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On the third Zhellday of every month, the Coruscant Guard came together in the largest storage room in the HQ. They brought their threadbare blankets and wonky knit sweaters, the damaged brushes and stained ‘paint mugs’, and the buckets of red paint that the Commanders worked diligently to procure.
Commanders Thorn and Stone would come in first, followed by a gaggle of shinies that they had taken under their wings. Thorn would gently herd them towards the ever-growing pile of blankets and towels that the sergeants lovingly shaped into a massive bed for the inevitable vode pile and make sure that the shiniest shinies were thoroughly covered in the softest blankets the Guard managed to find. Their giggles would fill the air with a rarely felt warmth and the veteran officers of the Guard would find their shoulders relaxing, the tense air they all carried after enough time as a Guard leaving bit by bit as the warmth of family flooded the room.
Stone would herd his shinies towards the shelves that lined the furthest walls, stacked high with half-used cans of paint in bold Guard red. He would show them how to pop the can lids and stir the paint, a soft smile tugging at his scarred lips as they managed to flick paint all over themselves as they stirred a bit too aggressively.
The shinies wouldn’t think of their last shifts, where they experienced a Senator actively speaking out against their rights with a clone guarding their back as they walked to their offices after, or the citizens that pushed at patrols spitting vitriol and hate, then turning around and holding up signs for another species rights and freedoms.
Despite the cold that permeated the Guard barracks, an unnatural thing that seeped into every corner and deep into the bones of every trooper that was confined with its barren walls, all the Guard would feel during this ritual was warmth.
Commander Thire would be next, along with Captains Hound and Kelter, bringing in the massiffs who strained at their collars to climb into the laps of all the vod they saw. Hound would inevitably trip over his own feet as Grizzer bolted towards her favorite shiny, a shy trooper who had recently been given the name Sprout for her ability to coax growth out of the Guard’s meager hydroponics set-up. She would laugh and nuzzle at Grizzer’s head as the massiff happily curled up in her lap, Hound settling down near them and pulling a group of shinies and veterans into a tell-and-paint session.
Thire would settle down near Stone, leaning their head on Stone’s shoulder, content to finally be able to stop forcing words out of their injured throat, and Stone would rest a hand over theirs as they watched over the shinies learning how to paint the Guard pattern onto their armor. They would eventually sit up enough to sign at some of the troopers around them, their face pulling into a mischievous grin as they spilled gossip about some of the messier Senators and aides to an enraptured group of troopers.
Thorn would spot Stone and Thire leaning against one another and shout in excitement, delighted at any chance to embarrass the couple. He would yelp as Stone would flick a full paintbrush at him, streaks of red staining his bleached hair as Thire would growl playfully and lunge at him, one hand covered in paint and ready to mess up whatever armor Thorn had painted so far.
Fox would be the last commander to arrive, well after everyone else had. He would stand in the doorway, watching over his family as they squabbled more than painted, splatters and streaks of red on every conceivable surface including people. The warmth of the room would seep into his bones, even though he wouldn’t realize until the end of the war just how cold the Chancellor’s presence would make him.
Thire would spot him first, born from an instinct to always seek out their ori’vod because of his astonishing ability to hide injuries from his kih’vod like nobody's business. Their face would light up as they poked Stone furiously, one hand using bastardized ARC sign to beckon Fox to their ‘commander circle’.
Fox would take his helmet off, sometimes for the first time in literal days, and he would make his way to the groups of shinies and veterans on his way to Thire and the others, making sure to touch each and every one of his troopers. He would always remember to hug Slight because they needed pressure to register touch after the burns they received, to approach Inky from the front because zir eyes had started to blur in a way that they couldn’t correct, to simply nod at Coral because she hated touch and Fox remembered.
Thire would grab one of Fox’s wrists as he neared and tug him down to sprawl over them and Stone, one of their hands working to gently tug loose the elastic that held Fox’s mullet back while Stone undid his lower armor with warm hands.
Thorn would abandon painting his armor all together to stand and start acting out scenes he had seen in the Senate with all the dramatics he could muster, sometimes pulling giggling shinies into stand-in roles as aides or in one memorable occasion, a very opinionated office plant.
The room would stay warm for the entire night with the light and love of a family together. The darkness that tried its hardest to break their spirits would creep back under the onslaught of Light that the Guard put out, even if unconsciously. The Jedi that passed the Guard barracks would sigh at the innocent, pure Light that spilled out into the surrounding areas, carrying the seed of warmth that was planted in their heart back to the temple with them.
Fox and Thorn and Thire and Stone and Lace and Coral and Sprout and every other trooper in the Guard would stay up until the Benduday shift started and they would see off the designated troopers with fierce hugs and mirshmure'cya and promises of after shift cuddles and kisses.
The warmth of the armor painting day would take days to fade; it’s strength immense even in the face of the oppressive darkness that coated Coruscant like a plague. The Guard didn’t have much, but they had their paint, and they had each other. To them, it was everything.