Montegue: Origins - Exodus

[Hugo Montegue]

The highly anticipated (by Liz, at least) sequel to Montegue: Origins! Another glimpse into the epic backstory of the most disfunctional family on Fans.

Fairie Junction - 20 BE

Hugo grunted, the muscles in his shoulders bunched tightly after a long day at work. Much as he appreciated Elroy's efforts in securing him a job as a mechanic working for his family's haulage firm, it had meant long hours and hard work for the best part of the last two years. Oil seemed to have worked its way into the depths of his skin like a tattoo, and he'd long singe given up on trying to scrub his fingers entirely clean, lest his efforts strip all the way down to the bone. Vittore - who was now nearly four, and extremely defiant, had argued that if Hugo didn't need to expend much effort on hygene, he shouldn't need to either. Hugo had countered with the fact that, unlike Vittore, he didn't tend to shove his fingers up his nose and chow down on the findings between meals. For now at least, that had silenced the kid.

Music floated through their tiny appartment; Hugo winced at the speed with which he identified it as the closing theme of Republic Rangers: Vittore's current favourite holovid show. Hugo's opinion of the overly romanticised and entirely fictional depiction of the Clone Wars - and his opinion of the standard of acting on the part of the main cast - could be summed up rather simply with the nickname that the learning-to-speak Cambrio had given the show: Pubic Rangers. He smiled a little at the thought. Both his kids were growing up so fast, but he hoped against hope that Cammy would never lose that wide-eyed innocence.

Grabbing a condensation-soaked beer from the unpowered cooler in the corner of their cramped and spartan kitchen, Hugo trudged his way into the lounge. His ass hadn't even landed on the sofa cushions when Vittore whined out an "Oh, man," and reluctantly flipped the holovid channel over to the apparently boring newsfeed that Hugo frequently spent his evenings watching. He considered allowing himself to believe the notion that Vittore was being unusually obedient and dutiful of his own free will, but suspected that it had something to do with a certain threat involving Agent Scarlet action figures, and the afterburners on the ex-military speeder that he'd been patching up between other jobs in the back corner of the Kripke Transit hangar.

The fact that Hugo was back from work also meant something else; the waiting game had begun, as evidenced by the sudden silence of both Vittore and Cambrio, and the fervant and not particularly covert looks that passed between them. The bargain he had struck with the kids was that, after Alex Tressa - a young and somewhat irritating girl from the same appartment building, that Hugo suspected Vittore was developing his first crush on - had finished feeding the boys, they were allowed to stay up late and watch whatever shows on the holobox they wanted, right until Hugo got home from work. It was generally accepted that Hugo would give the instruction at some point over the evening, and the boys were expected to comply immediately. But if Hugo didn't give the order straight away, the boys managed to glean a few precious extra seconds of staying awake.

Finally, Hugo cracked; it was either speak, or allow the smile that was threatening to form as he watched Vittore strain against the urge to fidget gain purchase on his face. "Bed," he grunted, flicking the bottle cap from his beer in the kids' direction for extra encouragement.

With an over-dramatic sigh, Vittore slumped his way off the sofa and on to the floor, offering a helping arm to Cambrio as he wriggled down the cushions to do the same. "C'mon Cammy," he added, muttering under his breath, before trudging off to their bedroom as ordered.

Hugo waited in silence, listening for the telltale sounds of the kids clambering in to bed... and then a few minutes later making a failed stealth attempt to sneak out of bed again and set about some sort of late-night escapade in hushed tones that were about as loud as they normally spoke. They always did, but he couldn't bring himself to get angry; he'd chase them in to bed in an hour or so, when he went for some rack time himself.

Allowing his tired body to relax into the worn cushions of the couch, he turned his attention to the news feed, and took a deep swig of his ale.

Anor Attacker Claims Third Victim.

Letting the half-chilled beverage slowly work its way into his bloodstreem, his eyes flicked casually over the text.

Local law enforcement on Ord Anor remains baffled today as another heist is committed by an inside employee, only for them to turn up dead - brutally murdered - mere hours later. Once again, forensics have found little evidence at the murder scene to identify the attacker; detectives have been unable to find a pattern to connect the victims, and coroners are at a loss to explain the sudden behavioral changes that preceeded the robberies. Police officials are reluctant to release a statement, but rumours persist that some form of telepathic 'mind control' may be responsible. Citizens have been urged to report any unusual behavior in their friends, family and coworkers immediately; however, investigators have been swamped by the response, and the odds of unearthing any useful evidence at this point look slim.

Beer lingered on the back of Hugo's tongue as he mulled over the text. Something seemed off to him; maybe it was the mention of mind control that was unsettling, and the memories it cast up of his wife's own sudden change in behavior shortly before -

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, and swallowed more ale. Don't think about it, Hue, he chastised himself, clenching his teeth. Not again. It had been eighteen months since he'd caught Emaryn doing something to the infant Cambrio. Every day that passed without incident, he'd been thankful that his son hadn't exhibited any unusual side effects from her actions, but the dark nest of fear in the pit of his stomach wouldn't go away; it lingered like a Sarlaac, waiting for its opportunity to feed whenever his thoughts strayed too close to his former wife.

Former wife. He'd spent the past months trying to convince himself that she was dead, but he doubted it. He'd shot her on Coruscant, but somehow she'd shown up on Cularin, murdered her own sister... and then disappeared. He hadn't discovered sight nor sound of her, and while he knew that as soon as he grew complacent the galaxy would spin around and bite him in the ass for it, it was hard not to buy in to the hope that she was gone from his life forever. That hope promised relief, but pain as well. Emotions weren't digital: more like leaking valves that, no matter how tightly you tried to turn them off, kept allowing a little trickle through.

More beer disappeared as Hugo wrestled with those thoughts; he silently cursed at the holonet for stirring up those kind of memories, and grabbed the remote, stabbing blindly at the controls. The text disappeared, the image on the screen instead resolving into the soft, curvatious legs and ass of a low-crouched woman - athlete, presumably - who appeared to be wearing a pleasantly small amount, surrounded by similarly dressed women. A closed caption revealed that he'd inadvertantly tuned in to the final of the Interstellar Womens Pyramid League. A little of the tension in his shoulders vanished as he settled back into the couch, feet propping themselves up on the nearby coffee table. He had no clue what the game was, what the rules were, or anything like that; but from the look of the court, the outfits, and the ball, the next fourty minutes promised to be filled with a great deal of running, crouching, and anatomical jiggling.

A grin broke on his face, as late night holonet succeeded in winning over another member of its target audience.