A Displacement Resolving

[Teryn Renoir]

Corellia
Antilles Station

___

She was a salvager's station. Wide halls and busy with droids. Industrial in it's depths and corporate at it's heights. A scruffy looking nerf-herder wandered into the sky bar on the upper floors. Mike's Bar & Grill. A room with a view. Maybe it was something-something not long ago but today it was a dump. The wake of refugees and broken pilgrims had taken it's toll on this place. Made mice out of men. For our dearest Corellia was broken. And now the scavengers and vagrants had all come out to play.

Renoir took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. His last contract had just completed and he'd just been paid. Felt like Friday. Nah. Maybe it just felt good to be alive.

Gray duster coat, smuggler's belt, and a hand cannon on his hip. Average and plain. Especially for this place. Teryn was a dime a dozen. Human and drab. Some people said he looked like a cop though. World weary and squinting. Wandering eyes and an untrimmed shave. He could see things that other people didn't. Remember things that other people didn't want to. Not like Sherlock Holmes, but more like a Skywalker. He didn't have the Force. Nah. Not that lucky. He just called his gift A Rogue's Bad Luck. Trouble always found him. Always could. Always would. No wonder he was such a good cop.

No wonder he ordered such a strong drink.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Lieutenant Spritejägare had never been a favorite at the bars. Not that she caused a ruckus or anything, but her fellow cops considered her to be a bit lacking in the Department of Fun. Lots of people considered her to be pretty--perhaps a bit tall for some guys' preferences--but not many would confess they found her attractive. No, she was a bit of a loner, even when she wanted to hang out with the crew. 'Spritey' just had never been able to figure out the social thing. Eleven of her sick childhood years separated from other kids kind of had its victory in snuffing out any chance of a people personality.

Those years had also made her tough, however. The blonde CorSec officer took a lot of crap nearly all the time and never really let it hit her deep. She was strong in physical and emotional facets. No, she was not stone-cold or devoid of a sense of humor. But it could take a bit of work to dig down there. That was Officer Spritejägare.

Now she was just Malin. And today she was just drinking in an average bar hanging over what was left of her homeworld. She was still strong--indeed she was. But that protective shell of hers had been cracked and punctured the day she had looked out the viewport of one of those classic Corellian freighters--fitting as it was--and beheld the immolation of the cities; the people. It was all gone.

CorSec no longer existed. Her family no longer existed. Did Corellians exist anymore?

Malin had never been a heavy drinker. But today she ordered the strongest bottle of Corellian whiskey they had in store--not a cheap purchase, mind you. The price was escalating with each passing day as the beverage became more and more rare. One of the last of the Corellian variety, just as she was one of the last of the Corellians.

Malin never cried. And that was why she wiped away the tears before anyone would notice.

[member="Teryn Renoir"]

 

[Teryn Renoir]

A pastor came and sat down between them. A rugged, tall old man. Strong and hearty. But he was crestfallen in mood and pulled off his collar. Threw it on the bar and sighed. He had dark skin and long white hair in a ponytail. Dressed only in black.

"I'll have what she's having." He nodded to the bar man. Then looked over at Teryn, "Oh. Come on now. Don't look at me like that son. I've just seen the end of days and lived to tell about em. Even God don't mind a old man drinking after something like that."

Teryn seemed puzzled by the comment and a little hesitant to reply. Did his glance really mean so much to a stranger. He leaned over and peered at [member="Malin Spritejägare"]. She didn't seem to care. Must have been a bad day for the local religion. Especially if they were coming in here.

The old man pulled out a book from his dark coat and tossed it over to Renoir. Some sort of Bible, I suppose.

"You read much? She's free of charge. All yours." The old man asked without enthusiasm.

"Huh? Oh. ...No, I'm a cop. Err. Used to be. I don't read dry paper if I don't have to. Paperwork. Too familiar, I suppose."

"Mm. Guess that figures." The old man nodded with a sigh and turned to Malin. His tone was humble and fallen, "What about you daughter. Care to take this dry book off an old man's hands?"

This wasn't proselytizing. Nah. This old man had seen enough. That bright twinkle of faith had long gone from his dark eyes. He wasn't trying to share his religion with anybody right now. He was trying to give it away. Get rid of the whole darn thing. Guess his God couldn't keep the world from breaking. But then. Even a soul can splitter sometimes.

Teryn looked to Malin with a empathic eye. Hard to give a woman something she don't need right now. But maybe those pages could double for a tissue. Catch that tear she was trying so hard to hide.

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Being raised by Lorrdian parents, Malin had acquired something of a keen eye and ear. She heard the gloom and doom invading the voice of the preacher man as he helped himself to the seat separating her from the other man--a cop, as was quickly learned from their conversation. She had never been much of a religious type herself, but the gravity of the moment affected her hard. A man of faith giving it up after the event that had brought her to this bar; brought nearly everyone present to this bar. If he was low, then there was no reason they should not all be lower.

The ex-security agent sniffed and exhaled deeply, attempting to conceal the emotion she was struggling with. As best she hid it, she knew it did not take a fellow Lorrdian to figure out how she was. Her shoulders tremored as the shepherd switched his attention to her. "Only if you still believe in it, father," Spritejägare replied, not caring to look him in the eye as her hand left the bottle and brushed across the cover of his Book. She could probably use some religion right about now, but why believe in something a man of faith was ready to dispose of?

Her green eyes glanced across him at the fellow law enforcer. Former law enforcer, she supposed. Just like her. "CorSec," she said. "I was CorSec."

Fingers clutched at the Book, but she still did not commit to taking it. Not yet.

[member="Teryn Renoir"]

 

[Teryn Renoir]

Teryn couldn't help but look down when the gal mentioned CorSec. Nodding with some semblance of understanding. Renoir had been run out of Star Force. His CorSec career had been stripped from him. It hadn't just stopped existing. Funny. If he had still been CorSec? He probably wouldn't be alive right now.

The old preacher looked sad and hard at [member="Malin Spritejägare"]. He, like Teryn, had been affected by her words. It was so easy to be selfish when your whole world explodes around you. You forget to stop and see all the people who are still enduring the struggle with you. You forget about the man beside you.

"I've been a believer for a very long time daughter. That book got me through thick and through thin. Two marriages. Three kids. One divorce and many funerals. I do still believe that it could do another man some good."

He stopped and took a drink. The bartender pretending not to listen. Pretending not to let it show.

"Ah. But I'm afraid God stopped talking to me after he blew up our fair world and raised the spirits of the dead to torment us. I think it's time I thought about my sins, just a little more closely."

The old man dropped a credit chip and stood up to go. Teryn nodded and let the man say his peace. Renoir wasn't the preaching type. If a man want's to throw his God away, that was fine by him. Teryn had seen Jedi before. Maybe he was worshiping the wrong God anyway.

"Keep the book daughter. It might save you like it once saved me."

The bar man gave a nod and Renoir shrugged his shoulders. They let the old preacher give his last salute and then wander back into the crowded halls. Just another lost pilgrim on a road to no where. Then the bar man surprised Teryn by speaking up,

"Ya see a lot of that these days. People losing hope. Lot of good folk around here who are broken up about the mother land being lost and forgotten. Well. That's the nice thing I have everyday about having these windows here. I get to see a world that's still fighting onward. I get see a lot of real hope coming out of that storm of floating rock. New lives and new fortunes. Yep. Every day I get a little more hopeful for our fair brothers. Everyday I get to see Corellians who choose to never die."

The bar man looked at Malin and nodded,

"CorSec was good people miss. You've still got a future, if you're willing to start all over again. ...It's a big galaxy out there. Opportunity. A new start. It really is everywhere."

Teryn nodded. He knew what he meant. Big picture. Gotta keep it together some how. Renoir looked at Malin and rubbed his chin,

"Mm. Ya know. I used to work with Dave McConnell out of Coronet City. Farmer's Market and South Bend. I think he quit the force a year ago when his Captain died. Nice guy. Helped me see the city with new eyes. ...He died a week ago in a station hospital. Surrounded by friends and family. Said that the force was the best family he ever had."

He couldn't quite look her in the eye,

"Us cops, we stick together. Ya know."

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Well, it seemed like the Book was hers, whether she really wanted it or not. Malin had to admit, it might not hurt to have around. There had been some of the more spiritual men on the security force who had spoken of books like these saving their lives--and not necessarily in any transcendent, Force-worshiping way. One officer she had met showed her a Book of his that was shot clean through, its pages charred around the gaping hole in the center. That Book had absorbed enough of a crazed gunman's blaster fire to save the life of the cop.

She stuffed the bound parchment into her knapsack, unsure if she would ever pull it out again. Well, it would probably have to come out someday, whether she used it or not. We shall see.

Taking back to her bottle of whiskey, Malin paused before bringing it to her lips as the bartender suddenly spoke up. Hope. Yes, that was hard to see from here. Nothing would happen in her lifetime to ever return that life she wanted. Actually, nothing would ever happen ever to return that life. Nothing would be the same. Whatever was sprouting back down there was not her Corellia. Her Corellia was gone; wiped out. Hope? "I don't want it," she sniffled, words nearly choked.

Now the other cop chimed in, trying to sound all positive. Had CorSec been her family? More or less. Cops did stick together, despite personal differences and trivialities. That was something Lieutenant Spritejägare had appreciated to an extent. But what was there to bond them now? What were they even protecting anymore? "Where am I supposed to go?" the blonde mumbled, glancing aside at the late Dave McConnell's friend after she had completed a sip of her alcohol. "Where are you going to go?"

[member="Teryn Renoir"]

 

[Teryn Renoir]

Teryn played with his glass. He never got drunk anymore. It wasn't as fun as it used be. Still, he didn't know why he didn't kick the habit entirely. Might just stick with coffee from now on. New world, new habits.

"It's a big galaxy. I've found plenty of work outside the Sector in my day. I've been a test pilot, a contractor, a merc, and a bounty hunter. If you look hard enough, you can find work."

He pulled out his phone and started flipping through old photos to show [member="Malin Spritejägare"] ,

"Fondor was a fun place. Made a lot of money there. Kuat was another good one. Flew some ships for the old houses. Sanctum space is hiring pilots too. I hear good things, even if Dark Space isn't your thing."

He kept browsing for images. Alas, Renoir didn't have many to show.

"Ah. Here's a good one. The Bothan Homeworld. That's where I'm headed out to next. I've been offered a job with their Intelligence Group. Good old cop business. They say it's mostly corporate investigations. A Techno Union. ...Meh. Whatever. Jobs a job."

He put his phone away.

"Why? You're not thinking about sticking around this graveyard, are you?"

[member="Malin Spritejägare"]

 

[Beowoof]

Bottle hovering just below her lips, Malin leaned over to peer at the images the man was showcasing from his phone. Her breath felt heavy, and she realized she had drunk a lot more alcohol than she was particularly used to. Not enough to make her tipsy, but it was doing a fine of job of keeping her mind a little unfocused. Jobs. There were jobs to be had. But she just wanted to soak in her sadness for a while. Why would she want to be productive in a time like this, when one could just stare at their incinerated home?

Survival was probably the right answer, actually. Malin had always been a fighter in one way or another. She needed to soldier on. "Never been offworld until it... happened. You know?" It was like she was being launched into someone else's life. Truly, she was not the Malin she knew these days.

Another sip of whiskey was consumed as she used her free hand to brush her hair back and wrapped over her shoulder. "Were there other openings there? Bothawui?" He had caught her interest with this job discussion. As much as she was inclined to mope around and drink her tears away, the blonde knew what would have to happen sooner or later. Might as well listen to a fellow cop's advice.

"I'm Malin, by the way. Lieutenant, Coronet City." Cops--they stick together.

[member="Teryn Renoir"]

 

[Teryn Renoir]

Teryn smiled as she started to come around. The bar man noticed too and gave them some space. As much fun as sitting in a pit of self loathing was, eventually you have to come up for air. Even if your worst enemy is just sitting there, staring back at you from beyond the transparasteel windows. A broken world that mended no hearts. Salvation must then, be elsewhere.

Renoir gave a soft salute and leaned back in his chair,

"Renoir. Currently employed. Heh."

He shoved his phone back into his jacket and withdrew some credit chips. It felt good to have money again.

"I have no idea if the Bothan's are hiring more people, really. I just have an old friend out there who wants to catch up and do a little something-something together on the side. Heh. I guess it pays to be a sleuth these days. Who knew? Might actually come out on top this time. Wish me luck, huh."

Teryn stood up and paid for his drink. He had become too friendly with this dame already. Best to keep it neutral. Let the deck play. Still? He couldn't just walk away after giving his name. Just didn't sit right amongst cowboys.

"...Look. When you're ready to start over. Patch up the old badge and shine the old boots again. Don't do it for a graveyard full of dead men. Do it for yourself, yeah. It's what my old Captain would have said. And I'll be darned if he wasn't always right about it too."

He straightened his coat and gave the bar man a nod. [member="Malin Spritejägare"] had her book and her own thoughts to consider. Teryn had his paycheck and a long road trip ahead of him. What pulled them together was also what pushed them apart. It was a big galaxy out there for ex-cops and good cons. You might just lose yourself in all the fun.