That's CAPTAIN Vyen'a to you, kid.

Spark of Dissent

HOLO 44.2.248://

TEXT READOUT

DISPLAY? Y/N

I’m getting real sick of the attitude of a lot of Jedi.  Just because me and mine aren’t force sensitive doesn’t mean we aren’t worth a little bit of common decency.  We’re more than just meat shields for their reindeer games, or targets to mind fuck when they get irritated.

And unfortunately, it’s starting to feel like some of our allies in the Marran don’t see it that way.  That just because we’re not special snowflake force sensitive darlings, we don’t deserve the basic respect that jedi practically demand just by their presence.

I’m getting really sick of people idly throwing around references to “mindkriffing” people like they’re talking about picking up a cup of caf.  Getting really sick of patching up my boys in blue because they took a force blast to the chest and took to the air like a bird in an Alderaan spring, just to make some space for a jedi to run in and start swinging with their glowbat and get all the credit and glory.  

Sith bleed just as good from blaster fire as the next fucker, and I don’t care how all powerful they are, one Sith can’t deflect sustained fire from a dozen blasters at once.

And I know I ain’t the only one who feels this way.

Bald nearly went to blows with Ihlrath on the Hyperion last night.  Because one of Ihlrath’s people told Oz to go home… and Oz tried to walk out the airlock on their hangars.  Put that idea right in his head.  I might not like Oz - shit, that’s the understatement of the year - but I’ve saved his ass enough to know how he bleeds. They tried to say it was “just a suggestion”, but with everything Bald’s going through, dealing with Red…

It was nasty.

And the thing is, I don’t think any of the forcers get why he was so angry.  They don’t - or refuse to - see the ramifications of being able to just look at someone and make them think “Oh, I should go” but not have any control over how they’re going to do it.  To just idly affect someone’s actions like that, to take away their control?  It makes them no better than Sith.  Absolutely no better than those fucks who screwed up Red’s brain so badly.

And it didn’t help that Bald and I were in a little tiff not thirty seconds before Oz came wandering by, brain all scrambled.  About Red.  Because I guess I don’t know when to stop poking the bear when it comes to her.

And Nia’s probably mad at me now, too.  I told her I was trying to track down where Dhen fucked off to when he transferred out.  I want to drag his ass back by that busted nose of his so Nia can properly kick it for treating her like shit.  For fucking off without even saying so much as goodbye.  I deserved a goodbye, and she deserved a whole lot more than a shitty letter.

Fuck, man.  Last night just sucked.

One Day More

Tomorrow.  One more day.

The woman looked over her shoulder at the man, deep in his sated sleep, and smiled softly.

I love him.

She slipped from under the blankets, hissing softly as her bare feet hit the cold durasteel of the floor, and padded naked across the room to his desk, sitting and carefully pulling a loose sheet of flimsiplast free from a sheaf of papers.  A few drawers open and close until a pen is found.

She took a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder again, and began to write.  Lists of bank accounts, access codes, hundreds of thousands of credits scattered in bunches across the galaxy.  The codes to pilot her ship; the ones that need to be entered every time to ensure it’s not being stolen again - and therefore preventing the engine from frying itself.  All her worldly goods, listed onto a single piece of flimsi.

She looked over her shoulder again, writing the man’s name at the top of the page.

He’s first.  I’ll take care of him, no matter what happens to me.

Her hand faltered.

And if he falls too?

She wrote the woman’s name next; the shy shell who’s already recovered more than Vyen’a ever thought possible.

She’s gone through so much, and now Red’s the only one that’s guaranteed to see the next sunrise.  I could fall.  Jer’ax could fall.  Bald?  Shit, Jerhal’s goin’ front lines with Ihlrath.  I need to make sure Red’s taken care of, too.

She blinked, startled, vision suddenly blurred by tears before they slid down the sides of her nose, splashing against the back of her hand.

The hell’s wrong wit’ you?

She took a deep breath, looking back down at the desk.  Her whole life, twenty five galactic standard years, reduced to a list scribbled out on a piece of flimsiplast.  

Oh.  That’d explain it, yeh?

She shivered in the cool air of the ship, small bumps rising along her bare arms, and looked over her shoulder to the inviting sight of the bed, full of Jer’ax and covered in warm blankets.

Finish this first, Anaria.

She sighed, looking back to the task at hand.  The memory of her parents graves, slowly being filled side by side in the cold drizzle of rain that morning so long ago, filtered through her mind; she shook her head to remove the image, then jotted a final line.

If I die, take me to Mirial.  Wrap me in satin and bury me next to my mother.

She tapped the pen thoughtfully.

If Jer’ax and I both die, bury me near him.

She scratched the line out, looking over her shoulder at the sleeping man again.

Maybe I should ask him to marry me again.  Maybe…

She shook her head again, looking back at the list.

It’s up to him, the next time.  If there’s a next time.

She picked up her datapad from his desk, resting where she’d left it as they came in, and tapped in the codes.  Lists of troop positioning, ship counts, faction numbers all blinked awake to shine softly in the darkness of the room, illuminating her face with an eerie blue glow.  

Please let there be a next time.

For the first time in a very long time, Vyen’a felt her heart flutter in her chest.  She was truly frightened.   

She sat quietly, studying the information, memorizing the lines, the names, the way the terrain rose up and fell away, all the information gathered by the reconnaissance mission the day before.

The war was here.  Worse than anything else they’d ever faced.  And it would all be decided tomorrow.

Tomorrow we’ll discover what the maker has in store.  

One by one.

She sighed, setting the datapad down, and blinks back the threat of rising tears.

One more day.

Silently, she padded back to the bed, slipping back between the covers and wrapping around the sleeping man, murmuring soft words as she nuzzled the back of his neck, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come quickly.

One day more.

Feels like home

The low crackle-buzz of automated lights clicking on filtered through Vyen’a’s subconscious, her eyes opening slowly.  Unfamiliar walls, an unfamiliar ceiling, an unfamiliar bed gently became known as she woke, turning her head to glance back toward the sleeping man curled around her.

A familiar face.

Jerax.

She hadn’t expected to see him there.  She hadn’t expected to be there; it took some careful slicing and flying to get within range, spending way too much on a half-junked personal shuttle only to abandon it if necessary, holding her breath more than once doing things that should have gotten her killed, her head smashed like an overripe berry from the pressure of space; whispering thankful prayers when they worked, wondering when her luck would run out.

And then while she was working; expecting a quick slice in and slip away, the Marran, the Seventh, all of them arriving for the real work.  The hard work.  And her blending back in with them seamlessly.

And their insistence that she return with them to the Hyperion.  

Up until then, she was still uncertain if she would return, or if she did, if she would stay.  Then they started.  Ihlrath’s warm smile as she walked onto the bridge.  Jerhal’s words echoed in her head,  ”Dumb cunt, don’t you ever do that again!”, whispered as he crushed her into a hug.  The crudeness of the statement belying the very deep emotion beneath.  Even then, though, she wasn’t sure.  It would have been easy, so easy to just slip away again.  To make her own way again.

Like the sent holo, though, Jerax’s emotion at seeing her had broke her will to be alone again.  Through the stoicism of his face, his eyes gave it all away.  The hands on her waist and in her hair as he had pressed his mouth to hers, the surprising amount of fear that tinged the kiss sealed it.

She couldn’t leave that.

She couldn’t leave him.

Vyen’a shifted, rolling carefully to face Jerax and resting her forehead against his as he slept.  A small smile passed across his face at the movement; she smiled back softly.  She knew, now.  She could stop running, for the first time since she left Mirial.  She could stop looking.  No matter what happened - with the Nemesis, with this idiot Colonel trying to take them out, with the Sith, with the Seventh, with anyone anywhere.

Right here is where she wanted to be.

She was home.

Wrapped up in Cotton Wool.

The incessant beep of the comm echoed off the walls of the cargo bay; a high-pitched trill no creature found in nature could imitate.  She had chosen that particular alert for that very reason: she never knew where she would be when a message came in, so she wanted to be sure to hear it.  Wherever.  Whenever.

Now, though her head was buried under pillows three rooms down her ship’s corridors, she quietly cursed herself for choosing such a recognizable sound.  It had started up again a few hours earlier and had repeated every half hour.  Without fail.  For the past day and a half.

Fuckin’ Bald.

Read More

Bottoming out.

HOLO 246.2.221://

Unlike the entries previous, chattered out in rapid-fire Basic with the occasional curse or exclamation in Huttese or Ul’Zabrak, this entry was recorded in a soft, lyrical tongue.  Any translator would recognize it immediately as Mirialan.

I can’t do this any more.

I don’t even know who I am any more.

I’m tired of keeping up the act.  I keep breaking, or almost breaking.  I miswired my own damn hyperdrive.  Something I could do drunk and half-asleep.  Hell, something I *have* done drunk and half-asleep.  Nearly ended up bantha burger on the side of some no-name moon behind some no-name planet on the outer edge of the outer rim.

Everything is just… wrong.  

Maybe it’s time I took off the mask.  Find someone else to be.

Vyen’a doesn’t fail.

I failed.  

The one thing I wanted - the only thing, the thing I didn’t even know I really and truly wanted - I failed at.

Taking a break.  Yeah, right.

Everyone knows what that means.

I failed.

He came over the other night.  We spent some time at the cantina, and he came home with me.  And it was like it always should have been, and he was still there in the morning.

And then he had to go.  

And I know there’s other girls who have their eyes on him.  The ones that are better for him.  Pretty little blonde humans.  Ones who will blend in when Corellia is rebuilt.  Ones who won’t fall into bottles of whiskey.  Ones who can give him everything he ever wanted in a family.

That can give him a family.

I buried Anaria Rex when I ran from Mirial.  

Maybe it’s time to bury Vyen’a, too.

I can reinvent myself again.  I can disappear into deep space again.  Sell everything that made me Vyen’a and buy a new name.  A new face.  A new identity.

A new life.

And hope that everyone just… forgets about me.  

Jer’ax will find someone new; someone better for him.  Jerhal and Ty’nea will get married and have lots of babies and be happy.  Ihlrath will… go on being Ihlrath.  With the Marran and his Sith.  Niatara will be fine; Ansten will fall in line if he takes her on that date.

I can just be a little happy greenie memory for everyone who knows me.  Knew me.

I can disappear into the galaxy.

And…

*She chokes a tiny sob*

And just hope everyone forgets about me.

Whoever they think I am.

They only knew a lie.