Private Falling In Line

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

The sixth week after Forlende had been marked by the benevolent change of orders, light duty. It wasn’t limited, that would have afforded her a bit more opportunities. It was a change from the bedridden hours between surgeries and information from planetside had become a need to know basis. Lyra had joined the adornments dotting the medbay, blank faced and facing the medics that rivaled the droids care. She had been scared going beneath the blade but the sterileness of the lab was forgotten at this point.

They had done their job well at least and when she had gotten word her unit had been pulled; it filled her with some sense of satisfaction. Lyra could not attend the docking that day and missed welcoming the command back. It did not help the shadow that followed her, she could read between the lines and figured her ‘delicate’ condition listing could be linked to the personal mission failure on the ground. She had a feeling Major Tavlar was part to blame for the lengthy process. She slept sparingly, and the therapist was beginning to suspect the issue. Lying had become preference when speaking of her condition, of what happened, they predicated full recovery in six months. She had put away the HUD recordings at some point, but most nights she stared at the ceilings; waiting.

Verbal and physical abilities had not been hindered, of course there had been a few hiccups but in the long run she could not afford that kind of leave. The amount of medication was overwhelming however. 0-2 did not afford her the similar care of a superior officer, bacta was not an option; at least they had done a clean job on her. She could live with what she saw in the mirror most days, she tried not to be vain-but she had enjoyed her hair.

The stitches had left angry rolling scars and it required adjustments. She had learned to relocate to further training rooms to escape the faceless swath of medical that was required to report in on her. When they had found her hooked up to a treadmill in week four, she had been reprimanded for that. They could drag her to the brig for all she cared.

They were being held on this floating hunk of metal and she did not have an idea of the next deployment.The best thing to do with a soldier was to put them to work, and she could feel the weakness in her bones the longer her absence drew out. The initial transfer back to the system’s main space command had been quiet but with multiple successes surface side. When she had been sent here before deployment, she had appreciated the stillness the destroyer offered. It was orderly but now she needed her boots back on the ground; it was only a matter of time. She had followed the activity through the gossip in the chow, dodging the pitying looks.

Data work and observations had begun to fill the gaps in time and she watched her Platoon from the distance drilling; viewing form the catwalks surrounding the hall-she was not allowed on the mat. If she had wanted a desk job, she would of enlisted in the Navy but she had considered asking Lt. Moross if wanted help with his own. Someone had to be picking up the slack but then again she wasn't going to be caught begging for scraps. The fact that she had not been welcome back to command post and she felt insulted as it had begun to drag out; it became a focal point for her anger. As the seventh week began to roll around, she had ignored her orders all together and entered the training hall.

She had blazed in with a heavy boot click before 0700 and ignored her fellows. That was the first day she had faced the platoon, their stares had burned into her skin and lingered painfully. It was uneasy witnessing the mortality of your own command. Appw'rii had long since fallen back in line and Forleac was making steady progress. Lyra had been gone long enough and took a cue from Irveric Tavlar , that lesson had finally cemented itself in her. Her voice carried over the training hall and the physical training there after bordered ruthless. They had had their break from the front and that would be their last reprieve. She wasn’t about to get caught dropping on the floor, but she followed by example and lead part of the exercise. That was the only place she could find there after, and they were going to have to court martial her if they wanted to get her attention.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

"The ground your battalion covered...its...satisfactory for our campaign here, Major. The last of the wretched clones are soon to be rounded up following our final siege. You and your troopers won't be need for any of that however as the analytics have pieced together that your unit requires 'urgently needed' leave-time..." The Lord Colonel stated, eyeing Tavlar with an ever skeptical furrowed brow. He was a harsh man, ever characteristic of the Sith high command. Rigid and unforgiving whilst carrying themselves with an aristocratic demeanor, speaking with a tone and cadence that crucified the patience of any who had to suffer through the posturing.

Two settlements were cleared of the terrorists by Tavlar's group whilst the rest of their tenure was spent 'bandit-fighting' in the countryside, the only reprieve for Tavlar being the twelve service hours he spent at the commander's position of a Glaive class repulsor-tank when an accompanying armored platoon hunted down a rebel armored column.

Tavlar was an aggressive commander, but by no means a foolish one. The 502nd accomplished their objectives with supreme urgency, beating their arbitrary time tables each and every time even if it meant full scale actions where the Major failed to get any meaningful rest for days at a time, forming a ritual ripping cheap issued cigarra to throw himself into a meager buzz before injecting a stimulant, looking down the barrel of another sleepless ten hours before he'd repeat it again.

It all showed, even whilst pressed into his off-duty dress uniform in the face of the Colonel his face showed a spent man. The wound from the assault on the factory still showed starkly on his pale skin, set among errant blaster and gunnery burns only ever accented by the faint errant pocks where bits of shrapnel bit into his skin.

"The Legionnaires will appreciate it greatly, my Lord..." Tavlar said, feeling his lips move and hearing the words leave his mouth before he even cared to think of what he was saying at all. Not that it was out of place, but that he was about thirty more seconds of locked knees from his face slamming against the floor in exhaustion.

"Oh I'm quite sure you and your troopers have earned it, Major. The shuttles leave at o'five hundred, any of your troopers miss it and they'll be refitted. Dismissed..." The Lord Colonel spouted, motioning Tavlar out with an errant gesture to which the Major responded with a salute at attention before turning on his heels and taking his leave.

----

Immediately after the Major reported his unit to the station he sought his quarters and slept for what might've been sixteen hours but even still he awoke as groggily as he might've from being waken in the middle of the night to full alarm.

It seemed only then did his thoughts recollect the Leftenant Voi'kryt. It had been so long that he'd forgotten her face. Not what it looked like, but what it looked like after her first graze with war. Making the sight of her all the more cold when he'd made himself present in the training room, donning his off-duty colors he peered over the platoon in training with his ever placid gaze, standing aside silently as he didn't care to undermine her by disrupting the instruction.

He understood her thoughts immediately. She needed to taste pain again, needed to feel strife or she would feel a pace or two behind her own inferiors. They might've forsaken her in their thoughts the very same Tavlar had, as far as they knew they might not even see her again, expecting her to be transferred to a more backline logistical role. But even in their sparce interactions, Irveric assumed her far more persistent than to be content with that. It was the same persistence that kept him in the service far past his initial five year conscription writ, now pressing himself into a full fledged military career.

However, despite his sympathy. Her legionnaires were also his and their orders were to rest. He understood the purpose of the conditioning but often found the officers best at drilling were in-turn the officers least respected as it showed deep insecurity. The barking and yelling, the inability to be satisfied or acknowledge even marginal progress and improvement wore thin on the patience of most and built contempt. He knew very well the two needed to speak.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

The Platoon had been on the mat less than a standard hour when the stitch in her side had begun to scream. She had tried to ignore it, and one keen eye told her the were all hanging on by a thread. Fatigue weighed heavy on them, and it was growing harder-her own discipline reminding her if she stopped, they all had the right to. She had called for a hold then and they had frozen in formation. Their hard breathing and eyes varying shades of defeat and anger. Lyra had wanted to revel in it but even her own stomach churned amidst the drop and rise beside the legionaries.

They were short numbers and the assault lingered in the back of her mind. There were some who hadn’t lived to see through their first battle. The flaws of the command squad whispering in the back of her mind; green. She almost flinched recalling the impact sequence from the HUD clips. The men and women before her were bruised and battered in their own ways but they weren’t green any longer were they.

“Walk it off legionnaires, the heat’s over. You’re dismissed.” Lyra called it.

Out of them all she still refused to look at Simmoes or her anger would be the best of her. The command washed over them with great relief as they began to lumber past her. Some threw themselves to the mercy of the benches and others making for the doors. No one wanted to be caught dead here a moment longer. The fact that the Major had been watching for the last ten minutes did little to help, there was pressure to perform but then again his stare expected something. He had not left through it and Lyra felt a fresh wave of frustration seize her. Oh, he wanted to speak.

She called out two names though, the two men were on opposite sides of the hall when looks were exchanged. The later almost out the door when she had picked them out; both of them freezing. There would be questions later, jabs even from their fellows so she kept it short. The words she exchanged with the troopers were simple, she wouldn’t offer praise lightly but Moneus and Irtwill were good soldiers in the end. They would of made it out with out their cover fire. She caught the Major still lingering, and the hall growing sparse. When they were dismissed, Lyra did not turn to face Tavlar immediately. Adjusting the cuffs of her fatigues, there were bandages underneath and they pulled uncomfortably. Exhaling heavily, there was no point in delaying. She faced the Major, meeting his eye without hesitation; crossing the matt and saluting him.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

The Major returned the salute, relieving her of attention before speaking up, peering about the training hall as he did.

"Good to see you upright, Leftenant." Tavlar stated, ever candid but ever placid with his words as he looked her over with a frigid gaze, shifting his gaze to look over the rest of the training hall, content with silence as the other troopers made their way out.

"What was that?" He asked, arching a brow to her as he spoke with stern frigidness in his voice as he locked his gaze with hers, spelling a clear a discontent with the display she'd made before, crossing his arms over his chest, glancing back over the training area, eventually looking back to her.

"You're bitter...I understand why but this is no place to resolve it..." Tavlar questioned, his tone spelling concern as much it did the deep discontent it had before.

"You feel like you failed on Folende...and that you still need to show your men that you're tough but this is no way of it, no one ever cares to respect the drilling, they respect the leadership. Every man and woman in the Imperial Legions know that they have to bit and able if they're to conduct war, they yearn for someone who is calm in the storm. You take that anger out on them you'll lose their respect and it will be nigh insurmountable to gain back...do I make my point clear?" Tavlar pressed on, though realizing he might very well reap the whirlwind from her with his sentiment, he was resolute in it enough to defend it staunchly. Such is what had to be done when telling hard truths.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

“Thank you, sir..” Lyra’s voice was measured, her eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. Unsure of how to handle the man between the disgruntled actions previously. When her hand lowered she cautioned herself, remaining rigid in stance as she folded her hands in front of her.. She risked following his gaze, watching as the doors were left swinging shut in the wake of the platoon. Frowning then, the twist making her fresh scars pull..oddly, making for a discomforting sight.

As he questioned the interaction before, his question..her lips had twitched as she almost risked speaking out of turn. It was rhetorical she realized and dripped with distaste. Squaring her jaw she looked him in the eye; waiting out the dissection. The Major clearly did not wear his dissatisfaction but looked equal parts dragged through the wringer-if not a fraction worse. A hot flood of shame washed over her that danced with her frustrations but she refused to look away.

“Wasn’t it a failure, Folende-sir?” At every turn her mind reeled and faced a wall of excuses for her actions. They did not achieve the objective in the end, but if that wasn’t failure now this was. But all for one rough round of physical training? She was a little too bitter indeed and she was still riding on it.

“Correct me if I am wrong, sir. If one man fails so has the squadron, so they all suffer equally but I don’t think one hard hour of training is really suffering. Let them moan about it but I was on the mat right there beside them through it. But not only that, I and two others live with the consequences of that one man's actions,” Lyra snapped, her eyes narrowing as she went on a tirade.

“There is one man who will now have looked me in the eye and knows he failed, that he has much to do to earn my respect. I risked that at Forlende and I will say nothing to him about it-if I recall you're the one who warned me about green men but I gave them the benefit of the doubt. You didn't trust them, but I gave them that until the end but maybe you were right about that too. Look at me after all...”

At the end of it she heaved a heavy breath, stepping back as she raised a hand to clutch her side. The other twisting and tucked behind her back to hide her fist and white knuckles. She would regret it all later perhaps and tried to sober herself..

“It was settled there on the mat but the truth is one of my men risked the lives of eight of his fellow legionaries. He will know better then to do it again, I have seen men lit up among the rank and file and lose every opportunity. He will have the opportunity to serve the Empire to its full extent tomorrow, and the platoon will be stronger, and so the Empire will be too. And..anything about respect, a handful of men knew where I stood at Folende and that's all I need. But you are right, sir,” she clipped. “Everything is crystal clear.”

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

Tavlar ate her rhetoric with a frigid and otherwise placid gaze. The entirety of her words seemed to all but wash over him, leaving a few moments of dead air before he replied, only caring to after she said he was understood.

"Good. Whatever you think Folende was the insurgency is on its heels and my men and thus, yours were ordered to rest and refit for our next deployment. This is not rest, this is posturing. It could be a over a hundred days we're on this station...so do not press them into training not even twenty four hours after combat. I know well why you'd wish to but it will do nothing but sow dissent..." Tavlar retorts, letting off a faint sigh, visibly clenching his teeth before speaking up once more.

"Fine...if you wish to spar so eagerly, taste combat again then...I will offer myself to spar." Tavlar says, rolling his shoulders before he eventually broke his gaze from hers, motioning to mat set out. "What were you and your troopers practicing?" He asked, stepping toward the mat he crossed his arms, peering back to her with an arched, inquisitive brow. Though each and every muscle of Irveric's form ached with bruises and ware he knew well the statement would go a long way in gaining the trust of his forlorn Leftenant.

The sleep prior wasn't quite enough and perhaps it showed by his disheveled head of hair and stubble which had begun to grow into a beard all the same. Whether it was the personal taste of the officer or mere neglect it was difficult to discern, her own intuition with the context set out before likely determined the Major hadn't given the care to his grooming, the dark pits of his eyes telling the story itself.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

“Posturing..” the word escaped her with a scoff, having stepped back. Lyra chewed on his words and flexed her jaw, her last strands of patience wearing thin and snapping. He about all ignored what she had said. Her hand fell from her side as she tossed them up palms wide in her disbelief, turning and surveying the training hall. From the mat to the machines, only the quiet hum of the ship itself occupied the space and they were without specter.

Shutting her eyes and shaking her head-The whole matter was moot in the face of the Major and she clenched her fists as he pushed. Some stray words, vile little things, were muttered under her breath, whirling around to face him. When he stepped out on to the mat, his words had been a better part blur to her.

Dissatisfaction outweighed her pain and Lyra did not hesitate to march out after him. The stitch in her side is damned. Lyra circled around him, eyes narrowed like a hawk in silence, brimming with contempt. The thought of throwing the fight weighed in the back of her mind in the face of superior. Though his appearance waned and his eyes screamed fatigue-she regarded it all with a grain of salt.

“Close quarter work, knives and disarmament,” she clipped, short and simple. It would be too satisfying, the prospects of a fight. If he had the energy to pick apart her command, well he was a grown man after all and she loosened up her shoulders. Tilting her neck and rolling it, a small pop sounded before she settled in to a well worn stance; squaring up across from him; standing easily a half head shorter than him.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

"Proper combat...then that is what we'll practice." The Major said, managing the military boots from his feet as he made his way unto the mat, slowly sliding the black leather gloves from his hands and placing them behind his belt as he peered toward her.

"Next two days give your troopers ample time to rest ; I know more well than you do of what occurred on Folende...meanwhile you and I will scrap in the meantime...you wish to hone your combat ability and so do I." Tavlar offered as he motioned her unto the training mat, slowly beginning to circle her like a like a cold-blooded predator sensing the blood of wounded game.

In spite of his long found tenure in service of the Sith ; he yearned for opportunities such as this ; welcoming a spar whenever he was able to find them only so far as he'd ascended from the officer academy.

"Disarmament ; what did you teach them...if your opponent is armed you are at nothing but a disadvantage ; I care not who you are...so show me..." Tavlar says, taking up a training knife he tightening his fingers around the grip of the blade, holding himself at the ready as he expected her first movement. Surveying her combat instinct more than anything as he had but moments to see her on the field.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

“Is that what you believe, I am at a disadvantage?” Lyra’s brow cocked as he circled her, her tone brooking light as she offered him a strained chuckle.

“You know what I told them? You’ve lost the fight before you step in the ring-if you believe you have,” Lyra regarded her hands, her left still was cloistered in bandaged and her fingers curled in to a tight fist. Her blood simmered and her movements appeared to restrain her own anger. She, how ever was unconcerned as he prowled about; no better than a tom cat on the piss. “I’ll leave my Platoon be if you’ve decided my methods are unsettling, orders are orders.”

Lyra followed his actions out of the corner of her eye, twisting slowly only to keep track of the man. She knew she was at a disadvantage but not near as obvious as an empty hand. Standing there in her dark fatigues already lined with sweat around her neck, Lyra took a moment to brush her hair from her eyes. Her hands fell in front of her, assuming a rather simple defensive posture.

Pale eyes watched the training knife he wielded, watching his shoulders and any subtle movement. She could very well march over to the rack and arm herself but there would be no fun in that. Lyra remembered the days from her academy, the little round ups between senior class-men, now that had been posturing. Rolling her eyes, a harsh exhale escaped her and Lyra lunged forward; closing the distance between them. Her hands trailed just before her, drawling circles with open palms, one hand shooting out to test his response and try to catch him by a wrist. Her leg sliding forward to seize any opportunity to toss him off glance. It may of been a knife fight but she wasn’t going to dance around him.

Irveric Tavlar

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

"Your tenacity is endearing ; any other Officer in your predicament and they might've been pleading to be discharged and sent home. Not you...for whatever reason you feel much more compelled ; just as I did..." The former conscript Major admitted. As content as he ever was working as a technician aboard the drive yards of Ord Thoden ; the thrill of battle and responsibilities of command proved far more fulfilling. It was either a dead-end life of monotony or a life of armed service. A choice that proved much easier than Tavlar anticipated in the end.

"So lets see it then..." Tavlar said at the ready before soon enough that hand shot out at him. The posture was a blatant one ; it was a predictable maneuver by anyone who'd attended the Officer's academy of the One Sith and thus he gave no tell, letting the hand dart out at him before soon enough her other shot out to grasp the wrist clutching the knife. Shifting his body to the side and away from her his own free hand grasped the wrist of hers as a leg crossed behind hers, slammingthe side of his leg into the back of her calf to try and pull her from his footing as he sought to bring the blade of the knife to the back of her throat. Aiming for a swift take down.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

“Spare me shavit Major,” Lyra bit out, her teeth bared like a loth-cat. Civil conversation had never been her forte to begin with anyway.. Her eyes narrowed, moving with him she was bent at the knees; keeping her center of her balance low. Her body jerked as he swept his leg to trip her, but she stood firm, adjusting with small steps as they fought over the mat. She shifted her own weight against him, throwing her hip into him. It felt like fighting a bloody wall..Trying to turn the tide in the battle of posture to lock their legs.

Though he had managed to catch her wrist, Lyra fought his sheer strength of arm, her elbow threatening to buckle with the prop looming over her. An opponent's eyes could only tell you and glancing up she seethed the knife inched closure. Her other hand flew his shoulder, twisting and grasping at the sleeve of his fatigues for purchase. She reared back her head to crack it against his, a shout bubbling in her throat-though she probably would only catch his chin at best with her height.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

Those words drew an unexpected grin from Irveric's face when said them. The venom ; the fire. She clearly had something to prove, if not to him than to herself at the very least. Her first instincts in the scrap were viable ; but predictable. The Sith academy was adept in training and honing martial arts skills but it was not nearly as effective in the hands of the wrong officer. Too many of them were sheltered, though many were inducted into the training from a young age a strong plurality were tithed from aristocratic houses and petty nobility. Tavlar might've been a unique case among the bunch ; living a life untethered from any supporting apparatus. Though not an underworld dwelling scum by any means, he faced the struggles of any other law abiding plebeian beneath the crimson saber. It might give him a leg up, if only just now.

The twist of her hand in his sleeve as a nice touch, acting well enough to draw the knife a precious inch or two from her flesh however he still had her other hand seized, using his grip to rear back and pull her toward him with her head blow, bringing her temple to his jaw in a teeth clenching hit. With the pull toward her he wrapped an arm around hers, pressing up against her elbow to rear the limb against his arm pit, locking it tightly against him before twisting his body toward it in an attempt to throw her from her feet and unto the mat below.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Lyra was still riding out the throws of her anger to realize that she had made the mistake to play his game. Her own trainer had tried to beat some sense into her, and she revolted in the face of hitting the mat. She struggled as her other arm was immobilized and he twisted his body. Lyra tried to focus on her breath, her feet skidding across the mat, trying to catch purchase. The knife wavering in the corner of her eye, they were stuck in a violent dance and as he pushed she retreated barely holding up; dropping her weight to hold her center balance. She could feel her stitches slowing ripping and amidst the pain she began to buckle. Lyra whipped and pulled trying to free her arm, frustration seizing her.

“Let. Go!”

Tavlar’s overbearing hold was winning out and her feet slipping, then giving out. Thrown down, the moment her back hit the floor with a crack, a shout erupted from her throat. It was a habit she had thought she broke but her eyes closed when she hit, the breath knocked out of her. With him looming over her, the knife froze under her grip and her pale eyes shot open; a hoarse shout, border scream tearing from her throat. Something unseen, something changed the air and a greater force snapped and pushed against him like a storm's wind, something that rivaled that of her own physical strength

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

As all but oblivious to the force Irveric might've been - he could feel it in her once she pushed against him. His short rein of control over her ceased violently when he was slammed with several inches of open air between them. It wasn't so much pain as it was a 'jolt' - jarring his senses as his eyes widened for a second ; his expression drenched in several shades of uncharacteristic suprise for a moment before soon enough in the shuddering pause of the moment he'd twist his body again only to cut the blade toward her throat - holding the tip of the training implement against her neck before eventually managing out of their bind and unto his feet once more.

"You know well what you just did, yes?" He asked, arching a brow to her as he tossed the practice knife aside, rolling his shoulders as he got his bearings once more.

"The Sith...have they spoken with you about this?" Irveric inquired. This changed things for certain or at the very least was something he needed to address with her. His own discover would barely be of any object to how he operated - but the Sith might see a different picture painted if they somehow discovered a suitable candidate in their ranks.

---

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

“Lost, I lost Major that's what I did...we’re not speaking of this,” Lyra did not rise from the mat, she was freezing, her blood had run cold. She had caught one look at Tavlar’s face in the wake of..She wasn’t going to even bequeath it a name. She had felt it, nonplussed that turned in to mounting dread. She had raised her hands to fight him again, but it was all for naught, she was shaking when he decided to end the match. What an insult to injury, her eyes following the practice knife he had easily tossed aside, watching it bounce across the floor. Lyra all but sunk in the mat her breath bordering hyperventilation.

Sith..synonymous with Jedi for all she cared. The pain of her own injuries had suddenly ceased to exist as she turned her head staring at the distant wall, the durasteel grey and bare. She had heard the rumors surrounding the Sith..the Force. Who would want to associate with any of that? Her anger had washed away and all she felt was creeping fear. She had not trapezed the academy for this..Grinding her teeth she lifted herself slowly, stumbling back and watching the Major. She had paled and appeared more akin to a cornered beast backing up, unsure of him.

Irveric Tavlar

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

With a low crouch the Major put himself on level with her gaze as he glanced about the training hall. This was certainly dire business ; hiding a force-sensitive among his ranks without inform the Sith could prove disastrous, not only for Irveric's tentative career in the hosts of the Sith but also very well for his life. For a moment they had a silent exchange, her worried and unsure gaze matched with his own eyes painted with shades of concern.

Offering a hand to help her back up he'd stand alongside her for another moment of silence. It was certainly demoralizing to see a woman welled with pride felled by such a life altering realization ; a tangible tonal shift and one so quickly wrought. Making way to a rack of weapons he'd draw two training swords, tossing one her way as he made his way back unto the mat once more, twirling the sword through his fingers as he peered toward her.

"I suppose you best learn to wield a blade of some kind then..." Tavlar offered with a grin, him of all people trying to lighten the mood as he egged her on. A duel, one he was only confident he might be bested in knowing well she might try and invoke the force imbued within her once more.

---

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Would it be a court martial or capital punishment? Lyra didn’t recall the laws surrounding..she caught herself thinking of it. All of it detrimental and she considered the Major, if he couldn’t maintain silence over the matter..What would she do? The Lieutenant wanted to scoff at the extremism that lapped at the corner of her mind. Lyra was meticulous but if she was to suddenly be transferred, she had no idea. The loss brought her low and her own shoulders sagged after he had pulled her up. Tavlar hadn’t escorted her out yet, reached for a comm for that matter..Cold eyes studied him like a hawk, and she reached up to grasp her side. The hall was the last place she wanted to be now and she scoffed, loudly at that, in the face of the sword he procured.

Lyra’s regard to the training implement was pure disgust, leveling the Major with a look as if he should know better. The day she had delivered her shot up target paper to her father, her first competition were distant memories but it made her trigger finger ache.

“I’m a marksman, Major and my stitches have torn, excuse me.” The Lieutenant turned away without any ceremony, lumbering off toward the blast doors. Any steam, any adrenaline had taken flight out of her system.

Irveric Tavlar

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

The Major had all but intended to mend the schism between the two with his offer - only to drive it furth. Sliding the vibrosword back onto the rack was quick to make way to her flank before crossing in front of her with a pair of concerned eyes. The visage of pride and determination shattered into pieces between the two. It was a grievious sight to witness but one that certainly garnered even more sympathy from Irveric. Before she seemed to fill the template of most any other Officer graduate. Eager to prove and dominate. Now she seemed far more human, worried over tangible concerns.

"If you think I'd ever tell the Sith of any of this - you're mistaken. I don't-...I don't trust them." Irveric sounded out, glancing about the empty training hall ; gritting his teeth against one another following his admission. As much as it might've been a scandalous statement if only in the hosts of the One Sith - it was only ever vindicated time and time again.

"They're reckless ; dangerous. I'm not going to give you up to them if there's anything I can do about it." Tavlar iterates to her. He seemed far more fearful of them now than he would grow to become, being still a young man eager to prove to himself what he could be more than anything.

---

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

She heard him stepping after her and Lyra almost flinched as he halted in front of her. It was almost disarming, from superior to..something concerning. He was something akin to the man she saw on Forlende. Lyra was left wholly unsure of him, she wasn’t about to let the grilling of earlier go lightly though. The Lieutenant was forced to stop. Her shoulders sagging as she searched his face, she didn’t want his pity-

“It could end poorly for you.” Lyra ventured bluntly, wasn’t he supposed to weigh the costs here? The strife that shot through her chest slowly unconstricting, but she didn’t want to hope. The disproportion of loyalties was dangerous at any level. It felt almost treasonous in a way, to stand there and admit any doubt at the heart of the Empire. “I’m not here to risk your career, but they’ll have to pry my bars from my cold dead hands.”

---

Irveric Tavlar

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

"My career means nothing if I forsake my convictions." Irveric stated bluntly to her - offering an initial glimpse of what would grow be a very characteristic trait in his frigid stoicness.

"Rarely do careers of our station end gloriously. I've seen it myself, Voi'kryt. Men who thought themselves immortal choking on their blood. It will be either from Sith rage or blaster bolt that I see my end. Any end is a fitting one and thus so I will not be captive to the whims of fate, to the Sith or Jedi. What either option to either of us have? I return to my ancestral hamlet on karking Dantooine or I weld durasteel on Ord Thoden until I choke on the fumes. This is all I have for me now - you and all the rest of the troopers under my command. I don't have anyone else and as such if you think I'll have you pawned off to the Sith so that I may save my own skin you've clearly misjudged who I am." Irveric stated candidly.

His family on Dantooine was a distant memory and his line of work at one of the many graving docks of Ord Thoden was unfufilling, repetitive drivel that would've had him end up dead prematurely and his name completely forgotten to time, to space and to anyone living at all. Within the ranks of the Sith Empire he could at the very least feel alive in the rage of battle and feel purpose as hundreds of men and women now looked to him as their leader. There was nothing to forsake any of it for. She had to be painfully aware of that if she was going to respect him as he was.

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Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt