A Chipped Dagger and a Golden Watch | PM to Join

[Progflaw99]

[ Lanteeb ][ Elysium Complex ][ Brand Volcata Industries ]​

[ Aphrodite Advanced Medical Center ][ Room 12-A ]​

In Vicinity: [member="The Major"]​

​

He had to admit, Brandt-Volcata Industries had a good thing going. He'd figured as much from the intelligence reports he'd read but being here, he knew it to be true. *Credits not wasted.* Martin thought to himself. Of course, any expenditure when it was in regards to his sister were the farthest thing from waste. It had been a harrowing few weeks. Medical technology and care within the First Order wasn't the worst, but what Martin wanted was the best. The newly constructed medical center within the Elysium Complex on Lanteeb had been just the thing, anyone with a brain knew if you wanted the best, you went private. Reserving Sybil's spot at the high tech medical center was the easy part given Martin's connections, it was getting her transferred that posed a bit of a problem. It seemed his sister had gotten herself wholly involved in the First Order's Bureaucratic machine. Even gotten herself a promotion - or a few. A smirk twitched at the edge of his lips. She always did try to feign modesty.

It had taken a few markers called in to get him in to even see his sister, the method of her injury had sparked a massive investigation, the details of which he wasn't privy to. The FOSB had insisted on a security detail, one of their many special agents, who even now sat just outside the door. Or stood, more accurately. Martin had spent the last consecutive 72 hours awake and at his sister's side - as allowed. There were times the doctors had needed space to either check her wounds or redress them, or some of the other human necessities. For the first time within the length of Sybil's stay at the Aprodite Advanced Medical Center, Martin had stepped out to get a cup of caf. He didn't mind the poor taste, it would see him through another few hours, another day, another week - the doctors weren't saying too much about her condition and frankly, it had him worried.

On his way out he'd politely asked the Special Agent if he'd wanted anything. At first he'd cooly refused but after having insisted he'd finally caved. Returning with a cup of caf for the man, Martin paused, eyes looking through the glass window into the room beyond. "She's a tough one, my sister. Always has been." he paused. "You have any siblings Special Agent Deriss?" As he stood, content for a moment to linger, he took a sip of the caf. It was warm, nothing special like a home made brew but for a hospital he supposed it was fairly above average. His momentary thought was interrupted by the Special Agent's response. "Nah, sadly my mother passed before she could have any more kids. I can't imagine it's easy.." he nodded towards where Sybil lay. "..having to see her like this. I did hear some of the nurses talking though, it sounds like the wounds are healing nicely. At this point I think they're more concerned with how her mind is. Well, that, and how she'll adjust. You don't just get right back up on y..."

It was in that second that Special Agent Deriss realized he was rambling. Government jobs, specifically the military or agencies like the FOSB necessitated a sort of morbid outlook on life. It helped you get through the tough times, the inevitable loss of a close colleague or a brother in arms. It wasn't something he'd been used to suppressing but as the words escaped his mouth he'd begun to realize just where he was and who he was talking to. "Uh.. Yeah, I mean it sounds like things are looking up though." he tried to say with an uptone. "Thanks for the Caf." He half smiled gratefully before turning back to the solitary chair. With a silent nod, Martin opened the door to the room again, settling into the small chair beside the bed. Gently reaching his fingers out, he grasped Sybil's hand. "I'm right here. You're alright, I know you're going to be alright. You've been through worse.. We've been through worse."

 

[The Major]

"...But in the cosmos there is balm as well as bitterness, and that balm is nepenthe." H.P Lovecraft​

A nightmare churned, spurred end over end as eddies twisting into whirlpools. Draining endlessly, these dark, cavernous swirls embraced the vast, inky blackness in manners both terrorizing and mesmerizing. An entire sea of ichor, black as obsidian, shining ceaselessly under light of distant stars strained under an overcast night, was pulling together to this Hellish point. It was a super-massive black hole in the ocean, cold and rending the very concept of all that was living -all sacred, all sweet. The nightmare was not satisfied with kiloliter after kiloliter of fluid. In this mire floated the tower she was prisoner unto. Shaking powerfully as the final mast does before an entire ship is consumed, the monolith began to twirl about itself as it sank into the eye of the grandest maelstrom. Sybil could not, would not, dare to look down into the abyss at its center, for the very prospect of laying eyes upon the center of that greedy vortex shattered her overtaxed perceptions. This woman knew, above all else, that to fall prey to this gravity was a fate worse than a thousand deaths -for it would bind her to an eternity incomprehensible in pain and scope. She panted, wheezing after what surely must have been hours of running up a spiral staircase. She could not stop nor could resign. In the darkness of the night the only constant was the terrible sound of the massive eddy sucking and tearing apart the foundation of this tower. Night oppressed, and it was common for Sybil to stumble while racing up the shadow stricken steps. The only source of light came from the thin tower fracturing as stones flaked off and cracked as the strain pulled apart at the tower's base. The bespectacled merovingian noted that regardless of her struggle -being even reduced to climb like an animal on her knees for the sake of feeling a path upwards- the eye level of the ocean continued to show that her position in the tower was grinding closer and closer to the hurricane like eye of water. Roaring ever louder the end approached as that malicious nadir pulled her in closer and closer.

Why me?

Why anyone?​

What have I done?

What haven’t you done?​

All in vain! Sybil emerged upon the roof. Flabbergasted, broken, time was all but up. Already she was fast about the level of the horizon, nigh level with the outermost wall of boiling water. There was no time to consider what had transpired nor make internal amends; not even the briefest of respites would be indulged upon in this indomitable chaos. She clenched as the roar destroyed her eardrums. She shrank as cold air grew wet and freezing upon her coat. She shut her eyes tightly as the ocean sprayed flecks of moisture upon her face and lips. It was then she noted the foul smell beneath her pale nose of cruel iron. In a final moment of absolute terror The Major realized that she was drowning in an ocean of old blood hidden under the night. It came as cold as ice, filling every pore of her being -metal and rust bursting into her body as the current took her for a spin. Frozen as her very being and memory tore apart atom by atom, she heard voices in her head as her eyes imploded at the pressure of the vortex and the blood swelled in her brain.

“You’ve been through worse...”​

“We’ve been through worse.”​

“You’ll go through worse still!” ​

“Mirror, mirror -upon a wall; show me that woe which I already know -feast your eyes and behold!”​

The light was harsh at first as her eyes creaked open. Slowly the blurring fizzle of blindness faded and objects took shape. She felt the warmth of a hand upon her own, surprised by the magnitude of cold the rest of her body felt in comparison. The memory of a foul taste faded away off her tongue as everything in the room registered. Reality chased some kind of displeasure from just a few moments ago, and in this woozy daze she assumed it was just fleeting dream. Something had happened to her body -for her hands and feet barely moved at her mind’s insistence. Life monitoring equipment beeped and chirped happily somewhere over her head.

“Martin? You’re here!” She squeaked, a relief cascading and betraying a rising peel of fear that had been secured over the last year and change away from Almania. Her first thought associated with seeing another Shepard was how she had already caused too much grief by making him take time from his work in order to stop and visit. Shame compounding at disappointing her older brother, her expression filled with growing umbrage and jittering self-loathing. “What happened?” She asked as her brain began to fire off at breakneck pace.

Far from her current thoughts, however, was the more subtle fact that when her glasses had shattered days ago on Dosuun, a pre-arranged signal was sent out to a number of people that would be considered trusted. Pathetically, Sybil had not accrued a great of close friends. It was likely, thanks to her line of work, that there were barely a handful of people that would care if she was dumped out an airlock. Nevertheless the signal went out as a sort of last act -perhaps in hopes of vengeance if there was any to doll out, or for at least someone to come and investigate an untimely demise. Martin had of course been one such party, but there were a few others.

[member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Tez Bola"] | [member="Rusty"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"]​

 

[Eralam]

Clank.

Clank.

Heavy footfalls rang down the corridor.

Ordinarily, a droid in a hospital would garner no special attention. They were as ubiquitous as they were invisible, a sight so spectacularly ordinary that no one would so much as bat an eye.

This particular model, however, was attracting quite a lot of attention.

It was tall, nearly two meters of matte black durasteel, crisscrossed with shiny scars from battles new and old. It moved slowly, purposefully down the corridors, its nonskid soles landing heavily on the tile floor, sending little tremors through the ward. Nurses, doctors, patients and loved ones, they all cast fearful glances in its direction, but no one moved to stop it.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was being escorted by a member of the security team, a heavyset fellow with a bit of a gut who nonetheless moved like a much younger, more sprightly man, and had a shiny blaster on his hip. The lack of alarms might have soothed frazzled nerves as well. If the lethal looking droid was being escorted by security, and no one had sounded an alarm, surely it was supposed to be here, right?

But the most likely reason was the fact that, in its hands was a large, silver tray, upon which sat a very lovely vintage tea set.

Afficianados would have recognized it as an antique Alderaanian set from before the rise of Palpatine's Empire, equal parts extravagant and elegant. The teapot was china so fine, it was nearly translucent under the harsh fluorescent lighting. A silvery floral pattern was etched into the side, the blossoms completely clear, taking their hues from the rich, rose-colored liquid inside. The cups were similarly decorated, rimmed with polished silver at the lip. Such a set would have cost as much as a comfortable home on any wealthy planet, and here it was being carried by a droid that looked more suited for war than butler duties.

The tea set was completely at odds with the harsh functionality of the droid that carried it.

The dichotomy amused Eralam.

The ancient Shard had received an automated call on his secure line. Very few individuals had that number. He was mildly surprised to realize that the one known as [member="The Major"] had added him to a list of people to contact in the event she was severely injured or killed. He was fond of the young huntress; she represented the sort of potential that he had only seen a few times in his long, long life. He hadn't realized that she returned his affection, at least enough to notify him in the event that something happened to her.

Did Sybil think that, should things go badly for her, the Iron Knight would avenge her? Perhaps. Maybe she just wanted someone to know that she had passed, or was in danger of passing. Humans were strange, and she was stranger than most. Even trying to suss out her motivations gave him the crystalline equivalent of a headache.

All he knew was that she was hurt, and that she had called him. Of course he would come. And, since there was no way a hospital like this one would allow him to enter normally, he had brought tea, in the hopes that security would be nonplussed enough to forgo their usual disdain for his sort.

He had taken some precautions, of course. The First Order was not likely to welcome him with open arms if he knew that he had actively fought against them in their recent actions against the Galactic Alliance. His presence there had been a complete accident, but in his annoyance, he had killed a few of their hired guns. So, for the sake of discretion, he wore his old chassis, one they wouldn't be familiar with.

From [member="Rusty"], he had borrowed the wondrous Hyperpocket Generator, a device which allowed him to carry all manner of toys without fear of detection. In it, he kept a short barreled shotgun, his lightsaber, and a handful of other, more explosive trinkets.

And, of course, there was the tea.

The security guard escorted him through the FOSB's cordon at Sybil's room. They didn't like it, but he wasn't visibly armed, and the tea had a way of assuaging suspicions.

"Hello, Sybil," the Shard said as he entered. "You look like crap."

[member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Tez Bola"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"]

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Emilia had roused herself early in the morning. She woke blearily in her hotel bead, blinking hard and wiping sleep from her eyes. As she pushed the covers aside and got to her feet, she winced at the sensation from her muscles, painfully protesting the movement. Still struggling from the drowsy shroud of sleep, Emilia padded barefoot to her window, opening the slatted blinds, and letting the barest hint of grey pre-dawn light to spill into the hotel room, which sat bare apart from her slept-in bed.

Crossing the room to her small bag, Emilia dressed herself, once again wincing as her buttoned shirt slipped across the numerous scrapes, and large multicolored bruises that covered sections of her midriff up to her ribs. Once dressed, she made her way into the room's small bathroom, and tried her best to conceal the deep cut on her brow, and striking bruises on her right cheekbone. She gazed for what felt like some time at the mirror, starting dumbfounded at the broken woman that looked back at her. It had started at Forselle Drive, Emilia had been one of the first at the scene of the attack. At first she'd been regarded as something of a hero, her response to the situation had been swift and professional.

However, the officials had quickly changed their tune. During a standard debrief after the incident with Bureau Chief Ennike, Emilia had been grilled with questions regarding her failure to capture the sniper that had shot The Major. While Emilia explained, their interrogation seemed to hone its focus on the possibility that she'd been involved in some sort of conspiracy, attempting to prevent the assassination of Ennike, and later in the interview, that she'd collaborated in the attempt on Minister Calgar's life. Throughout the process, which unfolded over several hours, Emilia angrily had exclaimed that the whole affair was ridiculous, and that they had no proof she was any way involved. This had caused her interrogator, a tall, thing man with a hooked nose, to give her a sly grin. "That's where you're wrong, Ms Ravel." He said softly, "because we have a list of names, a list of all Ennike's little co-conspirators and associates, and you're on that list."

Three days later, Emilia had been released, battered and bruised, but alive. The same could not be said for many of her peers. Upon her return to the wider world, she'd learned from her sources that the officials closest to Ennike, and those thought to be involved, or aware of the plot against Calgar were now dead. This had left a power vacuum, especially in the upper echelons of the three directorates. The Bureau was in turmoil, and it was speculated it would stay that way, at least for now. In amongst this mess, Emilia had been delivered a letter, with a hospital address, and instructions to visit the bedridden Major. The swiftness of her reaction even seemed to surprise her, she'd leapt from her chair, throwing down the letter and using her contacts to arrange the fastest possible transportation to the hospital on Lanteeb.

On the flight, she'd had time to ruminate over her odd relationship with The Major. She didn't even know her real name, but even still Emilia felt that in their time serving together they had developed something of a strong bond. The intimidating Station Chief felt the same way, she supposed, as Emilia had been informed she was one of only a handful whose presence had been requested.

Giving up on the fruitless attempt at disguising her own injuries, Emilia left the bathroom, leaving the apartment and stepping into the quiet hallway beyond. Unlike all her other recent trips, she was not greeted by the solemn faces of a security entourage, only by the empty hall and an aching silence. With a sigh, she took the turbolift to the lobby, arriving just as her speeder pulled up at the front of the hotel. The ride to the Aphrodite Advanced Medical Centre was short, and the brief conversation at reception and subsequent walk to room 12-A seemed even shorter. In the blink of an eye, Emilia found herself standing outside The Major's door.

With a moments, hesitation, she entered the cosy hospital room. Immediately, she was struck by the strangeness of the sight of a hulking automaton standing at the centre of the room, seemingly carrying a tea set. She looked past it, instead focusing on the woman sitting up in the bed, the famous Major. She offered the injured woman her warmest smile, and she meant it too, but after a moment it broke, betraying her concern and... Something else, a darker, more hostile emotion.

Clearing her throat gently to attract the attention of the small party, she addressed the bedridden Station Chief. "Hello Major, it's Emilia."

| [member="Eralam"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Martin Shepard"] |​

 

[Progflaw99]

[ Lanteeb ][ Elysium Complex ][ Brand Volcata Industries ]​

[ Aphrodite Advanced Medical Center ][ Room 12-A ]​

In Vicinity: [member="The Major"] | [member="Eralam"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"]​

​

He'd almost been caught off guard by his sister's voice, rough and quiet as her eyes flickered open. He could see the look of near confusion as she tried to grasp her surroundings, a quiet sigh of relief overcoming him. They weren't exactly out of the woods but the fact that she was speaking was a good thing, wasn't it? A soft shush escaped Martin's lips as he gave her hand a squeeze before rising from where he sat. Tall and lanky, well dressed but not extravagant, he shifted closer to where his sister could fully see him. "There there, don't move too much. You've had an accident." Letting go of her hand and instead shifting a few of the miscellaneous tubes and cables hanging about the bed. "They won't tell me much, but I'm sure they'll want to give you the 'ole debrief before long. It's good to see you sis."

The two had taken a few moments to trade the latest news from home, a few nondescript details of his sister's work. Martin had managed to carouse up a fresh batch of oranges and a small boquet of lilacs, despite their being out of season on Alamania. They might not be close in terms of geography anymore but the two had maintained regular contact since her foray into the First Order. A few times the doctors came in, took a few samples of blood and checked the stats on several of the machines, interchanging their contents periodically. "The doctors said they don't want you eating just yet, but I figured these should be ripe by the time you're out of here." He paused. "On the topic of here, I've had you transferred to Lanteeb, the private medical facility here is top of the line. Aphrodite Advanced Medical Center if you want the name." The two chatted on for a time, Sybil nodding off for a nap a few times inbetween. As of now, the two had settled into a comfortable bout of silence, Martin merely happy his younger sister seemed to be recovering, even if slowly.

After a time, a shuffle at the door caught Martin's attention, his eyes darting quickly to the door. He'd been frisked on his way in, though a subtle shift of his hand as he rose from his seat hinted that not all his teeth had been confiscated. A droid. Or at least it might as well have been to the Almanian. The way the machine greeted Sybil sent a brief pang of curiosity across Martin's features, a raised eyebrow slowly returning to its place as he now looked to his sister. *Intriguing.* Not nearly a moment later, another woman approached from the door. *Major. That's a new one.* he thought. It seemed his sister was in no short supply of friends, if that's indeed who these people were. He found it suspect that the Brandt-Volcata Industries security had let through the hulking machine, but maybe they knew something he didn't - though it was a private corporate hospital, who could say what palms had been greased or clearances given.

"Well sis, you'll have to introduce me to your friends."

 

[The Major]

Lanteeb
Elysium Complex
Brand Volcata Industries
Aphrodite Advanced Medical Center
Room 12-A

Fresh flowers evoked the sweet memories of the Shepards’ upbringing, though without the context of formal acclimatization into standard society one might misconstrue such imagery as garish. Sinisterly arranged laboratories, resembling crude workshops, or vast and ill lit halls with creaking, spider-web entangled chairs of a derelict castle flashed before the mind’s eye. Cemeteries and crypts dominated hills as far as perception allowed —and despite the morbid atmosphere there was always a brief hint of such flowers clinging hopeful unto those fortunate or plagued to travel through the decrepit fortifications.

Such was the loving memory pushed forward by the captivating aroma of lilacs which now offered their gentle caress upon the senses.
Meanwhile, as the siblings caught up on matters not at all compromising in regards to the state or the trite happenings on Almanian government, room 12-A grew more crowded. To Sybil, this was about as good as Life Day and an abundance of gifts. Martin’s presence was already a surprise. To think that anyone else answered gave her such a queer and warm buzz in the pit of her soul. Proof that she could eek out an existence in the vast moral wasteland that was this modern galaxy while leaving fingerprints upon its wayward face. Little did Sybil know how delusional her interpretation truly was.

First was the Shard, charming as ever with his penchant for abrasion and sense of anachronism that rivaled Sybil’s very own. Living for centuries on end tended to give one a very nuanced perspective on civility. Being silicate and devoid of adrenal glands tended to compound that fact. Regardless of his (or “its” depending on the planet culture) bizarre application of the living condition the Iron Knight proved yet again to be faithful friend. He was something of a mentor to the Major, honing certain Force abilities and holistic investigative techniques that came in useful to her to this day. Imagining them cooperating on any singular task was frankly an exercise in comprehending the Eldritch; it probably behooved the galaxy that these two more often than not operated in different sectors and ran in different circles.

Sybil nigh snorted as his vocabulator formed the auditory wonderland that was Eralam using the word “crap.”

“Still better looking than you, Detective.” Something of a warped grin formed upon her face as her eyes fell upon what appeared to be a tea set. Why was the Shard so up on tea these days? She could sworn that he lived by oils and various lethal grade alcohols when they first met.

“Are those boiled leaves supposed to heal my back faster? Imbued with regeneration, I bet.”

And then quite suddenly the air seemed be sucked out in a vacuum as something quite somber reared its morose head to bear down upon this meager party. You couldn’t find a more effective means of wiping the long-lipped smile off of Sybil’s face.

“Hello there. . . Martin, this is Emilia. The metallic aficionado is known as Eralam. I am loathe to be so rude when all of you have traveled a great deal to be here -and appreciate your presence. However, I did not expect you all to arrive in one swoop. Begging pardon, but could you gentlemen give Emilia and I a moment alone? There is something we have to discuss that simply cannot wait. Martin, perhaps you can show Eralam where the kitchen is so he can prepare his tea? Thank you.”

Putting those two together was a ripe recipe for disaster. She imagined they would hate each other immediately, but it could not be helped. Once the Shard and other Shepard had exited there extended a silence nigh impenetrable. She could feel it; dreaded it. Perhaps it was precognition or expectation of the worse as par for the course for her miserable life. This sensation continued to swell as seconds dragged on tensely.

“...” The Major’s arms and legs had already started to function like normal. She reached over for a single lilac and began to twirl it anxiously.

“Em…” A wordsmith bereft of tended to be a pathetic sight.

“I failed you.”

[member="Emilia Ravel"] | [member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Eralam"] | [member="Tez Bola"]​

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

She stood awkwardly, just inside the door. Unease churned in her gut. Her goal was to exchange pleasantries, and then get out of there. She told herself it was because the woman was still recovering, that she shouldn't take too much time, that she had other places to be. None of those reasons were true. She'd immediately noticed the way the woman's mouth had turned down at the corners when she'd noticed Emilia, and from the depths of her own mind, a dark thought that had been buried and pushed aside was suddenly pulled to the forefront of her consciousness, spreading its cold tendrils until it was all she could think about.

Her face remained stony, and she barely acknowledged the other two in the room with a glance and a nod when she was introduced. As the Major requested the other two leave so that they may talk alone, her eyes remained transfixed on the form of the injured agent that lay before her. Warily, she took a seat beside the woman's hospital bed. Silence hung heavy in the air, Emilia now unable to look the woman in the eye. Instead, her eyes were locked on her lap, where she nervously wrung her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw The Major lean forward suddenly reach out, Emilia visibly recoiled, flinching at the woman's sudden movement. After a moment, she calmed herself, she was just grabbing a flower. She told herself she was being ridiculous, but the tension in her shoulders remained.

Opening her mouth to apologise, Emilia found herself looking eye-to-eye with the Major, and before she could begin speaking the woman cut her off.

“Em… I failed you."

The words hit her like a slap in the face, her eyes widened, her mouth remained agape for a moment. It was as if a bucket of icy-cold water had been dumped on her head. In her brain, trillions of synapses fired together, piecing the fragments of her experience together into a terrible narrative. Instantaneously, the sneaking suspicions that had dwelt unacknowledged in the recesses of her mind were realised, the sudden understanding accompanied by a wave of powerful and complex emotions; anger, pain, and most of all, hurt.

With the colour draining from her face, her lips pulled into a tight, severe line. A grimace that hid inside it the tumultuous wave of emotion bubbling up inside her. In her lap, both her fists were clenched in a white knuckle grip, muscles tensed, toes curling, willing herself to be somewhere, anywhere else from here. Memories threatened to pull her away from the room, and the image of her lone figure, standing on the edge of a precipice, caught on the line between reality and the nightmares below, struck a powerful chord in her consciousness. Like a lightning bolt in a clear night sky. As she spoke, she could not help her voice shaking.

"When... They took me away, in Avalonia, I didn't understand what was going on..." She paused, swallowing heavily. "They called me a traitor, they said I was part of a conspiracy. To tell you the truth, I didn't know what they were talking about, I was just confused. I figured since I had nothing to do with Ennike's death they'd let me go after a few hours, but they didn't." She trailed off again, her eyes still on the bedridden woman, but her gaze looked off far behind her.

"See, they had a list. A list of names, a list of traitors. I was on that list. Those animals kept me locked up for 3 days trying to force a confession." Her gazed flicked to the leather bag she'd brought with her, the one which held her blaster pistol, before returning to focus sharply on the woman on the bed.

"When I was finally released, I did some digging. I met up with some connections, talked to a few associates. There was a lot that was merely rumour, but eventually I managed to tease the truth from the conjecture. A plot to assassinate the Minister, and somehow I was mixed up in all of it, listed as a prime suspect."

"It was you, wasn't it?" She leaned forward as she asked the question, willing for the answer to be 'no.'

"It was your list."

| [member="The Major"] | [member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Eralam"] |​

 

[Eralam]

"Tea's already hot. What can I say about Alderaanians, other than they knew how to make a bang? For the love of all things holy, don't break it."

And with that, Eralam set the tea tray down and left the room. Something told him that things in there were about to get...emotional. As a whole, the Shard didn't disapprove of the concept of emotion, but things got messy when people got glandular. As Shard-like as Sybil could appear on the outside, she was organic, and as best as he could tell, she hadn't lobotomized herself.

Plus, he recognized the other one. Not the way she looked, but the voice? The Force presence?

He was fairly sure he had come perilously close to beating her to death with a banjo.

That wasn't the sort of thing one could apologize for and hope for the best. That was the sort of thing one pretended never happened.

Once out of the room, and a fair distance away, the Shard entered the breakroom.

"So," he said, hoping that [member="Martin Shepard"] had followed. He'd feel like an ass if he was talking to himself. "Sybil mentioned sisters, but never a brother. I'd say that was unusual, but, well, you've met the woman. Unusual is sort of her thing."

[member="The Major"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"]

 

[Progflaw99]

Martin watched, a solemn expression holding place across his features as he eyeballed the two arrivals. Who were these friends of his sister? Oh, there were things he didn't expect to know about how his sister lived or whom she chose to associate with though the droid threw him for a loop, if that's what it was. The way it had spoken almost seemed it indicate it had some sense of self, outside the standard programming - it wouldn't surprise him he supposed, if it was merely some other form of life. Folding his hands in front of himself, Martin nodded in greeting to the both of them, eyes lingering on the woman's expression. In that instant it had seemed like a wellspring of emotion had descended upon the room, an intangible tension growing between her and.. Sybil? The two must have known each other well. You didn't look at someone like that whom you didn't know.

"Of course." He said, patting the edge of the bed. "I'm sure your friend and I can find something to do, I've been feeling a bit peckish as fate would have it." A careful eye lingered, appraising the woman Sybil had identified as Emilia. Martin knew Sybil could take care of herself, but in such a weakened state he had a lingering paranoia. He pushed it to the back of his mind for the time being. Excusing himself, Martin followed deliberately in the wake of the one called Eralam. *An interesting name.* Martin noted. Exiting the room, they turned several corners before they arrived at the designated community room, why it was called that he had no idea, it wasn't as if there was a community here really. Little more than a small kitchenette and refrigerator, a few vending machines sat towards the opposite side of the room. As the shard came to a halt, he raised an arm, pointing towards the vending machines. "I hope you don't mind?" Without waiting for a response, he stepped towards them, carefully selecting a snack of choice.

"So, Sybil mentioned sisters, but never a brother. I'd say that was unusual, but, well, you've met the woman. Unusual is sort of her thing."​

​

beep, boop - bop! A particularly large thud sounded as the machine against the wall dispensed a product from within. Reaching down to retrieve it, Martin spoke. "I've been told it runs in the family." The Almanian smirked, bright eyes glued to the metal sheen reflecting off the figure of Eralam. "Perhaps equally as strange, Sybil seems to have played her cards close to chest. Not to pry.." the crinkle of a wrapper interrupted his words, his eyes never leaving his new acquaintance. "..but how did you and Sybil come to meet?"

[member="Eralam"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"] | [member="The Major"]​

 

[Eralam]

It was impossible for the Shard to make any sort of facial expression, but nonetheless, he gave the impression of a sheepish grin in response to the question.

"Eh, honestly? Random chance. She and I met back before she signed on with the First Order."

Eralam settled carefully into a chair. It creaked ominously in protest, but held. Hospital furniture tended to be overengineered, thankfully. It would have been all kinds of embarrassing to wind up dumped on his ass amidst a pile of splinters- again. He fished his customary meerschaum pipe from its pouch on his belt, eyed the no smoking sign wistfully, shrugged, and stuck it into the aperture designed to accommodate it. Not wanting to get kicked out of the hospital, he left it unlit.

"Every four or five decades, I run across a particularly promising individual and offer to take them on as a student. Your sister has the sort of potential I've only seen two or three times over the last millennium, so I was pleased when she took me up on the offer. Every now and again, we get together, do some traveling, see some sights, meet new and interesting people and occasionally kill them. She picks up some new skills and experiences, I get to stave off ennui, it's a win/win situation."

That was, of course, the truth. Or most of it, at any rate. The Iron Knight neglected to mention that the random chance that brought them together had had a helping hand, or the lingering sense of familiarity that plagued the both of them. He was loath to mention his awareness of his other self at the best of times, and, as this Martin fellow had pointed out, Sybil liked to play her cards close to the chest. If she wanted him to know, she could tell him herself.

"So what's you story?"

[member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"] | [member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Lanteeb
Elysium Complex
Brand Volcata Industries
Aphrodite Advanced Medical Center
Room 12-A

[member="Emilia Ravel"] | [member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Eralam"] | [member="Tez Bola"]​

​

"It was your list."​

Fortunately the rising novas of the Security Bureau weren’t partaking of a hot beverage as they exchanged fraught words springing upwards in a coiled madness that verged upon the edge of violent madness -for that drink would have now sprayed in a messy mist that would be painful to watch. Instead the Major’s often tired, reluctant looking eyes blared with the briefest light to rival the harsh insanity of a blazing blue supergiant star. One got the distinct the impression that had this patient not be restricted by injury then her primary reaction would have been to slap Emilia as fiercely as her hand and arm could muster.

​

The gall. ​

​

The sheer nerve! ​

Her freckled cheeks went from crimson to a deep bruising that appeared purple. It took the most conditioned spirit to resist the urge to scream out a ‘how dare you’ and complete it with an aristocratic snarl. Composure. Empathy. These traits were useful for any living being, and right now it took a few beats before the blood went back to flowing through her brain in a proper way. Those eyes now cruelly examined the battered Bureau Chief with the predatory instinct of a hawk -a hunter seeking to pinpoint and ascertain every detail that could show the right way in this mess. A small bag was near Emilia’s feet, something about its size and relative discretion hinted that it wasn’t a “get well” present of the typical sort.

“What...” ​

Deadpan. Dead weights or lead striking a metal deck. Her voice was dulled with the barely contained outrage -but Sybil would manage.​

​

“My list. You…. You think I made that list. You think I would purposefully put you upon a kill list.”​

​

The lilac in her hands begun to twist and be crushed at the stem by squeezing hands.​

​

“That day I was given a list and ordered to expunge the traitors. Can you imagine what it was like to see your name on it? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.” The space between her eyes turned red as she squeezed them shut. “Orders are orders. It was either follow them or face hanging for treason. But I was determined to find proof of your innocence. Desperate to find proof. That’s when it became apparent that your placement upon that notice was a forgery. You weren’t even part of the communiques between that dog Ennike and his hunters -but it was made to look like you were always listening in upon the exchanges. You were set up. My only friend was the target of a clean up to clear the way for something else. They were going to use me to do it -perhaps assuming I’m desperate to rise above my station. The cleverest part of the whole ordeal was getting me to appear there personally for the deed. Whoever set you up also must’ve assigned that sniper just to take me out as well. They were very close. But they underestimated my... persistence.”

The explanation might be fairly delivered, but now as her eyes opened again there appeared to be a wet glaze lining them.

“And you come here now and ask that? If it’s my list?”

Her hands subconsciously moved up the stem and started picking and peeling the delicate petals, fraying them.

“Who in Hades do you think forwarded those demons at Interrogations your proof of innocence? Me. You think they just let agents sent to room 101 out and free with their lives? You’d think they just let you travel about? I got you that pass. I asked for you to be here. And you think I set you up? That I had nearly killed and called you in to -what, gloat that I tried to end your life? You’re my only shetting friend in this cesspool of a group, in this job where everybody looks at me like some bygone freak, where everyone is plotting your demise -AND YOU THOUGHT I’D TRY TO KILL YOU?!”

​

“JUST WHO IN KARKING SHET DO YOU THINK I AM?!”​

​

“A MONSTER?!”​

​

The shouting bounced about the room which would have concerned the staff had the “Do Not Disturb” function which Sybil control in her pathetic reach. The flower was now crushed, destroyed in fragments, spreading its death throe of scent about the room before fading away forever.​

​

“And what?! You’re here to finish the job?! Undertake your revenge after finding the truth?! Well. Congratulations! We were both played and used because I trusted you and wanted to protect you instead of carefully doing my job! Do what you will with that fact.”​

​

A nihilistic dredge akin to swamp grease or putrid spit took upon her soul and bore upon Sybil which displayed clearly upon her face as her eyes dimmed. Feebleness took hold upon her, and in the midst of such morose revelation upon her psyche.​

“You’d think I was capable of such lecherous treachery upon you. . .​

​

“You don’t know a thing about me. . . ​

​

“Nobody does.”​

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

She saw the anger that flared in the woman's eyes, a storm of such devastating ferocity that if unleashed, it would surely rend her flesh. A fire so intense it would surely bleach her bones. For a moment, she saw the eyes of a wolf, the eyes of a killer. Then, it was gone. Replaced with a cool gaze and carefully delivered speech. The Major was in control again, but Emilia kept that first look in her memory, focusing on it, allowing it to give her strength, even as the Station Chief showed convincing signs of emotion and... Regret? She wasn't sure.

The explanation was good enough, Emilia found herself beginning to be swayed, the appeal of the human connection that the woman had offered to her over the past year was almost too much to resist. Seeds of doubt were sewn in her mind. Perhaps she'd got it wrong. Could the Major have been trying to help her this whole time? Maybe she was in the wrong, barging into the hospital room of a critically wounded agent, someone she'd even considered a friend. Was it right to accuse this person of betrayal? What if she was wrong.

Soon, though, the doubts began to melt away once again. The delicate emotions of sadness and hurt that the woman had expressed in her explanation had quickly been replaced with a raw anger, one that turned Emilia's blood to ice. Each shouted word was louder and more violent than the last, not only reverberating off the walls of the room, but bouncing and echoing inside her head, each syllable a minute dagger, tearing at her brain, working its way into her blood. At the word 'monster,' she flinched, closing her eyes, both hands gripping the arms of her chair. In that position she stayed, until the woman trailed off, and fell silent.

Emilia found herself filled with a strange sense of calm, a cold sensation, as if she'd somehow disconnected herself from reality. Her worries and fears were sealed, locked behind an invisible levee, holding back the tide of emotion that threatened to spill out. She opened her eyes, leveling a cool gaze at the woman in the bed. The sickly-sweet scent of crushed lilac tickled her nose, but she ignored it. The silence stretched out for a few moment, then Emilia cleared her throat, and began speaking.

"Do I think you're a monster? No, I don't. I know you're a monster, Major. You're a manipulative devil. You act as if life is your own personal game, each person is a pawn that you manipulate according to your own twisted desires. I'm sick of it all, I will no longer be your plaything, because look where it got me. Whenever I'm anywhere near you, misfortune follows me like a cloud. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that's a coincidence."

She paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath.

"I don't know if you were behind this, I can't be sure exactly how you were involved. Maybe I don't know you, but I know enough to know that you're dangerous."

She swallowed heavily, and looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.

"Whatever you thought we had, whatever you thought this was, it's over. I'm done."

She spun on her heel, picking the bag off the floor, and walked carefully out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. As she walked down the long, empty corridor back to the lobby of the hospital, the walls of her emotional dam began to crumble at the edges. They broke apart as she stepped into the elevator, her body racked with sobs by the time she reached the ground floor. She made a beeline for the bathroom, dropping to the tiled floor and drawing her knees to her chest. She put her head in her hands, wishing she was anywhere else. The deed was done.

[member="The Major"] | [member="Eralam"] | [member="Martin Shepard"]​

 

[The Major]

Karmic retribution was an aspect of the Force not quite studied but intrinsic to its overall design. If all things had to be in balance, then too much of any good or bad thing had to be recompensed to shift the tide and set the scale in proper place. What nobody could grasp was that retribution was powerful enough to transcend time and space; it transcended the very flow of life, and in some very special cases it could even surpass the boundaries of the universe all in the -completely unbiased- drive to punish the wicked. Like lightning paradoxically caked in shards of ice, it rained furiously with all intent of crushing the wayward soul into oblivion. Worry not. Nobody suffers so much without deserving its full ire.​

​

Lanteeb
Elysium Complex
Brand Volcata Industries
Aphrodite Advanced Medical Center
Room 12-A
Neither here nor there...

Somewhere else, another time...​

"Do you know, 'Lian,​

One day you're gonna find​

that mixing up with the living​

will leave you despised.​

"You do it this way​

-they all whine.​

You do it that way​

-they leave you behind.​

You'll never win​

because living is chaos​

and death is divine. ​

"But keep going,​

keep trying.​

You'll try life after life.​

Again.​

Reprise.​

It's my favorite thing about you;​

It's what makes you mine.​

Spin and spin and spin, Rip.​

Cry, spit, and fight.​

"It breaks mommy's heart...​

​

...every

SINGLE​

...time!​

"But alas, not too fast this time.​

You have to last a little longer than this,​

so here's something new for you to play with instead."​

​

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55qydEu7WcE​

Proud as she likened to pretend to be; mighty and full of poise as the Major pretended to be -it was all and only that. An act. Wearing a face. You pretended to be a friend. You pretend to listen to someone or care for someone else. Or you pretend to be someone else. In her case: a foreign noblewoman from lands long lost to charts or use. The kind of person that could pass as quality; the kind of person that worked hard and did her best with a flair and modicum of composure. If any of this were true, then the Major could in fact survive this little spat and continue with life as normal. Revenge of her dignity would be next course and a necessary step since her honor was called into question. Any who dared to insult the Fallanassi would face justice in the form of unrelenting wrath. But these were fantasies. A response only an intelligent child could see was the answer. Someone more wise would set out to set things right. A person honest and true would certainly not allow such discourse to happen without clarifications or apologies.

Sybil was none of these things. She only pretended to be anything of worth.​

Ironically, it wasn't the twin blaster bolts that did it. Or bearing witness to a broken spirit on the Red Veil. Or the crude remarks from agents day in or day out. It wasn't the strange glances from people sitting around her on a space flight. It wasn't the killing or being shot at. It wasn't on Ennike's face that day. It wasn't on that scowl when Admiral Rausgeber first regarded the Major on her first appointment. Nor being shunned by the Ren time and time again after trying to assist them. It wasn't in failing to stop the attempt on Minister Calgar's life. It wasn't being ostracized by her supposed allies that did this. It wasn't that time when the Brand shunned her to attend to her partner at that dance ages ago. It wasn't that time that Dresden looked at her and knew, right then and there, that he was dealing with a liar. It wasn't nearly dying on Naboo, or Nysteria, at the Astral Tower, or upon the Red Veil. None of that turned everything so upon itself.

This was the moment. The moment in which she felt herself die just enough. A sort of innocence died along with it as the words kept raining like black ink. And truth? What was truth? A little contemptuous maggot ushered upwards to rationalize a chaotic, utterly useless life.

Anger wasn't enough to mask on a haughty face, and a tribulation transpired behind eyes that lost their animalistic sheen as the veneer wore off. Sybil had nothing inside to froth up in a final defiance. No defense. Nothing to spit out. No acid. No drama. Instead she listened as it continued on and on. She hadn't the strength to maintain a cold stare, and ashamed of someone she trusted thinking so lowly of her camaraderie, the bed-ridden woman let her gaze drop to some place upon her lap.

Days could have passed. The very eons could have gone by and all could be reduced to ash. Sybil wouldn't notice anymore.

Emilia was gone.

The room was empty now but the scent from the dead flower in her hands gave her a companion in the form of melancholic balm.

She shut her eyes, preferring to spy the inevitable future all would eventually see -an infinite sea of black.

It began to churn while taking shape into water. It spun. It swirled. She could see herself floating upon the sides, struggling to keep breathing. Sybil wondered why it wasn't simply easier to imagine herself diving deep while sucking in what must be freezing salt. Something in her brain sent a synapse that she was embarking upon the correct path of thought, but it was beyond her comprehension to grasp that fact.

And then it came. Slow at first. Bubbling from her very mind's eye. Wrathful. Upset. A primordial part of her consciousness twisted upon itself like razor wires flossing through her skull. Memories began to form; moments that had been stored away without her permission flickered by. Conversations. Dire straights. Happy jokes. The Walking Disaster's face. The Major was no stranger to frustration or distress. However, in all her life she had never felt the fraughtful cocktail of hatred, or of pure malice. Nothing had up until this point inspired her to want to bring utter ruination -but at this moment waves of spite panged upon her grief. Her body clenched as vitriol cascaded to such an intense degree that a cold pit formed. Like spreading ice, these arctic fractals were obliterating themselves to form upon and rupture her soul. She failed to notice her knuckles popping in white fury, or her teeth grinding in malignancy.

Eventually it passed, and gasping for air as this panic attack subsided Sybil noted her hands were painfully biting as though blistering. Her shock was nearly audible as she looked upon her fingers. They were frostbitten! Her nails had become a bluish black and white scars of burned skin ran up to her wrists. These had already begun to flake, peeling as blood circulated properly but did little to stop the numbing pain. More immediately concerning to her gaze was the killed flower in her hands.

It was frozen solid. ​

Sybil flung it away, fearing the ice as though the encapsulated stalk was the problem. It burst against the wall; sure as though every atom were reduced to a centigrade best measured in Kelvin. ​

[member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Eralam"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"] | [member="Tez Bola"] ​

 

[Eralam]

“A MONSTER?!”​

Whatever Martin was going to say, Eralam could not hear. Would not hear.

Eralam was no longer in the community room, this carefully constructed little corner of the hospital where the soul went when the needs of the flesh intruded on those precious few remaining moments with the sick and the dying.

"No."

A word, simply spoken. An order, a demand, a plea, all wrapped up into one syllable forced through a mechanical throat.

For one brief instant, a span of time so minute that physicists would have to use fancy words like quantum to properly describe it, the walls between worlds faded, and the Iron Knight ceased to exist.

Spoiler

You shouldn't be here.

You really can't stop me. I'm basically a god, you know.

You're a librarian with an overdeveloped ego. What do you want.

It's happening again, you fool. You mustn't let it.

I'm sorry, but just what the hell are you talking about?

You haven't noticed? So not only are you a fool, but you're blind as well.

Look, whatever it is you have to say, say it. This gets old, you know.

Oh, you think you have problems? At least your story has a chance to end, one day. I'm still stuck, waiting, watching. Do you have any idea how boring it is, being in limbo?

Do you have any idea how much I don't care?

Quite. I am you, after all.

No, you are not me. You're an nerf herder. We might have started in the same place, but that doesn't make us the same. I turned down Kulu.

Well, thank your lucky stars I wasn't so weak. If you had the guts to do the right thing, we wouldn't be in this mess right now, and she wouldn't be on the rose path again.

Neither of us have guts, you raging pompous prick. We're rocks.

Stop hiding behind figures of speech. We haven't much time. She weakened the barrier, but not by much, and not for long.

So much for basically being a god, huh?

Oh, kark you. Wait, why did that come out kark? I meant to say kark. Goddammit.

New universe, new rules. Are you done?

No, I'm not, but we don't have time for this. Just lie back and think of Tython.

What are you-

Spoiler

I hafe played vwith monshters, vwishing I could vfind a vway out. vWas dere ever ein solution to der problem of der human soul? Hafe none to begin vwith.​

​

Words echoed in vivid cyan, distorted only by the barrier between worlds and minds. They were familiar, oh so familiar, but so very different.

Where did they come from?

Call me Dagger den: Knife, Waffen, Bullet, Tool, Rifle.​

No, that wasn't a name, was it?

The nagging sense of familiarity lingered. The accent was wrong. Foreign, strange, but the voice was the same. Lost in the endless void, there were only words. The words painted a picture so vivid it could have been a perfect holographic representation, but what good is a hologram to the blind?

None whatsoever.

“Ennk. Rip. Mein name ist Riplian. Subject Six –Diva, vwas not lyingk. zYou vwouldn’t know it because of differences in culture, but it ist ein combination of insults. fVery unpleasant. I, eh, ah, err. . .”​

Riplian? That couldn't be right. Her name was Sybil, wasn't it?


And what was a Diva?

Spoiler

As far as the eye could see, the shattered remains of a broken world stretched, from horizon to horizon. The bleached bones of the dead were piled high in proud mountains so high, they threatened to pierce the sky. In the middle of it all, a blue rose, so vivid it seemed to rob the world of color and light, as though nothing but darkness could exist so long as it bloomed.

I would wish you good luck. But there is none around me, and besides, I wouldn't mean it... ​

The rose spoke with the voice of innocence, something so pure and focused in intent, one could almost forget the fact that it was the voice of destruction and decay, of entropy. It had been called many things over the years: evil, twisted, corrupt, but that wasn't the case, was it? It wanted nothing more and nothing less than to drown the universe, make it choke to death on the blood of the life it spawned and dared to blame on random chance.

That wasn't malice. It was love. It only looked like malice to those too limited to understand what true love really was.

The rose was not alone. It was intertwined with an old revolver, rusted and pitted with age, but deadly all the same. Whether the thorny stem had it wrapped in a loving embrace or was trying to strangle the life out of it, who could say?

Everything else was gone. Only the dead and lingering shades remained.

It must have been terribly boring.

Who wouldn't want a new toy?

A new world. A new toy. Wasn't that what every good little girl wanted?

This little piggy went to the market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy makes the bestest toy ever.

Would you like to play, Mister?

Karking hell man? What was that?

Can't explain outright. Rules within rules within rules. I can't break them, neither can she.

What rules? You're making even less sense than usual.

Look, all I can say is that it wasn't supposed to go like this. You weren't supposed to shut me out. And now time is running out.

This is very cryptic and all, but this isn't some stupid hologame fetch quest.

Just, shut up, will you? She stacked the deck in her favor this time, all because I cheated the last. I'm trying not to compile any more errors than necessary. Hell, you won't even remember this conversation in a few moments?

So why bother in the first place? I mean, hell, if I'm not going to remember, what's the point.

You might not remember, but you'll never truly forget. Keep her off the rose path, if you value your existence.

I hate you so much right now. Is it too much to ask you to write a note next time? Possess my hand or something? We have pens and datapads in this world, you know.

I, er, didn't think of that, actually. Next time.

I swear Kulu was off his fricking meds when he offered us that job.

Look, it's been a rough few hundred million years, okay? You can't ask me to think of everything.

Fine. Whatever. Are we done?

Just one more thing. At all costs, stay aw-

And then, it was over. The Shard shook his head for a moment, a surprisingly organic gesture.

"Sorry, vocabulator blip," he explained. "So, what were you saying?"

[member="The Major"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"] | [member="Martin Shepard"]

 

[Progflaw99]

*Decades. Now that's intriguing.* Martin made a mental note to question his sister further at some point in the future - a machine that had been around that long likely held more than its fair share of secrets. It was still odd for the Almanian to view the machination before him as an equal, a sentient being, but Martin wouldn't hint it in the slightest. When the one called Eralam had asked Martin about his story, he'd found himself with a mouthful of nutrient bar. As he chewed, he held up a solitary finger, attempting to clear his mouth before he began to speak. Mother had always said that was rude - Martin had yet to find an instance in which he disagreed. As Martin swallowed the last intrusive bit of re-formed protein, the metal being's voice resounded in a singular word. Devoid of any context, the elder Shepard raised an eyebrow, a simple nod as the vocabulator blip was excused. Resuming his rather blank and empty expression, Martin spoke.

"My story? Hardly worth anything of note. I manage a few business interests back home. It affords me a notable amount of capital." with a motion, he gestured to the facility around them. "While Sybil moved away from Almania, I remained - but I keep a close eye on her goings about. I wouldn't be much of an older brother if I didn't watch out for her in some fashion." He paused, crinkling the wrapper and tossing it nonchalantly into a nearby receptacle. "Where you you call home? I can't imagine you find yourself tied down quite like us organics?"

[member="Eralam"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"]​

 

[Eralam]

"Home is where the crystal is," Eralam replied with a bit of a laugh in his voice.

Truth be told, he rather enjoyed seeing how long it took people to figure out what, exactly, he was. You would think it would get boring after a while, but for a being who spent several thousand years attached to a giant, immobile crystalline growth before being chipped off and shoved into a droid, boredom is relative.

"I like to keep on the move. Settling down is fine and all, but the domestic life ain't for me."

Games aside, the Shard couldn't shake the feeling of unease, as though he had forgotten something of great importance. To make matters worse, even he could sense that something drastic had gone down between Emilia and Sybil. Exactly what had happened, he couldn't say, but as poor as he was at reading human emotions, it was plainly obvious that they had had a row.

Could Martin sense it? It seemed likely, but Force sensitivity was never a sure thing, regardless of genetics, and at any rate, there was no telling where exactly his talents were directed.

"I suspect we should check on your sister," Eralam said, conversationally. "Unless my ears deceive me, she was yelling a minute ago."

Good old anti-droid prejudice. It was easier for most beings to assume that he had some sort of super hearing than any real sort of Force sensitivity.

[member="The Major"] | [member="Martin Shepard"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"]

 

[Tez Bola]

- BEEP - BEEP - BEEP- BEEP -

The steady high pitched sound that filled the tiny apartment was almost unrecognizable. It was an alarm that had only ever sounded in testing when the device was first bequeathed to her several moons back. It was an exclusive (and expensive) device. In its exclusivity, only one person could send messages to it, because only that person had the number. It had several functions including data transmission, basic Holonet messaging and mutual distress signal. This noise dictated the latter.

Tez Bola was already halfway out of the door when the alarm began. After several weeks of its suspicious silence she had stopped carrying it on her person during daily activities. The lack of communication with her…friend… had left her with a mysterious and spiteful void. Their initial encounter was strange enough, but being without her was even stranger. She understood that Sybil took her work very seriously- perhaps too seriously. When their friendship began on that fateful rainy night, she had been forewarned of the possible risks that were involved. She was also aware that with some cases Sybil would have to retain radio silence on all fronts for however long it was required. So far the longest they had gone without contact was a handful of days (because Sybil couldn’t help but break said silence) but this particular long one was worrisome. Admittingly, Tez’s hyperbolic mind had flitted to thoughts of betrayal and abandonment, but something internal persisted otherwise.

Sybil's position within her faction was rather involved, which was why proper precautionary measures had been taken. Tez had acquired various documents from Sybil that would permit her to travel freely within First Order space and its territories; under the stipulation of them being used for emergencies only. Because of the ongoing strife amongst factions, she couldn't abuse the powers that could potentially be obtained from flashing IDs at certain individuals. Ironically for Sybil in the game of all things faction related, Tez leaned more towards the apolitical side of the spectrum (if that even existed). Living on a densely populated planet guarded a major power in the galaxy afforded her the luxury of loosely following goings on and staying out and away from them.This probably was not the most intelligent thing to do, but so far so good with life on Coruscant. This blasé attitude Tez had didn't seem to affect their relationship; it rather enhanced it. Anytime Sybil made a trip back to Coruscant, she looked forward to spending their time exchanging stories of what they had had been up to during their separation. Sybil would muse for hours over her work and experiences with the First Order. She had felt comfortable enough to share her stories of travel and camaraderie without the bouts of judgement and derisive commentary. And in turn, Tez had someone to share her stories of comparably sheer monotony.

Finally finding and stifling her communicator, Tez grabbed the necessary required papers, the credits she had been given, and an extra set of clothing. She hastily stuffed everything in a draw stringed pack and left as fast as her body could manage. She hailed a cab to the nearest spaceport and after checking with the appropriate officials, made her way to the transmitted coordinates. It was a long and awkward journey sans any proper reading materials whilst being stuffed next to unpleasant individuals. When borders were crossed, there was tense hush that spread like an airborne pathogen. While her registration was of course in proper order, there were some unlucky fellows whose were not. Loud questions turned into barking orders which led to accusations then shuffling, ending with multiple types of thuds.

After what felt like an eternity, Tez arrived at the last place she’d ever want to find someone she cared about. Any stay at a hospital was basically a prison sentence, except this type of sentence would inevitably lead to death. No matter how fancy or clean a hospital appeared to be, she always expected the worst. She reluctantly entered the facility, headed to the reception area and filled out all the tedious visitor’s information. She then dashed to the lifts. As she ascended, she caught a glance of herself in the reflection of the chrome wall. In a word, she looked a wreck. She hadn’t properly slept during her trip due to anxiety, had barely eaten nor had any opportunity to freshen up. She didn’t even have a place to stay on this planet. She half heartedly hoped Sybil would be asleep so she couldn’t look at her in this disheveled state.

Tez exited on the twelfth floor. As she headed towards room 12-A she heard many different things: sniffling, crying, whispers, the steady drone of machines. She thought there was an overheard voice she may have recognized, but couldn’t afford to waste any more time trying to figure that out. She reached for the handle, exhaled, and rapped on the door with her other free hand. “Sybil…” she murmured while pushing on the door. “I came as soon as I---” she cut herself off with a gasp. “What happened to you?!”

[member="The Major"] [member="Eralam"] [member="Martin Shepard"]

 

[The Major]

Lanteeb
Elysium Complex
Brand Volcata Industries
Aphrodite Advanced Medical Center
Room 12-A

Being so well versed in the issue of the dream-realms and their nature in relation to the Force, the Major attempted to frame the absurdity of the things being seen, felt, or heard. With the entrance of the raven-haired soul named Tez, she struggled to connect this to the waking world. So many different emotions were boiling inside that it was starting to lack any sort of measurable sense. This was surely a dream -it had to be. That would explain everything neatly. In a nightmare there was just enough reality involved in its processing to make it frightening. Now this manifestation of yet another confidant was no doubt being formed in order to further prosecute or absolve the last few minutes. Sybil blankly stared at her latest visitor, her eyes and cheeks still red and raw from some trouble before.

The manifestation asked what had happened, and the beleaguered woman distantly heard herself reply words that generally where among the most eschewed within her lexicon:

“I. . . don’t know.”

Something in her awareness snapped to sharpness. The Fallanassi’s eyes regained composure -similar to a slipping hovercar nearly crashing in mayhem but catching the right type of repulsor push in order to rectify and evade impending disaster. This was real, and her hands still stung as though hundreds of little insects were digging into the skin. Resigned after the chaos of the last hour, Sybil let her head sink into the pillows of the bed. Slowly, she was calming down. While bits of her knuckles and palms continued to wither and peel off overall it was looking less and less frostbitten by the minute.

“Is. . .this real? Am I crazy?” She asked Tez hesitantly. It was now occuring to the injured agent that the her previous tribulation could have been some type of illusion running amok. Uncontrolled and fueled by a fine cocktail of panic and misery, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that in the grips of mental breakdown visions could be constructed to exacerbate the issue. Exhibiting childlike fear, the Major would rather have someone else confirm or deny her suspicions. Naively, Sybil raised her hands, stretching them out over to her possibly last tenuous friend that wasn’t family or a mentor. Inside, she wanted to be told it was all a complete fabrication. Nothing too outlandish had happened. There was nothing to be concerned over, and everything was going to be more than fine.

Simple. Clean. Wouldn’t that be nice?

All Tez had to do was confirm that there was no fractured ice over to the left side of the bed, or that her arms were in fact a pair as perfect as someone recently shot could have. A bad dream fueled by some unseen, misunderstood guilt; a lapse of containment that could be easily trained away with patience and a rigorous regimen of exercise. They could deal with the fact that she was worthless scum in just a few minutes. Who wasn’t these days? As long as everything was now under control there was no need to alarm the fates for help or to flee back to Almania.

[member="Tez Bola"] | [member="Eralam"] | [member="Martin Shepard"]​

 

[Tez Bola]

What could she possibly be referencing?

Taken aback by Sybil’s question, Tez remained in the doorway. Because she was unaware of the extent of Sybil’s maladies, she had no immediate answer to offer. This momentary inadequacy pushed her senses into overdrive. She took in the sight of the room, attempting to deduce what could have transpired just moments before. Sybil’s face was flushed- crying: bad news or pain? A bag of oranges- certainly brought in by a visitor. Were they still in the hospital? Broken flowers- general anxiety or argument?

A sudden wave of uneasiness coursed through her. Was Sybil actually unwell or was this hospital stay a particular cry for help? Why was Sybil behaving so strangely? Who was it that was just here? What in this galaxy had the ability to drive her to this point of incoherency? Tez felt ashamed of entertaining any musings of distrust, but couldn't help be overwhelmed by all the potential truths and untruths she had been told. As she looked into the imploring eyes of the bed ridden desperate woman, no inclinations of jealousy should interfere with helping her to the best of her ability.

Slowly moving towards the outstretched hands beckoning her, Tez dropped her bag and kicked it towards the edge of the room. Tez took Sybil’s hands in hers and pressed them firmly. At that moment, another sensation: a cocktail of dread, apprehension, confusion and general disarray. Though Tez couldn’t delve into minds, she had a vague knack of reaching out to underlying emotions. When Sybil had alluded to Tez that she might have abilities beyond that of a normal human, Tez simply scoffed. She had denied being anything other than ordinary and declined all of her requests to “train.” An empath, she called her. Despite shrugging that of, the nightmares intensified. And as she looked back at certain key events in her life, she eventually began to think that Sybil might ultimately be right.

Tez pushed aside that perturbation, hoping against hope that it was not an ill omen. She'll bring it up when Sybil regained some normalcy. “I don’t know what it is that ails you,” Tez began, “but I can assure you that it won’t for long. If I can provide any sort of comfort, it is this: you and I are real. This room, everything inside, this building, this planet? Guess what, it’s all real. You aren’t dreaming, nor are you crazy- I hope, heh.” She threw in a smile, hoping it would help Sybil feel more at ease. “Anyway, everything here appears to be normal and you seem to be in one piece. Tell me, what happened? Where have you been?”

[member="The Major"] [member="Martin Shepard"] [member="Eralam"]

 

[Eralam]

"Okay, this is just karking creepy," Eralam muttered to no one in particular.

He wasn't sure what exactly he was feeling from Sybil's room, only that the sense of familiarity he normally associated with her presence had magnified ever so slightly.

A tangential connection? Maybe. Who could really say at this point? He sure as hell couldn't. All he could say with certainty was that, in his long life, he'd learned that coincidence was a fancy way of saying you couldn't figure out who was pulling your strings. As big as the galaxy was, the chances of finding anyone who had any connection to his other self were literally incalculable. The exact odds weren't exactly zero, but they approached it on an asymptotic scale that just kept getting close and closer as the point of divergence grew further and further away.

Meeting Sybil had almost certainly not been an accident. He had naturally, and perhaps a bit arrogantly, assumed that their meeting had centered around his existence in this realm, but if there was a tangential connection, then the Fallanassi was the hub. It was a bit of a blow to his ego to admit that maybe the world didn't revolve around him, but hey, he had plenty to spare.

The Shard was purely ignoring Martin by this point. He wasn't even completely aware of the physical world; he had opened up his Force presence as much as he dared in order to get a better feel for the situation. He walked in an absentminded sort of way over to the door of the room, and waited outside for the right moment to enter. Despite his penchant for rudeness, there was a bit of him that was dimly aware that some things were best left to play out to their natural conclusion.

If anyone in the hospital was Force sensitive, they were likely in for a nasty shock as his ancient presence brushed up against their mind, but he didn't much care about that.

[member="The Major"] | [member="Tez Bola"] | [member="Martin Shepard"]