will you sink down to me?
Two words grounded Damsy like an anchor in quicksand.
Her gaze gravitated towards their source, finding a hooded face first. She could just make Zabrak features out of the shadows. The her attention dropped to a lightsaber hilt glinting sunlight off sand grains.
An Asssshlan, Syreni repeated as she urged her other half to reach for the stony handle of her borrowed dread blade. Fight. It'sss a meansss of ssssurvival, Damsssy.
She couldn't much argue with that, even if she hadn't been succumbing to her alter ago quite so. The Galactic Alliance was tolerable, as long as no one else knew her heritage, but their recent love affair with the Ashlan Crusade? That was unacceptable and almost unforgivable. Almost, until the moment Damsy would cast off her pretender padawan mantle. She had no clue when that time would come, just that it would--that her hours with the New Jedi Order were numbered, that she wouldn't possibly be able to stay undercover forever, that no amount of care would save her.
She was wedged between a boulder of basalt and an unrelenting tide, left to struggle through treading water. She had to play nice for the foreseeable future, if for nothing else than not getting killed by the Jedi before her time, but only in GA space. This, this here was still red for now. All beats were off, especially so for Damsy behind the mask of a Mawite War Shaman. Near complete anonymity. No one back at the Temple would be any the wiser, assuming she even got off this dust ball. And if she didn't, well, she'd die a happy Sithspawn having had the chance to take an Ashlan with her.
"'Could say that, sure," Damsy replied with her verbiage, not at all willing to attempt Naeelete's crude vocabulary.
Last edited: