Carrying Weight (Ivy/Preliat)

[Preliat Mantis]

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Everyone is someone's devil.​

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Preliat walked, the sting, the pain of reality setting in. He had been brought back to the galaxy at large by Strider. In some regards, brought back from death. Death by obscurity, at least. But he was not satisfied with the answers he got, or the scope of the truth he knew. Something tugged at his mind. She got what she wanted, or at least, was paid for. Strider wanted Preliat back, she got Preliat back for him. But he went against everything, turned his back on it all- all the pillars that once held him up fell down. The Wolf of Manda'yaim left his brethren and abandoned the Mandalorians for the First Order. Perhaps that was someone's plan. Perhaps it was a deviation from another. Preliat was going to find out tonight, intent on starting with the first person in a string of inquiries. Or perhaps, he was going to curse her for making him come back.

He found her, all things considered- significantly easier than how she could've found him.

[member="Ivy Lasranae"]. The name weighed down his mind like a great burden.

Preliat was a predator, a fierce, deadly tracker. He knew how to hide well. It made it easier how to hunt if you knew how to hide. Ivy wasn't hiding- she was just covering her tracks, or at least, attempting to here and there. Ivy sat alone in a cafe, resting between what he assumed refuels.

It was night-time. It was raining. It was dark. It was a perfect time to hunt- and finally get the sit down he wanted for so long.

Preliat moved with purpose and speed, his fists held tightly at his sides. He towered over the people here, in stature and in presence. The spaceport was home to smaller, idle people living simple lives- not brutes like Preliat. The six and a half foot man in the white and blue coat stood out. A lot. He parted crowds like oceans, making his way inwards towards the cafe. He sat at the table across from Ivy. He didn't see the beast, Jet- but then again, it could've been anywhere.

He stared at her a while before speaking. The other patrons in the cafe grew weary as he sat down. His voice wasn't loud enough to carry over to other tables. In fact- Preliat, as eloquent as he was, was particularly soft-spoken. A fact that Ivy knew quite well.

"So this is what it feels like.."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Hazel Scheler was a woman of simple means and simple lifestyle. Travel often, seek out jobs, put fuel in the ship and, occasionally, some good food in her belly when payout allowed. It was by no means a secretive thing for her - finding Hazel Scheler was easy enough if you knew where to look. The usual Mercenary hangouts; space ports and stations of civil rapport. Not the slums and rarely ever the criminal pits of the underworld. She was a woman of morals. Good morals. Didn't like to dirty them if she could help it, so steering clear of the dirt was par for the course.

And covering her tracks? Some might call it that but, really, it was more about privacy and keeping things simple. The less faces she had to commit to a memory now starting to fail her, the better. Easier that way to keep loose of any ties, such as generous Sith Lords. Those things never ended well.

She was sitting alone in a cafe that she'd frequented enough over the past few years. Enough that the waitresses knew her by name and, when times were hard and income tight, they'd toss her a meal on the house. She'd helped clean up some rag-tag hooligans from the premise before and the owner was grateful for her presence on those particularly dark and slow evenings. Hazel was just happy to help, but a free meal would never be turned down.

Had her meal tonight, was working on a slice of pie and cuppa caff when the hulking brute of a man sank down into the seat across from her. Hazel looked at him over the top of the holoflimsy of today's news, the faint lines of familiarity forming at the corners of narrowed eyes.

"Coming in to your usual spot to find someone else sitting there? I'm not one to intrude on routine - be happy to move to another table if that's the case."

Must not have recognized him.

There was no dog to be seen, smelled, or heard anywhere.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

No dog. No recognition. Preliat leaned forward, his mahogany eyes locking onto Hazel's. He stared at her for a while again, adjusting his position. Better light on his face. In reality, it highlighted only half of his face in a decent light. But instantly recognizable- Preliat had an alluring gaze, an unforgettable hardness to his features that was truthfully, distinctively his and his alone.

He looked around the cafe, before turning back to Hazel.

"Been a long time since I been to a cafe. A while ago, I lived on a place that didn't have such things."

A while ago was an understatement- it now had been a few years since Hazel and Preliat had met each other on a quiet world that Preliat had blissfully forgotten the name of. It was a peaceful life, far from what he was currently living. He had been Bendak then, a farmhand who earned his pay for his strength and his willingness to work hard. Preliat ran a hand through his hair. Hazel could notice, being the attentive woman she was, a braid that lay over the side of his head. It was entwined with two fabrics- one from the remains of Yasha's shawl, and the other- Aditya's. It was the only thing of true value that they could recover from the ashes of their home. Preliat blinked a few times, before leaning back in the chair.

"Right, Hazel?"

 

[Hazel Scheler]

She remained silent, watching him, unable to shake the feeling of faint recognition. The face seemed familiar but for the life of her she could not recall a name or even where she knew it from. The woman's brow knit over a forming frown, finding it to be troubling when he clearly knew who she was.

"Right, Hazel?"

Clearly.

Hazel slowly set the holoflimsy down, the flesh and metal of both natural and cybernetic hands hidden within leather gloves and the sleeves of an old uniform jacket. Looked him over once, twice, still hadn't the foggiest clue.

"Well this is awkward," she said finally, fingers splayed in an apologetic gesture, "you'll have to forgive me, but I'm going to need a bit of help remembering why it is you know me. Did I do a job for you before?"

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Awkward indeed. Preliat thought a little more of himself. Then again, the woman probably had a lot in her life since then. A relatively obscure few days searching for him probably didn't amount to much. That, and outside the First Order and the Mandalorians- he'd stayed off the galactic radar. Save for the time that a clone army of his overthrew the Republic.

"I was the job. You brought your dog and cooked me dinner."

A waiter came by. Preliat ordered tea. He didn't like caffeine this late into the evening. Not that his sleep schedule was any more than a few hours at a time anyway. Plagued by nightmares, as he was.

"If I was here to kill you, I would've done it from the outside or walked in and shot you."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Dog. Dinner.

Hazel passed a thoughtful hand over her chin and let it rest there, elbow propped on the table.

Planet without cafes.

Her brow furrowed, discomfort evident though he was perhaps picking up on it for the wrong reason. He was not the source of her piqued anxiety, no, and she gave a light chuckle at the assurance that she'd be dead already if he was here for that.

"I'm not worried about that," she took up her caff and sipped, pensive for several moments while she continued to dig through several years of memories that continued to grow ever foggier.

Dinner and the dog on a backwoods planet.

Something came to mind, drifting in like a ship lost at sea; worn and frayed and covered in the grime of salt and sea from years of being battered.

"Tielbarra," she said, glancing at him again, "I made you knock-off tielbarra and we played chess."

And Jet had slaughtered half a pack of wolves. Yes, the pieces were filing in but none of them came bearing a name. She did recall now, though, that he was Mandalorian. Didn't look it anymore. Hazel eyes drifted over his face again with better recognition while segments of conversation bubbled to the surface. The braid was new, so was the outfit.

"You look different," his tea arrived with packets of sugar and honey. Probably synthetic honey. Hazel frowned and eased back into her seat, "sorry, I can't recall your name. Always been bad with names."

 

[Preliat Mantis]

He leaned forward and mixed the tea with the sugar- he preferred his tea sweet. Preliat studied the woman intently for a moment. No new scars from what he could see. Voice sounded the same. He set the spoon down as he finished mixing the sugar into his drink. He let it sit for a moment, staring at the halfway decent reflection in the brown liquid. He looked back up at Hazel, folding his hands on the table.

"Feel different. Am different."

He fixed the braid behind his ear, before speaking again.

"Preliat. Preliat Mantis."

The name carried weight. Most people did not know the face, but many knew the name. He had inadvertently become a thing of scrutiny, when someone rudely, and without his permission, used his likeness to storm the steps of the Republic. And they hadn't even bothered to call him afterwards.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Small wonder she couldn't recall it.

"Preliat, right," a murmured thought as she turned back to her slice of pie and cut herself another forkful. She chewed while she pondered. Preliat wasn't the name that seemed to stick with her. There had been another name he went by. A moniker for the life he lived.

"You used a different name," she said gesturing at him with the empty fork, "started with a B, I think." A sigh followed, she took up her caff once more and wallowed in the smell, holding the cup beneath her nose with both hands, "either way, fancy running into you here. Odds seem slim it's just a coincidence."

A brow lofted at him curiously, "If you came to repay the favor I'm not so sure they'll let you in the kitchen."

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"I would not let myself in the kitchen."

Preliat lay his hands on the table, scarred and battered knuckles. Years of fighting. Years of fighting for nothing.

"Bendak. I went by Bendak there."

He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his tea, finally.

"Perhaps I came here seeking something, but in reality, things have begun to run through my mind."

[member="Ivy Lasranae"]

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I would not let myself in the kitchen."

The Merc gave a low chuckle and indulged in another slow drink of coffee. What had happened to Bendak after she left that planet was only something she might've guessed at. Judging by the present situation, things had not gone well for him and she hoped that he had not come here to blame these transgressions on her.

She was just a messenger.

Eyes of green and brown and golden flecks watched the man patiently over her cup. One of them was not her natural eye but a lot of money had been spent on getting the nature of the cybernetic implant just right. Somewhere out in there stars there was a golden-haired Sith that had appreciated her eyes enough to put that extra effort in. She wondered what he was doing now.

"Alright, I'll bite. What sort of things?"

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Part of him wanted to blame her, wanted her to suffer for what she had brought him back into. He got his tea and thanked the waitress. He stared at her for a while, before putting a single sugar packet into it. He stirred it, before speaking again. His mahogany eyes met the woman's again. It was difficult to quantify how painful he looked. And felt. Through the force, he was a constant hole of despair and hatred- a fountain of darkness poured through Preliat through the force, although- neither of the two felt it.

"The things that make the galaxy go bad."

He ran a hand through his hair again, before sipping at his tea.

"For reasons unknown. I suppose I haven't killed myself yet. So I guess I'm not at that point yet." He didn't use the word yet lightly. He supposed it wasn't too much of a stretch for someone in his position to off themselves. Though, if truth be told- Preliat had tried to kill himself through the glory of combat many times. He just had the unfortunate disease of life clinging to him.

"I wanted to talk about that night. The one where you found me."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Hazel Scheler might be deaf to things felt on the Force but she wasn't numb to the look of pain in another's expression. Pain could be felt in body language - something she was particularly adept at reading, taught by a Lorrdian Doctor all those years ago. While Bendak might be fairly good at masking those things she certainly got the gist of it.

He was hurting.

"For reasons unknown. I suppose I haven't killed myself yet. So I guess I'm not at that point yet."

The Merc's movements went still at that and she blinked at him with greater care.

"I wanted to talk about that night. The one where you found me."

If it weren't for the caff her mouth might've gone a bit dry. She knew all about that distant call on the horizon; the tugging noose on the heart for a glorified end to suffering. She'd lived it, lived through it. Much like the man seated across from her she'd attempted it numerous times only to keep waking up.

Hazel had become particularly disgusted with the taste of Bacta as a result.

"Alright, Prel," a level reply. She set down her glass and calmly pushed the remaining pie on her plate to the side, elbows moving to settle on the table with hands cupped together, "let's talk about that night."

Usually that sort of line was followed by guilt or shame over some sexualized scandal. Nothing of the sort here. No shame to be had over a good dinner, good conversation, a game of chess, a wild beast. Hazel set her gaze on him and gave the man her undivided attention.

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

He blinked. Several thoughts ran through his head. He saw her as Aditya. As Triam. As Silas. As his mother. As one of his sisters. As every person he hurt. He looked solemn for a while, then spoke again. His eyes were downtrodden, a man defeated and a man broken. He looked at her for a while, the woman before him.

"Strider sent you...but- no offense to the man, he didn't have the resources himself to track me down."

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. Suddenly, it shifted. Why he was here. What he wanted to talk about with her. Someone close- but not that close.

"Do you- do you think I was born broken or I became that way?"

[member="Ivy Lasranae"]

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The Merc could do nothing but offer a shrug in response to the topic of Strider. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. The man certainly didn't have the sort of payment she'd normally require for such a job but, as she had explained the night she found Bendak on that lonely farm, it wasn't simply about the money. Regardless of whether or not Strider had the resources mattered not at all - that's what Mercs were for.

They were the resource, and look what it got him: a finished and successful job.

Hazel itched at her cheek, gloved fingers tracing lightly over the line of faintly glowing red scars there, "Well that's not much of a fair question, I hardly know you." She shifted in her seat, propping natural ankle over cybernetic knee beneath the table. Couldn't be sure if she'd accidentally kicked the table stand or the man's leg.

"But," that same hand that itched at her cheek moved to lay along the backrest of her bench, "I don't think anyone is born broken. Not you, not me. If we're broken now it's because of things we've been through, things been done to us over time, chipping away pieces and leaving behind fractures. Taking parts of us we'll never fully regain."

Fingers flexed on her left hand, lightly running along each other. The sensation of feeling would never be the same on that arm - Preliat might remember it was made of metal and gears and circuits, not flesh and bone and blood. Hazel released a sigh as she pressed the palm flat against the table, drumming the digits gently.

"What makes you think you're broken?"

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

It was his leg- his metal leg.

He leaned forward.

"Do you believe in destiny? I don't. Some Jetii believe in it, that there is a destiny for all of us, a purpose. I don't like to think like that. Because if that were the case-" His eyes fell down to the table. And then they met hers. They were hard. The hid the devil, the demon, within. All his pain lay in his eyes. His face remained unchanged. But his eyes were the indicators of who he was- he carried all that weight in his eyes. "I was put in this galaxy exclusively to both suffer and to cause it."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He was eerily silent, a measure of the hunter, the predator he was. He spoke in a low volume, a soft voice that betrayed his violent, brutal nature.

"I can't- I don't feel anything. Not since they were taken from me." She knew him well enough to know who they were. "The only thing I know how I'm alive is the rage. The unquenchable, undying rage. Do you know what it's like to be filled with such hate that those who can use the force actively avoid you? Do you know what it's like to never be able to be at peace? I'm not okay. I'm not right in my mind. And I haven't had the courage, the resolve to finally end my own life, so I've attempted to do it by traveling from world to world, trying to get someone else to do it for me. But I survive. Life clings to me like a disease, like a parasite that I cannot get be rid of."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I wonder how much of me is left, if what you say is true."

[member="Ivy Lasranae"]

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Wasn't much you could say to someone in a state like that. Ivy relented any whim to speak some sense into the man with a short sigh and a faint nod. This man was fixing to burst in a violent way and the Merc didn't want for innocent lives to be caught in the crossfire. Seemed to her that this was a bad sort of place for him to be in - physically speaking.

She signaled to the waitress for her check, adding his tea into the tab.

A deep breath, the woman leaned forward a bit, moving to place both hands on the table, "No, I'm like you. I don't believe in fate or destiny. Certain events in my life have proven there's no such thing - that this galaxy is nothing but a chaotic mess of happenstance. I find people who believe in fate often use it as a scapegoat for their own misgivings and bad choices. I believe in taking responsibility for yourself and your decisions and that it's not up to someone else whether we live or die," a pause to accept the bill, "it's up to us. Because even in the end, if we need the help of others to see that decision through, it's still up to us to ask for it or accept it when it comes."

Hazel stood from the bench, electing to get the man some fresh air that didn't involve enclosed spaces, "C'mon Prel, let's take a walk, you and I."

[member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Fate intertwined with decisions. Preliat was a believer in the Old Gods. It made sense to him. The Gods of War, of life, death, and the sun. The permanence of these things solidified their existence, and to him, the existence of these things, of life, of death, and war and it's power over it all- made him a firm believer if not the concepts of them. He was not a man kneeling at an altar or offering prayers, but he believed that the Manda existed. He knew the Force did, and perhaps they were one and the same. But he knew for a fact that it was not for him. Peace was not for him. It would not come until they day he died, when he was no longer able to feel anger, or misery.

A walk- a walk sounded nice. It had been so long since Preliat had just...walked with someone.


He stood up and faced the fresh air. The people in the restaraunt were quite relieved to have the six and a half foot marauding savage to be gone from their presence. He looked out at the street, at the various people going about their lives, taking no note of him other than a glance to his height and bulk.

"Do you think the way we live condemns us to die the same?"

[member="Ivy Lasranae"]

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Hazel couldn't be sure if what she felt as they exited the diner was relief or mild anxiety. Either way, she'd made the decision to be responsible for this walk and however it turned out was, consequentially, her fault. Such was life.

They walked, seething Mandalorian and mild-mannered Mercenary, carving a clearing through the crowds on the walkway like a freighter parted nebulae. The woman took note of her company's much bigger stride, fully aware now of how much taller he actually was. Her memory had not afforded her these details but she supposed it wouldn't have made any difference.

"Do you think the way we live condems us to die the same?"

The question caused her brow to knit, lips forming a thin line in thought.

"Where I come from, one's actions and decisions determined the ... fullness of one's afterlife. The more effort and time one spent on living selflessly, putting others before themselves, the more this would present to them in death," she let her gaze linger off towards the faces of those she passed by, wondering if she still followed the traditions and beliefs of a family and people she'd not seen since the emergence of the Gulag Plague.

"I used to dream of my family. Of those that I once loved and cherished that had passed on before me," a frown pressed itself into her lips for a moment, "and I knew that I was on the right path, that they would be there to greet me once I met my end. I came so close once. I swear I had held the hand of my father ... only to be pulled away to wake up in a tank of bacta."

Since then it had felt most as though her life was now her nightmare in that she continued to wake up to it.

"I don't dream of my family anymore. I-" her natural hand tucked into the pocket of her uniform jacket, fingers wrapping around the journel snugly kept within, "-I can't even remember what they look like." Not even her late husband. Even Sephoria's face had begun to fade from her mind.

"I think...that you have to decide on what you believe and hold on to it. Because in the end no one really knows," Hazel shook her head, "I choose to believe in what I used to know."

 

[Preliat Mantis]

"I find it disturbing that your people take so much stock in what they do in life to secure a future for themselves after we die."

Worn hands found themselves intertwined, a nervous habit of an aging brute.

"My family was everything. Everything I did, I was convinced for the safety of them. And for the most part, I was truthful to myself. I did act, as their guardian. As their protector. I went from one system to the other, stopping threats- defending the planet Mandalore. But in the end, it was my own people that doomed themselves. Truthfully, I did not care for the Death Watch. I did not care for Ra's madness."

He tapped his foot on the ground as his hands settled.

"I choose to believe the truth and the reality of my life, I suppose. The reality is that I am a bad person. That I am in fact, a monster. That I am a beast, a marauder. I could not accept this fact. But it was still the same truth, the day you found me at the farm, to the very minute that we sit in presently. It hadn't changed. I've caused so much pain. I do not think there will be a time where I can rectify it, or atone for it. I will die violently, as I have lived violently. Perhaps you should have left me on that farm. Maybe the galaxy would be better off. But it's too late now. Far too late."

[member="Ivy Lasranae"]

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"I imagine most people that aren't my people do," Hazel smirked but didn't look at the man. It was, perhaps, an archaic way to live considering the times, but she was far beyond giving up traditions now. Memories faded but culture was a hard thing to shake.

The Merc walked beside the man, an attentive listener if nothing else. Her effort to try and understand the more recent events he spoke of were dropped for the simple act of hearing him. It didn't matter that she wasn't familiar with the Death Watch or that she had no idea who Ra was. Many would beg to differ, but Hazel's life had hardly been effected by the likes of those people. Her relationship with the Mandolorians barely exceeded a friendly agreement to stay out of their business and off their turf.

Brow furrowing as he spoke of life and death, she couldn't help but lean towards agreement. There were many people she'd met over the years that were beyond saving. Beyond making amends with their life choices. She wasn't sure what to say and she was even less sure of what he was looking for in the conversation. Pity? Not likely. Compassion? She had her doubts about that, too. Guidance? Maybe, but she hardly felt qualified for such a thing - her life wasn't exactly free of bad choices and wrong turns.

"Not a fan of living by what-ifs or maybes," the woman admitted, "I've lost too much to think about everything I could have done differently."

She wasn't exactly sure where they were now, having been walking blind for the simple sake of walking to talk. They made it to a pedestrian bridge that walked out between buildings, speeders slipping beneath them like fish in a current. Hazel stopped to lean against the railing, giving her acquaintance a brief look-over, "Why did you come looking for me?"