Private Echoy'la

[Haastal Haran]

Echoy'la - to be lost in mourning, searching for something more.
Dressel ~ Iryuoak Cantina
Tags: Damsy Callat | Safira Varad
​

Did it make him Dar'manda?

Abandoning his home, breaking his promise, and turning his back on all that he had helped build? Was that what it meant to be Dar'manda? Haastal didn't care to spend such time in his mind musing over the matter. Instead, he turned to the only solution he could seem to find for his problems.

"Hey, another drink." He said, slapping his hand against the bartop. The Dresselian bartender jumped at the loud slam that echoed off the wooden countertop before walking over to the armored ma, taking the empty glass that was in front of him and filling it with a murky amber liquid. The Dresselians brewed a chit whiskey, but it got the job done. As the older Dresselian set the glass warily back on the bartop his eyes glanced over the Mandalorian's Beskar'gam, eyes lingering on the blaster pistol on the man's waist. Deep in his mind the bartender was regretting servicing the man. He'd been silent enough when he walked in over an hour ago, but now he was getting louder and the thought of hearing that blaster sing made the bartender's spine tighten. By the time the Dresselian had dug himself from his mind, Haastal had thrown the glass back onto the bar, mirroring the words from a moment ago. "A-" He paused, as if to wretch before swallowing deeply and coughing out. "Another drink."

The Dresselian glanced to his partner for the shift, wishing he hadn't decided to come in early for the day. The other Dresselian took avid strides not to meet his friends eyes as he was just as uncertain as his friend. In the end, rather than anger the Mandalorian the Dresselian filled the glass, wondering if maybe he could talk the man down. "Long day friend?" He asked.

"Hey, you wanna shut the feth up?" Haastal said before inhaling harshly, running a hand over his brow to clear his mind of the pounding that was occurring. "Just fill the drink, man." He said, waving his hand at the glass on the bartop. The Dresselian did as he was bid, pouring down another glassful of their house best, before bowing his head and turning away from the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian had taken his helmet off. He had to, otherwise SIRE would be in his ears, convincing him to turn back to what he'd left behind. He snorted at the thought. "Confederacy...Kark 'em." He grumbled, downing another deep drink from the glass. He didn't care about what he'd left behind, because it no longer mattered.

All that mattered now was filling his glass with another drink. "Refill!" He called out to the barkeep, slapping his hand on the bartop once again.

​

 

[Damsy Callat]

R E T R I E V E​

Tags: Safira Haran Haastal Haran​

Wearing: - beskar'gam -​

Warmastering was exhausting, but today it was ironic too.​

​

The protected had set off to find her assigned protector in a turn of fate inverse of the Dagobah Mishap. Damsy hadn't yet told her father about the sudden disappearance of his brother from Netra'yaim. In fact, she had instituted radio silence throughout the House on the matter, but not before taking it to her remaining, older family members. "I'm gonna see what gives," she had told each of them in almost so many words. "Could use backup." ​

​

Taking family along for family business was never a bad idea, especially when family packed firepower. Threats were as innumerable as the stars for most these days, but for House Verd three times over. That much had been made evident recently, but something else had been too: a crisis in the sithspawn's mind. The tendrils of Bor Kordol no longer gripped her, but the rend they had tore in her mind remained to expose a limbic maelstrom she had not since gotten used to staring into, for the abyss did truly stare back into her. ​

​

She could search for, find, and bring back Haastal herself even if all the pirates and such of the galaxy deigned to get in her way, but troublemakers were the least of her worries. She wanted - needed - a holdfast, lest Syreni decide to sweep the searcher to the raging star sea.​

​

Perhaps unaware of her entire function, Safira heeded the call. As they settled into Damsy's Exocoetus-class craft, she voiced her first real bout of concern: "It doesn't make any sense. He seemed fine just last week. He kept handing my shebs to me in training." She waved off the implications of the warmaster being continuously bested by a lieutenant. She hadn't been at her best for a while and didn't want to talk about it. "...What the feth, is what I'm saying."​

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And the two women had finally tracked their blood to Dressel.​

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Damsy crossed over Iryuoak's threshold, immediately offering the hostage bartender a risen hand as hail. The Force traveled behind the motion and suggested the Dresselian not only leave the liquor bottle on the bar, just out of Haastal's reach, but also the establishment altogether, with his friend. They hurried against Damsy and Safira's set current out the door. The former placed her buy'ce on her choice of empty tabletop before rounding Haastal to face him. She took hold of the abandoned serving vessel. Despite a soft facial expression, it's new tender wouldn't be intimidated. "Last cantina in the city, unc." Pretty far from the spaceport, she had noted while going storefront to storefront. "Ya drink the rest outta business?"​

​

 

[Safira Haran]

T A G S | Damsy Callat ~ Haastal Haran

Concern was not an emotion Safira often felt freely.

She had been born and raised in a clan of steadfast and confident Mandalorians. Married into a clan of steadfast and confident Mandalorians. Every single body was far more than competent where ordinary people would often find themselves lacking. Concern was a waste of time. Yet, when Haastal had missed breakfast, Safira felt an uncomfortable tingling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t like him to miss any meal, regardless of the time. By the time dinner had come and gone, Haastal’s face was as shy as a decent bounty. That tingle had turned into a raging fire of concern.

So, when her cousin stated her intentions to mount a hunt for him, Safira jumped at the opportunity to tag along. Haastal wouldn’t have simply upped and left. Not without saying goodbye, surely? The only conclusion she could find to explain this disappearance was that something must have happened to him. He must have picked the wrong fight in the wrong bar. Or bumped into the wrong stranger down the wrong street. Haastal wouldn’t have sat idly by if Safira had upped and left one day without a word. Safira could only do the same back. They were family, after all.

Safira flopped down heavily into the co-pilot seat of the Anura-Class fighter. One of her hands fiddled gently with the hearing aid in her ear, but she still caught what her cousin said.

“It doesn’t.” She agreed, her concern now apparent in her voice. “He wouldn’t just leave us like that, without a word.” Safira said, but her voice faltered slightly as she turned to look at Damsy. Her face was riddled with hesitation. “Would he?”

The question remained unanswered, for longer than Safi would have liked. Eventually, they tracked him down to a bar on Dressel. A bar.

If full blow rage was a snowstorm, then what Safira felt now were the first few flakes. This mother karker had up and left their home to go and drink his credits away in some backwater bar? With no thought to how the hell they would feel? Upset didn’t even begin to cover it. Like her cousin, she offered the bartender a nod of greeting, lifting both palms away from her hips to show him they meant no harm. Then she turned her attention on Haastal. Damsy was far more diplomatic with him than Safira intended to be.

“Kriff, Haastal. You look like the wrong end of a bantha and you smell twice as bad.” Safira snapped. “Where the kark have you been?!”

 

[Haastal Haran]

Safira Haran | Damsy Callat
​

The Mandalorian's head was spinning. He'd down whole bottles this day and saw no end in sight. With every drink he was a drop closer to just blacking out. When he blacked out he didn't think, he didn't dream, he was free for a time.

He'd heard his nieces' voice, but he didn't recognize it. He didn't want to recognize it. His gaze lifted and he watched the bottle of whiskey move into her hands. He let out an unintelligible sound before standing from his seat. His legs felt like water and he had to piss like he couldn't believe. Still, that didn't stop his venom from spitting from his lips as he pushed his niece back from where he stood. "The feth ya'll doin' here?" He demanded. The drunken Mandalorian regarded them harshly, swaying from the stool he'd been sitting in. He righted himself the next moment, taking his buy'ce into his arms and groaning softly as he slid it over his head.

When his HUD came online it showed the tracking indicator illuminated. He groaned softly in understanding.

That's how they found me. He thought. Still, he didn't utilize any excess brain power on the thought before turning to meet Safira. His grim-black visor gazed at her, taking notice of the anger that came from her. Even though he should have registered the anger as caring, all he could hear was an attitude aimed at him.

That wasn't something that sat well with drunken Mandalorians, least of all Haastal. "Who the hell you talkin' to girl?" He demanded, closing the distance between them. As he approached Safira, his gauntleted hands tightened into two harsh fists. He shook his head before turning back to Damsy, holding a hand out to her expectantly.

"Give me the bottle and get the hell outta here." He demanded.

 

[Damsy Callat]

R E T R I E V E​

Tags: Safira Haran Haastal Haran​

Warmastering was exhausting.

The push had been sudden, but not altogether unexpected. In fact, Damsy was surprised it hadn't been stronger. That concerned her all the more. Her uncle was in a bad place both physically and mentally.

Recovering from her stumble was easy enough, as she had the bar beside her and a stool behind her to support part of her weight, and he was quick to shift his attention to her cousin. She glanced likewise to Safira as if to express what they both were thinking with a sigh and roll of her eyes:

Dank farrik...

When Haas looked back at her, Damsy pursed her lips and half-shrugged. "Nah; don't think so." She took all but one, partially-gloved finger off the bottle and, balancing it by the cork, began to tilt it precariously off the bar. "If Imma pick up your tab, you can 'least come back to the Nautilus so I don't havta waste fuel too."

 

[Safira Haran]

T A G S | Damsy Callat ~ Haastal Haran

The minute Haastal began to talk, Safira rolled her eyes up so far that it was a wonder they made it back down again. If she wasn’t so karking mad at him for leaving her to drink cheap as chit booze in a backwater bar, she would have felt the sympathy he so clearly needed right now.

However.

He was piss drunk. He was pissed off. He was just all-round pissed. Though what in the kark he was pissed at them for was beyond all thought. “The feth are you doing here is the question, more like.” Damsy did have far, far more patience than Safira had. If Haastal had laid a hand on her there would have been serious trouble. Growing up around seven brothers had not gone by without leaving its mark. Safira didn’t take chit from morons trying to drown their feelings in a bottle.

“Listen up, you drunken di’kut.” Safira’s tone became harsh and firm. The same sort of tone one might have used for a group of miscreant kids you stumbled across drinking in the park. “I don’t know what in the chit has gotten into you, but it stops right now. You're making a fool of yourself.” Safira stepped forward and placed a gloved hand on his chest. It probably wouldn't take much to knock him back from Damsy, but Safira did it harder than necessary regardless. “You take one more sip of gorram booze and I swear to every karking deity you can think of I’ll knock you on your ass.”

Her intense gaze landed directly on his ebony visor, where she did her best to hold it despite his almost comical swaying. “How do you wanna do this?”

 

[Haastal Haran]

Safira Haran | Damsy Callat ​

When Safira's hand came over Haastal's chest, he turned towards her. He was silent, but even from beneath his visor it was apparent he was pissed. His hands that were curled into fists slowly loosened as he swept his gaze back over to Damsy. He'd asked for the bottle once and it wasn't going to fething ask again. Instead he just let out a soft sigh.

He led with his elbow, a favored combat move of his. Haastal flared forward for Safira, his elbow aimed for the woman's jaw. The moment the blow connected, Haastal leaned back, slamming his foot into Safira's gut to kick her back from the area. He was a good fighter, even when drunk, just not nearly as coordinated. He fell backwards, his arms waving as his Beskar'gam slammed into the floor with a loud crash. He growled out in frustration before looking to Damsy. He gave his left arm a subtle flick before aiming it at the woman.

A whip-cord fired from the man's arm, aimed for the woman, however it flied past her and slammed into the ceiling. He'd been aiming for the bottle, but with SIRE's aim assist offline he wasn't very competent, especially while drunk.

"Give it up!" He yelled before jerking on the cord hard. He felt his body slide forward and he brought his foot forward, aimed for Damsy's shin.

 

[Damsy Callat]

T U S S L E​

Tags: Safira Haran Haastal Haran​

The blow connected as the preceding series of events threw her guard. She scrambled to brace herself on Haastal's whipcord. His prize tumbled down with her and broke, dousing her bare fingers in whiskey. Something shifted in her as she hit the floor with her unswept knee beside her center of gravity. Her heart fell and she could feel Syreni snake up into its place.​

​

Moment of truth, or at least the one Damsy had expected, had come. She didn't have time to explain to her cousin either, so she would just have to ride the episode out - and help subdue Haastal while holding back Syreni. The last thing it needed to do was even the score. In fact, Damsy would be glad if it got its ass handed to it once more, even though she was the one who had to feel it for days afterwords.​

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This was gonna be hell.​

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"SIRE?!" Was the AI listening? Was she sympathetic to the women's position? Enough to help them? To all: maybe, maybe not. Only one thing would truly tell her at this range: a response to a request. "It'd be a great time to dim his HUD!" Would that be cheating? Ehh. He was the one wearing his buy'ce and one took allies, and advantages, wherever they could find them.​

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In any case, virtual assistance or no, the skin on her hands was already feeling the tightness of metamorphosis. Damsy momentarily closed her eyes, feeling the energetic waters around her, and let its heat osmos into her body. It didn't take much to evaporate the liquor's water content off her hands; as they began to feel supple again, she slid out of Haastal's immediate range, backing up to the table she had used before. With a harsh yank on one of the legs, her helmet came down. She reached out to catch it and shove it over her head.​

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[Safira Haran]

T A G S | Damsy Callat ~ Haastal Haran

Safira felt his elbow before she saw it. The sound it made against her jaw was deafening, and that was saying something considering Safira was deaf.

She stumbled backwards an inch, but before she could catch herself Haastal’s foot found a mark in her gut. Fortunately for Safira, she was clad in full beskar. If she had come in anything else, there was no doubt she would be dragging Haastal back to the ship with a few broken ribs herself. As it was…

The boot slammed into her stomach. Safira, already stumbling, stumbled further. The sound of splintering wood shattered what little silence the bar had left as she collapsed into a slowly rotting table. By the time Safira’s vision faded in again, she was watching Haastal reach for a weapon. “Do-…” She began to cry out hoarsely, but she was quickly drowned out by the sound of it ricocheting off the bottle. She breathed a sigh of relief that it had not hit her cousin, but that was the last ounce of sympathy Safira could muster.

Scrambling to her feet, Safira shoved her helmet over her thick head of curls. If Haastal wanted to play this way, then play they would.

After a quick glance at her cousin to make sure she was not more seriously injured, Safira charged. Her heavy boots pounding against the tattered metal floor. Haastal himself was in a heap just beneath her, toppled from the weight he put into attacking Damsy, but that did not stop Safira. As her cousin readied herself for a battle, Safira rammed her boot directly into Haastal’s chest. Pinning him there would be easy, she had always had stronger legs than him.

Getting that kriffing whipcord off him would be another task entirely.

Safira knelt, using her knee to push his chest further into the floor. With her free hand, she snatched out at the whipcord while the other one came careening down toward his head in a bunched up, gloved fist. Helmets were almost impossible to break, but she could certainly rattle his head in it. Maybe then he would come to his senses.

 

[Haastal Haran]

Safira Haran | Damsy Callat
​

Haastal was a damn good fighter. However being drunk and on the ground was not good for any scrapper. He looked to Damsy as the bottle of liquor fell from her hands and shattered on the floor. He could have groaned inwardly if he wasn't so piss drunk and blinded with rage.

Haastal did not know when SIRE had been called on to, or whether it was Damsy or Safira who had done it, but when the girl suggested blinding Haastal, the thick southern rim accent echoed out from the speaker on Haastal's helmet. 'You got it sugar! Lights out Haas!' That was when everything went black. Haastal was going to curse out SIRE but before he could he felt a harsh boot slam into his chest. Still blind he was unable to fight back and that was when he felt a hard fist slam into his head. The buy'ce took most of the damage, but he still felt pain as his head was shaken inside the damned helmet.

He felt tension on his whipcord but could not release it with Safira in the way. The assault likely would have ended the man's fighting will if he wasn't aware of a small device on his right arm. He slammed his arm into the ground before hearing a soft click erupt from it. From there he brought the barrel of his flamethrower up aimed for Safira and in that moment...

He hesitated.

 

[Damsy Callat]

T U S S L E​

Tags: Safira Haran Haastal Haran​

Kneeling was not a sustainable stance, for how her shin throbbed. She managed to shift her kicked shin out from under her to out in front and stood up on the floor, but kept the other tucked behind. As Safira charged into the struggle, Damsy stayed put but watched closely for an opening.​

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It came when Haastal primed his flamethrower.​

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Damsy likewise pulled her electrotrident from her hip and twirled the handle in her hand so that the pronged head faced forward. She gave it a hardy shake to extend out the phrik alloy staff. ​

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"Safi!"​

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Watch out.​

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He may have hesitated, but she didn't, instead thrusting her weapon his way, intent to catch his gauntlet between the prongs and redirect any fire that may have been emitted soon as he came back to his senses. Or lack thereof.​

​

 

[Safira Haran]

T A G S | Damsy Callat ~ Haastal Haran ​

​

She tugged at the whipcord as hard as she could, but the di’kut simply would not give it up. He was already going to regret this enough in the morning, thanks to the amount of alcohol he had consumed. There was no need to add further injury. It would just make him even more unbearable tomorrow.​

​

Still, she could not stand idly by and allow him to assault them with no push back. If something were to happen to either of them, he would regret that far more. That type of regret was not so easily forgiven over a glass of tihaar and a warm bonfire. It was the type that you carried with you for the rest of your life, and Safira was only here to make sure Haastal lived for a long time to come yet. When she could get no further with the whipcord, she was just about to give up, when…​

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“Safi!”​

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The sound of her cousin’s voice alerted her to something dangerous. The tell-tale clicks of a flamethrower. Safira could have cursed if she had the time, but she was more concerned about not being fried.​

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She rolled to the side, releasing her advantage over the whipcord as she narrowly dodged the sharp prongs of Damsy’s weapon. She was exceedingly grateful for her in that moment. Haastal’s drunk ass would have likely turned her into barbeque Safira quicker than she could blink. With the flamethrower locked tightly in place by the electrotrident, Safira did the only thing she could think of. One hand reached for her weapon, which took all but a second to free from its holster.​

​

Haastal may have been the better fighter, but Safira was the better shot. She drew it up. Took a breath and fired. The bullet went nowhere near Haastal, he was never in any danger of being injured, but it did find its mark. It cut neatly through the fuel line of the flamethrower.​

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Now that her cousin was not in danger of becoming fried fish, Safira shouted across to her. “Shock him Damsy, now!” ​

 

[Haastal Haran]

Safira Haran | Damsy Callat​

More than any other Haastal loved his family but in this moment all he wanted was the liquor coating the floor beside him. If he weren't pinned to the ground by Safira he may have been running his tongue along the filthy wooden floorboards. Anything was better than sobriety right now.

The darkness he was experiencing was shorting out his senses, however in the moment after he hesitated to spray Safira and Damsy with flames he felt a trident embedded into the ground beside him, his wrist locked into the floor with a hard sink to the wood. He struggled, attempting to rip himself from the grip his family had placed upon him.

What came next, Haastal welcomed.

He screamed out loudly as the volts from his nieces Trident flowed through his body, conducting through his armor and causing him to seize and writhe until finally...nothing. Haastal slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

When he did finally awaken the world was different. For one, he was no longer filled with the thick cloud of liquor that caused his judgement to be non-existent. What came with the clarity? Supreme discomfort. His head pounded as if a gundark had taken to it for a mating ground. His lips were dry and chapped and his entire body ached from the electrical current that activated every muscle within him. Haastal groaned out, though it sounded more akin to a wild bear groaning in frustration than anything. The bed was unfamiliar, as was the room Haastal laid in, but when he rolled over and saw the two pills and glass of water on the counter he couldn't help but mutter.

"Damn girls…" he exhaled, remembering vaguely how much of an ass he had been to them when they came to retrieve him. He took hold of the medicine, tossing it into his mouth before thirstily downing the glass of water. He let the glass floor onto the nightstand without a regard for it before letting out one growled word.

"Haar'chak." He said, before rolling out of the bed. His legs nearly buckled from his own weight, that mixed with the effects from several bottles of liquor? Haastal soon found himself leaning against the bedframe, exhaling audibly. Haastal quickly pushed himself to his feet, before stepping out of the room and moving into the halls of the ship.

 

[Damsy Callat]

R E D R E S S​

Tags: Safira Haran Haastal Haran​

Through Dressel lay outside of Confederate space, Damsy wouldn't leave even this one cantina floundering in wake of the Mandalorian trio. She had dropped into one too many warzones just to subsequently leave without so much as a stray, selfless thought. That policy ended starting today. Restoration, or at least redress, would become as necessary a step in the war process as the actual struggle. Perhaps even more.​

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"The ceiling drywall, a table or two, the lost product," she listed aloud to the Dresselians as she tapped on the datapad inset into her left gauntlet. She knew enough about both how much various supplies cost and recording damages, but she still aired on the high end of caution. 'Intrinsic emotional stresses of unfortunately hosting a Mandalorian feud'? she mused to herself, already trying to find a way in which she could write off the generous summation. Yeah, that sounded good. ​

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Damsy waved her hand and glanced up at the bartenders before going back to typing. "Tell y'all what. I'll throw in flooring. Those you got are permeable as all." Which meant whiskey was hanging out in the the planks, if not the subfloor. Dammit, they had really done a number. "You'll be getting mold sooner than later." ​

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More than a year ago, the Adjunct-Major had been honorless. A coward, Adron Malvern would say - a fool of the worst caliber whose uncouth figure stained forever select pages of Dauntless history - but the Warmaster wouldn't do any of the same to House Verd, nor to her own individual reputation. Even if the Iryuoak employees hadn't been willing to accept the House vault credits, she would have still done all she could to leave a small fortune in their hands.​

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When hour two of the mostly one-sided negotiations clicked over, as alerted by the beeping of her timepiece widget, Damsy's mind wondered onto the Chambered Nautilus. She wasn't entirely sure how long Haastal would remain unconscious, as she had never shocked anyone in full beskar before, but she hoped it amounted to however much time it took to start screwing his head back on right. The last thing she wanted to come back to was ship repairs and/or a beaten Safira and runaway 2.0 - the latter obviously much more troubling outcomes than the first.​

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The bartender that had dealt with Haas directly handed over a datastick from his own pad. Damsy plugged it into one of her ports to download the holofrequency he offered. "Your boss," she began, "he up at this hour?" She wanted to be as considerate as possible, but was going to call him in any case.​

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The male nodded. "Should be, miss."​

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Damsy ejected the drive and handed it back to him. "Good deal. I'll get in touch before exiting airspace. I promise." The first she had made as a Mandalorian. Her family would have to get comfy, maybe take to the pazaak deck in the main hold.​

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"We appreciate it."​

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Damsy laughed. "I appreciate you not calling the cops on my uncle." More people would have undoubtedly gotten hurt. With a nod, she began to walk away, but then turned back. "Oh, wait. And—" She reached into a pocket on her utility belt. "Catch!" To each alien, she tossed a couple loose credit bars. "Lost wages too. My treat."​

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She really did walk away then.​

​

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[Safira Haran]

T A G S | Damsy Callat ~ Haastal Haran ​

​

Haastal was not easy to carry back to the ship.​

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He hung like a wet fish off a drying rack from either side of Safira and Damsy. They practically had to drag him the entire way to the ship, leaving behind a trench of red dirt where his feet had scuffed along the floor. When they had finally thrown Haastal onto the bed in the Chambered Nautilus, Safira had collapsed back into the armchair next to him with a guttural sigh.​

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She waved her cousin off with a lazy arm as she exited to handle the bartender. Wherever Damsy had gotten such a sweet nature from, it certainly was not her father. In the short time they had gotten to know each other, Safira found she liked her very much. They were extremely likeminded. The only thing that upset her was that they had not gotten to spend time together sooner. “Don’t let him screw you over!” Safira called out after the fading sounds of Damsy’s footsteps. “That bar was a chit-hole to begin with!”​

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When silence dominated the ship, Safira allowed herself to flop heavily back against the armchair. She could stay here for a few minutes, to make sure Haastal was still breathing, but she’d need to see to herself sooner or later.​

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It felt like an eternity before Haastal’s breathing turned into snores that seemed to rattle the entire ship. Safira could only crack a smirk before she slammed her hands down onto the armrests to force herself to stand. Lifting herself up was a painful process, but once she was up it wasn’t quite as bad as it had first felt. There was definitely some bruising, but no broken ribs. Haastal would be pleased to hear it. She hobbled her way out of the room, leaving Haastal in a cloud of acrid smelling booze and his own rumbling snore for company.​

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A good hour or two passed before her cousin returned, and even longer went by before Haastal finally woke up.​

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When he did, Safira was bunched up on the co-pilot seat talking idly to Damsy about the merits of trident vs lightsaber. The first thing she heard of him was the heavy tell-tale slam of his boots against the floor. He always had been a stomper. She cast her cousin a quick smirk that was almost too playful. The sound of the doors hissing open prompted her to speak. “GoooooOOOOD MORNING SUNSHINE.” She cried in a sing-songy voice to the sunken eyed man who trudged through the door.​

 

[Haastal Haran]

Safira Haran | Damsy Callat​

When Haastal stepped into the cockpit he heard his cousin's extremely loud greeting. He ran a hand over his face, growling out at Safira's greeting."-the feth up." The first part of the sentence had been garbled through his hand but Safira was sure to hear the meaning from the lovely context clues in the remaining words. He shook his head clear of the hangover's haze, which only caused his head to slam a bit harder, but at least now he could fully open his eyes. He saw Damsy and Safira, his tired eyes turning from one to the next. "Hey..." He greeted with a hesistant disposition. Leaning against the doorframe he drew his head back while exhaling audibly.

"Thanks." He told them curtly before turning back out of the cockpit.

That was all he offered them. No apologies or explanations as it wasn't in his nature to give them. Instead he looked over his shoulder back to the two. "I'mma take a shower, then I want y'all to drop me off somewhere in the Outer Rim, away from The Confederacy." He told them, stepping back into the hall. His voice called out to them with an agitated tone. "...and get your asses back home!" He yelled out. When Haastal stepped into the main hall he pulled at the black shirt he wore, pulling it off and throwing the sweat-soaked cloth on the ground. He turned down the hall to where the refresher room was. When he got inside of the refresher he turned the sink and shower on, both with ice cold water to shock him from his stupor. He held his hands out to the water, letting them fill with the cool waters before haphazardly throwing the water over his face.

It dripped down his chest as he turned, looking to the brands on his skin and exhaling in agitation.

"To hell with 'em." He muttered. "Time for somethin' new..." He breathed leaning over the sink for a moment as he fought with the demons in his own mind.

 

[Damsy Callat]

V A R D Ø G R​

Tags: Safira Haran Haastal Haran​

As the door hissed open and Damsy saw the downtrodden figure of Haastal trudge into the cabin in her peripherals, she shifted the icepack off her shin and set it on the piloting dashboard in front of her. She kicked her feet down off the mid-console, grimacing only slightly as they made contact with the floor, straightened up, and scooted to the edge of her seat. She gripped the arms as if to stand, but Haastal's quick turnaround stalled her plan.

She glanced to Safira, brows knit and eyes clouded with worry.

Whoever they had found at the cantina hadn't been him, but Damsy had expected that moments after finding him. Recovering from either a hangover or a beating was a real tough go, let alone both at once, so she hadn't expected Haastal to immediately snap out of his stupor upon waking. But she had been counting on more than five frail words and a shoulder that cold. "...who the feth is that?" Damsy whispered to her cousin before Haas called out his addendum. That body looked like her uncle, and sounded like him, but - away from the Confederacy? He was speaking more like the ornery solider in her than himself. That part, perhaps with a newer vitality, longed to do the same: be dropped off somewhere in the Outer Rim.

The sithspawn bit the side of her lip. Concern for him reflected back onto herself.

 

[Safira Haran]

T A G S | Damsy Callat - Haastal Haran ​

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Safira grinned. That was the Haastal she knew and loved.​

​

Nodding her head at his thanks, she joined her cousin in leaning forward in the chair with a smirk on her face, as though she were about to say something. Yet, before she could so much as speak a word, Haastal was off again. No sooner than he had appeared, Safira was watching the back of his head disappear out of the door.​

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Dumbly, she turned her face to Damsy, and was pleased to see the same expression written all over hers. Safira was just about to shoot her cousin a bemused shrug when Haastal spoke again.​

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She didn’t even really think about it. Safira wasn’t upset with the lack of explanation. Sometimes, chit happened. Haastal would have been there for either of them if they were in the same boat. No apologies or explanation necessary. What she didn’t like were the confusing words he followed up with. They had both just busted their asses saving him from death at the bottom of a bottle. They deserved more than this.​

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Wincing as she stood from her chair, Safira shot out of the cabin. Quickly following the sound of Haastal’s echoing footsteps.​

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The refresher door shut before she could reach it. With a balled fist, she pounded against the metal. “What the kriff, Haastal?” She didn’t expect him to open it, so she stood back instead and wrapped one of her arms around her middle to clutch the bruises there. “What do you mean, Outer kriffing Rim? You’re coming back home. With us.” It didn’t make any sense. Haastal wouldn’t leave them. Not like this.​

 

[Haastal Haran]

Safira Haran | Damsy Callat
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Seconds after Haastal shut the refresher door he heard loud banging erupting from the other side of the metal barrier. He groaned softly as the sound bounced through his head half a dozen more times before it ceased. He could hear Safira yelling through the door but his response was silence. Deep brown eyes gazed at the mirror in front of him, staring at the man drenched in ice cold water. He looked like a stranger to Haastal. Haastal. Achilles. Who was he? Would Haastal Verd run from what had happened to him here? Would he have remained behind, surrounded by memories of pain and shadows of anguish? Maybe. Achilles would have left immediately, finding a new pointless life to waste away into.

What was he trying to do? Where was he going? The questions began to overwhelm him until he could no longer suffer the man in the mirror. His hand curled into a fist and with a loud yell he shattered the form before him. The crashing sound echoed out of the bathroom as vibrant trails of blood leaked from his fist and into the sink below. He glanced down at the red droplets as they slowly formed an uneven pool of crimson.

He leaned down, dipping one of his fingers into the blood and gazing at its color, almost surprised his body had any blood left in it. He rubbed the oily liquid between his fingers before it left a red-orange stain where it had been.

The door to the refresher snapped open and Haastal looked to Safira, the blood still dripping from his knuckles. "Redd lost the kids." He said simply, stepping closer to Safira with a cold expression, badly hiding the pain that laid below the surface. "I'm not goin' back to The Confederacy. Nothin' for me there." He told her, looking to the woman and opening his lips before closing them. He turned his back to her, turning back into the Refresher. "I'll miss y'all, a lot. Y'all are my family but...I don't have a place in Clan Verd anymore. Haastal Verd died on Naboo three days ago." He turned back to the mirror on the wall, what few fragments remained, reflecting several images of himself.

"It finally showed me I was livin' in a dream." He turned back to Safira, regarding her warmly. "I can't walk back into that life after this." His hand raised to show off the blood leaking from his hand. "I have to find out whose blood this is...I have to decide the man I'm goin' to be and I can't do that under Verd or Varad."

The next words he spoke in fluent Mandalorian. "Ni ganar at kemir adol haran."

I have to walk through hell

The final word stuck against his lips, causing him to chuckle dryly. "Haran."

"There is only Haran before me."

 

[Damsy Callat]

D I S S O C I A T I O N​

Tags: Safira Haran Haastal Haran​

Damsy started after Safira as she followed from the cockpit after Haastal, but she faltered again, with a hand braced on the threshold frame. If Safira even noticed Damsy's partial faint, she would have simply waved her cousin on with a hand and, "'m fine. Be right there."​

​

She wasn't, in fact, fine.​

​

Heaving a sigh of attempted relaxation as soon as Safira was out of earshot, she shifted so that her back was pressed up against the blast doorway. A knot of sharp pain in her left temple suddenly blossomed up her forehead. She knew what - who - that meant.​

​

Syreni still spoke in Bor Kordol's voice, though Haastal has very much killed the mutated Mairan.​

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Syyyyreni can sssswim must faster than that one...​

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Than Haastal - that much was true both physically and metaphorically. Nothing was stopping Damsy from locking herself in the cabin and sealing off the escape pod, and flying all the way back to Krant. But she didn't want to. ​

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He hurt us. Hurt him...​

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That was a no-go too. Damsy could undoubtedly be unbelievably petty when she felt scorned, but she wasn't going to be now because she hadn't been. He had helped her. In one goddamned afternoon in a backwater swamp, an uncle had done much more for her than a father. "Feth...off," she muttered in Kaminoan to Syreni, trying to massage the squaloid away by kneading at her own skin. It seemed to draw her out more. Her right temple fell to Syreni's assault. One eye, then the other. Her jaws set with muscles calcified to match the bones. Constriction slowly crawled down Damsy's throat. She put one hand gently over it. Her eyes fell shut as if she might channel all her senses into breathing.​

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It had not been this hard since the Rylothian heat storm.​

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The sithspawn began to gasp and slid down the durasteel brace to the hull flooring below. Once she found she could not intake more oxygen, she instead breathed in a resolution, her last ditch hope:​

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Vengefulness wouldn't be the path she choose. For once in her life, it couldn't be. Sooner or later, she would die if she gave into the anger the fueled Syreni - maybe not in body, but certainly in mind.​

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