The Works... a dreary place, really. Abandoned, running on fumes (and emitting just as much, if not more), it was exactly the sort of place you wanted to avoid. Which made it great for their relief missions. Rust pervaded and old barracks for workers made perfect homes for the resistance on Coruscant.
Those such as himself - a Jedi Master in some command - were given their own rooms. Well, to call it a room was generous. It was a cot and a desk, and everyone shared their food and water. The bathrooms didn't work, although there was running water if they ever could get them to work.
He'd kill for a shower.
Most days there wasn't much to do down here but patrol and sit... and wait. It was mind-numbing at best, depression inducing on average and capable of causing suicide at worst. It hadn't hit 'worst' yet. That dial was still hovering just above average.
He could live with that for now.
Setting his armored bulk into the rusted chair that he'd reinforced, he adjusted the filter of his helmet with a sigh. He couldn't afford to not sleep in his armor, so he imagined it was going to reek. Thankfully, this battered old writing utensil with a graphite tip he'd found still worked.
Blank supply manifest sheets were the only equivalent to paper they had here.
They couldn't afford datapad communication. Too risky.
Tapping the pencil a few times to the page, he gave another quiet exasperated noise before he began. As ever, his letters were well written, if slanted upward as he went across the page. They were neat, ordered. A contrast to the appearance of the author, he mused.
I'm on Coruscant, now. Too little... too late. Guess that's how war goes when you don't expect it. I remember hearing of the Sith taking Mandalorian worlds by storm, only to be halted at Mandalore by the combined might of the Republic and the Mandalorians.
The same Mandalorians who threatened our world with bombardment not even a month ago.
It pains me to think that we created our own enemies.
But we not only made our own enemies... we destroyed our own friendships too. Politician fought Jedi. Jedi fought Jedi. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. Why? Because we wanted to rid the galaxy of the Sith.
I fail to see how there can be arguement over such noble an endeavor, but I know stranger things have happened.
Do you remember when we first met?
A silly question, I know, but my mind keeps going back to it. How ready I was to throw the label of Sith at you, and for what? What you chose to hold me off with.
Funny how things change. First impressions become the ones you least remember given time. Opportunity.
And opportunity was exactly what has lead us to this moment in time. We squandered ours; they didn't. I've never seen a combined fleet this large in my life, and that is saying something. I don't know how they managed to hide it, but they did.
I suspect foul play, but that much is obvious. One does not hide a warfleet large enough to take Coruscant without outside help. Please warn the Hat to be careful; snakes are in the grass, green and waiting for a moment to sink their fangs into your ankle.
I sit, alone. Tired. Weary. A small desk is the only thing I own besides my armor and weapons and the cot I have can barely withstand the weight of my beskar'gam. It cannot be removed. There is too much at risk.
Funny to think you were right, in a manner. I did need to return. But I cannot return without recharge, and that was exactly what I got. Even if all you got was exasperation. My apologies.
Perhaps another time?
I know the answer already, but it feels good to ask.
The thick chemical smog here requires a gas mask, so I will apologize if my spelling or grammar is a bit off. It is hard to see sometimes.
My fervent hope is we can do some measure of good here, given time, and perhaps reclaim this world from the hands of our most ancient of foes.
Do you have one? I've long been aware of your hatred for Sith, but that seems based more upon a moral ground than an ancient and bitter enmity. I'm prying again.
My sincerest apologies.
These will be smuggled out at the earliest convenience. I hope they reach you in better condition than I'm in sending them. I have a worrisome fear that they will show up illegible and tattered.
-S
Those such as himself - a Jedi Master in some command - were given their own rooms. Well, to call it a room was generous. It was a cot and a desk, and everyone shared their food and water. The bathrooms didn't work, although there was running water if they ever could get them to work.
He'd kill for a shower.
Most days there wasn't much to do down here but patrol and sit... and wait. It was mind-numbing at best, depression inducing on average and capable of causing suicide at worst. It hadn't hit 'worst' yet. That dial was still hovering just above average.
He could live with that for now.
Setting his armored bulk into the rusted chair that he'd reinforced, he adjusted the filter of his helmet with a sigh. He couldn't afford to not sleep in his armor, so he imagined it was going to reek. Thankfully, this battered old writing utensil with a graphite tip he'd found still worked.
Blank supply manifest sheets were the only equivalent to paper they had here.
They couldn't afford datapad communication. Too risky.
Tapping the pencil a few times to the page, he gave another quiet exasperated noise before he began. As ever, his letters were well written, if slanted upward as he went across the page. They were neat, ordered. A contrast to the appearance of the author, he mused.
I'm on Coruscant, now. Too little... too late. Guess that's how war goes when you don't expect it. I remember hearing of the Sith taking Mandalorian worlds by storm, only to be halted at Mandalore by the combined might of the Republic and the Mandalorians.
The same Mandalorians who threatened our world with bombardment not even a month ago.
It pains me to think that we created our own enemies.
But we not only made our own enemies... we destroyed our own friendships too. Politician fought Jedi. Jedi fought Jedi. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. Why? Because we wanted to rid the galaxy of the Sith.
I fail to see how there can be arguement over such noble an endeavor, but I know stranger things have happened.
Do you remember when we first met?
A silly question, I know, but my mind keeps going back to it. How ready I was to throw the label of Sith at you, and for what? What you chose to hold me off with.
Funny how things change. First impressions become the ones you least remember given time. Opportunity.
And opportunity was exactly what has lead us to this moment in time. We squandered ours; they didn't. I've never seen a combined fleet this large in my life, and that is saying something. I don't know how they managed to hide it, but they did.
I suspect foul play, but that much is obvious. One does not hide a warfleet large enough to take Coruscant without outside help. Please warn the Hat to be careful; snakes are in the grass, green and waiting for a moment to sink their fangs into your ankle.
I sit, alone. Tired. Weary. A small desk is the only thing I own besides my armor and weapons and the cot I have can barely withstand the weight of my beskar'gam. It cannot be removed. There is too much at risk.
Funny to think you were right, in a manner. I did need to return. But I cannot return without recharge, and that was exactly what I got. Even if all you got was exasperation. My apologies.
Perhaps another time?
I know the answer already, but it feels good to ask.
The thick chemical smog here requires a gas mask, so I will apologize if my spelling or grammar is a bit off. It is hard to see sometimes.
My fervent hope is we can do some measure of good here, given time, and perhaps reclaim this world from the hands of our most ancient of foes.
Do you have one? I've long been aware of your hatred for Sith, but that seems based more upon a moral ground than an ancient and bitter enmity. I'm prying again.
My sincerest apologies.
These will be smuggled out at the earliest convenience. I hope they reach you in better condition than I'm in sending them. I have a worrisome fear that they will show up illegible and tattered.
-S
