Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Last Stop

Falcon Rekali

Guest
Myrkr2.jpg

Location: Nondescript cantina, Hyllyard City, Myrkr
Time: A few days after the conclusion of this thread.

He needed a drink, not to get drunk, but a drink. Maybe two. Not only were the negation field's effects amplified, compared to his first visit all those years ago, but the reason for his setting foot on the ysalimiri homeworld for only the second time in his more than forty years squeezed a dull ache into his heart he had believed himself to be done with. It made him a tad queasy, a mite subdued, which led to nursing an ale in silence while pouring over the memory of the day he had met his now-late wife, and how it had went. It was a humour piece, and the fond remembrance could manage to lift his spirits.

He fished a trinket out of his pocket, two halves made whole in pursuit of the gun he was so rarely seen without. It was that pursuit that had brought them together, and introduced him to the family, the clan to which he was bonded, whose name he carried, to his last day and... Force permitting, beyond. He turned the trinket over and over in his hand, reclining in the chair, ale within reach; he couldn't bring himself to separate the two halves. Though they had long-since served their purpose, apart they would still call to one another. Together, they would always pull the bearer in the direction of the Lonesome Gun he wore at his side.

There was no telling where Rekali would go next, but the decision had been made to part ways with their lands in the territory of the United Clans, the sale of the moon that was the clan seat having been completed while he was en route to Myrkr. What happened with the academy, the ports... was of little concern to him now, but word had it the jungle moon was in the hands of neither Jedi, nor Sith, nor Mandalorian.

His private clan home had always been on Dathomir, anyway, but it would be seeing less of him. Now he would more than likely be going with the interstellar winds, wherever his niece lead. A phase of life ended, another began. What shape it might take was a mystery, but he had never feared the unknown.

He wasn't about to start.

[member="Briika Tor"]
 
Shieldmaiden of Clan Munin (semi-retired)
Briika had been working nonstop since arriving on Myrkr helping to get the new medical clinic up and running. The Mandalorian Clans overall project to rebuild the Citadel was well on it's way, and now she needed a drink, not to get drunk, but a drink, maybe two.

The baar'ur had become a workaholic over the last year pretty much since her divorce from husband number two; the first riduur leaving Bree a widow with a small child, who was now all grown up with a child and husband of her own. Briika had given in to the recent needs of the Mandalorian Medical Corps and those of MandalMedical as they had business throughout the Clans' territory. But really what else was there, the farm back on Mandalore? It didn't really need her either as she'd hired two war vets that were still in need of rehabilitation of their battle wounds to handle the day to day chores and manage the crops for the farmer at heart. But such was life, huh?

The silver-armored Mando'ad walked into a local cantina that she didn't know the name of but looked quiet, which Briika was looking forward to, and ordered herself ne'tra gal to start with. She slid a credit coin over to the bartender, then picked up the mug of the sweet tasting black ale and found herself a table to sit at a couple over from another where a man was having a drink alone.

After pulling out an armless chair and taking a seat, Briika slipped off her buy'ce and set it upon the wooden table top to the side, then ran long, nimble fingers through her golden tresses to get rid of the helmet hair that she had; having not plaited it that morning as normally worn with her helmet. She took a nice long sip of the brew next, then closed her eyes for a moment as if centering herself in the Force, though this one was not Force-sensitive… Just chilling and taking a moment to smell the roses so to speak; fortunate not to be feeling the nulling effects of the ysalamiri that heavily populated the Inner Rim planet

Upon opening her azure-colored eyes, she gazed over to the Mando sitting nearby. The man had a look about him that reminded Bree of herself at one time. And the way he wistfully played with the trinkets in his hands…

"You're lucky to have both pieces… I never got the other one back," she said softly in a wishful way, then took another long, slow sip of the ale.

[member="Falcon Rekali"]
 

Falcon Rekali

Guest
He hadn't noticed her presence at first, so lost in his own thoughts was he, the trinket a lure pulling him in. Every detail of the first time he set foot on this world, though touched with the sheen of memory, was still crisp as if it were only yesterday. How he gained her trust, how they came to know one another, and she in turn brought him to her clan. His clan. Family that accepted what of himself that he had buried, and gave him avenues for its use, and gave him an identity. Only the soft tone of the vod's words pulled him from his reverie, and made him piece together what she had said.

"I came upon my half quite by accident," he admitted, "years ago, seeking my lost heritage," and thumped a fist to the armour across his chest to indicate what he meant, armour that bore many markings, amongst them the carving of runes that marked him so clearly as Rekali; an armour that would be morphed or replaced by something several degrees more personal, soon enough, "and taking my time at it, making stops that piqued my academically-inclined interests of the time. Found it at Shedu Maad, in the Transitory mists; I had always wanted to visit the cluster."

He turned the trinket over in his fingers.

"I didn't know what it was for, but I could feel how it reached, and I couldn't resist a mystery. It led me here, where I experienced the absence of my other senses for the first time... and met the woman who had the other half." He placed the trinket on the tabletop, his fingers lingering a moment, "My riduur, mother of my children, taken from us at Roche by the very Republic she once served."

He went for the holster at his side, and freed a DL-44 from it, placing that on the table as well, and crossing his arms. Even showing the Lonesome Gun felt a bit like baring a piece of his soul.

"Together the halves led us to this sidearm," he lifted his chin at it, "which isn't quite what it looks like."

[member="Briika Tor"]
 

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