Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Eulogic Episodes: The Unchanging Ache of Things

In the time that had passed since that lost bet, Aver Brand had somehow managed to avoid becoming an estranged daughter: she’d dropped by the diner not once, not twice, but a whole five times.

It would’ve been historic if not for the mundane nature of their lunchtime conversations. Between the stains on them both, there wasn’t a single head they could turn. Lenda with the apron and Aver as casual as Nadir had ever seen her – grease-monkey overalls and a bandolier of tools slung over her shoulder.

She’d sprung for that penthouse after all.

The itch to take things apart with her hands (and not people, for once) had followed her to Thral, four months down the line. It didn’t help that she’d brought down several walls, embedded new agrinium meshes, replaced the glass with solarium glasteel, or installed a whole sub-floor for Shai and Dhaladii to tire themselves out.

So here she was, sweating like a pig even in the afternoon sun, plastered red mane tied up in a hasty ponytail, and a hydrospanner between her teeth. That was also the only reason her curses weren’t echoing all the way down to the treehome.

It was just as well – Qui needed all the rest she could get, even if it was strung together from stolen cat naps. More often than not these days, Aver went to sleep before her and still woke up long enough after her mate that her side of the bed was already cold.

Aver didn’t pry. She tried not to, anyway; it wasn’t always easy to stand against the waves of anger, sadness, or grief that washed across the connection between them. Even if it woke her up sometimes – there were worse places to pull on a t-shirt at four in the morning to go count the constellations winking above a whispering canopy.

When (if) she wanted to, Des would share whatever was troubling her nights, and Ygdris would listen.

Until then, her itch served as a welcome distraction. She’d already knocked out the holonet antenna atop a nearby peak in her first week on Thral. The next one was spent fixing up the smaller things around and inside the growing treehome; putting off the bigger challenge on the horizon, really.

When the third week found her with nothing else to do without new supplies, it was time to bite the bullet and march up the mountain to install the hydrogenerator.

The icy rush of the stream around her bare legs was a small reprieve against the heat bearing down on her back where she was bent over the machinery, but it was better than nothing. If there was any justice at all in the galaxy, she’d be done by this evening anyway, and then never have to open another assembly booklet for a decade or so.

Also, apparently, Aver tanned like burnished gold.
 
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A shrill cry of birds and bastards rang out to slash through the chorus of waters rushing about the burnished umber woman. High up in the wisps of clouds overhead the dull humm of a ship entering atmosphere entered the sounds of the mountain. It materialized out of nowhere as stealth shields dropped, leaving a blackened hull made to evade scanners. It wasn't anything familiar to Aver, but it was small and quick, armed well enough to make a speedy exit should tides turn against it.

Sweeping down smoothly from above, it came to a slower glide as it passed over the mountain, looping around and back as if in search of some place to land. Having spied Aver at the top of the waterfall, the ship curved around above her and moved to hover above the flattened slate of the plateau before touching down.

The boarding ramp descended and out from inside stepped the tall figure of Rune Shamalain. Dressed far more casually than she'd ever seen before--loosely fitted cargo pants, a t-shirt and leather boots--he approached with a curious gaze and the defined look of one predator sizing up another.

"Miss Brand," Rune intoned respectfully, tipping his head up at her in question, "need a hand?"
 
Don’t let the tan deceive you – Aver was still very much the beast bred in the bowels of the Outer rim. When the atmosphere around her changed, the mercenary was immediately on edge. Shading her gaze with the useless booklet, Aver traced the journey of the lithe black ship across the sky with narrow eyes.

It didn’t look like a bombing run trajectory – for one, it was flying far too slow – but you never knew.

Then the vessel set down, and a man so pale stepped out she was nearly blinded on the spot. Whatever her suspicions surrounding the identity of the visitor, though, it wasn’t that.

Aver opened her mouth, then shut it again with a click. Smacked her lips.

“Mister Shamalain,” she said with her best formal airs. The wry smirk didn’t exactly help. “Aver’s fine once you’ve seen my tits, though.”

She made no effort to hide the naked interest in her gaze as she took him in, cargo pants and boots and all. There really wasn’t a member of this family that didn’t cut a fine figure.

“And no, it can wait,” she sighed and turned to put away her tools. “Why are you here?”

Just once, she wished Qui would let her know about these surprise visits before they literally landed in the backyard.
 
In different company Rune may have made an effort to avert his gaze once Aver turned to face him. The general public or otherwise civilized society would have expected it. Yet in the middle of an inhospitable jungle planet he held no reservation in inspecting her figure. The gesture was quick enough - an assessment more than anything on the capacity of the woman to maim and kill. No hint of desire or sexuality existed in the gaze of frosted blue, nor any such lingering whisper of opinion.

It did linger ever so briefly on the three lines slashed across her left clavicle.

"Fair enough," he returned, gesturing to himself in offer of his own informality, "Rune, then."

The gaze broke to step toward the precipice of the falls where he leaned just enough to see over the edge. The canopy of treehome could just be made out through the haze of mists roiling through the air, but it was a good thirty stories down from where he stood, and likely another hundred stories from ground level. Just how high up were they, exactly?

"At the request of Desdemona," his brow pinched as he reached out into the intangible realm of the Force, sweeping the nearby area for her presence, "but she seems to be out." Rune leaned back, blue eyes pinning as he turned to walk back, "so I have some free time until she returns. Are you certain you don't want a hand? I promise I am far more technologically adept than she is."
 
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"I promise I am far more technologically adept than she is."

Snort.

“Not exactly a high bar, is it?” Sass notwithstanding, Aver unrolled her tools again and chucked the devil’s booklet at the younger Shamalain.

“See if you can’t figure out the power couplings.” Whatever fucker designed the assembly schematics must’ve either been drunk or a sadist or, quite possibly, both. “Page eighty-something. Sunscreen’s in the bag if you need it.”

With that, Aver bent back over the panel she’d just finished screwing in place. Might as well make use of the unexpected visitor and finish the project quicker. And then – sweet, sweet electricity.

“You two planning a trip of some sort, then?”
 
It had been nearly a year since the pair of them had crossed paths. Circumstances had been rather ... intense, given the situation he'd been in with Tahira. Since the close of that mission things had changed, none less than Rune's penchant for taking on extraordinary hermiting abilities to put his nose to the books, as they say. He'd grown restless with his job in the office. Desk work for a man of his breeding and stature just didn't align. He'd opted to take a more involved role in the R&D department at CETO and began learning and training in the school of mechanics and engineering.

His mentors remarked how quickly he learned, but he had an unfair advantage when it came to his less remarkable associates. He rarely slept, for one, which meant more time to train and study (an aspect of their lives that Dissero took full advantage of most of the time for his own work). He was also genetically predisposed to poring over information and ... well, retaining it. Some help with the Force on memory enhancement also went a long way.

He'd been helping to design and assemble new tech and ships for the last several months. Rune wasn't a genius or a prodigy by any stretch, but he was keen on details and comprehension - two things that went a long, long way when it came to tech. Keeping his mind and his hands busy had helped with his own troubles, but he was coming to a point where the work was easy enough that distraction started seeping in. Rune could only hope the change in scenery would set him back on track, so the invite from his sister was welcome enough.

"Mm," brow furrowed as he paged through the booklet, Rune studied the diagrams and skimmed over the directions. Moments later he was wading out into the water to inspect the offending power couplings. He set the booklet on top of the shell and pulled open a side panel to take a look at the internal circuits, "not as such."

The mists of the falls had begun to cling to his hair and skin, slicking the lengths of silver along his shoulders. Half stooping, he frowned as he unclipped a circuit board from inside, carefully extracting it. The man made a noise of irritation and reached in to begin dislodging the circuit clips on the inside.

"She's after my Flow Walking skills," he replied, "so the question is not where, but when," the board came free, its cables and wires bobbing freely about it like a bad haircut, "this circuit board is faulty, but I should be able to fix it."
 
They enjoyed a period of silence as they each worked on their own end of the generator, with nothing but the roar of the nearby waterfall and the vivid soundscape of the wildlife to keep them company. It was less strained than Aver might’ve expected, but a certain amount of apathy seemed as genetic as good looks for the family, so it was mildly surprising at best.

Then came the answers. Also unsurprising that they would involve at least one esoteric Force power that she’d never even heard of before, let alone seen in action. Not that the mercenary was especially widely read in the great breadth and variety of the applications of Space magic.

“Flow Walking?”

That the circuits turned out to be faulty was… a relief, to say the least. Aver had been starting to feel somewhat idiotic after spending the morning hunched over the other side of the machinery without an inch of progress.

Vindication.
 
Pressing through the shallow current around the base of the generator, Rune was careful to keep his footing lest he slipped into the full brute force of the river. Much as he was curious to see his sister's new home, he wanted to do it on his terms, from the bottom up, not the top down. He waded over to the rocky edge of the waters where Aver's tool roll sat open and leaned to take up a pair of needle-nose pliers.

Flow walking?

A quiet glance over his shoulder was given her way. Rune made a quarter turn so he could speak without working on the board over the running water. "It allows one to migrate through time within a specific area. See all that has happened and all that might occur. The greatest Masters of Flow Walking are the Aing-tii, some of them can experience projections beyond our own ... alternate timelines."
 
Time jumping. Of course.

Aver pursed her lips and tightened another bolt on the turbine assembly. The blades just inches from her fingers weren’t especially sharp, but she also wasn’t especially keen on finding out if this Shamalain also found the scent of her blood as exciting as the one slumbering far below.

Content to wrap up her end of the generator in silence, Aver only spoke again once she’d affixed the panel again. “And this… time flowing,” she waved her hand and stood to spark up a well-deserved cigarette. “That got anything to do with the nightmares she’s been having?”

Here, finally, Aver pinned his gaze with her own. Blue on blue, ice on ice.

It wasn’t quite the same.
 
Blue like frozen sapphires, not the frigid storm at sea she would have found in her own brother's eyes. Emryc waxed a cold, stormy grey-blue devoid of any emotion to keep up appearances. Rune? His gaze was utterly calm and there was no facade that he held before her.

Flow Walking, he thought but he didn't correct her. The news of nightmares was enough to move his thoughts elsewhere. The man's brows lofted slightly, "I am not aware of any nightmares. She was scant on details concerning the why." Shamalain women weren't known for being forthcoming with information on their good days. If Desdemona was having bad days ... well.

His attention drifted back to the circuit board. The pliers were exchange for wire cutters, and then a few moments later exchanged again for a soldering iron. Rune shifted to a nearby flattened boulder of slate and used it as a makeshift workbench.

"She did tell me to expect you and inquired as to whether or not I upheld my end of the deal in concern to your mission against Sage Bane."
 
Quietus? Scant on details? Never.

While Rune busied himself with the circuit board, Aver went through the slow, lazy effort of putting on her sweat- and river-drenched shirt. It didn’t do much – or really anything – in the way of hiding her shame. Which was just as well, because the mercenary a) had no shame and b) had yanked it on to enjoy the sweet chill of water on her overheated skin.

“The stations worked out fine,” she replied once she’d settled back against the generator with the dregs of her smoke. They were far from where Ceto had assembled them, keeping a watchful eye on the shadow hyperlines of the galactic north – but that wasn’t really any of Rune’s business.

“How’s your...” she twirled her cigarette in search of the name, “Kinsey?”

Making small talk. Over work. With her brother-in-law. Whatever had her life come to?
 
Good, he thought, but only outwardly nodded in concurrence that he'd handled his end. Thought he had, read he had on the reports, but it was different hearing it directly from the client. Especially since he didn't figure Aver to be one to sugar coat anything -- if she hadn't been satisfied with the stations he was plenty sure he would have heard about it long before now. She had a big mouth and a big fist, after all.

"How's your ... Kinsey?"

He felt his jaw string taut at that question and she'd see it for certain. Rune's brows furrowed over the wash of emotions dredged up, "She is... free now," he settled on, in the interest of keeping the complications of that relationship to themselves. The sensation of the ring hanging from its chain around his neck was stark and heavy in that moment. Kinsey didn't wear it anymore.

"There," said with some finality as he leaned up and set the soldering iron aside. He shifted back around the generator and began the process of hooking everything back up again. After some silent swearing and a bit of elbow grease, he had everything in order and snapped the panel shut again. Motioning to Aver to move back from the turbines, he set the power couplings into place and -

wwwwwWWWWHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmm

The sound of success. Rune rapped his knuckles on the generator's body and carefully picked his way back across the shallows where he tucked the soldering iron back into its strap and rolled the tools back up. He looked around again, "Need a lift down?" He'd have to find a better place to park his ship.
 
In her years since meeting Desdemona Shamalain, Aver Brand had scraped together juuuust enough emotional intelligence to know when to stop pushing. This here was one such occasion, if she did judge so herself.

“Kark me sideways and call me Corvus,” she pushed off the humming generator with a grin, “you did clear the bar. We’ll be cooking with a real stove tonight.”

‘Environmentally conscious’ wasn’t in Aver’s vocabulary. Despite this, she didn’t flick her snuffed cigarette into the untainted nature around them. Because if she was conscious of anything, it was Qui, and that woman would glare at her for days whenever she defiled the untamed beauty of a planet.

"Need a lift down?"

“Won’t say no.” She stuffed the butt into her pocket and summoned her tool roll with a gesture. “Come on, I’ll show you the spot.”

Once inside the vessel, the mercenary couldn’t avoid giving a professional once- or two-over to the equipment. Given what she knew of Rune’s employment, it wasn’t exactly surprising to find top-of-the-line outfittings in the pit, but Aver took her quiet notes all the same.

“There’s a clearing behind treehome, ten o’clock or so,” she said once they took off, then settled back into her chair. Icy blues drifted closed as she followed the invisible thread of the bloodtrail over the edge of the plateau, above and beyond the rustling jungle and into the open plains.

Your brother is here.
 
I'll be a few hours, but I'll have dinner with me.

Show him around?

Anyone who knew Rune well enough would have gaped at watching the man stroll into the ship and straight to the pilot's seat. This wasn't a man who had ever learned to fly a ship in his previous life. This wasn't a man who was comfortable in ships regardless of their size, status of luxury, or flight duration. Yet there he sat, fingers skipping deftly across the control panel, firing up the engines.

His time with Kinsey hadn't cured him of his discomfort with flying. He was still tense, especially in the moments of lift-off and touch-down, and any complicated maneuvers in between. But he had become more comfortable with the idea that it was an essential skill for one such as himself and that, given the appropriate amount of knowledge, training, and practice, he could be less strung-out for routine jaunts.

Also, flying himself saved a lot of money on the trips to and fro, client to client.

He followed Aver's direction out and over the waterfall, bringing the ship around to hover carefully around the frontside of the cliff face and the gargantuan amount of water cutting it in twain. Treehome rose forth from the heady mists, a massive and mighty Queen of its own overlooking the gorge and the valleys far below. Rune tried not to gape, didn't want to be distracted, and put his attention to bringing them around to the clearing.

He opted for auto-pilot for the landing once they were all lined up and gave a noticeable sigh once they'd set down again. The man leaned forward in his seat, allowing his eyes to follow the visible line of the trunk from where they sat as far up as the viewport would allow. It wasn't far enough.

"I think you may need a bigger generator."
 
He’ll get the five-star tour.

Aver didn’t much mind the few janky maneuvers. She’d flown and had been flown worse; granted, usually under the duress of an opposed planetfall, being pursued by starfighters or in constant danger of being turned into a fireball by AA. The upside being, of course, that it had left her with a greater appreciation of what a comfortable flight could reasonably constitute.

Still, she didn’t linger any longer than necessary once they landed. Not so much for his piloting skills than for her eagerness to be out of the stuffy interior and under the cool shade of the great tree.

"I think you may need a bigger generator."

“I am not having that conversation again,” Aver snorted with a sidelong glance at the pale man. “We’ll just have to make do with fire and the Force for some things.”

The mercenary padded to a stop at the foot of the massive trunk, squinted at the network of roots peering from the ground, then let out a triumphant hum. She bent forward to yank a stashed bottle of Whyren’s from the deep shadow underneath the tree, dappled with dew but cool as anything.

Her grin was an easy thing as she turned a familiar lofted eyebrow on Rune. “Does he drink off the clock?”
 
Lingering in the cockpit for a few moments more, staring out at this absolute beast of a tree, Rune followed the woman out into the open air of the jungle clearing. He wasn't one for nature. Not like Quietus was. No, the man stuck more to his civilized lifestyle and technology. No pets, few people. Clean, simple, quiet. The forest around him was anything but.

Yet it still had an awe-inspiring grandeur to it that no amount of haute couture could define with silk or gold or marble. Rune took it all in with a wary silence, shifting his attention from the sights to the potential dangers, of which he knew there were an astonishing amount - according to his sister. He wasn't want to meet them head on without a guide, and so didn't dawdle.

"Does he drink off the clock?"

He blinked at the bottle, gave Aver a curious look and then ...yes, smirked. Briefly. Their business lunch wasn't something he spent a lot of time recalling from memory, but it took him a moment to remember where that line came from. Sharp.

"I do now," he replied. Certainly wasn't on the clock now and it seemed they had some time to kill. Following at Aver's heel, they made their way up the perimeter trunk stairs and into the staging room where supplies of all kind were kept, stored neatly in crates or on frames and shelves.

"You are living here with her then?"
 
Alive after all! Now they were getting somewhere. Perhaps the impromptu tour wouldn’t be so bad after all, amber enhancements notwithstanding. Now if only the younger Shamalain could stand to become just a bit looser…

In what was her quota of manners for the day, Aver offered Rune the first swig – from the bottle, naturally. This was Thral, not Coruscant.

“Some of the...” she trailed off as they reached the first landing, icy eyes narrowing, “... time. Come on out, it’s fine.”

A faint, scratching noise echoed through the empty chamber a few moments later. Several boxes wobbled as something pushed past them – a strange, crablike creature that resembled a skull in all but its clawed horns. The helmet stopped in front of the pair, its void sockets fixed on the tall, pale, and unfamiliar on the right.

Her knees popped as she bent down to lift the Vonduun onto her shoulder. “Welcome to treehome,” Aver said with a grin and started for the second landing. “This is Dhaladii, and we can go find Puppy later.”

Though it was just as likely that Shai was already where their tour would conclude – the glorious moon-slash-sun-tanning terrace. She was nothing if not a connoisseur of all the quality lazing spots.

“Where do you live, Rune?”
 
No glass, all bottle. He was well and truly away from civilization now. Rune turned the bottle over in his hands to inspect the label, a less moot effort for him than it would have been for his sister. Quietus opted out of drinking 90% of the time. Rune only opted out about 50. He recognized the name as being top shelf and felt the way she handed it so casually to him to drink straight from the bottle said a lot about her. In any other home this would only come out for special or necessary occasions, to be savored from a crystal tumbler slowly, in small amounts.

The gentleman in him felt awkward. The not-gentleman in him said 'fuck it' and implored he take a swig. So he did. He winced at the burn, made the same sound one would make when someone had taken a cheap shot, and handed the bottle back to her. The twinge traveled easily down his throat and into his limbs nigh instantly, causing him to flex his fists at the sensation.

Then the vong helmet showed up and all bets were off. Rune stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the listless, soulless black eyes of the helmet as if he were facing it on a battle field. Blue eyes tracked its progress from floor to broad shoulder and he felt the mirrored ghost sensation of it on his own - made his skin crawl so badly that he visibly grimaced.

"Where do you live, Rune?"

In my ship, far away from that.

"Ceto," he responded tightly, "for the most part. Honoghr for the rest."
 
In her youth, credits meant everything. They were worth every drop of blood, every pound of flesh. Now they were an abstraction, only useful for what they represented – goods, favors, leverage. A means of liquidity that could and did cater for whatever her needs, wants, and whims required. Her vast empire would replenish her coffers sooner or later.

“Your… home planet, right?” Aver glanced sideways as they made it up the next flight of stairs, and was bemused to find him tenser than she’d left him. The bottle was uncorked and sampled, so what…

Ah.

Icy blues settled on the helmet perched idly on her sun-kissed shoulder. It was as peaceful and docile as any biot would ever be. Not that it meant much. Not that it meant much to Rune, even.

Aver chewed on her lip for a moment, lingering on the doorstep to the next landing. Whatever his issue with the Vong, the man probably had no interest discussing it here, now, with her. With a small frown and a sigh, the mercenary gently nudged Dhal off her shoulder, murmuring something in a tongue as quiet as it was alien.

The crab scurried back into the shadows, off to keep company with its own kind until the squeamish guest returned home. Perhaps her quota of manners was higher than she remembered.

“Up here,” she led the way across the room and through to the other side, “is the best part of treehome.”
 
His gaze never. left. the. helmet. Even once it had been dismissed from present company and scurried (Rune barely managed to hide the shudder he gave at the sound of its claws clicking across the floorboards) out of sight. He heard Aver's words but it took several long moments of watching the shadowed corner where it disappeared to before he replied.

"Honoghr, yes. I was ..." he shifted uneasily off from where his feet had stuck to continue following after Aver, "born and raised there."

"Up here is the best part of treehome."

Rune prayed that meant it was good enough to regain his attention. Aver stepped out onto an expansive open-air veranda built out along the great arching branches of treehome. The canopy had been purposefully shaped to leave the center open for sun and moonlight. From the higher limbs there were lines of rope along pulley systems that raised and lowered shade cloths of varying natural dyes. They shed lancing shadows along the flooring where several lounge chairs; an inset-circular bench beset by dozens and dozens of cushions and pillows and blankets surrounding a raised platform charcoal firepit; as well as the various hammocks strew about, connecting from branch to branch. A bench table over there. A .... was that a masseuse table over there? A large cushion mattress out at the precipice overlooking the waterfall with a woven shelf of leaves blocking it from the waterspray.

It was the epitome of jungle luxury, but he still couldn't shake the crawling sensation on his spine.

Or keep his eyes from shifting between shadows, looking for more of the woman's vong counterparts.

"This is where you entertain your guests I take it..." tie them up and feed them to your vong crabs.
 

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