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“The kid looks like trash. An actual pile of garbage. Find him some clothes,” Ren said to Kuruk, a thumb pointed back at Ben’s bedraggled form. “I mean… We’re the Knights of Ren. We have a reputation.”
Kuruk nodded, gesturing for Ben to follow him. Vicrul had apparently decided to tag along as well, as he trailed behind Ben, the smell of alcohol wafting off him strongly enough that Ben could smell it even though his helmet was still on. Ben couldn’t help but feel painfully out of place here, but he tried to ignore it, instead just focusing on keeping pace. Where were they going, anyway? To their ship, to give Ben something they had lying around? He couldn’t imagine there was anywhere to actually buy-
To his surprise, inside the structure the cantina was on top of was indeed some kind of shop, the collection eclectic even at first glance. Weapons in one corner next to all sorts of clothes next to pre-packaged snacks next to household cleaning supplies next to a section of what appeared to be simply assorted miscellanea. Ben’s eyes got stuck on a lamp that had some kind of lewd scene featuring aliens of multiple species carved into the wooden body of it.
Even more surprising, the shop seemed to be open despite the late-getting-on-early hour, as a stocky alien of unclear species class sauntered out once Kuruk stepped into the store proper. “Ah, is Ren back, too? Where is he?”
“Drinking,” Vicrul said, sounding shockingly sober – maybe Ben’s nose was picking up a spill rather than inebriation. “I don’t think you’re getting that debt he owes you.”
“Not today,” Kuruk agreed, but quickly changed the subject before the alien got their mouth all the way open to complain. “But we’ve got credits and a kid in desperate need of dressing.”
“You’d better tell him to pay up next time. Doesn’t he know hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?” The alien threw her hands up in exasperation. “Fine, fine, as long as you pay me. Is this the kid?”
Ben blinked at her, Kuruk nodding right before she turned fully to him. “Hm, yes, I see. Still wet behind the ears, is he? But you want him not to look like it. I can do that.”
Kuruk spoke before Ben could reply. “Yes. We’ll need options for jobs, too.”
“I’ll let you take care of that part,” she said, already turning to shuffle away. “Leave the main look to me. I know what your sort likes.”
As soon as she was out of sight, Ben kept his voice low as he told Kuruk, “I don’t have any credits.”
He hadn’t thought of it when he’d fled the temple, nor was it something he’d thought about often before that, if he was being honest. They hadn’t used credits at the temple and on missions it had been taken care of for him, just as it had when he was a kid no matter whether it was his parents or one of his several non-biological uncles. The realization that money was now something he actually had to worry about did not sit entirely comfortably with Ben.
“It’ll come out of your pay for the first few jobs,” Kuruk explained, not seeming worried. “Better to equip you now than be fucked later when we need to raid a ship and realize you don’t have a suit.”
Vicrul, meanwhile, was already creeping through the aisles and grabbing random items with body language that suggested a level of glee that made Ben rethink Vicrul’s blood alcohol level once again – maybe he was just good at sounding sober when he really wasn’t. It could have something to do with the mask’s vocoder, now that he thought about it. Ben wondered if he should be nervous about what Vicrul was picking.
“Look around and grab a few things if you want,” Kuruk said, heading to join Vicrul in the aisles. “We’ll meet you at the changing rooms.”
Ben nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. The shop owner was taking care of the main outfit, so he supposed that wasn’t something he had to think about. It’s not like he’d worn much other than Jedi robes in over a decade anyway. Beyond the norm, Ben had no idea what he would even need – practical things, likely, but what exactly did a Knight of Ren consider practical? He didn’t know much about them, truthfully.
He was trying not to think about that, though, or any of the events that had brought him to them. It was better to not think too deeply about any of it, lest the vague static engulfing Ben’s mind be overtaken by panic. Ben didn’t want to feel the anxiety that started clawing at his throat the second his mind lingered on it for too long, nor did he think it was something the Knights would react well to, so Ben pushed it back down again. The static was better.
Clothes. That’s what he was here for. He could think about clothes instead of anything else. He didn’t know what to grab, though, so he just picked up simple things; socks and underwear, stuff that didn’t require trying on but that he would definitely need going forward. After what felt like long enough, Ben made his way to the changing room, nothing else in his hands, and arrived only about a minute before Kuruk and Vicrul.
Kuruk’s pile was smaller, made up of mostly dark and neutral colours, whereas Vicrul’s was… Ben couldn’t help but make a face.
“Hey, you haven’t even tried anything yet,” Vicrul said, his voice still lacking even the slightest hint of slurring. “Besides, we can all laugh at the ugly ones together. It’s fun! Bonding!”
Kuruk looked at Vicrul and a sound that may have been a sigh escaped his vocoder as he turned back to Ben. “You’re not his first victim. Here, take these.”
Both bundles of clothes were piled into his arms and then Ben turned, a light slap on his back urging him into the small room. He put the clothes on the bench and stared at the pile for a moment. The order didn’t matter, so Ben figured he’d just go randomly. Why had they chosen just so many?
Oddly, there was no mirror in the room itself, so he wouldn’t know what they looked like proper until he stepped out to where the others were and they all found out together. The first outfit was a basic sweater and trousers that Ben thought was from Kuruk’s pile. He was slightly surprised that the clothes fit well, Kuruk at least apparently able to guess his size with impressive accuracy. Was procuring clothing one of Kuruk’s jobs?
Outfit on, Ben stepped out and tried not to feel self-conscious; it had been a long time since he’d really tried on clothes or had his outfits judged by anyone.
Their faces were obscured by the masks, but the set of Kuruk and Vicrul’s shoulders did not suggest a positive opinion. Turning to look in the mirror, Ben understood why and grimaced. He looked like a professor that was suspiciously young to be holding such a post.
“No,” Vicrul said.
“Absolutely not,” Kuruk agreed.
Ben nodded his agreement as well, then went back in to change. He tried another two casual outfits, neither of which were bad, exactly, but just didn’t feel suited to him. The Knights agreed, so into the reject pile they went. The next thing in the pile made him pause, but Ben sighed. Vicrul’s choice. He’d just have to get it over with.
It seemed to be a slim-fitted pilot suit, which by itself wasn’t alarming. Even the lavender with light green trim colour of it, which was a lot on its own, wasn’t the part that made Ben hesitate. No, it was the large, suggestively placed gaps in the material that made it absolutely unsuitable for piloting that had Ben wondering exactly what Vicrul had grabbed. Still, he put it on, once again impressed that it did actually fit, Vicrul apparently also having some skill at guessing sizes.
He knew he was blushing as he stepped out, a flair of humiliation that got worse when Vicrul immediately snickered at the sight of him. Kuruk made a noise that might have been a laugh or might have been him choking on his own spit. Ben glowered, turning to see if the outfit did actually look as ludicrous as it felt.
It looked even more ludicrous. The colour, the strange partial cropped jacket that was built in and some prongs that looked like they were meant to attach to something, how skin-tight it was; all of that was enough to raise some eyebrows. But the gaps. There were holes over his outer arms from his shoulders to his elbows, as well as from his rib cage all the way down his outer thighs to his knees, only a small, suggestive-looking string over his hip turning the large hole into two. The feet looked ridiculous too, the shoes a bizarre shape, but that was nothing compared to how exposed he felt. His rear was barely covered at all and Ben’s blush deepened as he scowled.
“What is that even for?” Kuruk asked, the vocoder unable to disguise how close he was to laughter.
Vicrul was still laughing hysterically, barely able to speak. “It’s – it’s a space suit. Clearly.”
Ben rolled his eyes and Kuruk smacked Vicrul on the shoulder, which only made him laugh harder. “I am not wearing this.”
“No, you’re not,” Kuruk agreed, thankfully. “Unless you want to. Ren shows even more skin – we don’t care about things like that. It’d be better in black, though.”
Vicrul raised a finger, looking like he was going to speak, but Ben cut him off. “I’m not wearing it.”
With that, Ben returned to the changing room and peeled himself out of the absolutely ridiculous flight suit – stars, just what else was hiding in this pile? Fortunately, he found a much more practical looking suit for space and tried that next, Kuruk heartily agreeing that it was an improvement while Vicrul grudgingly said it would do, but that he still liked his pick better. Ben, feeling brave, suggested that maybe Vicrul should try it on himself then, if he liked it so much.
Vircul laughed again, sounding like he hadn’t expected such a comment from Ben. “You know what, kid, maybe you are cut out for us after all.”
Ben couldn’t help a small smile, the approval bolstering him. It didn’t feel like Vicrul was doing this to humiliate him, more like the good-natured ribbing one would do with their fellows. It felt like a sign that Ben was one of them. Or, at least, that he could be.
That helped and made it easier to put on the next outfit, a mismatched purple, orange, and animal print monstrosity that the three of them made fun of together. When Ben went back in, taking it off and putting it in the reject pile, he heard someone else approach and the Knights greet them. Ap’lek, it seemed.
Ben was feeling good, though, so the growing audience didn’t bother him. Alongside the practical flight suit, there were a few basic outfits Ben kept too, including some exercise clothes and a fluffy coat for cold temperatures. The coat felt way too high quality to be in a place like this, but he wasn’t about to complain.
The next outfit that made him pause was undoubtedly a dress, slinky and black and… once again, it somehow fit him perfectly despite him having a build that wasn’t exactly common for people who routinely wore dresses. Even more surprising, Ben was pretty sure it was from Kuruk’s selection, not Vicrul’s. What could it possibly be for?
When he stepped out, blushing again, Ben expected more laughter, but instead all three Knights were completely silent. Ben blinked at them and then turned to the mirror, understanding once he saw what they did. He looked… good. Really good. It hugged his body just right, looking provocative yet refined with just an edge of danger.
“You’re keeping that,” Ap’lek said as Ben continued to stare at himself. “I don’t care if I have to pay for it, you’re keeping it.”
Ben swallowed. “What would I use it for?”
“Infiltration,” Kuruk answered simply. “Sometimes we have to mingle with high society for a job, or at least pretend to. You can do that, can’t you?”
“And you need to look the part,” Vicrul added, more serious than he’d been during the whole event so far. “No one will ever suspect a thing if you’re wearing something like that.”
Ben stared a little longer, a warm feeling building in him. He’d never worn anything like this before, but he really did look good and the Knights agreed. So why wouldn’t he keep it? He wasn’t a Jedi anymore, there was no reason to deny himself.
“Okay,” Ben said and Kuruk nodded while Vicrul let out a little cheer.
The dress went into the ‘keep’ pile and Ben was down to the last few outfits. He tried them on as well, all of them falling flat without much fanfare – the truly ridiculous ones had all made their way into the discards already. The last one wasn’t bad, a simple dark sweater and pants, and he kept those too.
Finally finished, Ben stepped out, all of the clothes he wanted to keep in his arms, but he was stopped by the shopkeeper returning. “You’d better not be leaving just yet, young man.”
Ben blinked at her, then remembered that she’d been putting together some kind of outfit for him as well. Kuruk gave what she had a once over and nodded in approval. That was a good sign, at least.
“And you,” she said, looking at Kuruk even as she handed Ben the outfit, “can tell Ren that if he fails to pay up next time, he’ll be getting a special gift from me.”
Ben didn’t know what that meant, but given the way the others seemed to bodily wince, he presumed it was something exceedingly unpleasant. He left them to it, taking the outfit into the changing room. It took a second to figure out all the straps, it apparently having both a back holster for his lightsaber and a thigh holster for a blaster, but Ben eventually got it sorted. Even without seeing it properly, Ben had a good feeling about this one.
He stepped out and all three Knights paused and then nodded their approval, gesturing for Ben to take a look for himself. Ben did and stared for a long moment, an involuntary smile forming on his face. He understood why they’d trusted this woman with the task.
This was him, the real him, the true self that he hoped he finally had a chance to be now.
The sun was already rising by the time they met up with Ren again, Ben’s new outfit earning him an approving nod from Ren as well.
“Much better,” he said, gesturing towards their ship. “Let’s go find something to burn.”
“I have a suggestion for kindling,” Ben said, which seemed to surprise Ren.
He held out the tattered remains of his Jedi robes, the last remnant of a life that was clearly not meant for him. Ren looked at him for a long moment and then nodded again, almost solemn. It may not have been a death, a “good” death, whatever that meant, but to Ben, it still felt like one. The death of who he was supposed to be. The death of his destiny.
And with that, the birth of who he truly wanted to be.