the higher frequency is just keen enough to be easily heard. And sooner than later, he sits himself back down on the edge of the bed, uncertain what to do with himself. He starts to twist around one of those feathers again, and then deliberately stops himself, reaching for the other datapad and the stylus he has anchored to it.

He doesn't feel like drawing (ah, his hands are trembling very slightly, anyway,) but he knows if he pulls on those feathers too much, they'll bleed. Again.

He boots up a simple card game to occupy himself, just needing time to calm down and keep his hands off of his hair. The feather that used to be a cluster of strands affected by a cowlick slightly raises up as his mind starts to quiet again.

The quiet moment feels comfortable and familiar. He reminds himself that no matter how this feels, he must not backslide on his promises. Even if it means reminding himself of the truth.

He still remembers when he felt uneasy around his mate. When he felt that he had something to prove and at the same time, wanted no recognition. And yet, craved the attention.

Breathing deeply, Glenn lets his mind slip back into using his stylus to manipulate the cards. The small device is an old thing, its outer coating slightly flaking, and small grooves worn into the body from the few times he gripped it a little too hard.

Even as Thrawn reads, he keeps glancing at Glenn. That man had watched over him since he was just an embryo in the cloning cylinder. Even with the slowed aging and five years being different to someone like Glenn, not many would be willing to put five years of their life aside to ensure that nothing happened to a clone. Thrawn wonders if anti-clone prejudice is still as bad as it was in the original Thrawn's day.

He puts down the datapad and watches Glenn, "What game is that?"

Glenn's attention drifts, lulled by the soft tapping of his stylus and the hum of machinery. He hardly breaks a flow, the card game so worn into his mind and muscle memory that there's no need to hesitate to think.

When he's addressed, the more prominent pinion on his head tilts upward slightly. He turns his head a little to see him, stylus pressing against his palm.

"It's an old game called Klondike. In descending order and alternating color, you remove cards from the deck and the table and rearrange them on from highest denomination to lowest. Only a stack starting with a king can move to an empty table space. The object of the game is to place the cards of the same suit, from ace to king, in the discard pile, one designated for each suit. All without backing yourself into a corner. You can pull the cards from the deck three at a time. Some games have an arrangement that make them impossible to win due to the order of cards given."

A beat, and he offers his datapad over. The game is about halfway through, but he doesn't mind.

"It's only for a single player, but you can play if you want."

"Thank you," The rules seem simple enough. Thrawn plays out the rest of the round, and finds that the game is harder than it seems thanks to being largely based on luck of the draw. He starts a new game and manages to play things carefully, and ends up winning.

"How amusing," He hands the datapad back to Glenn. "It seems that luck is just as much of a factor in that game as skill." In that way, it's not so different from real life tactics and battles. Battles that he never took part in, even if he has the memories of them.

"It is an odd feeling. Having over sixty years worth of memories, yet being well aware that I am only five years old, if one counts my time in the cloning cylinder." Not to mention the fact that physically, he has the body of a man in his twenties.

Glenn nods in answer, uncertain what words to offer, but listening. He pays the datapad no mind as he listens, only setting it aside as he gives Thrawn his full attention.

He definitely looks different. Not just his youth, but in the length of his hair. He suppresses the impulse to reach out and thread his fingers through it, even as he wonders just how much of it he can feel if he were to do so. His mind's eye envisions the strands as shorter, laced with gray. The memory of touch is vivid enough, and it satisfies him well enough, even bittersweet as it is.

"You will have a normal lifespan from here on out. To make of it as you will." His gaze softens.

While he's pretty sure his mate would have been in pain to see the rut that Thrawn's loss left him in, there isn't much Glenn can do about that now except take whatever forward steps he can now.

"I apologize if having so many memories at odds with your age is uncomfortable. So if there is anything I can do, please tell me."

"It is not discomfort. It is more the dissonance that comes with knowing that I am a clone." Many of the people his predecessor cloned for the Katana Fleet likely knew that they were clones. He wonders if they felt the same way.

"There is also an... insecurity. Even if there is no current threat to the galaxy, the day may come when my genius is needed, and everyone will be looking to me to live up to Grand Admiral Thrawn. I must admit, I am unsure if I am up to the task." He has Thrawn's genius and memories, and when he calls upon the memory of a battle he feels as if he was right there. Yet he feels that even that doesn't negate the fact that he has no real experience.

"Should that time come, and you wish to answer that call, I will still be here. The moment I boarded the Chimaera, barring any extenuating circumstances, I never missed at least watching a battle from the view of the bridge. And I still remember each and every one of them. I know many of Grand Admiral Thrawn's tactics first-hand, and yet, there was never a time I stopped feeling surprised.

"I even participated before long. I am more than capable of offering you guidance, should you desire it."

Thinking a moment, he offers his hand, palm up. If Thrawn takes his hand, he'll gently hold onto it, and give it a reassuring squeeze with both of his own. Regardless, his gaze is earnest, emotion coming forth in his next breath, even as his voice is calm.

"You need not be the Grand Admiral, nor live up to his name. You are Mitth'raw'nurodo in your own right, and how you live up to that is by itself a unique measurement of accomplishment.

"And so long as I am here, I will offer you everything I have."

Thrawn glances at the offered hand, before he lays his own blue one within it, allowing Glenn to squeeze it. It actually feels reassuring.

Everything about Glenn's face and body language rings true with his words. Glenn doesn't just see him as his dead husband given new life, and isn't agreeing to stay just so he can have Thrawn back. Glenn truly sees the clone as his own being.

"I know you will. The original Thrawn knew when to keep others close and confide in them, and so do I."

Thrawn's hand in his own doesn't feel familiar in the way his Igaes instincts hope, but touching him this way was not for his own sake, but for the fledgling life before him.

His own gaze relaxes a little, and he gives his hand one more squeeze before softening his hold enough for the other man to pull away whenever he wishes to. But he's more than willing to stay just like this until then, should he want the touch to linger.

"That you do."

Contemplating those words for a moment, he relaxes.

"Do you require anything? I have food supplies in the small trunk there as well as water," he says, gesturing to a small box not far from the end of the bed. "I know you received nutrients in the chamber, but should you desire it, my supplies are also yours to partake. I know ration bars aren't much in terms of flavor, however."

A bit of shyness flickers across his face, but the smile that accompanies it is genuine.

"Perhaps some food and water will do me good." He can think of worst first meals than a ration bar and some water. "After that, I wish to see the outside. I want to experience it for myself. Then, I wish to go into the main part of the fortress and let those above know of my existence."

He probably won't reveal himself to the galaxy at large. Hopefully forty years has been long enough for the Republic to no longer fear Thrawn.

Glenn nods. Rather than getting up, though he withdraws his touch, he manifests a tentacle deftly open up the box and withdraws the supplies from within. The end of the tentacle has a hand shape to deftly manipulate the objects, though it's clear that the rest of the tendril does not have a bone structure at all.

He does transfer his grip of them to his actual hands before he hands them off - their seals still in place. He's also gathered a set for himself on his lap. Might as well eat together.

"I can also take a look around later if you would rather something hand-made in the future. Though I don't cook much anymore because my body only processes foods with animal proteins. And these."

He gestures with the ration bar he has.

"I believe there are also a pair of boots here that will fit you."

Just like the clothes, the boots aren't from something his mate had before. So he uses some tentacles and an eye on a tendril to root around for them in another box by the bed, along with some thick socks.

He also retrieves his own footwear using the same limbs. It's easier to walk around barefoot on the tiled floor, and it helps keep his body temperature regulated better, but outside is another matter unless he wants to be in the form of a beast.

In the meantime, he uses his hands to work at the wrapping on the ration bar.

Thrawn should probably find that creepy. Most would probably find the tiny hands on the end of the tentacles creepy. Thrawn has studied enough artwork of species with bizarre anatomy that it doesn't really phase him. Or rather, his predecessor did.

He thanks Glenn for the ration bar and peels off the wrapper. "You need not go out of your way for me. The fortress above has a full kitchen and I imagine we will be served a more traditional meal once we reveal ourselves." He's assuming anyway. Things might have changed in forty-five years.

"...To be perfectly honest, I never really went up there much. I'd feel paranoid that something might happen to you if I left for longer than a moment or two."

Glenn fidgets with part of the wrapper with a frown. Looking down towards he feet, he uses his tentacles to start pulling socks and boots on.

"...I like cooking, though. Providing and defending what matters to me makes me happy. Makes me feel useful. But if others want to cook when we go up there, I'm not one to scrutinize a gift. Much. But not at all if it's from a person I trust."

"I'm certain I would have been fine if you had taken a day off. Thrawn built this room with very good defenses." Even though Glenn made it very clear that he values Thrawn as his own person and not an extension of his late husband, Thrawn can't help but feel that Glenn was just that devoted to carrying out the original's final request to make sure that his clone survived.

"Perhaps they will allow you to cook too." He takes a bite of his ration bar and washes it down with some water. "Did you know that a clone still does not have the same fingerprints as their template? I wonder if my taste buds differ from his too."

Admittedly, yes, it was that devotion to his mate that had him carry it out with such fervor. Those words mattered to him as his final living ties to his husband.

The thread is now at least partially severed. This being's will is his own, and it is up to the both of them, equally, what to do next, in terms of if Glenn stays or not, and if Thrawn wants him here or not.

Since he's made his continued desire to keep Glenn near clear, that is true for the moment, and so it shall be, until such a time, if any, that Thrawn wishes to part ways, or if Glenn finds reasons to no longer follow.

"I know very little about clones, to be honest. So no, I did not know that. But I would not be surprised to see differences. More than just genetics, experiences forge a person. It stands to reason that even taste buds would change."

A beat, and he looks in the direction of where those droids still stand, inactive.

"...Regarding this place's defenses, my abilities are better than that." Though faint, there's a little sense of superiority on the matter. "I know the exact extent to my capabilities. But I do not know a droid's, other than how fragile it is. And while I do trust my mate's judgement, a droid can only do so much, and I know not the extent of their programming and logical skills. I also know my judgement is skewed."

A beat, as he considers his words.

"Regarding my mate and my desire to keep my last words to him, the thought that I might fail felt like a potential betrayal. Especially since I still have his mating mark. All Igaes are fairly possessive creatures - even me. When it comes to our mate, such a person may as well be infinity itself to us. That affection and devotion is all-consuming. Not blinding, but only just barely."

Glenn falls quiet as he takes a long drink of water.

"I had already lost him. And his last words and that promise were all I had left as something... concrete."

His breath shudders slightly, the muscles in his face briefly twitching, and he hardens his expression to keep his emotions wrapped up for now. He'll allow himself to mourn the ending of another stage, of protecting something that needed him to, and then he'll gather himself up and continue moving.

Just like now. From here on out.

"...There is some closure for me in ensuring your safety. But beyond this, it is not up to the words of my mate what is or isn't done, but what the two of us choose to do from moment to moment."

"I shall have to read up some more on the Igaes, and study the art on this datapad. But, it sounds as if what you two had was not something either of you took lightly. He trusted you enough with my life. I know that Thrawn would be grateful to you for making sure I lived."

Even after five years, Thrawn can see that Glenn still has pain within him from losing the man he loved. He wonders if this is what it's like when a long-lived species falls in love someone outside of their own kind.

"Do I confuse your instincts? You were attuned to Thrawn's genetics, after all."

"Hmm... No, my instincts are not terribly confused. A bit more than just genetics are stored with the bite. Things like age, current health, things like that-- those are stored as well. Also, his scent profile and pheromonal levels."

He considers his words, and then continues, regarding him, "You smell different, too. The Thrawn that I lived with had... he smelled a little bit of my art supplies, and distinctly of me. Among other things. You smell like... you, clean clothing, and cloning fluid. And the food you have. You are also younger than when I met my mate."

He clasps his hands on his lap as he thinks.

"Even though he was rendered immune to my cells, the mating bite I gave him has the same properties as if he wasn't - our cells were merged, coexisting in his body without one affecting the other. The vaccine cannot kill my cells, but it renders them unable to change the cells of another. By biting him even once, I had permanently suffused my scent throughout his entire being. I would always be able to tell who he was and how he was feeling even if I was rendered blind and deaf."

Having his body be attended to for the funeral-- he remembers how everything in him screamed how wrong this was. His mate was supposed to live the same lifespan he did. He remembers just barely being able to restrain himself from following him into the burial site.

Blinking sharply, he wipes his face free of those tears that fell while his mind wandered.

"...Sorry. I imagine it will be a long time before the hurt feels less sharp. It is, after all, the other edge of the blade of the all-encompassing happiness I felt while with him. And sorrow has never been something I cope with easily."

"No need to apologize," Thrawn takes another bite of his ration bar. "You were with him for a long time, and you loved one another. Even if I have never personally experienced loss, I have the memories of such emotions, and know that such pain takes time to recover from."

Another sip of water, before he continues. "I am his genetic and mental duplicate, but you truly carry a part of him inside you. So long as you remember him, he'll never truly die."

For all of Thrawn's faults, he understood how to preserve oneself. Not through living forever like Palpatine wanted, but by creating a legacy. Even if that legacy includes a clone of himself.

"Hmm."

Glenn's gaze is a little distant as he processes those words along with his own thoughts and feelings.

Ultimately, he just wants to cry, but he doesn't give in to the feeling. It's hard for him to communicate how those words both are a comfort as well as leave a painful sting behind.

It took him nearly 300 years to move forward after Clara, and over half of those years were spent in solitude, guilt wrapped around him so strongly that it slowly choked him.

"...Having a long life span like mine is truly a blessing and a curse," he says after a moment. "My mind ages just as slowly as my body, if not slower. And as I watched him grow in spirit and mind, I... I have only aged about a year or three at most since then. Even in mind."

He blinks sharply.

"...There's nothing to be done for the limits of life span unless I one day take on an Igaean mate and hope that they share my views. Even then, I may very likely age faster than they do. And so therefore, I would then only perpetuate the pain that I have felt onto another."

More than once, his instincts have urged him to make his mate just like himself. But with the vaccines in play, it's impossible. And he'd never betray anyone's trust and do something that they would not consent to.

"Ah, when you are ready to go outside, I will probably take a short sprint around the area to clear my head. You are welcome to ride on my back, though you will have to hold on tightly.

Glenn is an interesting look at species that age slowly. He still looks like a young man, and his mind is also that of a young man's, rather than an old man in a young body. He wonders if that's how it is for other species that age slowly, like the Gen'dai. Thrawn also isn't getting any indication from Glenn that the original Thrawn felt any resentment that he got old while his mate stayed young. Thrawn also knows this to be true because it's how he would feel.

"I would like some fresh air," He finishes off his ration bar and starts putting the boots on. "Ride on your back, you say?"

"Yes."

His own bar quickly finished, Glenn shifts his body into that of a beast, stretching a little as his bones, muscles, and general mass rearrange themselves with sickening noises. He keeps his face and the inside of his throat close to the same, even though his whole body is covered with black feather-fur, and large, graying pinions. With them taking on a larger size, it's clear that there's blood flow coursing through them.

"This is a useful form. I can move about as quickly as a speedbike."

His long ears twitch upward, and then swivel a little. The feathers adorning his short tail makes the wagging much more noticeable.

"I would also go patrolling like this. Minus the human face. I am not capable of speech if I change that, though."

He tilts his head, and a faint smile tugs his lips.

"Should you accept, you may wish to tie your hair back to prevent it from knotting."

Processing his own thoughts on the matter, he uses a paw to rummage around in the trunk, and pulls out a simple hair ribbon, and uses a tentacle to drop it onto the bed. It's hand made, crafted of long, braided pearlescent fibers.

"Just in case you find it distasteful, it's modified spider silk made from my cells. It's based on the species of arachnids from my homeworld that could create it, though nothing of this thickness prior to genetic engineering. It's durable and not likely to fray or tear."

Thrawn's eyes go wide as Glenn transforms before his eyes. He got the impression that Igaes can shapeshift based on the artwork, but somehow he didn't know it was this extensive. This is on the same level as a shi'ido.

"Fascinating," He approaches Glenn and runs a hand through his fur, noting the texture.

As Glenn offers him the tie, he accepts it, running his finger along it to note how it feels. "My thanks," He ties back his hair with the spider-silk ribbon. He wonders if he should cut it short like his predecessor did, or keep it long for a while.

With his hair tied, he climbs up onto Glenn's back. "Shall we?"

Glenn's eyes shutter slightly in pleasure as he's touched, but otherwise restrains his reaction. He is a bit surprised to be so readily climbed upon, not at all affected by Thrawn's weight. He keeps his head human as he starts at a slow walk, wanting his rider to be able to get accustomed to sitting on a living mount.

"If you need to dig your heels into my sides, or hold tightly to my fur or neck, do so. You won't hurt me significantly, if at all, and it is better than risking you falling off. Let me know when you feel comfortable with me going faster."

But he leads them outside all the same, taking a large breath as the doors open and the sounds and scents of the outdoors flood in. The sunlight is pleasant, and Glenn purr-clicks loudly to see what sorts of feedback he can get. His long ears tilt upward, the little fleshy prongs vibrating slightly from the movement.

"...Sounds peaceful enough. No alarming noises, or lack thereof, from smaller creatures, and no scent marking from dangerous predators nearby."

He keeps an easy pace for now, patiently awaiting for any moment Thrawn wishes him to speed up as they take in their surroundings. The sunlight is also pleasant to feel, and not too hot. Though the brightness of it hurts his sensitive eyes a little, his body still derives some nutrients from the exposure. Even so, the pain is easily remedied when he modifies some of his skin and fur to form a pair of sunglasses, the metal frames anchored to his skin and skull directly to keep them in place.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, turning his head and craning it up a bit to look at the other man. "Let me know if you need some sunglasses, too. I'll make them."

"I will keep that in mind." He knows how to ride a speeder, since Thrawn gave him that knowledge in the flash learning, but riding a speeder is different than riding a living mount. He's also never actually ridden a speeder, to boot.

As they step into the sunlight, Thrawn blinks, his eyes getting used to the brightness. Once his vision adjusts, he gazes around. He knows this place, has memories of it, and yet here he is, going outside for the first time and seeing it with his own eyes. He breaths in the mountain air, and the scent of the flowers.

Looking behind him, the fortress looms over them. Were they to go up into the air, it would be obvious that the fortress is shaped like a hand. The Hand of Thrawn.

"Some sunglasses would be appreciated, yes."

Glenn stops for a moment to fashion a pair from his cells - primarily his fur, with broad lenses in order to keep the sunlight out from many angles rather than just straight ahead, like some more narrow pairs.

He then detaches the object from his fur and offers it for Thrawn's inspection, ears perked in anticipation for how it's received. They should fit, since-- Thrawn isn't much different in terms of facial structure compared to how his mate was, barring the changes caused by age and any stress.

"I can modify them further if the fit is off,"he adds. Then, almost playfully, "Or if you dislike their coloration." Much like Glenn's own, they're gray and rather plain. Functional.

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