Private A Small Victory

[Saan'an Gaelor]

They keep me thinking that someday I might beat you, but I'll just keep my mouth shut...
Jem Fossk ​

Every step in Saan'an's stride met the ground a tad less reserved than usual. Having been appointed Padawan to the Consular of Serenity was enough to coax reaction from his usual serene austerity. Never in a thousand years would Saan'an have guessed he'd ever be apprenticing beneath a Councilor. It was a self-esteem boost that bordered on invoking the narcissistic. Attentiveness about not letting it get to his head was the only thing that kept him grounded.

Wouldn't want to blow it.

An entire day spent in the archives wasn't unusual. An extra few hours, however, was. First day as an apprentice had kept him busy. So busy he hadn't shown up to any of the usual downtime places where he'd regroup with kin. It was much later than any of the usual times now. No expectation was held that the usual spots were occupied. Instead, a notion of roughly where to look had led him to the training halls.

Distinct, rhythmic thwacking of a training saber striking a dummy harder than it should resonating through the acoustics was his first sign he was onto something.

Moving deeper, rounding a corner, he located the source. His twin was bordering snapping the training stick in half the way she was handling it. Saan'an skulked slowly, quietly, a leisurely pace bringing him within a personable distance without being noticed. In their mother tongue he said, "Kina, relax, you're going to break it."

 

[Jem Fossk]

Sweat trickled down her back, every strike of her practice weapon resonating up through her arm.

The sudden use of her true name earned a violent turn, the training sword whipped at her brother's path. An accident? Not at all. He would duck. He always did. Call it a game, or even a challenge, Jem had liked to throw things and he... he was unnaturally good at avoiding them.

The sword clattered loudly across the ground, echoing off the walls of the empty room.

She didn't flinch. Her brows were angled his way, looking like wings ready to take flight. "You're late," she accused, using their native tongue. The sword flew back into her hand. She knew why he hadn't shown up to their usual dig, and it... it shouldn't bother her.

It shouldn't bother her.

It bothered her.

Her spine was rigid, her lips pursing as she took in the easy way he held himself.

"...Was she at least horrible?"

 

[Saan'an Gaelor]

A lightspeed inkling of danger accompanied a vague. precognitive notion of pain. He saw the strike coming before it came. Pupils dilated, eyes widened, breath came in sharp. Air brushed passed his nose as he leaned backwards, clearing his face only an inch from the stroke. The execution looked far defter than it actually was. Books under his arm nearly slid out and met the floor.

"You're late,"

Saan'an made a face. "I know, I'm sorry. I was assi-"

"...Was she at least horrible?"

"No, not even a little," he admitted. A relieving reality for Saan'an, but his sister was likely hoping for some reassurance in a confirmation. "Councilor Lashiec and I get along well so far... I think." His empathy hadn't been honed enough yet to make him a perfect room-reader. "She talks a lot more than I'm used to though," he joked.

Gently, Saan'an placed a pacifying hand on the training weapon, lowering it with a persuasive grasp. "I meant to tell you, but I couldn't find the time. That being said, we may need to adopt different timings." Everything about his schedule, duties, and off-times would change now. No more hiding in the agri-dome after lunch when the gardeners were done for the day. No more sitting on antechamber rafters far above anyone's instead of performing sweeping duties.

Things were changing.

 

[Jem Fossk]

That wasn't what she wanted to hear. Her frown pinch into an unspoken pout, her throat thick and jammy as she considered what this would mean.

"You're moving forward." Without her.

The weapon was coaxed back to the ground, her fingers going lax as it slid into his possession. She had never intended to hurt him. In fact it was usually her doing the protecting. He was so ...meek and thimbly. His nose made a better bookmark for the texts he absorbed himself in, it was her that had been cut out for the field.

And now it would be her that got left behind.

She hated being left behind.

Her features rippled in wave of grief, before it too was shoved away. Don't be so reactive. Ah, shut up. "Do you think she would take me on too? You're only five minutes older, we're practically the same, it would be like nothing," she plied, reaching for his wrists.

 

[Saan'an Gaelor]

"I guess I am," he confessed.

She was upset. Saan'an could feel it just as plainly as if the emotions had belonged to him. He expected this. Hands grasping at his wrist were a telltale sign of her exasperation. Fleeting from her fingers, his hands gripped either shoulder as eye-contact made emphasis.

"Be calmed, Nai'a," he implored. "You know it isn't the same. Councilor Lashiec is a librarian. She doesn't swing her sword around on the front lines. She- ...reads."

"You hate reading."

 

[Jem Fossk]

He had her there.

Her lips opened and closed, fishing for a solution that would not come. The answer had already been given to her, but she didn't like it one bit. Patience. Bah!

Her arms fell limply at her side, crestfallen. "This isn't fair," she protested into the air. She didn't want his bookie wisdom on that. She just wanted him back-- unchanging. She didn't want him to move forward.

It took another moment for humility to creep its way back to her senses, but when it did a brown blush found its way to her cheeks. "I'm sorry. 'just..." She wrapped her arms around herself and finally gave him a proper look over. The fight left her shoulders in a huff.

"Congratulations." A sentiment she managed to say with a bit of sincerity. "...It's that archivist?"


She was gonna be stuck an initiate forever.

 

[Saan'an Gaelor]

"Chief Archivist," Saan'an corrected. His hands fell away with a half-step backward. Books floated from their aimless drift and tucked themselves firmly back beneath his arm. "Thanks," he expressed at the congratulatory remark after a slight delay.

"If it makes you feel better, she didn't pick me," he revealed. "I was assigned to her by the rest of the Council. It isn't about being noticed, there are too few of us for that now."

Saan'an raised a brow. "No you won't," he reassured knowingly, having involuntarily read the thought. "Plus, you can always come visit me in the Archives. I'm sure Councilor Lashiec won't mind... as long as you behave yourself," he teased.

 

[Jem Fossk]

She made a face.

"Too few that I'll never get selected. They're going send me off to the Outer Rim to move coal or something like all the rest of the flunk outs." She walked away from him, the training sword twirling with mindless flourishes inside her hands. She put it back on the wall and sighed again, her thin frame rising and falling with the motion.

as long as you behave yourself," he teased.

"I only set the texts on fire once," she grumbled over her shoulder. And she had not made that mistake again. But it wasn't right that she was making this about her. This was a big deal-- his deal-- she coaxed a bit of stillness through her body. Enough that he wouldn't be able to read her on a dime. She turned on her heel and forced on a semblance of a smile.

"Well now that you're an actual padawan, you're going to have to let me braid your hair," she leveled, reaching for the tuffs behind his ears. "Silver linings, right?

 

[Saan'an Gaelor]

"No one is going to send you do dig ditches," Saan'an assured with a hint of humor in his voice. "You really believe that?" Suppressed, baritone tittering followed the rhetorical inquiry. Brotherly admonishments about not believing rumors clearly hadn't been taken seriously.

A lean, duck, and weave fled from reaching fingers. "No, braids!" he insisted. "They hardly do that anymore."

Saan'an's lips pursed. "Listen," he began, "You still have plenty of time, you know?" Even if she tried to hide it, he could still tell. No one knew them better than one another. "I bet you're going to have an assignment any day now. Your skills are... much more suited for what our Order needs right now."

 

[Jem Fossk]

Jem sighed again as he brought the conversation back around, her fingers falling through air as cracks broke through her charade."

"How can you be so sure? What if all I'm good for is slashing and killing-- that's not jedi, is it? I'm not like you. You're moving forward. Everything's changing and I-- I'm scared, Anei'ra," she admitted, his true name slipping through her lips like cry of pain.

She faltered a step back, disconnected from the space around her. Her path had always felt so sure. They use to call her a prodigy-- her bladework and instinct had had such potential. Where was that potential now?

"...What if I don't progress?"

 

[Saan'an Gaelor]

"Some would say it isn't, I'm sure." Saan'an was one of them. Not a fact he'd express aloud to his sister. "But things change with the times. You're the kind of person we need right now. A warrior." Which made him hardly as useful by comparison. Behind him making it forward first could have been little more than a fluke, or a throwaway assignment to make way for bigger things.

"You will," he assured. "I've seen it. And if somehow you don't, I'll drop out with you." A sentiment they always promised each other. One, though, that became harder and harder to stand by. "Just be patient, Kina. Trust me."

 

[Jem Fossk]

She couldn't ask him to drop out. She couldn't fathom leaving him either. This was all they knew.

Her frustration nearly bubbled over but she clamped it down and turned away. The last time she had cried was when she was eight. She had been disarmed and knocked on her butt by her first instructor and his response stuck in her mind to this day.

Every tear is energy you could have put into getting what you want.

She swallowed back her frustration and turned back his way. "I do trust you."

A beat.

"Let's just forget I said anything. This is your night." Her fingers tapped her leg as she tried to let it go. "You still wanna ...hang?"

 

[Saan'an Gaelor]

"It's not my anything," Saan'an insisted. In contrast to Jem's frustrations, her sibling remained in neutral serenity. Easy for the one who had everything going his way, perhaps. Regardless, he remained humble in the assertion that it wasn't due to anything he may or may not have had over her.

"I'm not sure I can. I have, uh... homework." Was that the right word? It was the closest term he could think of to describe it. Saan'an's own frown was preemptive, predicting the feelings she'd have about his ostensible rejection. A shy sound of contemplation rolled out of parted lips.

"Well- On second thought, Master Lashiec didn't give me a deadline. Maybe I could make a little time."

 

[Jem Fossk]

Maybe? A little?

Why'd he even show up then? A million emotions flickered through her features, barely contained. It took every ounce of her will power to not explode at him then, a feat of maturity she had not been able to show just a year ago.

She knew her lines and his words had sent daggers through the last ropes keeping her level.

"Just go then, Saan'an," she told him, a robotic edge to her voice as she shifted to basic. She turned and called the training saber back to her, her chest pounding in her ear. This wasn't suppose to happen. She couldn't believe it was happening.

"I've got things to do too."

She turned from him, her opened palm catching the stick as it flew sharply their way. She flowed into a stance and resumed beating up the dummy with a round of forms.

 

[Saan'an Gaelor]

Things to do? Yet, she had just asked him to stick around. "Do you?" he questioned, skepticism clear. A frown smudged itself across his face. What did he do? What did he say? No amount of stunned backtracking could identify the misstep that had earned his sister's scorn.

"Alright, I guess." Saan'an lingered for a moment as if his concession wasn't final. Ultimately, it would be. Shoulders sagged, head hung half to the floor. Slow steps brought him to the door whence he came. A single glance backward made him pause in the doorway before finally slipping elsewhere.

So much for the good news.