Private Flamewind

[Sarge Potteiger]

Starliner Call of the Stars​

I was still baffled, pleasantly so, by Cira offering to take a trip. Famously a workaholic, it was little wonder she'd spent her years beyond work as a hermit. Maintaining the energy for both full commitment to running an interstellar empire and having a social life was, so far as I was aware, utterly impossible. I'd like to think I was a bit of an expert on the subject considering I'd tried to do the same.

The art of delegation didn't come as easily to me as it had her. There was also never an annoyingly chipper bodyguard somewhere in the room, hitting on me. Points to her for tolerating that. Yet, tolerating wasn't the correct choice of words.

It had become clear as we worked through her healing process that I had been more than tolerated, though she'd never shown it. My presence in her life had become an expectation, a foundation for consistency and routine, and my absence, when it arrived, had been, frankly, unwelcome. Which was precisely what I'd figured I was all those years. At some point I'd simply figured, no matter my gut instinct, maybe this one time I was wrong.

I've a thing for accuracy, of course. I'll never tire of being correct. Arrogant? Probably. Wrong? Certainly not.

My greatest skill was always reading a room. My expert hand with a blaster was just the public side of my skill. I'm a bit old for that now. I enjoy simpler, quieter hobbies, like playing piano, or baking, or bringing Cira her first cup of caf in the morning. I'm quite certain the day of my funeral there will be a fresh made cup by the casket. It seems a fitting way to say goodbye. It feels like saying 'today's another day.'

I smile, and lift my face to a camera set above the door in front of me. Despite traveling under an assumed identity one of my many resources had conjured up, I knew there would be no mistaking me for anyone else. Humans with inky black eyes like a Nautolan weren't exactly commonplace. Still, 'Aku Muur' was welcomed to the Luxury Suite aboard this starliner by a pleasantly pitched droid voice. Turning my head to the woman behind me, I gestured for her to go ahead with a sideways nod of my head.

"After you, Talia."

Another one of her 'Faces,' as I liked to call them. No matter whether the face was young or old, her eyes were always the same. She wore them like gemstones and with a sense bordering on the preternatural, they were never out of place. I'd recognize them anywhere. She had this particularly sharp edge to them that, like the aggressive lines of a star destroyer, said violence was written into her very creation.

Ten years on, I didn't see that look often. When I did, I became a younger man, if only for an instant. We wouldn't get those years back, but my hope was to have many more besides. I don't know if we've earned it, but we'll make the most of it. Despite my reputation, the loss of lives would pain me for the rest of my days. It'd been worth it for the Protectorate, as it had been her around which the nation had been built. On my more selfish days, I'd say I'd do it again if only for myself.

I'd burned a world to get her back. I'd burn another if I had to.

Thankfully, the Flamewind was a radiation storm not one born of warfare and nuclear fire. The door hisses shut behind me as I remove my hat to hang on a hook, and I cast my eyes around the suite. It looked as advertised, filled with earthy tones, leathers and dark woods. This particular suite had been designed to mimic an archive from a world where paper was still the primary means of written communication. She'd appreciate the touch, I knew.

"Am I able to ask now?" A simple beginning, though she'd no doubt hear the follow up before it even left my lips. "How long were you planning this?" She didn't just up and go anywhere on a whim. Everything with her was planned to the most minute details. She did not go anywhere uninformed. They had that in common. It likely explained my fascination with her. She was the mystery I'd never really solve, and it was the only one I was comfortable never truly knowing.

My control had been ceded to her, and I did it willingly, shamelessly.

I could hear a butler droid coming to tend to us, and our bags had already been delivered to the suite. Stepping further into the room, I took another look around and then cast my eyes to the viewport filled with stars and the edge of Naboo, spinning, below. They'd been picked up here, but would need to jump over to the Mara Corridor for the run up to Osean.

The droid appeared, a model designed with the likeness of a young man in a suit.

"Greetings, I am MTP-NE. I will be happy to take care of whatever you need on your voyage with us. Shall I give you the room tour?"

"No thank you, MT. You wouldn't happen to have Whyren's would you?'" Ayden, my adoptive father, had instilled in me a Corellian love for the stuff. Now and again I could be tempted to drink even stronger beverages, but the company had to be good, and the friendship old.

"Of course, sir. And the Lady?"

I smiled, knowingly. Only she would understand.

With her bearing a new face, part of me wondered just what 'Talia' would order. I'd needed to make a new identity for her too. I didn't trust the two of us traveling anywhere openly. She wouldn't travel as herself anyway. That face, for now, seemed reserved for me.

I found that uncharacteristically romantic. Maybe I was rubbing off on her.

 

[Talia]

"After you, Talia."

A quiet amble drew the brunette into the room. Her citrine eyes went panning across the stately suite. Her gait was graceful and full. The length of her mahogany hair gently swayed in a straight sweep across her shoulders and back. Parted in the middle, the tresses carefully framed her oval face with sophisticated dignity.

Talia drank in the earthy tones, leathers, and dark woods. It made the Lady feel as if she could smell the flax of loab-paper and the tang of inkstone. Brows drew up in pleasent surprise, a rare show of emotion, but Talia was in a different identity, more prone to a show of what percolated behind those citrine eyes than as Cira herself.

"Am I able to ask no. How long were you planning this?"

"Does it matter?" she inquired, but the subtle upward perk at the corner of her lips that she flashed over at Sarge Potteiger 's direction held as many secrets as it did answers. For some time.

Perhaps, it was just the tangible act of stepping out in the the light after being in the dark with only a candle for so long. Tentative, wary, but a step none the less.

"I'll have the same," She replied, regarding her drink of choice. They had time for wine afterward. Walking towards the viewport, she let her eyes drink in the stars and the blue-green sphere of Naboo below.

"Haven't you told me before that I should try new experiences?" that might have been back during her position as the Lady, but it amused her all the same.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Did it matter?

Perhaps not. I'd never been one to allow others to push me from my course. I remember, distantly, a quotation from a story I'd read, of a man who, once set upon a course, would not deviate or halt until he'd reached it's conclusion. With a certainty fully at odds with the fuzziness of the remembrance I knew I was not recalling it with clarity or correctness.

Thus, I did not speak it aloud. Yet I felt kinship with it, and my dark gaze, so different from the chestnut they'd once been, following the center of my universe as she approached the windows to look upon a galaxy made miniscule by comparison.

It had always been her way to take on a new face with artistry, and, given the nature of her transformation, surely that was on purpose. Strength lay in her jaw and the defined ridges of her cheekbones, offset by a small mouth I felt complimented the width of those other, prominent features. On a world I couldn't remember, she may have been a painter, or sculptor.

Here, she was everything.

Their butler droid shuffled off to get their drink, clearly needing to pull it from elsewhere as he departed, likely to find the kitchen.

"Haven't you told me before that I should try new experiences?"

"I'm sure I have," I replied casually, crossing the room to come up alongside her, my fingertips trailing along her forearm until it found her hand. It was a simple thing to lace our fingers together, but the comforting warmth of her palm centered me even as my heart fluttered like a bird despondent to find itself caged.

"It's rarely been your habit to listen to me. And, well," my eyes dropped, finding the seam where the viewport disappeared into the panneling. My free hand lifted to brush across the rounded edge. I'd always enjoyed tactile sensations like that, and usually needed to find ways to occupy my fingertips when I needed time to think, "it's no longer much my habit to force the issue."

"I'm grateful we'll be able to share these experiences together..." My eyes lifted again to meet hers in the half-reflection of the viewport, "Talia."

Meeting here gaze still filled my soul with pleasant apprehension and the same anxiety she always inspired, which, I knew, without ever being willing to admit it, came purely from wondering when I'd wake up. But I'd woken up centuries ago, on Mon Calamari, next to two friends from another universe entirely who had passed on at some point I had never determined.

And here I was, at my Lady's side as I'd always wanted to be. The face could change, but the love never would, not for me at least. "I've quite purposefully done no research on this. What have you signed me up for?"

 

[Talia]

Talia replied in her trademark calm, her gaze softening imperceptibly as their fingers intertwined. Her touch, subtle yet steadfast, was her silent pledge of commitment.

"It's true," she acknowledged quietly, her voice carrying a hint of a smile that rarely found its way to her lips. "Listening isn't my forte, but by now...understanding you, that's different."

Through the years of quiet companionship, Talia was quite aware of Brandon's sacrifices and extra efforts regarding her needs. Be it allowing her the quiet solitude of their home for a few hours or surprising her with an archeological tome he managed to acquire one way or another. However, in thinking of what he had done all these years for her, there was the ongoing understanding that part of the healing process was to stretch her legs into the zone of uncomfortableness. It was the only way she could move forward. Doing so with him, even if pushing the envelope for her was planning a trip leaving Naboo to the Flamewind, well, would do them both good.

Her eyes, citrine pools of unwavering affection, met Sarge Potteiger 's in the reflection of the viewport. In those depths lay an ocean of unspoken emotions, guarded yet profound. Talia cherished these moments of connection, even if they unfolded amidst uncertainty.

As Brandon expressed gratitude for their shared experiences, Talia's heart fluttered, a myriad of emotions masked by her composed demeanor. He knew her anxieties well and felt the weight of unspoken worries, yet he remained a pillar of unwavering strength.

"The Oseon system, located within the Centrality," she admitted, a rare admission of her deliberate actions.

"They say one of the Twenty wonders of the galaxy is located there." Her hand gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Despite the uncertainties that lingered, that action tethered her to this moment, to this person. For Talia, expressions were subtle, but her commitment spoke volumes-- a silent promise to stand by, support, and love, no matter the challenges ahead.

"Likely not as riveting as the Historic Naval Museum of the War Collage of Anaxas, but I hear it is a sight to behold."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"The Centrality?" It tickled a part of my brain that said I knew it, but like a commonly named town I couldn't quite place it on my mental map. Curiosity tickled by the thought of the Twenty Wonders, I realized that I hadn't the foggiest notion of what they could be. The number seven came to mind though I couldn't place the why, and as with many things in my life I pushed those aside for the immediate here and now.

I had been frozen and thawed across the centuries. The present was, truly, all that I had. There was little sense in dwelling on the future, or the past; only the visceral now.

A 'now' of citrine eyes and a supple, warm palm pressed against my own. Then a squeeze, to pull him from the sky, and he felt his heart rise as if buoyed on the wind before descending again to a stable coast, wings spread to catch the breeze.

"A fully restored Hammerhead is hard to beat. I still can't believe they arranged their bridge with that console thrust through the middle like that. Yet the exterior design was impeccable - a display of the Old Republic's might." There was a wry smile to my lips. Of course there was. I was a mercenary turned information broker - weapons were my as much trade as secrets, and I had grown up among guerillas and assassins.

My father, though - the adopted one - was a naval architect. I couldn't ignore the beauty of ships any more than I could stop breathing. Then again, Cira made me do that often. A wry smile flickered across my lips before I could stop that.

"I love you," I confessed, as if she didn't know. "What is this wonder you're taking us to?"

 

[Talia]

A faint twitch of amusement danced at the corner of Talia's lips as she listened to Sarge Potteiger's animated monologue about the wonders of beholding a fully restored Hammerhead. It was no different from her own examples of heightened enjoyment over archeological tomes. Her citrine eyes glimmered with a subtle glow as if their underlying emotion came to life in the hue of her irises. The amusement softened into something warmer as her gaze met the dark void of his eyes when he uttered those three words: 'I love you.'

Though it wasn't the first time he had professed his love, the impact was no less profound. Each time he said it, it struck her deeply. It had taken them many decades, countless aliases, and a lifetime of struggles to reach this point. But now, hearing those words didn't feel hollow or unworthy of her.

In her numerous incarnations and personas, Talia had always found it difficult to connect with others. Admitting her love had often come at a high cost --her life, her identity, and the ongoing battle to rediscover herself. Through it all, Brandon had remained steadfast by her side, giving her the space she needed and holding her close when she couldn't find love within herself. The need to control the situation had always been such an important factor to her. Pivotal. Without it, she was lost. That is why she fought so hard to deny and avoid the feelings that Brandon had stirred within her every time he pushed, prodded, and continually did his best to get under her skin during her term as Lady Protector -- sometimes, no words at all even needed to be said. Admitting it would mean she had lost control -- and when you love someone, you have no control.

Being powerless yet feeling safe and secure within that emotion had been startling.

Brandon had said them casually but still with as much meaning, almost in the same breath in a query on where she was taking them. Yet Talia still felt a surge of warmth in her chest, a stirring of emotions that felt as comforting as the heat off her mug with a fresh cup of black caf. Another squeeze of his hand with hers, and she slowly turned towards him. Her arms would gently rise up, circling lightly around the broadness of his shoulders that yet remained at his age. Ever so carefully, she settled into the warmth of his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest, where the slow but steady thrum of his heartbeat washed away the white noise of the galaxy and relaxed her.

She may not have replied with 'I love you too' or 'I know,' but the very physical and intimate act of surrounding herself in his protective embrace meant more in the silent action than the eloquence of any words spoken aloud.

"There is an unpredictable radiation storm there, the Flamewind. It is said its views are spectacular. I'd like to see it with you." There was more to the Flamewind than what she provided, but it would be nice to experience it all in person.

"You may select our next destination if you wish," another surprise, the willingness to step outside of Naboo a second time at his choosing.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

I couldn't help myself. As her weight settled against my chest with her arms around my neck, my own returned the favor as they wound their way around her waist. It always felt a little different, yet it was always her. As Cira, she had a bit more weight, but Talia was a slender, scholarly sort, and I found myself tightening the grasp a little more than usual to secure her.

What I wouldn't have given, decades ago, to have her as she was now.

The moment was briefly interrupted as the droid returned with a pair of glasses in hand. The amber of a vintage Whyren's was clear and without looking up he motioned for them to be left on the table.

"Your drinks: Lady; Sir."

A smile found it's way to my lips that had little to do with the droid. Leaning down to press my lips into the tangle of her hair, I found the inner edge of my brows furrowing in both confusion and surprise. "Were it anyone else, I would be concerned." She wasn't trying to kill him. Nor herself, for that matter.

"I trust it'll be an experience like no other."

Already, my mind was working through the possibilities of where to take her, and it swiftly settled on one place. The one place she couldn't possibly expect, and one he hadn't been to in centuries. Likely, it didn't exist anymore, but they could get close.

"The research you put into it is surely impressive. What made you pull the trigger?"

 

[Talia]

What made me pull the trigger?

That was a question that even Talia had trouble finding a definite answer to. Was it because of a need to not only see the wonder of the Flamewind but also study in an academic sense? Or was it perhaps, the stirring of cabin fever finally itching at the edges of her mind, pushing her to tentatively edge the line of her comfort zone beyond the safety and security the lakehouse offered? Or was it that time held back for no one, and life, how so terribly short it was, should not be sectioned off and confined into preventing her from stepping out into the light?

A multitude of answers; perhaps none of the above or a combination of them all.

Taking the drink in hand, Talia cradled the glass, wrist slowly rotating as she mused, before saying, "Mental snapshots." citrine eyes would pan slowly over towards Sarge Potteiger , and only the barest hint of a smile would form.

"Of me. Of you." she added, clarifying, "Ones I can go back to with quiet enjoyment."

Experiences with him that she knew well were on borrowed time as the years progressed. He was not long-lived like her. One day, he would pass. Leave her as she did him.

How she would take that, well... perhaps such a dark thought was left best buried.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

My melancholy had died long ago. Pulled under by the waves of Mon Cala, the sense of ephemerality all mortal beings must contend with had long since been grappled with. There wasn't any defeating it, but one could be stronger than it. It was that strength I leaned on, knowing I'd be leaving her behind some day.

I'd been blessed with longevity beyond my means, primarily through the avarice of scientific advancement and the sheer ego of the man I called a father. I had been his tool, willfully, and had benefited therein. Not all tools do.

She need say no more on the matter, and so I pressed my lips to her temple and allowed them to linger, even as the stars elongated into lines and snapped into the swirling kaleidoscope of hyperspace. Who knew where their next stop would be, but they'd get where they were going eventually. They always did.

"You're learning," I whispered reassuringly against brunette locks. While not auburn, they had the same smell. How I adored it, allowing my nose to linger in their softness. Pulling back, I lifted the glass to my lips and allowed the liquid to burn it's way down my throat and worm tendrils of warmth outward from my stomach.

"There was a song I knew once, though, forgive me, I can't place it fully. All these centuries have worn on me. But, please, always be thankful for the dance we've shared. We've many more waltzes ahead of us."