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[Lina Ovmar]

Wildlife had overrun Mia's home. Vines that had once been kept in check had grown across the windows, slats of the veranda had rotted away, wildflowers and tall grasses stretched up through the gaps seeking the warmth and light of the sun and she was certain there were weeds growing from the gutters. The first step to the door crumbled beneath her boot and she let out a sigh of annoyance.

Bacta bandages were wrapped tightly about wrist of her left arm, working to heal the stump where her hand had once been. Stepping back she stared at the daunting task ahead of her. This had been her childhood home, here she had learnt to fight, tinkered with droids. In the field and woods beyond she had trained with her father to hone her skills. Later in life this was where Mand'alor the idiot had relinquished her seat and thrust Mia into the role. She had a job to do, and that required the use of her home. Regardless of the fact that she had one hand to restore this place with she would do it either way.

Reaching out with the force, she began to peel back the layers of ivy, hoping to establish the extent of the damage underneath. As she worked, she let her mind drift as it always did in the quiet moments and wondered, not for the first time since the terrorist attack, where Rel was.

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

Around the time [member="Mia Monroe"] approached the old estate, a little droid stirred to life in some nearby undergrowth. It got curious, it took a scan or two and in short order it sent the transmission that it had anticipated for its entire existence. Singular purpose satisfied, it settled back into the vines and went to sleep.

Two hours later, a starship descended outside, an old Veratus-class shuttle from the Sith Empire. Bulky ship, ugly, from the Triumvirate days before Desmius or Moridin -- but the shuttle moved like there was something special about it. Keen eyes might note recessed, extendable sensors of unusual design.

The flank of the ship read, in Mando script, Mav'la. 'Liberated.'

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Mia had discarded her jacket when the first rumbles of the ship drew her attention skyward. At first she thought it was imply passing over, heading for a spaceport so she paid it no mind, but when the engine noise increased instead of fading away Mia gave it her full attention, fingers curling around the hilt of her beskad. She's not made a fuss about coming home, Anija and possibly Isley were the only people truly aware that she was looking to return to her roots, so whoever this was, they were not welcome.

Stepping off the rotten veranda, she sheilded her eyes from the sun and watched the shuttle descend. It was far from pleasant to look at, but Mia was more concerned about what the ship contained. As it drew closer she noticed something odd about the shuttle, something that didn't quite fit the ships original design. It was the words that drew her full attention, words that had a greater meaning to her than most others.

Heart hammering in her chest she turned her head away and shielded her eyes against the dust kicked up by the engines as it landed. She inched forward releasing the grip on her hilt and reaching out to touch the hull itself, peppered with sensors sunk into the hull itself and she could think of only one person who would come here in a ship like this.

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

Full-body rejuv. Myostim units. Several knee surgeries. Low carbs, high protein. A metric fethton of Mando bes'gaan training. Months of dedication.

All so when this moment arrived, he didn't have to walk with a cane.

The shuttle's hatch irised open. Rel let out a slow breath and stepped out onto the ground of Mia's run-down estate. Though he hadn't been Force sensitive in ages, he still found himself disoriented by his inability to feel where she was. He felt he should have been able sense her, illogical though the feeling might be. A moment later, he saw her, touching the hull just aft of the big shuttle's airlock.

She'd lost a hand again. She'd clearly been working hard in grimy circumstances. She looked like hell and he liked it.

He found he wasn't saying anything.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

For a moment, Mia simply stared at him, rooted to the spot by a whirlwind of emotion. She'd spent a lot of time wondering what she would say to him should she see him again, but she never thought, not for a second that he would catch her off guard like this. Her hand dropped from the hull and she moved towards him.

Her eyes raked over him, sinking in every detail of his rehabilitated form. Suddenly she was inches from him, everything she wanted to say evaporated from her mind, seizing his collar she yanked him towards her and kissed him fiercely.

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

Some relationships could get downright kinetic, and many of those involved preferred roles. Not all the way to dom/sub, usually, just normal interactions of push and pull, give and take, follow and lead.

The longer he and Mia knew each other, and the more damaged they became, the clearer the picture: they both tended to push.

He met the kiss hard with a half-step to the side, turning her to plant her shoulders against the hull. His hands gripped the back of her belt hard enough to pop a loop.

Eventually he came up for air. "So how've you been?" he said, deadpan.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Mia blinked. "Well, a terrorist attack killed a great deal of people, Ember Rekali among them. We're on the brink of war with our own people, and I lost Shadow and my hand supporting the Alliance's invasion of Coruscant. I'll let you fill in the gaps on how I've been." There was a touch of anger in her voice, not at him, but about everything.

She rested her forehead against his. "What about you? Are you staying put, or just passing through?"

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

He leaned forward and closed his eyes as she rested her forehead against his. "I heard about the attack. Didn't hear Rekali was confirmed dead. I'm sorry about your vornskr -- and the hand must have been rough. At least you already know how to operate without a hand, though, so there's that. And long-term, if you want me to remake the hands I built, the ones you were burned with, I can do that, no question."

Letting out a slow breath, he released her much-abused belt and pushed away from the ship's hull, and her. "As for the civil war, that's why I'm back in Mandalorian territory. United Clans territory, I mean. Odd to have to make the distinction." He shrugged. "I came to find if the war's necessary, if either side stands for anything, and if I can bend things in a better direction. I need to know where you stand, so I can figure out where I stand. So keep talking."

It wouldn't be all that hard to remake her hands. They'd been good ones: synthskin and synthflesh over beskar bones with crushgaunt functionality. But this time around, he figured he could do better. Make functional synthskin out of micronized beskar, the cloth that made up crushgaunts. Throw in repulse-hand functionality or some kind of ranged element. Add a failsafe so that ion damage or lightning would freeze the hand in a a knifehand, a claw, or a fist instead of something useless. Maybe she'd like retractable razors under her fingernails. He sure wouldn't mind.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

"That would be appreciated" she replied with a small smile before he pulled away. Mia went quiet for a moment, a shiver running through her at the sudden gap he put between them. She stared at the floor, searching the grass under her feet for an answer for him.

"The war is far from necessary." She started looking up again. "Isley..." She trailed off. "When we were on Dathomir, we went hunting in the mountains, he wanted to talk to me away from prying ears so I let him drag me up the karking mountain." She moved past Rel, slumping onto the rotting veranda. "We discussed the state of the mandalorians and I told him any energy he put in to fixing what was broken was a waste of time. The mandalorians were blind to reason and I truly believed that. He, on the other hand, believed that we could do something about it. I refused, he went off on his own. Low and behold, a new empire rises. Isley tries to claim the title of mand'alor over the clans, the council shuns him. A few days later, a gen'dai pops up in a space station orbiting our home..."

She went quiet, lost for a moment in a flurry of memories. "He's in over his head. He has no real control and those that follow underneath him are claiming superiority over the clans. I don't believe he would willingly do anything to bring harm to the clans. But I also know that if the empire demands it, if his people behave the way Saverok did, he will have no choice but to lead that war, lest he lose face in their eyes and they chose a new leader."

One way or the other Mia had made a choice. "I made a promise to the council, that if it comes to war I would personally see to it that Isley does not survive." She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

Rel slouched against one of the veranda's termite-gnawed pillars, folding his arms. He stood there, listening in silence, as Mia laid it all out.

"Sounds like my other sources put it," he said. "I've looked over the sensor and comm records from the incident. Random Mandalorian Empire ships popping up at the wrong time, others tripping early-warning sensors on the Braxant before they turned around, that trigger-happy old fether Rach Viszla trying to assert control over the systems and failing hard -- it was almost a shooting war right there, even before the rescue ships picked you up. And you're right: it comes back to lack of control. Not like the Alor'e Council has any more control than Verd does, of course. What was Roche if not Larraq and the Rekalis muddling about on their own initiative with incidental support? Rally Master, Field Marshal - those ranks don't mean much for who does things and who gets obeyed. They're not ranks within clans, their status is linked to wartime, and we never know whether or not we're formally at war because the Alor'e Council takes the same approach as Verd: wait and see what happens.

"The UCM has a functional leadership structure. In theory. In reality it's a couple of strong voices, a few followers promoted above their ability, and a big ongoing power vacuum."

 

[Lina Ovmar]

"The longer either party waits the harder it will be to bridge the gap. Isley has no interest in talks, he simply wants to ignore it, but it's not going away. I don't see a way out of this without someone taking that seat and I don't know who, if anyone, is truly right for that seat. At this point the only thing I can do is offer support and guidance, but it's not enough if no one is prepared to listen."

She chewed the inside of her cheek in thought. "I need to get a better understanding of what it is the Empire wants. Talking to Isley is a waste of time, I need to address his people. Perhaps I can make them see reason. Or perhaps what I said on the mountain was true." She shrugged.

"Ember sacrificed himself to save us, myself, Kade and Brent. Young warriors, with big boots to fill and a whole lotta life ahead of them. Me? I'm just an old Mand'alor, I've lived longer than I should have already. Yet here I am. I could ask him what exactly it is he is expecting of me, but I suspect he will not give me a simple straightforward answer." She stood up, walking away from the house and turning to look back at it.

"What I do know is that we have a lot of work to do."

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

When she walked away from the house, he pushed off the column and followed her down the veranda's sagging steps. Maybe she was heading back toward the shuttle; maybe toward whatever ship or speeder had brought her here. Part of him wouldn't have minded spending some time in the shelter of the old farmhouse, but they weren't kids anymore. Not by a long fething shot. Work needed doing.

"We need to know what the UCM and the Mando Empire believe in, or want to be. Crusaders? Neo-Crusaders? Death Watch, the historical kind? Mereel's True Mandalorians? The Fett-era Mandos? Some blend between them? Or some new form, some new adaptation? The Resol'nare only, or do they want the Supercommando Codex or the ancient Canons of Honor that basically boiled down to 'shank your neighbour face to face, and stand by your clan?' There's a hundred different versions of Mandalorian. Which one do they want to be? Which ones are they now -- on both sides? You're right. We need to talk to the followers, even or especially the ones that are slipping their leashes while the leaders sit on their hands."

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Mia felt for the first time like the mountain she had to climb wasn't so steep. She smiled to herself shifting her eyes from the house to him.

"We will start with the Empire. I've an idea who to talk to first, but there's something else I need to do before we go."

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

Well, as it happens," he said, "I figured I or we would be headed out that way, and I felt I should keep options open. So I bought one of those visas the Mando Empire sells, the gold tier. Comes with the right to buy beskar, or at least negotiate for beskar, plus some other odds and ends -- rights you can have in Mando Empire space, for what it's worth. Anyways, on paper I'm about as Mando Empire as you can get without actually swearing allegiance to Mand'alor the Reclaimer...or marrying into House Verd.

"My ship or yours? You still flying the Veil?"

 

[Lina Ovmar]

"Yours, the Veil is on Yavin IV."

With Rel's Visa, and her friendship with Isley, the two of them had a pretty good shot at getting something of sense out of the Empire without violence jumping in the way.

But then again, you could never be too certain.

"How long does it take to get there?" She asked, leading the way to his shuttle.

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

"In this ship, you mean?"

He opened the control pad by the iris hatch and input the code, then stepped through into the airlock.

"I've just got a Class One on here, nothing special. It's a straight shot up the Braxant Run then some fiddly bits to get to Echoy'la. It used to be isolated, and getting there isn't especially straightforward. There ought to be security alerts, pickets, hyperspace early warning sensors. Not sure, though. Some parts of United Clans space are closely monitored -- the Gordian Reach, you can't get in there with any kind of stealth ship without tripping hyperspace detectors along the way. Same goes for good chunks of Silver Jedi space and some of the One Sith territories. I'm not sure the Mandalorian Empire has that technology."

He took a seat in the big shuttle's cockpit and began running through preflight. "So who knows," he said. "We might get interdicted halfway up the Braxant. We might get clear to Echoy'la before we meet anyone. Either way, we're talking a few days."

 

[Lina Ovmar]

"Good."

Mia replied, settling into the co-pilot chair, she took control of the comms, sending a brief message to [member="Anija Betna"] advising her niece she'd be out of reach for a time. She contemplated a contacting Isley, deciding it was fast better if he didn't know they were coming.

She was quiet as they ran through the preflight checks, lost in a myriad of thoughts and possibilities. It wasn't until Manda'yaim was a green-grey blob behind them and a the stars began to stretch into lines as they made the first jump that Mia dragged herself back to the present.

Without a word, she unclipped herself from the copilot chair, touching Rel's shoulder to draw his attention as she got up and headed to the aft of the ship, leaving a trail of clothes in her wake.

[member="Rel Connory"]