The hum of the Kyr'yc Saca's engines was so monotonous that after an hour it became background noise automatically processed and filtered out by Siv's mind. It was comforting to him in a way he could not describe; the indescript white noise of thrusters continuously cycling was like a warm hug after a long day.
Abregado-Rae had been a long day.
Siv sat in his bunk, absentmindedly flipping up his dagger in the air and catching it hilt first on its way down. It was a morbid game with a non-zero chance of impalement; yet when his mortality was on the line as the norm, not the exception, playing his hand a little more against fate became a simple pastime. Maybe part of him wished the dagger would just end up tip-first for once, plunge past his armorweave, and be done with it. Yet the hilt always found his palm.
He felt bad for dragging Kamon Hourn into it, although the supercommando had been more than adept at handling his own. A capable ally. The two of them had scared off two Sith Lords. Twice. "Heh," Siv chuckled at the irony of two Mandalorians installing such mortal fear in their hated, near god-like foe. He should've been running from the one tanking blaster bolts like they were splashes of water, not the other way around. The galaxy was a perplex, borderline inexplicable place.
A ping. His holocommunicator.
Siv caught the vibroblade for the last time, sheathed it at his hip, and rocked himself to the side, up out of the cot.
Its vibrogenerator had never been on.
