I've been wanting to write again for a while, but wasn't too sure if my muse was still there. I thought I'd write Evoros into a non-RP backstory related scene to check before I could start promising threads that I wouldn't deliver, which as most of you know I'm horribly guilty of.
I've published this, so it worked! I'm still not what you'd call reliable, but I'll be slowly starting to write Evoros again, and all going well some other characters too. Hi again, folks. I missed y'all.
The knife felt heavier than usual. It hid in her jacket, invisible to the last second exactly as intended. And she was as utterly nondescript as if it wasn't there at all, exactly as always. But it was harder to tell herself this was a job. It was harder to separate the fact that she was about to get paid from the fact that she was about to take a life.
This was why she didn't like to make things personal.
She had never been to this world as Yvonne Evoros, and she'd cleared all possible record of the one who came before. Those who still had her file would've had no use for it in years, kept it as one of hundreds in an archive they didn't look at. Those who remembered the woman of six years ago, who'd mourned reading the words killed in action--they were gone. Killed by their enemies, their injuries, their trauma. It was a dangerous job after all. Evoros had explored the possibility of a link, and found none--but the fact remained that the faces of her old life were dead.
All but one.
For now.
Twilight settled, and her target hadn't left the bar. She was watching from too far away to see if he was drinking, but she knew he wasn't. He never drinks when he's on duty the next day. But however he was passing his time, he kept Evoros waiting a while longer before leaving.
He didn't immediately head towards the alley she waited in (why would he?). He did, however, stop in his tracks at the sight of a menacing figure blocking his path. He turned around to find he was cut off in the opposite direction as well. In moments, a group of apparent crooks surrounded him, and they were advancing. He made a break for it down the only path left open--around a corner and down an alleyway.
The 'robbers' chased him only far enough to keep up a sense of threat, and then seemed to forget what they were doing, deciding another drink was in order.
But he kept running until Evoros stopped him with a knife to the chest.
She could've made it easy. She could've made a more instantly fatal wound--could've tripped him over and stabbed him in the back--could've hidden her face. Kinder, any of them, than being killed by a ghost.
Except she was selfish. And she wanted to know if he would recognise that ghost.
"Shhh," Evoros murmured, facing him fully and without any giveaway of her heartbeat racing. He looked from the knife to his killer--a face he'd long tried to forget with amber eyes he'd never seen before.
Recognition. Then pain.
Six years ago her eyes were green and her smile less cold. She was made of fire--he had been there, watched her go insane trying to burn the brightest and warned her it wouldn't last. She remembered his look of resigned pain as he realised she wouldn't listen. She remembered him and the rest of the team, that day, the anger, the eventual breaking point. They left so they could live and they wanted her with them but she said no. She stayed so she could fight, and instead...
Killed in action.
It wasn't so far from the truth.
Yvonne Evoros removed the knife, letting him drop against the narrow walls of the alley in a stunned silence. "Not anymore."
No apologies. No goodbyes.
He wasn't dead yet, and she was sure he was trying to ask something, but couldn't quite summon the strength. But she didn't leave. She waited, because if she left as he was only half dead she couldn't be sure he'd die. She couldn't be sure he wouldn't live, and end up like her.
So she waited. She stayed and waited until she could see his eyes go vacant and his form go lifeless, until she could sense in the Force (and somewhere buried deep where she wouldn't admit, her heart) that this was the end. And then, when she was certain he was dead, she stayed still a minute longer. On some level, she feared as soon as she stood she'd snap, unlock the guilt and anger and grief that she didn't want to still exist. Another mission, any other mission, she could kill and the ugly feelings attached were wholly separated, easy to forget about entirely. This one was dangerously close to personal.
But she rose, and never broke her calm. With one breath she was Yvonne Evoros, and she was made of ice.