#whyatt grace
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Fanfic Sneak Peek Theater ACT 2: For the Lovers
Super, SUPER sorry it took me forever to get back to the Fanfic Sneak Peek Theaters. Life happened, lol XD But I’m back ^^
Part two of my Fanfic Sneak Peek Theater is, as it’s titled, for the shippers. Including myself XD All of me OG OTPs get a fic to themselves, and I’m super excited to write them ^^
First up is a fic that’s had an insane grip on my brain: Love Language, which is the sequel to my first Multo/Zeeter fic, Heavenly. This story is a collection of vignettes (some long, some short) of how their relationship progresses, and there’s sweetness, bitterness…and even some spiciness. 😏 This story was going to be a three part fic, but things happened, and well…now y’all are going to get five parts. The good thing is, part one is almost done (I’d like to say I have about 70% of it finished). I just need someone to smack me in the head before I keep adding more stuff. XD
Here’s a sneak peek of the cuteness ^^ (taken from chapter 1’s vignette: Awed):
"Wow, you two look gorgeous!" Wizzy was the first to offer her praises, her eyes gleaming with stars.
"Yeah! You look like movie stars!" Wigg said.
Bonnie giggled. "Thanks, you two." She walked up to Bula, noting how his face was slightly red. "And I hope I'll be able to wow them on the red carpet tonight...with my equally handsome plus one."
Bula swallowed hard. "R-Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, we won't be the only good-looking ones tonight, right Multo?" His smile faded slightly when he saw Multo's face. "Um, Multo?"
If Multo heard him, he gave no indication. He stared at Zeeter, mouth open and eyes wide to where she could see the whites, a small blush on his face. Two words escaped his mouth, said in a hushed tone filled with utter surprise and wonder. "My stars..."
Zeeter's heart raced as he slowly approached her. It was the first time in a long time that she'd ever worn proper formal wear...and this was the first time he'd ever seen her wearing it, which she was acutely aware of. And rather than renting this, she'd outright bought it.
Why, she had no idea.
She met his eyes, her own face flushing under his stare.
She had expected him to compliment her in his unique fashion.
What she did not expect was for him to take her left hand in his right, lift it to his lips, and plant a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
Zeeter squeaked.
Everyone else gasped, with Wizzy and Bonnie taking a keen interest in this, practically pushing Bula aside.
Heat equal to the sun flooded her face as he gently looked up at her. She hadn't been prepared for the lightning bolt that hit her when he did that. Nor was she prepared for the look of utter wonder and adoration that graced his face.
"My dear," he breathed, "you look absolutely radiant tonight."
It wasn't enough that he'd kissed her knuckles and made her brain short-circuit. He just had to call her that, too.
She was sure she resembled a cooked lobster by now.
Next up on the list is a small Whyatt/Red ficlet that I’ve been working on. I’ve titled it “Sweet Victory”. And I totally wasn’t thinking of that song, lol XD
Also, flustered Whyatt is always a treat XD
"Whyatt, that's enough chocolate for four people!" She started.
"I know, but I'm gonna share it!" he said. "Please, Mom? I've gotta have it!"
"You do, huh?" Ever the cautious skeptic, Mrs. Beanstalk gave her son a pointed look. "And just what are you buying this chocolate for?"
At that question, Whyatt looked away shyly. "Um...it's for someone special."
That gave Pig pause. Poppa Pig looked at him with one eyebrow raised, an odd look in his eye.
Compared to her earlier demeanor, Mrs. Beanstalk looked absolutely surprised.
"Someone special?" A glint of joy appeared in his mom's eye, and her lips quirked into a smile. "Is it a girl?"
Whyatt looked up so fast, Pig thought his head would fly loose from his neck. "Wha-NO! No way!" he said, shaking his head emphatically, but then paused. "Well, it is for a girl, but she's just a friend, Mom!"
"Mmhmm."
"No, really! It's nothing like that," he said quickly. "I-I just wanted to get her something really nice for her birthday, and I figured she'd like it..."
"It seems you've got a bit of a crush, Why."
"Wha-no I don't!" Whyatt argued, although his face was certainly arguing otherwise. It was turning as red as the candy he was holding.
My last one is a cute little piece that I’ve been working on since earlier this week, for Walden/Widget. @mooshieblue got me back into the pair ^^ The title of this fic is so light-novel esque it deserves an anime adaptation: The Science of Love (Side Note: It Doesn’t Make Much Sense)
"So, ya got anybody in mind?"
"Hmm..." He scratched his chin in thought. The idea of romance was, and still is, a bit of a mystery to him. In fact, while he could deduct it for others, imagining himself having a crush or some other romantic feelings for someone was unthinkable. He wasn't even sure if he could answer her question.
In fact, he was just about to tell her that...when his mind came up with an answer.
You.
His eyes widened.
I like you a lot more than a friend.
His chest suddenly felt tight at the revelation. Where in world had come from?
I've thought about you so much it's driving me crazy.
"My, my, my..." was all he could say as the revelation came clear to him.
"Helloooo? Earth ta Walden, do ya copy?" The smell of machine oil flitted through his nostrils, courtesy of her waving her hand in front of his face. He blinked, snapping out of his reverie. He looked up to see her green eyes narrowed quizzically at him. "Ya spaced out on me for a second there."
"O-Oh. Sorry about that, Widget. I-I, uh...I guess I put a little too much thought into that question."
"As always." She leaned back against the wall with a small smirk. "But ya think you got an answer?"
His mind betrayed him, and the realization made his face heat up to an absurd degree. Like, "center of the sun" degree.
"...I-I'd rather not say..."
—
If I have any more fluffy romantic stuff, I’ll post them accordingly ^^
But I want to know your thoughts! Which fics are you interested in seeing?
And if anyone leaves any hate, I’ll just use the flames to whip up some more stories for ‘em ^^
#fan fic writing#zula patrol#the zula patrol#wow wow wubbzy#super why#Multo/Zeeter#Walden/Widget#super why x wonder red#poll
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State of the Galaxy. [midnightspxce]
A quick State of the Galaxy post. Probably will be updated as these stories progress, but I’ve noticed while rereading I keep assuming people know things already from my shitposts and have gained telepathy but that’s not always the truth. Kind of my own ‘Canon Defiance’, because I take canon and yank it to how I like it. If you’d like to pull any head canons on timelines or ages of canon characters, feel free to. This was kind of a passion project of mine because once I get involved in something, I get involved.
I also am horrible at remembering ages. This is as much for you, the reader, as for me, the author.
If you don’t want to read this whole mess, here’s the timeline I reference a lot. I defy it all the time and twist and turn it into what I want, but anyways. Same thing with ages of companions here.
SHADOW OF THE SITH -
In this story, the first canon defiance you’ll notice is that in-between the beginning and end of the vanilla story is two years, instead of the widely accepted three. Well, for most characters. Then there’s another year to Assault on Tython/Korriban Incursion, or Chapters 1 + 2 of Shadow of the Sith (13 ATC). As mentioned in the book, there’s another two years in between then to Shadow of Revan, which is Chapters 3-12 (15 ATC). Ziost takes place months after that, currently Chapters 13-16 (to be updated). Just after Ziost comes the first chapter of Knights of the Fallen Empire. Five years passes (20 ATC), and then there is a two year period of the expansion there (22 ATC). Another year passes to Knights of the Eternal Throne (23 ATC) A year passes to the end of Nathema (24 ATC). Another two years passes to the end of Onslaught (26 ATC). This is all subject to change because I’m kind of horrible about sticking to a timeline (and with Onslaught so far in the future of the story nothing is set in stone), but it will be updated if I change my mind.
Now, I’ve deduced there are sixteen years in between the vanilla story and the end of Onslaught. Because of this, here are the ages of both OCs currently mentioned in the story and some canon characters. You can skip this if you don’t care.
Major Characters -
Tri’ama Amarillis - 20 (10 ATC - Vanilla Game), 36 (26 ATC - Onslaught)
Naji Iresso - 20 (10 ATC), 36 (26 ATC)
Mierrio Revel - 21 (10 ATC), 37 (26 ATC)
Whyatt Grace - 19 (10 ATC), 35 (26 ATC)
Dhyndre Djaal - 17 (10 ATC), 33 (26 ATC)
Khaak Beniko - 28 (10 ATC), 44 (26 ATC)
Ba’shira Cadera - 18 (10 ATC), 34 (26 ATC)
J’nell Wryen - 40 (10 ATC), 56 (26 ATC)
Khelan Hyllus - 29 (10 ATC), 45 (26 ATC)
Hakiojkl Jorgan - 30 (10 ATC), 46 (26 ATC)
Minor Characters [ + mentions] -
Raegia Amarillis - 50 (10 ATC), 66 (26 ATC)
Yusaits Amarillis - 57 (10 ATC), 73 (26 ATC)
Typarnk Amarillis - 24 (10 ATC), 40 (26 ATC)
Scorvs Amarillis - 26 (10 ATC), 42 (26 ATC)
Kadasha Amarillis - 17 (10 ATC), 33 (26 ATC)
Bisauur Sae - 18 (10 ATC), 34 (26 ATC)
Vza’haria Atiya - 35 (10 ATC), 51 (26 ATC)
Jaak’lo Khethak - 27 (10 ATC), 43 (26 ATC)
Synntai Pakar - 24 (10 ATC), 40 (26 ATC)
Ryean Wystern - 26 (10 ATC), 42 (26 ATC)
Xev’heng Lumere - 31 (10 ATC), 47 (26 ATC)
Xalzon Dajev - 43 (10 ATC; deceased)
Weit’hara’jel - 44 (10 ATC), 60 (26 ATC)
Weit’axis’ion - 23 (10 ATC), 39 (26 ATC)
Zhonani Zaares - 26 (10 ATC), 42 (26 ATC)
Aethree Zaares - 27 (10 ATC), 43 (26 ATC)
Canon Characters -
Theron Shan - 22 (10 ATC), 38 (26 ATC) [tbd]*
Lana Beniko - 27 (10 ATC), 43 (26 ATC) [tbd]*
Andronikos Revel - 34 (10 ATC), 50 (26 ATC)
Malavai Quinn - 34 (10 ATC), 50 (26 ATC)
Felix Iresso - 29 (10 ATC), 45 (26 ATC)
Torian Cadera - 19 (10 ATC), 35 (26 ATC)
Vector Hyllus - 31 (10 ATC), 47 (26 ATC)
Aric Jorgan - 30 (10 ATC), 46 (26 ATC)
Zenith - 34 (10 ATC), 50 (26 ATC)
All of these ages, beyond my OCs, are just speculation at the moment. Especially *Theron and Lana (I remember seeing someone assume she was fifty-ish and their reasoning made sense so if I find it again I’ll link it here), because their ages are all over the place through the fandom. Also did anyone notice that all the men are so damn old compared to where most PCs are head canoned as? Except for maybe the force blind classes, all the force users are assumed to be pretty young, like in the 18-25 range. Andronikos, Quinn, Iresso, I’m looking at ya’ll. And Zenith. He can’t be romanced in-game, but Bis was 18 in 10 ATC, and he’s assumed to be 30-40. If anyone intends to cancel me over this in the future, in my defense, I always headcanon my characters young. Not to put this all on Bioware -- but to put this all on Bioware.
SHAN -
Shan, while relatively new, is still probably one of the most solid timelines I’ve had thus far. There’s not too much canon defiance here, only that instead of two years like in Shadow of the Sith, Shan has three years for Lexulle’s class story (13 ATC). Then there’s a year to Shadow of Revan hits in 14 ATC. Lexulle has Malcom late 14 ATC, another two, nearly three years passes to early 17 ATC, which is where they are now at the beginning of Knights of the Fallen Empire. After that (22 ATC), Knights of the Fallen Empire, Knights of the Eternal Throne and the traitor arc take place over the course of about three years respectively (25 ATC). A year passes through Jedi Under Siege and Onslaught (26 ATC).
There are sixteen years in between the beginning of the game and Onslaught.
Characters:
Lexulle Kallig - 22 (10 ATC), 38 (26 ATC)
Malcom Kallig-Shan - 0 (14 ATC), 12 (26 ATC)
Andronikos Revel - 32 (10 ATC), 48 (26 ATC)
Theron Shan - 23 (10 ATC), 39 (36 ATC)*
*As always, I will eternally struggle with Theron’s age.
WHAT WE LOST IN THE FIRE -
This one. Is the bane of my existence at the moment. It’s a bit of a struggle because the main part of story, or at least the part that is a big part of the first arc takes place before the main story. Figuring that out while keeping mind of Andronikos and Mierrio’s ages was definitely a fun challenge. Andronikos and Mierrio had Corsha in 7 BTC, making him 20 and her 21. Skip forward nearly a decade to Shadow Of Revan/Ziost (16 ATC), which is actually on par with the SWTOR timeline. Kind of. Five years forward to her unfreezing in carbonite (21 ATC). After that it should follow the sort of official timeline, three years from then to the traitor arc (24 ATC).
There are fourteen years in between the beginning of the game and Onslaught.
Characters:
Corsha Revel-Kallig - 17 (10 ATC), 31 (24 ATC)
Koth Vortena - 28 (10 ATC), 42 (24 ATC)*
Andronikos Revel - 38 (10 ATC), 52 (24 ATC)
Mierrio Andeyr - 39 (10 ATC), 53 (24 ATC)
*Bioware. Really. I know Corsha is aged down pretty far compared to my average quizzy (20-24), but even so he’s still so OLD compared any force sensitive class I personally head canon. I even aged him down six years compared to the guide I found and he’s still almost a decade older than her.
These are all just my own personal headcanons for the expansions, not at all to be taken as canon unless you’d like it for your own stories. I do not see how realistically they managed to to shove all of this into their arbitrary thirteen years between the vanilla story and the end of Onslaught but I choose to defy canon at the moment. I love the writers, I really do, but why are all my male love interests a decade+ older than my characters?
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What a Way to Wind Up a Career
THIS is a feature of mine that appeared in Non-League Football magazine in January, 1991. Got me in trouble with the Curzon president Maurice Rubin because the intro the mag added:
“One of football’s unsung local heroes, Alan Sykes, enjoyed 18 years at Curzon Ashton. Mike Pavasovic pays tribute to his loyalty and football ability which have been appreciated by all in the area. Sadly his club do not award testimonials but at least this feature will highlight the career of a superb clubman.”
Even though the words weren’t mine, Maurice thought I was having a go at the club because of the line about the lack of testimonials and he sought me out in the stand to make his feelings known.
However, my abiding memory of Maurice is his Roller parked up among all the other cars behind the Katherine Street goal at National Park. Somehow the ball never hit it.
WHEN Alan Sykes retired in May, 1990, it was fitting that he did so in true Roy of the Rovers style. After 18 years’ loyal service to one club, he signed off by scoring the goals that won Curzon Ashton the Manchester Premier Cup.
The script couldn’t have been better written if it had been intended for a boys’ comic. Sykes, who had made only a handful of appearances all season, suddenly found that injuries and suspensions (and no doubt the barmy eligibility rules the competition had in those days) meant he was included in the squad to take on Salford City at Old Trafford.
When the day came he was named as one of the substitutes. He was by no mans certain to get a game but that was of no consequence – it was enough simply having the chance to walk on to the turf graced by his boyhood heroes Best, Law and Charlton. However, it got better.
Not only was 37-year-old Alan brought on to play, he made it 1-1 just as things were looking grim. A goal at Old Trafford. It was a finale beyond belief.
Had his days as a footballer ended there and then Alan would not have complained. But somebody up there liked him and the fairytale took another twist. Against all his expectations he was named in the starting line-up for the replay at Droylsden.
Things were to get even better, although it didn’t seem like it at half time when the score was 1-1. Alan took off his boots, waiting to be substituted, but much to his surprise manager Steve Waywell told him to go back out. He did so — and scored a hat-trick.
Hardly an appearance all season and suddenly Old Trafford, a cup medal and four goals. What a way to wind up a career.
In many ways his performance was a victory for the bread-and-butter footballers who make up the vast majority of the game. Even at non-league level there are those who can boast of Wembley and international appearances. Alan Sykes brought his playing days to an end with such style he struck a blow for those thousands who toil year-in, year-out, with so little reward in the way of headlines.
However, that’s not to suggest that Sykesy was ever lacking in talent. In 604 appearances for Curzon he scored 234 goals and they were at all levels. Having joined them in their Manchester League days he continued to perform successfully in the Cheshire, North West Counties and Northern Premier leagues.
If Alan Sykes is remembered for one thing in particular it must surely be his unswerving loyalty to Curzon Ashton. He vehemently rejects the claims so many people make that he stayed at National Park because he lacked ambition.
“The fact it, there were never any offers,” he recalled. “You can’t decide decided yourself where you ant to go and no other non-league clubs came in for me. It’s not as though Hyde United ever came and said we’ll give you so much money to leave Curzon.
“On the other hand, after such a long time at a club you do develop a strong sense of loyalty. It’s harder to leave because you become almost like part of the furniture.
“Another point is that although players never made any money at Curzon in my day, they were well looked after in other ways. When I was at Huddersfield Polytechnic they used to drive over the Pennines to pick me up for matches. Another time, when I was doing industrial training in Barnsley, they paid for me to take a taxi to an evening game in Ashton.”
Actually, Sykes was linked with various Football League clubs in his teens but the best he managed was an appearance for Wrexham reserves against Tranmere. He spent a week at the Racecourse Ground rubbing shoulders with the likes of Micky Thomas and Arfon Griffiths but the Welsh club never got back to him. Other clubs to show interest were Stockport County, Oldham Athletic and Sheffield United.
Curiously, Alan’s career as a footballer has often run parallel to my own in journalism, and when our paths have crossed it has usually been an occasion of note.
I first heard of him when I was an 11-year-old in my first week at Hyde Grammar School. He may have dreamed that he’s play at Old Trafford one day but I never imagined I’d be writing about it.
Getting to know a new class, the legendary Fred Whyatt, then head of PE and games, found the name Brian Sykes on his list. “Are you related to Alan Sykes?” Fred inquired. “Yes, he’s my cousin,” Brian replied. “Well,” said Fred, “if you’re anything like him you’ll be a brilliant footballer.”
It’s an opinion to which Fred, now retired and a director of Hyde United, still adheres. He commented recently: “Of all the lads I dealt with in my 30 years at Hyde Grammar School, Alan Sykes was the best footballer. I’ll never know why he didn’t make it into the Football League.”
That was the end of my encounters with Alan for several years. While I got down to exams, he went on to play for Cheshire, British Polytechnics, Manchester County FA and then Curzon.
We met each other again in October, 1981, when Curzon visited Hyde United, who were then running away with the Cheshire League championship, and beat them 5-4.
By 1988 I was sports editor for the Ashton Reporter Group and covering Curzon on a regular basis. Alan was on the way back from one of a series of bad injuries which had such an adverse effect on the latter years of his career.
He was brought back for an FA Vase preliminary round tie at Staffordshire side Meir KA. He responded by scoring both goals in a 2-1 win.
This feat was not just a tribute to his enduring skill, but to his guts in coming back from an injury and in particular from a knee injury that had sidelined him for 18 months.
Two years later it was that famous night at Old Trafford. Revelling in Manchester United’s hospitality and never before encountered comfort of a seat in the directors’ box I have to admit that I quite unprofessionally leaped up with the rest when Sykesy scored.
The moment was at once exhilarating and amusing because in front of me a row of six or seven other people were on their feet. After an initial cheer they turned to me as one and shouted: “make sure you get his name in your pad.”
It was Alan’s family, another major pillar of his career. Alan has always been able to count on the backing and encouragement of his family and particularly of his “famous” father Jim.
Obviously, when asked to name his most memorable match Sykesy automatically recounts the Old Trafford story but there’s a couple of other games.
In 1980, Curzon, then in the Cheshire League, reached the semi-finals of the FA Vase, losing to Stamford. Not long afterwards, a special game was arranged to celebrate the opening of National Park’s Maurice Rubin Clubhouse. They took on Stockport County, but with a special guest — Bobby Charlton. The programme showing Alan’s name next to that of the Manchester United and England star is one of his most treasured possessions.
Six months into his retirement, Sykesy remains as passionate about the game as ever. He has stayed on at National Park as treasurer and is hoping to become an FA coach.
Looking back, he sees the biggest changes as the establishment of the Pyramid, which certainly blew apart the non-league status quo in Tameside, and the increasing importance of money with football.
He explained: “I don’t think the game has improved since 1972, but money’s playing a bigger part at all levels. I think it’s sad clubs like Curzon can’t really compete with the sums others pay. We lose players because other clubs offer the money. I suppose that’s human nature.
Perhaps the last word should go to Curzon Ashton chairman Harry Twamley who travelled to Alan’s Hyde home with fellow committee man Pete Booth to sign him in 1972.
He said: “Alan was written off many times but he always came back. He had three bad injuries after 30 but battled back to fitness every time and against the odds.
“What Alan achieved speaks volumes for his character and dedication. People thought he was finished when our reserve team was wound up but he proved them wrong and went on to score at Old Trafford.
“I can’t speak highly enough of him as a player or as a character. I hope he will spend many more years with Curzon Ashton as a committee member.
“When I think about it, the best thing w ever did at Curzon was when we went to Alan’s house in 1972.”
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Super Why - Azure Tempest
Azure flames forge a weapon whose might is unmatched, whose light carves a path through the crushing darkness. Second Style, Azure Tempest, descends onto the battlefield.
Chaos’ attack on the fairytale world upended many lives and revealed many truths, some of which were meant to be hidden, and some which were cleverly disguised. One such truth would greatly affect Whyatt Beanstalk, a seemingly normal boy who had a love of reading, who discovered his true power during the fight against Chaos—within his “power to read” and ability to change stories, he had the power to alter reality with the stroke of a pen, a power that he had been using for years without thinking about it. Such power existed in his predecessor, Jackson Flatts, who thanks to Chaos became corrupted and fell from grace. The possibility of becoming another Jackson was one that loomed over the young boy’s heart and mind during the fight and for weeks afterwards. It led to him turning down the Sword of Sealing, arguably the most powerful weapon in the world—though he initially did this as part of a test from his mentor, Jeremiah, he didn’t want this to become a reality. And even after rejecting it and giving his reasons for it, still, he wondered—was he really so different from Jackson? Would he be able to forge a path of his own choosing, or will he fall to the same fate, to be a plaything for beings with cruel intentions?
An excursion in Major Land would lead to him finding his answer, as working closely with Jackson and Lexicon to restore an old story would lead to both a renewal of an old mission, and the discovery of a new power, one that resonated closely with his heart. Though the trial to obtain it was difficult and exposed his demons, Whyatt overcame the trial and, with Jeremiah’s blessing, inherited the flame. Indeed, this Second Style can be seen as an answer to that oft-asked question in his heart. It is a perfect mix of past and present, of hopes past and future ambitions. It is a perfect mix of dark and light, a fighting style that is as effective and destructive as it is beautiful and awe-inspiring. It is a perfect mix of old and new, a shared mission between two Super Readers, which he refuses to let go of as he takes to the field: “I will use this power to protect those I love, and change these sad tales into happy ones.”
The Wielder of the Azure Flame refuses to rest in the face of injustice. His flame with carve the way through the inky darkness.
—
OK, so I wasn’t expecting to work on Whyatt’s so soon, but here we are!
I worked on this during my vacation, and got this done in like three days, compared to Presto’s, which took a whole week and a half, lol. His costume was going to be much simpler than this, but I figured it’d be kinda boring. So, going against the original rules I had in the story and the initial description from the first post I made about Second Styles, I decided to give him armor on his legs and arms because I felt it’d make it pop, and I was right! As stated, the color scheme for his Second Style came about from playing Honkai Impact 3rd; specifically, Palatinus Equinox was a key inspiration, but elements of Herrscher of Flamescion ended up in this suit as well, namely the cape. It looks AWESOME and is definitely my favorite part of the drawing. He and Alpha Pig do keep the original body of their costumes, but get additional armor pieces to add on to it.
His hair was a bit tricky to pull off since it’s stringy in the show itself, but poorly seen in cartoon drawings of him (like on the original version of the PBS website), but I think I did pretty good! The flames could use a bit of work though, but I did alright for including them in! Oh, and I did have fun coloring his skin in. The cartoon drawings of him almost ALWAYS lightens him, which I think is kinda messed up. I think this does him justice ^^
Some folks said he certainly looks sure of himself, which is just the look I was going for. ^^ He does get a boost in smack talk when fighting against Material-D after activating it and kinda goes full-on HoFin/Durandal on the battlefield, so that helps too XD
Last note—while I was doodling this at work, the same coworker who thought Princess Presto was scary legit thought he was from TEAM UMIZOOMI. I AM NOW DECEASED. XD
I hope you guys like this as much as I loved drawing it!
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SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 8
Fair warning, this chapter is primarily exposition because I haven't had many Naji focused chapters. She's not a side character, and deserves some character building just as much as Tri'ama does. It doesn't pertain too much to the story in the end, but some cute Felix/Naji moments in there too.
-
NAJI._YAVIN_IV.
The coalition's atmosphere is strained midst the rains of Yavin. Heavily strained. Whether it's because Darth Marr and Satele have two opposing views on how to best deal with Revan that they hide under diplomatic insults, the little glances here and there that Theron and the Wrath keep sharing but then denying one another, Darth Nox's unneeded strategic thoughts that would surely get them all killed and Whyatt's need to be anywhere but here, Naji is very sure that the coalition is not getting off on the right foot.
Personally, she thinks Yavin should've only consisted of the four that had met on Manaan. At least it would've been a great deal calmer, and figures more would've gotten done by now. She appreciated Whyatt's hand in the war against the Revanites, the Defender of Tython was calmer and more composed than that of Nox, but he was also young, barely 22. He'd just dealt with the Emperor's Voice alongside the Hero of Tython, Tonee Atiya, and had been unceremoniously swept up into the Revanite business nearly immediately afterwards when Tonee had disappeared without a trace. The poor boy was still reeling from the loss of his Master. He had better relations with Satele than most of them did (bitterly she remembers Theron is her son, but Whyatt had known her a great deal longer than the SIS agent had), and she would pay good money to see them fighting together. They had similar strategic ideas and talked throughout the entire meeting as if they were one and the same (meekly Naji added her own from their excursion on Rishi), though curiously Theron stayed quiet on their side of the meeting except for small additions here and there.
Nox and Marr, stars they were very similar. Where the woman had met the Sith lord, she isn't sure and is afraid to ask of how they'd become aligned on this mission. Darth Nox (or as they were introduced, Mierrio Revel-Kallig) is extremely pale, her narrow eyes a shade of yellow she had yet to see from even the Wrath, and the cold, calculating way she glances at Naji gives her the chills. Dark hair accentuated with gold hair clips frame her high cheekbones, and she wears black robes. A tight-black flight suit with a gold belt and black robe over her arms, the woman carries a lavender doublesaber at her hip, purple lightning crackling at her fingertips. Nox is high class, she won't deny her that.
At least Lana seemed sure-footed here, adding in where she could. Lana was in her element among the other Sith, sending their forces wherever need be to accomplish the mission at hand. The three worked like a well-oiled machine until they clashed with the Republic. Then, it was all out war at the table, insults being thrown, basically fighting but the kind you did with eloquent words instead of yelling.
Tri'ama, though, was very clearly conflicted with Theron (she also bickers with Nox, and it's not friendly from what she's overheard). It was written all over her presence, though most of it was covered by a black hood and her respirator. The woman was constantly shifting, pacing around her side of the table as she silently observed. Every once in a while she lifts her head to where Theron was working, datapad in hand. Then, glance back down at the table as if she wasn't thinking about him. Theron would then do the same, fingers stilling on the datapad as he wistfully (that's too pretty a word for what's going on here, but it would have to do for the time being) looks at her when she isn't looking at him. Naji has a lot of questions, such as what had happened in between Rishi and now to have caused such behavior. Though she's sure they didn't so much as suspect, she had been privy to emotions that made her shiver to her core. The Consular wasn't as blind as the Wrath made her out to be. No one just blindly rushed into enemy lines to rescue someone they didn't care about personally. No one stuck around a planet they admitted to despising for someone they hated. There's longing written all over her force signature, even if she runs into a wall trying to delve deeper. Theron's more careful with his thoughts, and she isn't so much as able to to even find a single emotion more than annoyance.
Maybe she's just reading the room wrong. Maybe they were trying to avoid suspicion by Satele or something or the other, putting up a front. It wasn't her business to be prying into their...relationship. Whatever Theron and Tri'ama wanted to get up to was all on them. She had bigger concerns. She wouldn't go as far as to say she wasn't even a tad bit concerned about the two though, and her conversation with Theron over her holocom while she and Tri'ama were putting up sensors confirmed that something was amiss. With Tri'ama or with Lana, she didn't ask. The fact he'd wanted her to slice into the sensor and spy on the Empire was unsettling, if she's being honest. It didn't mean she didn't assist him though, but she regrets it now. Hopefully none of their extremely important secrets became privy to the Republic.
This isn't your mystery to solve (as frustrating as it is), she reminds herself while watching the Wrath hack at a Yavin beast from afar with increasing fury as it refuses to bow down to her or even attempt to run, zoning out as Theron asks her a question she doesn't catch, They're both adults, and you barely know them as it is.
"What're you thinking about?" Felix asks, dressed down, as she opens her eyes from meditation. Not a deep one, not enough to be startled by his arrival, but she's still a little disoriented as her eyes refocus on her bedroom. Everything with Revan was throwing her off and real meditation had been hard to come by for months now. To say her mind was like the holonet would be an understatement - it wouldn't shut off no matter what she did.
"Everything. And surprisingly, nothing." She answers, taking his hand to pull herself up from her meditation mat. Her hair is still damp from being out in Yavin's wildlife (though she'd blow dried it when she returned), but unlike most other soldiers, she was lucky enough to return to the Polaris for her downtime. It's warmer than the jungle, and more importantly it has her crew on it. Zenith and Bisauur have returned from Balmorra, she and Nadia have been more in tune than ever, Tharan has been tinkering away for days in the cargo hold with a promising project, and Qyzen is back from his hunt, "I was only waiting on you to return."
Felix, oh her darling Felix is back in her arms. All is right in the world again, and his soft kisses are worth all the time she spends fighting the ancient evil. All she can do these days is wait impatiently until she can return home. It's out of place in the middle of their campaign, but the crew of the Polaris will always stay with her long enough to watch a silly holo and get the responsibilities of the day prior off her shoulders. Felix is always there until she wakes up, his auburn eyes always twinkling whenever he sees her as they lie in bed, tangled in each other's arms. Somedays, she laughs to herself, it's too cold to leave his embrace early in the morning, though she dealt with much worse when she first met him, "Don't push yourself too hard out there." Felix reminds her when she eventually pulls away from him, a smile on his face, "Won't have any strength left to deal with everything else."
"Might as well be a Jedi with that astute observation." She smiles, and he chuckles at her joke, "And you know I don't push myself anymore than need be, the Sith make me."
"Don't like them?" He asks as she makes to pull her robes off and put them away neatly into their shared storage locker. She raises as a quizzical eyebrow, Felix knows the answer to that question better than anyone after everything they'd been through, and it's a resounding no, "Thought we were supposed to be working with them."
"I never said I wasn't going to. Simply that I found myself being continually annoyed by the Sith and their shenanigans." Naji has a hard time getting her hands back to the zipper keeping her undersuit in place as she says this with disdain, upper arms sore from the fighting earlier in the day, but Felix is quick to pull it down for her with practiced ease. She leans into his warm touch and sighs. He's effectively distracting her from pulling it off by hugging her around the waist and laying his chin down on her shoulder, "Nox especially. She's tormenting Whyatt, trying to scare the Force out of him and off the planet. I don't know what Satele was thinking, bringing him onboard this mission."
"The Defender of Tython, Whyatt Grace?" Felix asks, letting her go as she softly struggles out of his grip with a grin as she slips a t-shirt on, shimmying into a pair of relaxed leggings and out of her boots. Felix didn't often remember the Jedi she kept as company, and she's grateful that Whyatt was among the ones he did. He'd tries so much to understand the Jedi side of her life, and she's more than happy he didn't brush it off in favor of ignorant bliss, "Wasn't he just recognized for defeating the Emperor?"
"His Voice. Not the actual Emperor, that's the one we're chasing down here on Yavin. Poor kid's been through more than I have, and he needs a break before he literally breaks. Satele, I think, brought him out of spite because word was that Darth Nox was arriving to fight the Emperor alongside the Wrath and it would've left the Republic always in the favor of the Empire's choices. I understand some of her reasoning, but Master Catharii would've been a better choice."
"The Miraluka we met back on Voss?" The man had been a curious, temporary, addition to the crew to help with other matters within the Rift Alliance while she hunted down the Children of the Emperor. Catharii (preferred Cat) was a few years older than she was, and more knowledgeable about a lot of things. He didn't laugh when she asked questions, and in fact continued to tutor her even after Syo had been returned to Tython to be rehabilitated. Naji appreciated his mentorship, and she nods in response with a wistful look in her eyes, "Suppose he'd be better than a Jedi who needs therapy."
"He'd be more willing as well. I don't know the full extent of Nox's powers yet, and while Whyatt is extremely powerful, a more experienced Jedi would be the better option here." She sighs, flopping back onto the bed unceremoniously, Felix giving her a knowing look and crawling in beside her after shucking off his boots, "It seems like there's so much to do. I should be able to do it all, keeping a least a small sense of balance between these factions. I ran the Rift Alliance, it feels like it shouldn't be all that different. I should be able to keep them in check and stay the diplomat. But still, they bicker and bicker and bicker over old politics and I'm afraid Revan's going to hunt us down himself if nothing gets done."
Felix is quiet for a moment as she thinks to herself. He takes her hand in his as she curls into him, pressed up against him as her mind slows its panic, "Naj. You can't take the galaxy on without help. Yes, you helped the Rift Alliance, but don't forget that you needed help yourself. I remember you'd been so stressed, running all over the place trying to make everyone happy. I admired you not because you tried keeping everything together for so long, but because you put your heart and soul into it. You cared so much for people you didn't even know, tried to get me, Zenith and Nadia settled in even though you didn't know us." He brushes a curl of hair away from her face, his warm palm pressed against her cheek, "Maybe this is on a bigger scale. I can't say, 'just accept help' because I know it doesn't come easy to you. Just, maybe don't forget that there are people who want to help you with this. Like the man you married years ago."
A grin crosses Naji's lips by the small reference to their marriage on Tython. Felix is right, and he's been her biggest supporter even through the darkest of times. Not everything is her responsibility, but it doesn't mean she doesn't still struggle with it. At the best of times, it feels like her hands stop shaking for a few moments and she can enjoy the quiet, but at the worst of times she can't be around other people without feeling like a disappointment. Naji had always been an anxious child before she'd arrived on the Jedi homeworld, but it was increased by the trials being cut early (Naji worried she wouldn't be taught enough to be worth much), her Master nearly dying (Naji worried she would die and then she'd be alone all over again), the fate of the other Jedi resting on her shoulders as she hunted down Parkanas (Naji worried she would fail and the Jedi would fall), the rise of the Rift Alliance (Naji worried that though she'd been raised a diplomat, that she'd ultimately fail because she wasn't a people person), and the hunting of the Children of The Emperor (Naji worried she wouldn't be able to find them all before they wreaked havoc on the galaxy).
Meditation with Nadia always seemed to help (though at first Naji believed she was only putting her anxiety onto another person; it wasn't), the occasional therapeutic conversation with Zenith (he was good company and offered good advice), and of course, spending quiet time with her husband. Her anxiety hadn't been erased, in fact her hands were shaking now as she pushes herself up to turn the lights in their room off. Naji's worried, she's always worried about something. Something going horribly wrong, someone dying because of her. It's a horrible feeling at the best of times, and she feels like she's losing herself to the void. Sometimes, she wonders if it would've been better to stay solitary and unmarried, so Felix didn't have to do his own worrying about her. It's hard not to feel like a burden to him, no matter how much he says he loves her no matter what.
She drifts off into a dreamless sleep. When she wakes again, Felix is there.
He's always there.
They get dressed together, the process slowed by small kisses here and there over the other's exposed skin. The Polaris wakens with her, caf enjoyed by all as everyone gets ready for the day's adventures. One forehead kiss for Nadia, a cheek kiss for Bisauur. Luck for Qyzen's hunt, a half hug for Tharan, a wave for Holiday, kind words for Zenith. And of course, one lingering kiss for her soldier.
-
"Theron trusted me, and I don't think he ever will again." Naji is about to leave the staging area to head out into the troop encampment, when she can overhear the Sith Lord talking to someone. It's not her business, as she's found most things tend not to be when dealing with the Empire and Sith, but at the risk of seeming nosy, she stands behind a tree, masks her presence, and hopes Lana won't sense her.
"I won't say what you did wasn't wrong, had he not been as strong as you knew him to be, or lapsed in his mental strength, you could've killed him, Lana. Then you'd be out a spy, and if the Wrath is as infatuated with him as you say, you would've lost her as well. Not to mention Satele." The voice isn't distinctly Imperial, in fact it sounds Republic. The other woman's voice drops from a faintly accusatory tone to a softer one, and she sighs, "But you did accomplish something that lead to victory, and it's not like he can hate you forever."
"I know you're right, but the sense of betrayal Theron must feel..." Lana's voice has a sad tone to it. It's surprising the way she talks about it, Naji had previously believed...well that Lana didn't care much for it. Then again, there's always two sides to the same coin and it seemed as if Lana didn't differ from it, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel any remorse for him after what I did."
"I know, I know. But all you can do now is try to be the best version of yourself that you can be. If, and only if, he calls on you for something, try and provide it to the best of your ability. Trust in this galaxy isn't doled out lightly, and it sounds like your agent isn't exempt from this rule either." Something crashes in the background of the connection, and the woman swears in what she thinks is fluent Huttese, "Sorry Lana, but I've gotta go. Damn ship is falling apart beneath my feet and I swear Corso is going to get himself killed one of these days..." The woman chuckles quietly, Naji can barely pick it out, "I'll see you soon, love."
"Be careful, it won't be long now." Lana answers, a smile in her voice, "Take care, love."
And with that, it's quiet as the holocom is shut off. Naji makes to leave, she's already heard more of the conversation than she intended to, before she can sense Lana's presence nearly right behind her. Naji instinctively puts her hands up in fright, whirling around to face the blonde Sith, "What are you doing here, Barsen'thor?"
"If you're wondering, I didn't hear anything. I was just going to leave, is all." Her heart is racing again, thumping beneath her rib cage as her breath grows short, "I just saw you talking to someone is all as I passed by."
Maybe because she's scared, but Naji doesn't realize at first that Lana isn't particularily upset with her. Or maybe she's calculating the best way to get away with murder. Naji's never been good at figuring out Sith.
Yes, Naji had lied about how long she'd been there and she feels bad about it, but her curiousity is also fighting for dominance. In the recesses of her mind, she wonders what kind of life Lana leads outside the coalition. She knows she worked for Arkous at some point, but after that she doesn't know much about the pragmatic Sith Lord. Should she ask? Naji hasn't shared much about her own life with Lana, and figures their already strained acquaintanceship shouldn't be tested at this very moment and holds her tongue.
"It's no one important." Lana answers, her voice a hard monotone compared to the tone she used with the woman on the holo, her stature rigid and amber eyes hardened, "Did you need something?" She asks, effectively closing off that topic to her. That's fair, yet again it wasn't her business to press for unnecessary information that didn't pertain to their mission. She hasn't yet told anyone about Felix and hers relationship (she believes Satele is the only one privy to that information), so she's not extremely pushy about finding out about the woman Lana had been talking to.
"Not at this very moment, no." Naji begins, hoping to get away from the awkward situation, before reconsidering, "Do you by any chance know what's going on with Tri'ama?"
Lana looks surprised by the question, "I don't know what you mean by that. Is there something wrong with her?"
"I...it's hard to describe. Don't you just...feel it? Feel the tension in the air? The Wrath is apprehensive about everything, and more prone to aggression than usual. It's nearly suffocating whenever I'm near her. I know it's not really your concern, being busy with everything else and all, but I thought maybe...because you both were from the same faction you'd know something." It sounds bad now that she says it, assuming all of the Imperials were conspiring with one another, but she figures if anyone knows, it's Lana. Or Vette. But Naji doesn't know Vette, she'd rather their relationship didn't start out by her asking weird questions about the Sith Lord she kept company with, "Sorry, that sounded rude." She mumbles.
Lana muses for a moment. Offense isn't taken by the way she considers the question, but she looks genuinely curious now, "I understand your concern now that I think on it. I'm not privy to the Wrath's presence, it was rather hard to detect even before now, but she has been a wild card as of late. The fury I felt the other day when you both returned from setting up the sensors..."
"It's stifling, isn't it?" Naji asks, remembering how it felt to be around her constantly. It nearly smothers her own presence, and if she's feeling strongly about something, it makes her feel as if she's seeing the world through the Wrath's eyes than her own. If the Wrath is angry about something, Naji can feel herself getting ticked off at every little thing someone does. If the Wrath is in one of her lonely moods, Naji feels her own sort of longing for her small family and stars forbid the Wrath is apprehensive about something. It only increases her anxiety tenfold. At least, until the Wrath leaves the immediate area and she can think on her own again, "Doesn't it bother you?"
"No." Lana answers, looking rather confused, "It was little more than a passing feeling I felt off of her. It's the first real emotion I've felt off of her since we landed. I'm surprised you had such a reaction to it. To put it simply, it's a tad odd you would have such an ability to sense it all, especially if it's affecting you directly."
"Oh." So it was an adverse reaction. If Lana hadn't sensed it, and was still assuming Tri'ama had shut herself off to everyone else, Naji was really going mad. There was a reason she already didn't like Yavin and quickly made a mental note to visit Tython for some cleansing when their mission was done, "Never mind then."
Lana bids her a clipped farewell. It will still be a while before she and the Wrath are due head out to the Temple to deal with the Imperial guard, and Felix is probably assisting where he can with the Republic troops in the meantime. If her husband was one thing, he was a solider at heart, and she didn't need to go distract him from what he was doing. She'd have him all to herself later anyways. Naji could wait a few hours.
As much as she doesn't want to.
Yavin is beautiful, but the Force is strong here as well. Maybe that's what's driving her and the Wrath's emotions up the wall, rather than whatever's attempting to haunt her. She wanders about the jungle nearby the staging area, picking a bright pink flower out from the bush it rested on. Its coloring is beautiful in the dim light of the rainy morning, and she'd appreciate it more if the reason for them being here wasn't so dark. It's only then that she wonders what would've happened had she not been sent to the Jedi. Naji has faint memories of growing up on a city world, though where she's unsure. Her records are locked away somewhere, and those memories are always of her mother. Blonde, piercing blue eyes that always had a joke behind them. Naji's not naive enough to not realize just how young she remembered her mother being, barely the age that she is now. Frowning, she wonders what her mother would think of her today. It had been a short three years before she was given away, but infantile memory loss hadn't affected her as badly as she'd first assumed. Her mother had been kind, a bright smile on her painted lips, always. Naji couldn't think of a moment she'd seen her frowning.
She twists the pink flower in her fingers, admiring it before deciding to put it behind her ear. The frustrated presence grows nearer, and she steels herself for the overload of emotions as the Wrath stalks nearer. Her new armor set was a surprise, fully covering her this time. All lighter armor, black. Other than wisps of blonde hair, only her amber eyes were visible on her face.
"Are we ready to head out?" Naji asks, a light grimace disguised as a smile on her face.
-
Naji is horrified for two reasons when they return to the staging area.
One, because she wonders if all Imperials are eating out the Emperor's palm like the deranged Imperial Guard. Naji personally wasn't religious, but even she can't comprehend how the Empire would've dropped so low to present themselves as willing servants of such a mad figure. She'd been so fearful she hadn't even begun to sense their presences as the three leapt on her, the Wrath, Vette and Felix. Her first thought was force shields for everyone, but Commandent Iven (as she'd learned) proved to be smarter than she gave him credit for. He'd managed to push through her other three allies and target her directly, and as crazy as he was, he was horribly aggressive. No matter how much she force cloaked herself, he'd find her again and swing at her.
The other two guards went down faster, but the others remained distracted as she tried fighting him off from a distance, picking out pieces of the old building that wouldn't crash the whole structure on them and chucking them at him to slow him down. Naji had then been cornered, and he's about to slash at her with his own saber staff. Bracing for the worst, she's surprised at the turn of events as the Wrath slides neatly into place to hold him off at the last moment, blood red sabers igniting his pale face. Naji effectively force shoves him away, and the four of them sustain mild injuries but are able to disarm him to the point they could get the Imperial guards that had rushed in to bring him back to base.
The second reason being the burning on her shoulder that she simply can not get rid of the whole ride back. It's an aching, burning pain that she can't shake no matter how much force healing she pours onto it, not even relieving the aches. It feels like it's broken, but as Felix prods over it, they both agree it's not even out of place. However, watching the Wrath closely during the heated decision of how to interrogate the former Commandent, she's favoring the same arm. The shoulder armor in question is dented past recognition, rips in the underlying fabric in some places leads Naji to believe that the Wrath had ended up in a similar situation.
But how?
Naji intends to ask once they've been dismissed from the table, but a nod from Lana to the woman in question beckons her away. Theron tells her to follow him, and she does so. A little while away, all four stand in a ragged semicircle, Felix telling he'll meet her back on the Polaris when she was done.
"Is there something wrong?" Naji asks, standing up straight and trying to roll her shoulder forward. It takes a moment for the pain subsides, but she's trying her best to keep a straight face, "Something Satele and Marr shouldn't know?"
"Wrong? How about this entire operation is unsettling." Theron responds. Clearly, the word relates to him just a little too much on a personal level right at that moment. Given, it makes sense after the most recent mission. (Tri'ama is also standing as far away from him as she can get, an odd choice out of sight of everyone else.)
"According to Iven, there's a device inside the temple they had hoped to use to bring the Emperor back." Lana fills in. Even she sounds disturbed, and Naji's wondering if her chills are justified now. The Emperor is on Yavin anyways, the Republic's...the Jedi's age old enemy. The atmosphere even is beginning to invade her senses, and it's not a welcome feeling, "It's a weapon designed to eradicate all living things on the moon, save for those safely inside the temple."
"Oh, I should like to see that! Just imagine!" C2-D4 sarcastically says, eyes blinking ominously in the darkness. The droid has one thing going for it, and that's a mind of it's own. How had Jakarro managed to come across such a complex droid?
"D4. Button it." Theron responds, mirroring what she's sure everyone present is thinking themselves. Consequently, the droid doesn't respond.
"The device appears to be Sith in origin. That's how the Emperor knew about it; why he chose to retreat to Yavin IV." Lana continues, ignoring the droid and Theron. Damn these Sith and all their apoctalyptic weapons, hellbent on destroying the galaxy as they all knew it.
"Iven's team was going to activate the device; use the loss of life to restore the Emperor." Tri'ama fills in, her uninjured arm on her hip, "Blazes, does no one see the how the galaxy will be destroyed if we keep letting the Emperor get away with these things?"
"I can assure you, some of us do." Lana says, "But yes, and now Revan plans to use it for the same purpose. If we can't stop him, we're all dead." Her voice quiets, lowering her eyes from the rest of the group. That message sinks in fast, Lana's right (as she's typically proven to be since Naji met her). If it wasn't urgent before, it is now. And Jakarro airs the same sentiment.
"Then let's get moving." Tri'ama nearly growls, readjusting her shoulder, "What's holding us back?"
"Weapons? Other necessary resources? A plan?" Naji questions, an eyebrow raised, and the Wrath's eyes swivel to meet hers in annoyance. Naji holds herself back from asking her if she's right or not -- because she is. Later she realizes that her sarcastic response is partially her own annoyance with the Wrath and her violent tendencies, and partially because the Wrath is having another one of her moments that overloads Naji's senses.
"Iven clued us in on a series of complex locks that will get us access to the temple. They're our next objective." Theron informs them. He seems to dismiss them all for a moment, an intangible objective hanging above them all before he sighs, "Lana, Jakarro. Would you mind, we won't be a more than a minute."
Lana doesn't need a second request, and C2-D4 says something else, Jakarro with an annoyed response. Tri'ama hangs back, arms crossed with a pained expression in her eyes. Theron watches Naji for a moment, Tri'ama just as surprised as she makes to heal her shoulder. It's reciprocated well, the tension flowing out of the Wrath's arm as Naji guides it back into place, "Be careful next time, won't you?"
The Wrath has a sort of confused look in her eyes, before nodding. Naji leaves.
-
BONUS: Theron.
"Look, I know we're not exactly on good terms right now." Theron starts. He's nervous, he'll admit that. Tri'ama has been effectively ignoring him since she arrived on Yavin, and her radio silence is eating at him inside out, "And before you say you know, I know that."
Deep breaths Shan, you're only talking to the Sith Lord who broke you both up before anything got started.
"My line of work, you stare death in the face pretty much all the time. I'm sure you do too." He starts, and she has a look in her eyes that says 'get to the point'. "I'm not in tune with the Force at all, but I don't have to be to feel it: if we can't stop the Revanites, that's over. Everything."
He's genuinely worried for her safety. Yes, she's strong in the Force and to boot, the Emperor's Wrath. But something in her eyes makes him want to take her in his arms and remind her everything is going to be okay.
She considers him for a moment, as if she doesn't understand what he's saying. Tri'ama sighs though, unable to look him in the eyes, "I'm strong enough in the Force for both of us. Revan and his misguided followers don't stand a chance."
"That's what I like to hear. Try not to die, okay? It'd be nice to see you again." He says, falling back into old bantering habits without even realizing it. He immediatly regrets it, and Tri'ama doesn't hide her surprise well, but is quick to turn away from him, black cape flowing behind her without even a response.
Later though, he receives an email late into the night from her reading, "And in the end, I will seek you out among the stars." without anything to follow it up or explain her true intentions. It quickly takes over his thoughts, and he can barely manage to get to sleep that night, still thinking about the woman clothed in black that he'd become infatuated with. Does she still value him? Does she even like him right now?
How had things with Captain Quinn gone?, he finds himself wondering as he turns over.
Great Shan, you managed to get the attention of a cryptic Sith Lord.
#swtor#star wars the old republic#star wars#swtor fanfiction#fanfiction#theron shan#lana beniko#naji iresso#mivonie cadera#mivonie wryen#mivonie iresso#mellena shan#mellena wryen#mellena cadera#darth tri'ama amarillis-quinn#darth amarillis-quinn#tri'ama amarillis-quinn#tri'ama shan#female sith warrior/theron shan#female jedi consular/felix iresso#felix iresso#mierrio revel#whyatt grace#male jedi knight#female sith inquisitor#forged alliances#shadow of revan
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SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 9
i said ‘hey 7k sounds like a good place to stop.’ but because i got expository again, i decided ‘hey lets add another 3.4k words to this mess so no one feels like they’re getting cheated out of a story!’ so here’s 10k words of a badass deciding she isn’t taking shit from anyone anymore.
disclaimer: i don’t hate quinn, tri’ama does.
inspiration : cosmic love, florence + the machine.
-
TRI'AMA._YAVIN_IV.
Another Revanite seizes up before the woman, a grin on the Inquisitor's face, strands of wet hair falling in her face delicately. The shadows cast a menacing look onto her face as thunder claps in the distance, lightning flashing as Tri'ama catches a glimpse of the lightsaber through the soldier's midsection, burning a hole through their uniform. The lavender blade disignites, and Nox hooks the hilt neatly on her combat belt as the person falls to the ground in a heap, eyes rolling into the back of their skull.
"Break?" She asks the two who'd accompanied her on the mission into the ruins. The soft, soothing voice of a mother is out of place on Yavin, and it sends shivers down her spine as Darth Nox acknowledges their presences. Her eyes are anything but warm and inviting, glowing a dark gold. It's as if she's offering them a midday snack instead of a break from the rampant hordes of enemies they've faced all day long.
She's pleased with herself over the murders of what feels like millions of people amongst the ruins, though Naji's presence has gone strangely quiet during their march through. Not a single Revanite has fallen to the Jedi's doublesaber, the occasional healing thrown out. Usually it tended to drive her up the metaphorical walls, but the Jedi Master hasn't said a word. Any Revanite that attacked her, she refused to kill, only to injure in any way possible. In sight or out of it, Mierrio often finished the job. Tri'ama nearly feels bad for the Barsen'thor, surrounded by so much death. The two of them thrived off it, but the Jedi typically didn't. If anything, she looked a little green around the gills as a splatter of blood soaks into her armor.
Nervously, the Barsen'thor -- Naji, nods and they move to a less populated area of the ruins to presumably rest. Thankfully, it's under a stone overhang, so the three have managed to effectively dry themselves for a duration of time. It seems whenever she ends up with one or the other, she manages to get soaked. Tri'ama chuckles to herself, there must've been a constant here somewhere.
The pale woman is a mystery, and impossible to decipher her true intentions even after all the years they'd known each other in passing.
And again after they'd both ascended to the Council.
And essentially attempted to kill each other. More than once.
Darth Mierrio Revel-Kallig is just like a rancor in waiting and a literal beast on the battlefield as she strikes down adversary after adversary with no remorse for the loss of life, but how prim and proper she ends up being while on Dromound Kaas in the sight of the Dark Council. Proper black formal attire, hair pinned up and away from her face, it's hard to tell which personality she's talking to half the time. Right now though, she's in her element. Torn armor, mussed hair, blood all over her robes, and happily pulls out a kolto patch and perches herself on a broken stone. Even Tri'ama has to admit she's still the epitome of grace post-battle, running a hand through her hair when a barely curved back, one leg crossed over the other. As if she's preparing for a photo-shoot instead of the battle of a lifetime. Rolling up a sleeve, she stretches out her arm and looks up to Tri'ama, "Sit for a bit, darling. There's still a lot I don't know about you after all this time that we've known each other. Good a time as any."
Blazes, so this was going to be one of those conversations. Those 'picking Tri'ama apart just because I can and because hypothetically I'm on the same power level as her' conversation. She hated talking about herself to begin with, and now she was concerned Nox may have known this and is taking advantage of it in front of Naji. The other woman is paying attention rather well though, even if she's attempting to appear as if she isn't, eyes closed and glowing dimly in the shadowed area. Can't figure why that would be good for either of them, but she figures she'll amuse the other woman for a bit.
"There's nothing you need to know, Nox." She answers, taking her own inventory after the last big fight as they slowly make their way out of the cave. Dealing with the puzzle within took time, and it was frustrating enough that she was considering just destroying the thing and finding Revan on her own, but Nox had deciphered it quick enough that she'd only had to defend the two against a few packs of wild beasts. She could cross nature excursion off her vacation list after all of this, and readjusts her hood to cover her hair properly before responding, "Nothing that's on a need to know basis, in your case."
Mierrio muses for a moment, pressing the salve onto her pale skin. While it soaks, she looks up to her with a pointed look in her eye that Tri'ama mistakes for the look of a hunting predator akin to that of the beasts they'd just fought off, "What about that Quinn fellow? Your wedding was wonderful to attend, where is he now?"
Tri'ama hesitates, attempting not to make her position on the matter too clear to the women in her company, hiding behind her respirator as to not make her emotions clear.. She's not sure if Naji knows the current state of her affairs with the man, or even whether Nox is just pressing her buttons or not. Does she know what she's been trying to get up to lately? Aghdani had never been close to her, as far as she knew. The Iridonian wasn't friends with many others on the Council as it was, and had never taken a liking to her either.
It wasn't like the divorce had gone quietly either. Quinn was still frustrated in his own way that she was no longer his wife, though made it clear he disagreed with her ruling. He wore his ring proudly, parading around the Fury as if he still owned the place. Well, in his own quiet rebellion that was. She often could sense him lingering in front of her quarter's door, never staying for long but the feeling of desire strong in his presence.
Desire and longing were the only things the man felt nowadays. It keeps her up at night, and she nearly feels bad for him, denying him his true feelings. At times, she even finds herself missing him next to her at night, the other side of the bed cold when she sleeps and when she wakes. But the ever-present scars on her body she can see in the mirror when she suits up for the day are a quick reminder to why. Why those blue eyes are constantly a lie, why his soft, caressing touches during her treatment will only lead to another cycle of pain.
Aghdani had refused the reassignment of the man after only a day with him just as she had feared, an email sent days later that she wasn't going to put up with this new assistant of hers and that Tri'ama could just kill him if she wanted to rid herself of him that badly. The connotation of the message had come off surprisingly well for just being a message as well, just as angry and spoken with a heavy Imperial accent as if the woman had been there herself.
She wouldn't say that she hadn't considered the thought rather heavily. But as much as she fingered the hilt of her lightsaber late at night at the door of the medbay, she couldn't bring herself to simply rid herself of him in such a manner. He didn't deserve justice like that, and she'd only prove herself no better than those on the Council.
It scared her to have his hands roaming about her body again after all the fights she'd managed to get into. Lana had been rendered unavaliable with her assignments with Marr, and she wasn't about to ask Satele for healing either. Naji was routinely gone with Whyatt on other missions to bring both sides of the coalition closer together, and she'd never trusted Nox with her body before. She didn't intend to start now. Though some injuries had become unbearable, and force healing wasn't something learned in a day either.
Naji may have been healing her at the point, she's not sure. There's a certain softness numbing her mind right then, and it feels like her healing.
"Why do you care, Nox?" Is all she can ask, not even looking her directly in her eyes as she processes how to answer her question, rolling her wrist and waiting for it to crack satisfyingly, "Quinn is Quinn."
Mierrio raises an eyebrow, obviously suspicious, "You didn't bring him on planet, you brought that little Twi'lek girl, the one who always talked too much. I remember you used to drag around the poor man like a pet -- blazes he used to act like one too. Waiting on you hand and foot, never an opinion deviating from your own. Kriff, that always gave me a good laugh. It was as if he was made to please a Sith. Breeded to, if you will."
Tri'ama doesn't laugh with her, though Nox is right in some capacity. Parts of their relationship made it clear one was clearly more powerful than the other. It had always been that way, and neither had ever bothered to ask why. Tri'ama had never tried to rise him to her side rather than beneath her, as most Sith-force blind relationships ended up being. Now, she didn't regret doing so considering what he'd done, how much more information he would've had on her. But she regrets her actions before landing on Yavin, even though she knows they were right.
"And in the end, I will seek you out among the stars."
"Quinn?" Naji questions quietly, pulling her own ponytail out and letting her golden curls dust her shoulders. Scarily, Tri'ama had forgotten she was still there amongst all her own scatter-brained thoughts. The Barsen'thor was rather innocent in the matter that she (or as far as they knew) didn't deal in the same sorts of relationships the two Sith did. Was she even married? Or with anyone, for that matter? The Barsen'thor was Jedi, and they had some sort of code against passion of any kind, and marriage seemed like it was in that ballpark. Or love in general. She figured all the people in the Republic were more committal than they were anyways. She wouldn't expect her to understand the struggle.
For some reason, that stings.
She'd been as silent as a mouse for the last few minutes, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and Tri'ama had assumed she was meditating and healing from the past few skirmishes, open wounds now visibly scarring over. Now though, her grey eyes are inquisitive, looking to Tri'ama first, "Is he the soldier who's been with you as of late?"
Mierrio laughs loud at the question before she can answer, nearly out of character for her as she regards the woman with a distasteful smirk that for some reason annoys Tri'ama, "Oh blazes no. Quinn would have a heart attack if he heard you compare him to the Lieutenant. That's Pierce, Quinn is a starchy old fellow who likes to grovel at our dear Darth Amarillis-Quinn's feet and play dutiful plaything."
Tri'ama grits her teeth at the hyphenated last name she'd been able to shed (though without official records being changed accordingly just yet), and Naji looks uneasy at the response, flickering her gaze to Nox, "Right." She's understandably uneasy, the answer was odd and demeaning, brushing her fingers through her tangled blonde hair. She'd been the only one without a hood in their small scouting party, and had gotten drenched, "I wasn't aware you were married, Wrath." She says curiously, the epitome of serene with the backdrop of the jungles as she drops a metaphorical bomb on her.
I'm not, is on the tip of her tongue, And I never will be again. Not to him.
Don't say anything about Theron either, is in the forefront of her mind as she considers that Naji may know more than she's letting on about her and the SIS agent. For a foolish moment, she wonders if they talk about her when she's not around.
"How odd. I believed you would've brought your dear husband with you, Wrath. What is he doing these days, running odd jobs for you in Sith Intelligence? I always despised that lot, poking their noses where they don't belong." Nox questions before she can even formulate a response. So that was her perogative. Either she knew the truth and was trying to get her to say it, or was genuinely clueless and was hoping to get a rise out of her. Tri'ama couldn't think of a time that the woman ever truly liked Quinn, mostly because of his uptight mannerisms. Given she'd never liked the informal manner of her husband, the pirate. Andronikos Revel had never sat quite right with her, and she often questioned how the man had accepted fatherhood so readily by the way Nox spoke of their relationship. Possibly because of her past, she wasn't attracted to such ruffians in the way Mierrio was. At the very least, Quinn had been an open book in his opinions of her.
All until the end.
"Then I suppose your husband has run off again if he's not here either?" If Nox wanted to be petty, she could be petty right back. It's childish, she knows, but she wants to talk about anything else other than Quinn. Anything other than the man that had forced his way back into her life, even though she'd thrown him out. Anything other than the man that kept her perpetually anxious as soon as she stepped on the Fury every night. Anything other than the man who ruined the one good thing in her life.
Anything other than the man who'd ruined everything.
She's scored a point, because her face goes ashen, eyes narrowing in offense as Tri'ama continues on her tirade, "Even if Quinn grovelled, I knew where he was at all times -- who he was with. More than you can say."
"Andronikos remains to be more independent than your fool of a husband though. He could stand up on his own two feet." She nearly growls. Tri'ama has struck a chord with her. Mierrio had always been oddly protective of her relationship with the pirate, and it's rather satisfying to feed off her anger. Nox's had been always been different than Aghdani's, or Lana's. Roiling, dark, hot, and strong. Oh, and it was so easy to get her all riled up just in time for a fight. Years after the Revel's spontaneous marriage, she still couldn't figure what was such a sore spot for her, other than that he used to never be around as often.
In a sense, she's almost right. Though there'd been more than a few times that the pirate had gone missing during one of her especially brutal moments, and Tri'ama had accordingly made note of that for use in later arguments. In the recesses of her mind, she wonders why Nox is even out here fighting with the coalition. According to passing gossip, she'd just recently given birth to her second biological child only a few months ago, not to mention that her Sphere still needed her on other planets. It explained her weakness on the battlefield and her more defensive tactics as well, "My children won't grow up with a pushover for a father, unlike your legacy."
"You and I both know I have no intention of raising a family of my own, Nox." Tri'ama laughs darkly at the proposition (it'd be discussed, but never picked up again -- for good reason), rough beneath the effect of the respirator on her voice, "Hypothetically though, I'll never live in fear that any children of mine will grow up with someone who could leave at a moments notice for their own gain. Or someone more concerned with fighting petty battles than the bigger picture."
The scowl on the other woman's face is enough for her to claim victory over the argument. She's successfully pissed her off, for lack of other wording. She nearly formulates another response, but she's concerned there may be another scathing answer afterwards. Mierrio had never been one to give up easily, especially when it concerned her. They had more important things to attend to anyways, and arguments about ex-husbands and fathers wasn't among them.
"Don't think I haven't taken notice of your interest in the Grandmaster's son, either." Her voice oozes with triumph as Tri'ama makes to leave the overhang. Her eyes widen out of sight of the other Sith, effectively stopping her halfway in between their shelter and the rain. Nox scoffs at the gesture. She'd effectively been caught, and Tri'ama's surprised. Nox has never been one for the small details unless they applied to her, "That's right. It's rather obvious there's something going on there, just so you know. I knew Sith took whatever they wanted when they wanted it, but because you were married I was sure you'd be more committal than this. Can't wait until the Council hears about it. Oh the scandal."
Tri'ama is quick to turn around and find Nox with her hands on her hips, close and with a smirk on her face. Mock surprise dribbles out of her voice, a pale hand coming up to cover her mouth as she laughs wickedly, "You're in love with a Jedi's son. Forceblind no less! I thought you'd hit rock bottom with Quinn, but you just keep sinking."
She won't resort to violence, that's what Mierrio wants. Just to piss her off. Revan won't wait around for Mierrio's playground taunts to shut off. Tri'ama takes a breath, closing her eyes and trying to soothe herself back to being unshakable. Naji picks up her doublesaber from where she'd been sitting and squeezes past her back into the rain, thunder rumbling in the distance. It's nearly akin to her own emotions now. The Jedi is apprehensive, her presence giving it away, and has effectively removed herself from the situation entirely at the risk of being attacked while their backs are turned.
One more word out her mouth, and Tri'ama won't hesitate to defend herself. Or Theron. Asking for a Sith to respect a Republic agent with anything less than a strong distaste was asking a lot as it was, but Nox has lit a fire in her. Flashes of their last conversation still haunt her, still frustrating her late at night as the rain lulls her off into a restless sleep. All that's been on her mind has been Theron lately, and Nox's calculating glare isn't helping the matter. Threatening to tell the Council, it has to be one of the most childish things Mierrio has given an ultimatum to, but to her family, it'd be a major blow.
"I always knew you weren't cut out to be Sith. You may have come from a pureblood family...oops I mean raised by a pureblood family, but you hesitate at the worst of times. Mercy isn't a luxury or a necessity, and your ruthless edge has been dulled over the years," Mierrio cackles, pale face close to her own as her eyes narrow, taking her in, "It's truly sad, you were so promising. As much as you wish it, you'll never be one of us."
She slaps her.
Tri'ama has had enough.
The Sith recoils, surprise evident in her amber eyes as fury boils just beneath the surface. Tri'ama tries to keep her face stoic, unmoving. She won't continue being pushed around by the likes of Nox, and this is just one of about sixty million reasons why. Why she's willing to protect Theron against her, she isn't sure right then. But she's not only insulted him, but herself as well.
Her palm had left a bright red mark on her cheek, and is already bruising her porcelain skin. Her own hand stings through the thin glove, and Nox meets her eyes, nearly ready to respond something fierce before Tri'ama starts herself, "I am Sith. I was born Sith, and I always will be. Just because I don't kick those who are already down like the likes of you and the Council, doesn't change that. Don't forget your own bloodlines before you try to dirty mine, Revel. I'm sure mine extend much further than your own."
And for once in their young lives, Mierrio Revel-Kallig is left speechless. Her mouth is moving for a moment before standing up straight and pushing her own way out of their small structure without another word.
Tri'ama pauses herself for a moment, considering what she's done. When they're no longer fighting Revan, she can't expect any assistance from Nox anymore. She's now nailed that nail into that coffin, and will pay for it down the line. As satisfying as it was to do right then, the consequences may be more than she bargained for. Nox had pull in the Empire, and a power base that could possibly topple her if she wanted to.
She chuckles, watching her hands offhandedly as they check over her own body, saber hilts in her hands and being ignited. Not too many injuries, not enough to warrant a new kolto patch or a request of force healing.
You weren't going to give up anything for Quinn, now you're willing to give up everything you ever knew for a man who'll leave you as soon as someone prettier than you shows up, or as soon as the war orders him to kill you.
No one speaks for a long while on their trek to the small temple amongst the ruins, and Tri'ama is happy to keep it that way. Surely Naji would have her own questions later, but whatever connection they'd had previously has given away to static. Her presence is well hidden now, wound up well within that mind of hers as they continue fighting through Massassi and Revanites alike. Occasionally there's a warm healing over a certain injury or bruise she takes note of, but she doesn't bother saying anything to her when she does do it in a break of their adversaries. They're sporadic as well, and the gouges and bruises are piling up again, bleeding freely in the tears of her armor. She's halfway to believing Naji has grown scared of her.
Mierrio had similarily cut herself off from the rest of the group, but hood lowered as to wear the bruise proudly. Maybe to make her feel guilty, but she smugly reminds herself she doesn't care. Some do deserve to be hurt, and Nox deserves to be knocked down quite a few pegs.
It wasn't intentionally that she brought her past into the issue, she knew that much. Many liked to acknowledge that she was raised by purebloods but never one herself, not even a speck of it within her DNA. It was a constant reminder that she wasn't really an Amarillis, didn't really belong to a great bloodline even though she had been adopted at the age of only a few months. Tri'ama had never known anything else, but had been distant with her family since then.
It was a point Mierrio enjoyed to poke fun at, even though her own bloodline couldn't even be traced further than her ancestor, Lord Kallig. The little Tri'ama had become privy to was that she'd been a slave for years until they'd run into each other on Korriban as teenagers. Also, her children had been fathered by an ex-Republic solider, and well known Imperial criminal. To say the least, Tri'ama considers whether the other Sith are right to whispers about the impurity of their family. With how she's been treated since they knew each other, she also wonders if karma will continue being dealt out like this.
For her own sanity, she prays it does.
-
"We couldn't keep him from coming. Sorry!" Is essentially the message Vette has sent her once they reach the staging area again, and Tri'ama isn't immediately able to deal with this all at once. Trying to wrap her head around the idea of two Revans is enough at the moment, but getting all the other coalition missions done at some point before the entire planet went up in smoke? She's so exhausted, so absolutely drained emotionally and physically that she's considering shoving Quinn out an airlock just to get back on track, the way Pierce had suggested he go. Deal with the fallout whenever she came down from her battle high.
"It's good that you didn't. I told myself I was not altered by my centuries in the Emperor's grasp. But my actions were those of a madman, consumed by rage. I am glad to have left such evil behind." Revan, the real Revan, had paused, maybe taking all three battleworn women in, and his glance had landed on Tri'ama specifically before continuing, "You must do what I could not, Wrath."
Wrath. That's what she'd been for years, that was her whole identity. She was one of the most powerful Sith in the Empire right now. People respected her as such, gave her credit where credit was due.
The Emperor's...
Or the Empire's, was the question. She'd struggled with the idea for years since the Hand had found her, and even worse she'd learned there'd been one before her that was running around with a Jedi now. There'd been pointed glances toward one another as they went about their tasks on Yavin, but she grew more and more curious about the man as the days passed. He was tall and strong, not unusual for a pureblood, but he had an odd presence she couldn't put her finger on. He was kind enough to Whyatt, and hadn't made any moves to get rid of him as far as she was concerned.
Tri'ama wondered why she was the replacement for him. An up and coming Lord of Sith against a three hundred year old who'd served that time faithfully to the Emperor? She was powerful, but there was no question that he could easily crush her should he will it.
A flash of red catches her eye, and she spins around to focus on it, assuming the worst. Another Sith with red robes, nothing more. They pass by with little more than a glance, and Mierrio continues on while Naji pauses to wait for her. Running a hand through her wet hair, she brushes off Naji's questions and follows after the other woman, nearly frustrated again. There had been too many close calls as of late, and Mierrio's pestering hadn't helped with the issue either. Tri'ama had wanted to cut this off entirely and just be allies again and nothing more. Even if there was a possibility they could continue this affair after Yavin, it'd be frowned upon. They'd be lightyears upon lightyears away from each other, and it was nearly inevitable that she'd fight against him directly one day. To be directly or indirectly responsible for the death of a lover would haunt her until the end of the days. Tri'ama reminds herself this was still the best course of action, regardless of her true emotions for the man. But there was something so horribly alluring about him that she was sure she was going mad, or it was a trick of the Force again. There was no understanding it, and if she could just focus for two seconds without thinking about it, there wouldn't have been a problem.
Even with Quinn, he wasn't nearly as distracting. Her thoughts of him weren't as intrusive as her musing of the agent. Half the time he'd been distracted by her anyways. Turning the tables on her so quickly was so absolutely frustrating because she hadn't expected it. And Tri'ama hated surprises.
Her mind is elsewhere as Naji debriefs Satele and Marr on their mission to the ruins, and Whyatt turns out to be successful in his own small missions for some of the more prominent members of the temporary alliance. The scrawny Iridonian Zabrak man was, surprisingly enough, good for something she found, and was adept with duel wielding. He'd single-handedly fought off hordes of Massassi according to reports, and came back to tell the tale with only a gash over his nose. Well, there were more forest green bruises Naji later fussed over after the meeting was dismissed, but that was all that Tri'ama had noticed at the time.
It takes a bit for her to collect her thoughts and prep with the others for the next, and hopefully, last mission into Revan's hideout. There are battle plans, their flight in. It's going to be haunting her all night, and Yavin doesn't exactly have cantinas where she can numb away the thoughts until morning. The fight against Revan is going to be one where their willpower is going to be tested beyond belief. It had been a long while since she'd been in such a high stakes mission, where it was either kill or be killed. Flashes of her memories aboard Malgus' stealth ship, her short time on Makeb before Aghdani and Nox took over the mission, fighting the cyborg in the sinking ship on Manaan. More recently, the fuzzy memories she has of the mission to the station jammer. All moments that she was convinced would be the end.
This...this might actually be the end. Might be something she won't be able to walk away from.
Tri'ama would be lying if she said she wasn't worried. Yes, the Grandmaster of the Jedi herself is assisting in the operation. Two Dark Council members would be fighting alongside her. A Sith of immeasurable power, the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order and the Defender of Tython, along with her own power.
And Theron.
Yet again, she'd be caught in a lie, should she admit she wasn't fearful for his safety. Not that he couldn't defend himself, she'd seen him fight on more than one occasion, and win. But his last words to her are beginning to ring around in her head. Blazes if she doesn't regret not responding to him and his well-meaning concern, to at. Even the false hope, the false spark that would've been lit for him if she'd stayed, if she'd taken him then and there, would've been better than this strained allyship. Comforted him that she would be okay, promised him that she'd come back to him.
The thought slips through her fingers again.
She doesn't love him, that's what comforts her at night. Admitting that aside from a regretful conversation and mutual admiration, there isn't anything keeping them together. That's the way it should be, anyways. Tri'ama should be able to go about her life like any other Sith. No lingering attachments with someone forbidden to her. Stars forbid she begin thinking she wants to belong to him in such a manner. After this, yes after this, she'll return to the Empire. Maybe someone else will catch her eye, maybe she'll remain alone for the rest of her reign as the Wrath.
All that matters is getting off Yavin with all her limbs intact. And preferably, everyone elses'.
Still, she ponders whether she should speak to him. Before all of this, at least. An ancient evil that could probably snap her neck if he wanted to, flick the light out of Theron's charming hazel eyes right before her was going to face them only twelve hours from now. Either way, it could be the worst way for either of them to go, falling to Revan in such a violent manner.
The tanned ring line taunts her as she moves to slip her gloves back on from where they'd sat on the table previously, having to type rapidly on her datapad earlier with their findings from the excursion in the ruins, and the gloves had interfered with the response time. Theron is not her's, and she is not his. I don't love him, is her first thought. She'd told herself she loved Quinn, and had burned a fire of desire for him for years. In the end, she ended up charred, with scars to prove her naivity.
Before she can even stop the thought, her legs are already moving towards the staging area, where she'd seen Jakarro's ship touchdown weeks ago, and where Theron had left to only ten minutes prior. It's now or never -- and she is hoping it's now. Or, this will haunt her for the rest of her natural and unnatural born life.
You're making a mistake, she thinks, It isn't worth your time anyways. No SIS agent wants anything more than a fling with a Sith anyways.
You aren't worth it.
Shut it.
Red. Red, red. She's searching either side of the courtyard for the jacket, hands in a perpetual fist on either side of her lithe body. People part for her, maybe knowing she's a woman on a mission. Jedi and Sith alike, she's searching for his presence among the dwindling throngs of people as they head off to barracks or shuttles to get rest for the upcoming battle. Nothing stands out to her, and with how many force sensitives are here, she's sure they can sense her desire just as much as the blood pounds in her ears. It'd be embarassing to explain to anyone what she's looking for, and she refuses to do so no matter who comes up to her to ask. Stars forbid Naji had found her after the discussion they'd had earlier with Nox. The woman would know immediately. Even worse if Nox herself sensed it.
She's nearly ready to give up half an hour later, ready to accept she's missed her chance, and hard. It's growing darker, and though the storm had let up sometime ago, it's threatening to return. It's hard not to make it evident she's disappointed. There's barely anyone left, and knowing her crew, someone would come looking for her if she didn't come back soon.
Even the droids who regulated speeder travel over the infinite jungle had been powered down and stored somewhere out of the rain once she reaches the outcropping. It feels like it's been forever since she's been alone with her emotions like this, and it's stifling. Now she knows why she keeps other people around for so long, she physically can not be trusted not to do something rash. She drags a hand down her face, a grimace over her lips as her fingers itch for something to crush. Why is she so damned frustrated? Hell why is this bothering her so much?
Why can't she just be every stereotypical Sith that had ever been born into this hellhole of a galaxy, and not care about how anyone else fares over her own health? Tri'ama hates that she wants him, wants his arms wrapped around her again, wants those burning kisses all over her. Hates that she does want to spend just a little more time with him. Hates that her honest emotions are being spiked by her need to belong, belong to something, belong to someone. Quinn had essentially quenched that thirst for the longest time, but had left her waiting for someone to fill the void. Sith didn't need to belong, they didn't need to love. They needed passion to thrive, and for some reason the galaxy had given her passion as their code required -- in the worst way possible. In the form of someone she couldn't have, in the form of someone she shouldn't have.
But she wants him. She wants Theron Shan more than she knows.
And she hates herself for it. She wasn't going to cry over him, she wasn't going to be making this a spectacle. Her thoughts unwillingly linger to Pierce. she'd admitted she was over Ashley for months now, and here she was, wanting anyone to take her no matter what consequences waited for it. It wasn't right to keep leading him on like that, but all she wants is to fall back into old routines, old comforts to heal her.
"My lord?" A quiet voice questions, startling her out of her thoughts as the sound of boots against stone fills the air. A sinking feeling of dread fills her as she processes the accent that pronounced her name and title for years beforehand, growing ever closer, "The crew was beginning to fret over your extended absence."
"I'm assuming that means you were fretting?" She asks a little too coldly, but as he comes into view he doesn't even seem a tad offended by her tone, "Pierce, Jaesa and Vette know I'm fine and wouldn't have sent you after me."
"I will admit, it has been a long while since I was in your service, I will not attempt to understand the reasoning behind the change in protocol, but I will accept it if that is what you wish." For a moment, he's quiet and Tri'ama really begins to take him in properly. A few gray hairs have appeared since he was gone, a salt and pepper look beginning to take hold on him. A younger her would've appreciated it, had he not betrayed her she would be proud to call him her husband.
"I do not feel conflicted in the least. Not about anything. Including you." It had been shortly after they'd disposed of Moff Broysc, something she doesn't regret to this day, but it had been a welcome surprise about this. She had originally meant to return to her own quarters after the mission debrief, go over what she knew about the Hand, but raises an eyebrow at the admission, curious of his nature. He pauses, waiting for her to allow him to continue, "I've held back long enough. Been too rigid, too inflexible. I won't suppress my feelings and desire any longer."
"You were a tad slow out the gate, Quinn. Pursue me if you must." She'd played hard to get, even though she'd flirted with him only the day prior, "Someone else may have caught my eye while you waited around."
"I know you're only testing me." He answers, such a strong challenge to her. A welcome challenge, of course. Showing even a little backbone was good, but this was the first time he'd done anything, or not taken her words at face value.
"Oh really? But how can you be sure?" She'd asked, both hands on either hip. Flirting and making fun of Quinn had been a pasttime at the time, and she wondered what his response would be this time, "What if there really is some Pureblood out there thinking of me in your stead?"
"I'm sure if he is out there, he was slower out the gate than I was to realize what kind of woman you are. Come to my quarters, and I'll show you." Tri'ama had to try not to widen her eyes at the offer, aware of how important that had been to him, to take control and not follow her lead first.
Tri'ama didn't often like surprises. In fact, she despised being out of the loop about anything. But this one, she had liked the challenge that he'd alluded to, "Lead the way then, Captain."
He had made no move to leave at that point, maybe musing over his next actions, but instead he'd thrown an arm around her waist and kissed her hard. It had been her very first kiss, and looking back on it, she regrets that it was with him. At the time, she found it hot, and had allowed him to drag her off into pleasurable night in her quarters (she had decided against screwing him in the crew quarters).
Once she'd returned to the cockpit in the morning, pleased but finding the other side of the bed empty (a tad disappointed he hadn't stayed the night, but she shivers at the thought now) he'd been there, a smirk on his face and a now-forgotten datapad in hand, "I'm glad we got that settled. I'll return to my post. I hope to see you off-duty again soon."
Tri'ama had very quickly returned the favor, yanking him forward by the leather of his uniform to kiss him hard, datapad clattering to the floor. While surprised, he'd allowed her to, and when they broke apart she had a wider smile on her own face, "There's no doubt you will, Quinn."
But all she has now for his is distaste, and a lack of trust to go with it. The memories had been so wonderful at the time, things she fell back on when she needed an extra boost during battle to remind herself what she fought for.
She can't tell, but she's sure he's armed somewhere. Even with the lack of blaster present, and that sends a shiver down her spine. With no one else in the immediate vincinity, she's eerily reminded of the night aboard the transponder station.
She's reminded all too easily of walking it with her hand in his, and returning to the Fury with her's nearly cut off had she been anymore ignorant of his intentions. Steeling her gaze on the temple in the distance, she asks, "Why are you here, Quinn?"
"I am fully aware you're able to make your own decisions, and would never question your judgement, my lord. But you put me on leave for years, and as soon as I return, you attempt to change my servitude to another. I'm afraid she didn't want me there," He begins, still looking out over the canopy of trees before turning his gaze to her, "You've attempted to rid yourself of me, my lord. So I ask, if you really did not want me around any longer, why didn't you just kill me as Darth Aghdani had made so evident she would do if you did not?"
"I have no interest in acting rash over issues in the past." Tri'ama answers, averting her gaze from his as she takes a shaky breath, "Your death would serve me no immediate or long term purpose, and until Jaesa learns to force heal, you still serve a purpose aboard the ship, even if my own emotions do not align with wanting you here. You betrayed me Quinn, and instead of staying away as I'd requested, you returned against my wishes. I'm sure your astute observations lead you to the conclusion I wouldn't be pleased."
He pauses for a beat, maybe truly considering her words before relaxing out of his perpetual parade rest and turning fully to her, "My lord. I ask you to reconsider the reassignment -- and the divorce. You were frustrated and acted rather quickly, and I barely had any concern in the matter. You pretended as if your love for me disappated in only a few months. You may not enjoy the thought, but I still care for you, my love. You have never left my thoughts."
I still care for you.
My love.
If she wasn't already haunted by the uniform, by having to sit down with him at the opposite end of the table when briefing the crew on missions, if it wasn't bad enough to have him here now telling her all these things years upon years too late. Things she would never accept, things that she would've loved to hear if it were from anyone but Captain Malavai Quinn, she will struggle to recover now. Moving on had felt like such a great idea hours prior to this, but she's terrified now. He's going to be around until she can find another unlucky, lower placed Sith Lord to take him away from her.
Her chest feels like it's tightening around her, as if her heart will begin pounding out her chest if she doesn't get out of here now. She tries to regulate her breathing, but he grows closer to her and it's suffocating. And this time, there's no Pierce to request for something, no Vette to pull her away for other, fake responsibilities. There's no one here to save her from her nightmare, and she's not sure she can continue putting on a brave face in front of him.
She wishes she weren't here right now. Tri'ama wishes she could be anywhere else but here, with only a few inches separating them. She wishes her ex-husband weren't here, trying to win her back after everything he'd done. She wonders if he even thinks about the fact that he deserves the consequences she'd given him, thinks about what they mean.
Tri'ama may have all the armor she can have on right now, but she feels so exposed to him, as if he still knows all. As if he's still the one with all the answers, as if they've gone back to the day after the day she'd confessed she no longer wanted to be called Quinn, to be considered his. No longer wanted to be his wife.
The days she'd lapsed in her judgement.
"My lord. I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wanted to be here to witness your fate." He'd said, not facing her in a large room on the transponder station. She'd been mildly suspicious at the time, confused what he meant. Not completely convinced about what was going on.
"Have you found someone else? If you say it's not me, it's you, I won't be responsible for my actions." She'd answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes as a dark chuckle following the response. Oh, how unprepared she'd been for what came next.
"It's not me or you. It's Darth Baras. I owe him more than you could imagine. It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law, and there's no special signal emitter." She'd still been unbelieving, raising an eyebrow and ready for this all to be a joke to get her away from everyone. It's their anniversary, after all. He'd been too serious though, and she'd had a well-placed sinking feeling about this, "Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed."
"I thought our relationship was real. I thought we cared about each other, Malavai." Her left hand had grown closer to her saber as it had set in. This wasn't some elaborate plan dreamt up by a man in love, this was a ruse. This was a murder by a skilled killer.
"I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But he's forced my hand, and I must side with him. Once you're gone, your crew will either join me with Baras, or be killed." The Imperial accent isn't so comforting anymore, and she draws the hilt of one saber. She had prayed she didn't have to draw it on him, but she's not so sure anymore.
"Baras will run the Empire into the ground, Malavai." She'd foolishly believed if she kept using his name, kept being familiar with him, that she'd win out and he'd see the right in his wrong.
"Baras has always been one step ahead of every enemy. He'll lead us to victory." He had finally turned to look at her, a regretful look on his face though his voice remained emotionless, "After all this time of observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses." Two battle droids appear behind him, blast doors opening with a loud thump. She must've looked so horribly hurt, that he averts his gaze again, "These war droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure."
"I--" She pauses, watching as the war droids walk up behind him. Drawing both blades and igniting the rose read sabers, she had set her lips into a thin line, wishing the tears back, "I know how thorough you are, Malavai. I'm sure this will be greatest test."
"And if I'm right, your last. I'm sorry it came to this, my lord."
The absence of my love, had only confirmed that it really had been the end of her relationship with Quinn. Not the wedding they had shortly after, but the transponder station had been the end. Killing Baras, had done nothing to sate her broken heart.
"Quinn," His gaze doesn't waver from hers, in fact nearly reaching for her hand as she turns to face him fully. Her hands are shaking, and she pulls them away just as a finger dusts his palm, "I am not yours. I will never be your love again. You attempted to kill me, and then hid behind Baras as your excuse for not coming to me with the issue first. I do not trust you, and in this future or any other, I will never trust you again. Whether it has been two years or twenty, your petty begging will not change how I feel about you. You are the Captain, I am the Wrath. I have the final say on my relationship with you, and I say that you have been reassigned. I am not your wife, and I never will be again. Be lucky I have not ended your life prior to this for every transgression you've had since you've returned to my service."
For the second time that day, she's rendered someone speechless, and for the second time today, it's welcome. The surprise is evident in his blazing blue eyes, and then regret, disappointment, "Return to the Fury and prepare the ship to leave after tomorrow. Tell Pierce and Vette that Protocol Alpha is active, understood?"
It takes a moment for him to visibly collect his thoughts, and another for him to decide not to say anything more and face her wrath, "Understood, my lord."
And with that, he's gone.
She spends a few hours waiting there on the outcropping. Channeling her hatred, but halfway in between that and meditating. Tri'ama is far from relaxing, far from feeling as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders. The rain is battering down on her for ages, but she's kept warm by the hatred she has for the galaxy at the moment. Nothing registers in her immediate vincinty for a long time, nothing exists but her.
Something is relaxing her through her force signature. It's numbing the frustration, the anger, the desire, the longing, the sadness as she comes down from her fury. It's a tad frightening, she's not sure why it's there. It isn't her own guilt either, but its soft and calming. As if someone is comforting her through it all, but there isn't any other presence she can sense here in the staging area.
She's drenched when she returns to the Fury, but Tri'ama is at a crossroads, and for once in her life, she's more unsure of where she's going next than ever. No master, only an absentee landlord. No lover, only a man who can't give up and another that she doesn't want to give up.
The end all, be all of their existence begins tomorrow. If Revan succeeds, her life is over as she knows it. The entire galaxy, is over as she knows it.
Looking at herself in the mirror through the haze of exhaustion, she asks herself what kind of Wrath she was. Did she fight for the Emperor, who intended to devour an entire planet once he returned to full strength? Or did she fight for the people of the Empire, and now, the galaxy?
Her golden eyes, accentuated with the deep purple of corruption fade away into grey as she realizes the answer isn't so far out of reach.
Who did she fight for?
-
THERON._YAVIN_IV.
He's not sure what he's accidentally witnessed when he makes to return to his shuttle for the night. After running a few odd errands for his mother (mostly assisting Master Grace and Iresso with the debriefing of a few missions; with how delicate they were to the Republic, he was glad Nox and Tri'ama hadn't bothered helping), he's almost ready to turn in for the night with a datapad in hand. But, as the thunder rumbles in the distance, the black clad Sith lord is nearly glowing in the early evening moonlight. A storm is coming, nearly an analogy for what they're facing the day after.
He considers for a moment, and finding they're relatively alone, crosses the distance to meet her. There's a lot that's gone unsaid in the last few days, and they haven't exchanged a word, not even a look since she left him after he'd expressed his concern for her, and he's afraid he's really messed up now. Well, it was a given, he'd missed his opportunity by straying away from her, but he felt that his life probably would've been in danger if he'd bothered her with the issue any longer. Other than the odd quote she'd sent him (that had most definitely not kept him up at night, wondering if the Wrath was actually a master at a crypting messages), he's not sure what she truly thinks of him. Of course, she hasn't been hostile towards his faction, which is all he can ask for.
Before he can move any closer, (there's still quite a ways separating them) a well-dressed Imperial man cuts to her. Clearly he'd been coming from where the last shuttle had touched down, or he thought so. He'd been working so long the time had passed faster than he'd expected, and the other man made a beeline for the Sith. Theron almost has half a mind to move to stop him, or hurry his own pace to catch up to the two, but the rational part of his mind tells him to hold back. So he does, waiting and leaning against a ruin. He wouldn't be able to hear much (the Holonet connection was kriffing horrible on Yavin outside of where they'd set up further in the base; there were no other things he could connect his implants to, especially to listen any closer either), but just watching her body language as she realizes the man is there is enough to make him realize something is amiss. She tenses visibly, and keeps herself from making eye contact with him.
Taking a closer look at him, it isn't immediately evident that he's run into Malavai Quinn. It takes him a moment, but when he does recognize him for his profile, Theron knows that this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation for either party involved. Tri'ama had seemed stressed enough earlier in the day when she'd debriefed with Master Iresso and Darth Nox about their run-in with the spirit of Revan, and adding the man to mix doesn't sound like the brightest thought anyone could've had at that very moment. He wouldn't pretend he even began to understand the pent-up frustration and regrets the woman had for her ex-husband, but for some odd reason or the other, he can't bring himself to move to help.
The conversation is short, or he assumes it is for as long as he stands there. It didn't seem to be going well, and he doesn't creep any closer to figure out the true connotation of the exchange either. With Tri'ama wearing her respirator, hood up and that Imperials seemed to struggle with any other emotion than blatant straight faced disapproval, he's not sure that by the time Malavai leaves if one of them won out over the other. For a moment, he panics Tri'ama may have known he was there (Iresso -- the Jedi, not the well-meaning soldier, had mentioned that his presence was frazzled all the time and rather easy to pick out) as she sweeps her eyes over the staging area. But, instead of seeking him out, she kneels down on the speeder pad as rain begins to fall. He moves under an outcropping to keep the storm from doing its worst to him, and for the longest time she doesn't make to leave, changing from kneeling to sitting with her legs crossed. He wasn't sure whether Sith meditated. And figured if he asked, Nox would laugh and Tri'ama would figure he had been watching her and drift away further than she had been before.
By the time another fifteen minutes passes, she's so out of it he's able to leave without a stir from the woman. Theron's sure she knows he's there and just not acknowledging him, but makes it back to his shuttle. He runs the necessary checks, no Imperial tampering, no one has broken in while he was gone. Goes over what he's learned in the day past, finishing off notes, laying out battle plans to study when he got up in the morning. Taking apart his blasters, cleaning out the necessary components, replacing those that needed to be replaced. Putting them back together, recalibrating his implants into lower power mode, it's all routine now. Still going over reports from soldiers and sensors out in the jungle. He was sure Satele -- his mother could've assigned someone else to do this job, but she assigned him the task. The praise that was heavily overlain with professional courtesy was still welcome though.
Running a hand through his hair, he lets his mind wander to her for a moment. In the view of others, she's not exactly maternal. Whyatt is years younger than he is, but she praises him for his work, and there's clearly a connection there that Theron himself yearns for. After learning the Zabrak's story, Theron feels a little guilty for that. A boy -- a literal boy, only twenty two. Barely nine at the time of the destruction, he'd watched as Theron had watched the Temple on Coruscant burn during the Sacking of Coruscant. He'd been a pupil of Satele's after his old Master had fallen in battle, and while he'd been taken under Master Atiya when he became a padawan at seventeen, he still had a closer relationship with her than he likely would ever had with his own mother. Yes, he felt horrible about being bitter about it. Whyatt, like most Jedi, never knew his parents during the war, but according to records, they'd both died during the Imperial occupation. Satele was closest thing he had to a mother figure, and he figured Atiya had filled the role as a father as well. He'd been spiraling at the loss of his Master, which was clear in his facial expressions whenever he was mentioned.
Still.
There's one more thing he ends up doing before going off to bed. Lana (against her wishes, probably. The Sith was horrible with communications these days, but he's still bitter for what she did on Rishi. Childish or not, he still thinks she deserves his thawing cold shoulder) has mailed him a status report of his forces and Jedi on-planet, and he marks it for reading later. But he goes back to the message Tri'ama had sent him. He's seen it plenty of times, trying to decrypt it, see if every letter of every word created a sentence. Evidently, it didn't.
He didn't intend to die with regrets. And right now, the Wrath was one of them. He wasn't particularily attached to her, she was kinder than most and fought for the good of the Empire, but something kept dragging him back to pale, blonde Sith. Unlike how most would argue, it wasn't her body. It was her intellect, her strategic mind. Her battle worn courage, and her startling need to protect those of the Empire. Her soldiers weren't canon fodder, not like how many others would let them be.
He admires her for being a real person rather than a monster who happened to be breathtaking to lay eyes upon.
Hell, that was sappy, even for him.
He'd never bothered responding to her previous message, and curiousity gets the best of him because he responds late that night. Whether she'll respond or not is the real question, but he'll play that game. It's something that Doxie had once said to him, and as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep, he wonders if it's considered regifting. Cheesy, maybe. But inspirational nonetheless. Thought provoking, maybe.
"Some nights I wish to go back in life. Not to change anything subtle, just to feel a couple things twice."
In the early parts of the morning as he goes about his routine again, checking and rechecking his blasters, calibrating and recalibrating his implants. Considering eating something out of the MREs, drinking a cup of caf instead, he gets another surprise that he hadn't expected. Looking at the healing bruises in the reflection of the dark screen, he isn't immediately sure how to react to the message he's received.
"There is my heart, and then there is you. I'm afraid there may not be a difference - T.A"
He didn't know Sith ever signed their names. For the longest time before Lana, he wasn't sure that they even had names -- or were willing to share them with others.
It's nice to know that Tri'ama trusted him with her's, facing possible death.
Looking out in the viewport over the still storming jungle, he considered every single way this could end. Certain death were the words of the day apparently, but he would've liked to return to the Republic. There weren't a whole lot of people that would be devastated over his death, his mother maybe and his father if he was really grabbing at straws. Lana might be upset for a while, but Tri'ama may fight for a long time after he's gone. Or forget about him, that was a possibility, and probably the actual outcome.
With a somewhat renewed sense for survival against this ancient ancestor (something would always circle back to his heritage -- his mother, his father and apparently a very old grandfather with beef against both factions), he makes his way back to the staging area, her words still bouncing around in his head.
He'd fight for something alright. Yes, he'd fight for the Republic, everything he'd ever known and everything he hoped to return to. But there was something new alongside that.
He'd fight for her.
#swtor#star wars#star wars the old republic#swtor oc#oc#original character#mellena shan#mellena wryen#mellena cadera#tri'ama amarillis-quinn#darth tri'ama amarillis-quinn#tri'ama shan#darth amarillis-quinn#mivonie cadera#mivonie wryen#mivonie iresso#naji iresso#mierrio revel#mierrio revel-kallig#darth nox#darth revel#theron shan#female sith warrior/theron shan#malavai quinn#shadow of the sith
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