Jaing Ref
(Conept Art not owned to me. Possibly by LucasFilms?)
Appearance
(Reference appearance picture by Starwars.com)
Of all the places he could've been deployed. This place? Really?
Jaing tapped his foot impatiently, his helmet held under one arm. He held up the binoculars, checking the readouts along the coastline. Everything seemed normal. As usual. There was no sign of...Well, of anything except normal people and beachgoers. As usual. He stood up on the wooden planks of the boardwalk, aware that his strange looks were earning him a few weird glances from passerby. Jaing really didn’t mind. He’d never see them again, right? So what did their opinion matter? Besides, as weird as he looked to them, they looked just as weird to him. Hooking the binoculars onto his belt, he shoved his helmet back on his head, ignoring the civilians that gave him a very wide berth. He walked purposefully down the boardwalk, glancing every now and again up at the sky.
Earlier, they’d gotten a weather report. Heavy rains and mild winds were scheduled to come in later in the day. Already, dark clouds swirled in the sky, blotting out the sun. It was getting chilly, and those who wore beach shorts and sandals quickly headed indoors to change into warmer clothes. Jaing wasn’t worried. His armor protected him from the elements. As he headed further down the boardwalk, he was stopped by another man in similar armor. Jaing wasn’t the only one stationed here. There was a small base on the outskirts of the city, housing a multitude of clones soldiers, officers, and special ops groups. Jaing, a lieutenant, was a base commander. But he preferred to go solo. He was headed back to the base now, but he had the weirdest feeling that he wouldn't get where he was going without a few interruptions. This would be one of them.
The man who had stopped him saluted half-heartedly. Discipline was lax around here; it wasn’t often that the Clones were stationed in such a warm, peaceful, and inviting place. No one really paid any lag in military protocol any mind, especially Jaing. None of the soliders here had ever had a vacation, and this was as close as they'd come. Jaing was only hoping none of the mongrel commanders (What they called non-clone officers) would come by to inspect the place. Jaing was sure there'd be a considerable imporvement in discipline if that happened...And a considerable drop in morale. “How goes it, sir?” his fellow clone asked, the smile evident in his voice. Jaing couldn't see his face through the helmet, but he knew the smile was wicked. Everyone knew how much he hated the pubs around here.
The two Clones were standing outside a local bar that many of the base’s inhabitants had claimed as their own. It was mostly Clones and a few brave civilians now. But above all, it was possibly the safest bars in town. No one fought, or brawled, or made life any harder than it had to be. They were all brothers, after all. Jaing suddenly wished he'd taken a different path back to the base. Even going through town would've been a better idea. But no, his feet had lead him on that same old familiar path he took everyday after he was done scouting the local area. He hadn't even thought to try and change it. Beneath his helmet, he slowly rolled his eyes and tried to think of an excuse to leave. But Jaing despaired at the fact that, now that he’d been seen, he’d probably be invited in.
Which was exactly what happened.
The clone solider coerced him into joining them for a game of darts (the town's civilians hadn’t found the game they played with the knives very fun, so they’d resorted to playing darts like the locals). Sighing, Jaing walked in, only to be met by a sea of identical faces, a multitude of women and different men, some drunk and the local bartenders. After a round of darts (which he won, as he most often did) Jaing settled himself at the bar and ordered a weak drink, slightly annoyed that he’d been roped into coming in here. Outside, he could hear the thunder off in the distance. The storm would be here soon, and most of them would have to get back to base. It was probably a good excuse to go now. He spun on his bar stool, glancing about to make sure he hadn't been spotted by any of the Clones he'd played darts with. They'd want him to play again to win back their hard-earned credits...Which, Jaing realized, they'd most likely won off the locals.
Clones didn't get a salary. They didn't get paid. Yet, they always found a way to hide a few credits on their immediate person. Trinkets and souvenirs were forbidden, for reasons known only to their superiors, but the regs said nothing about credits. The clone lieutenant had often wondered why the Republic didn't just pay their soliders; the Clones would most likely do an even better job than they already did if they had incentive. With a sigh, he decided it would be best to stow that kind of thinking, seeing as how it wouldn't do anyone any good. And no matter what he thought, it wouldn't change a thing. As quickly as he could, he stood up, his booted feet thumping against the hard-wood floor. Jamming his helmet back onto his head, Jaing slowly made his way across the floor, trying to make himself as invisible as possible and began to walk towards the doors...