No Word Tender Enough

[Loske Treicolt]

[SIZE=11pt]News of friends and acquaintances being blown out of the sky was not an atypical message to receive for a starfighter pilot. After any sort of aerial engagement, one could assume they’d receive at least one transmission with a comrade down and a blurb about their efforts and impact and meaning and all those eulogy best practices. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]So when Frank approached her, augmenting what a human would interpret as sullen and cautious with his downcast sounding [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Hey Kid.[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]. she gave pause, and lifted her head out of the panel she’d been toying with on the X-J’s underbelly. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Scooching out of the wedge she’d lodged herself into, she ran a rag over her knuckles to cleanse the grease from her tanned skin. Due to the natural climate of the ORC homebase, a layer of sweat had accumulated on her brow and she lifted her sleeve to wipe it, before leaning back on her palm, her legs still trapped in the open panel of wires and components that kept the ship running. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“What’s up, Frank.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He delivered the news, as far as he knew it. A friend of hers had died during the Belsavis invasion. And like a real friend, not just someone she happened to work with. Someone who’d volunteered to help her out a time or two. It wasn’t totally confirmed, but it was deeply suspected. It was a strange message to receive. It hadn’t been the same as when she heard Abel was hospitalized, but survived, and it wasn’t the same when Rogue Nineteen had exploded in front of the entire squadron. There was no confirmation of safety or demise. It was...all suspected. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Her throat had closed, and brows furrowed, trying to make sense of what the little droid was saying. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]What [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]made an audible appearance several times, and the girl’s arms felt weak. Face wan, she leaned forward onto her thighs, bracing her palms in her forehead. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]“That doesn’t make sense. How can we not know [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]if someone is alive or not.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Frank made a whistle noise, which was the astromech equivalent of a shrug. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Her fingers found their place over her lips, elbow rested on her thigh as she looked into nothing. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“How do we find out for sure?” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Maybe if she knew one way or the other, she’d be able to categorize her emotions. Right now, she was just...[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]shocked. [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]She wasn’t prepared to be devastated yet or to grieve, and she wasn’t exactly ready to get garbed up in candy stripes for a hospital visit. There was only a giant, gaping cavern of unknown that she’d uncomfortably slotted into.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]You could always send a message.. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“A message? Are you kidding me? That seems so…” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Worst case scenario, you never get a response. Then you can assume the worst. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Then I’m still assuming.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It’s a start. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]She wagged her hands frantically, as if she were air drying them after a thorough soak. A barely audibly [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]nnnnggghhhh[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]was released. This would be her clone side stepping forth, unable to process complex emotions. Instead, her stomach knotted and throat closed, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]A few days later..[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=11pt]“Okay, I’m going to do it.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Do what? [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Send the message.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]You haven’t done that yet?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“No, Frank. I was thinking about it.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]From: Loske Matson
To: [member="Micah Talith"] [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Subject line: … [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]She gave pause. Now that she’d decided she was going to send it, she had to decide [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]what it was going to say. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Subject line:
Hi [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]There, playing it cool. You know, in case the person was dead… always a good move. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Message:

I heard some scary news about Bespin . Hoping it isn’t true.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]How are you?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Being cool and coy only got so far. She was too much an honest soul for that to be prolonged. If only she had more of her mother’s genetics when it came to keeping up an air of collective mystery. She had too much of her father’s bluntness...[/SIZE]

 

[Micah Talith]

The sound of metal crashing against a wall was near deafening. The metal bowl clattered onto the floor, spilling with it the dark red liquid inside. It had been thrown by Micah, who stood with a scowl on his face and gave a savage curse. He'd been trying to alchemize a version of the bloodtrail ink his father and he had created long ago. However, things were a bit more difficult to work through after his coma. More aptly, after his arm had been completely consumed by the blast of energy his uncle Cameron had emitted.

The sheer work it took for Micah to reign it in had a heavy price. It was now etched in the keloid scars that ran over the stump of his left shoulder, where his arm had once been. A mass of purple pink burn scars rippled over the left side of his chest and ribs. His face had not been spared the damage, as there were burn scars that dabbled from his temple, left cheek, and along his jaw and neck.

That didn't bother Micah as much as losing his arm. He was a craftsman and a huntsman. He needed both to be able to properly imbue and craft the creations he had once managed with both hands. It infuriated him. Far more easily so than anything had in the past. And that vexation was only doubled when he realized he was becoming irrationally frustrated when he shouldn't.

His father had offered to get him the best medical care to clone a new arm or even use his sister @KailiTalith to create a cybernetic prosthetic that could bring any other to shame. Yet the Talith had rejected both offers, choosing to try and prove to himself that he could still do what he wanted with one arm.

It was proving to be a bit more frustrating than he originally thought.

One hand rose to rub his face and push back his dark hair. It was already going beyond a shaggy length and needed a trim, but he couldn't bother to let his mother cut it. She was already hovering as it was and Micah knew that the more she fretted the more stressed she'd be.

Chest heaving with a sigh, his attention was draw away from his thoughts when his datapad gave a small series of beeps. It was an incoming message.

There was a half glower of curiosity and mild annoyance that cut his angular features. True be told, the only ones who made contact with him recently were his immediate family and Jacen. Walking up to the desk, he plucked at the datapad to see the contents.

For a moment he simply stared, brows furrowing forward in confusion. It was from Loske.

His mind went back, going through memories to register the name. Loske. Blonde, Rogue pilot. Sassy but easily able to poke fun at. Why was she sending him a message?

His thumb slid over the display, mulling over the decision to respond or not. A reference of Bespin was enough to bring back up what happened on Anoat's station. The grimace over his face grew.

Truth be told, the word that he'd awoken from his coma hadn't been divulged beyond intimidate family. Aela had brought Jacen over so the Jedi Master was aware of her younger brother's status. Beyond that? Odds were that many thought he wasn't alive.

So why was Loske messaging him?

Either way, maybe it was the nagging sense of some sort of normalcy that had him responding back.

From: Micah Talith
To:[member="Loske Matson"]
Subject line: Re ...

Depends. Will you play nursemaid if I said I wasn't?

Micah had always been rather forward with his teasing. Only this time, his ability to filter had decreased. That lingering nudge at the edge of his mind was there to egg him along.

And teasing Loske had always been an entertaining pass time anyways. Something to get his mind out of being a near useless cripple.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

An alert beeped from her terminal, and Loske scrambled across her bed to the nightstand nearby to draw the device into her clutches. Truth be told, yes, she was expecting a message. Either a mail delivery failure response, or...something else.

She drew in a sharp breath when the notification confirmed it was something else. A small shiver coursed through her and she drew her legs upward. Was she about to be talking to someone dead? Oh my god - could Force Wraiths still text in the afterlife?! She should really attend more seances then. She waved one hand excitedly, as if fervently pushing the thought from her mind and clicked the message open. Her heart sunk, and her elated expression was replaced with a single bemused thin line.

Micah Talith was alive alright.

She groaned and rested her head against the wall. Sometimes the memory of the person is far more relaxing and something to cling on to than the reality.

To: [member="Micah Talith"].
RE: RE: ...

Candy stripes are so my colour.
Bedside manner is so-so.

She clenched her eyes shut and pressed send. Not sure whether or not to regret it. She didn't have the auto-bounce though, and what was done was done.

That's it? That's the best you could come up with? Maybe I should ghost write for you.

Startled, Loske almost dropped her terminal. "What are you doing in here? Do you read all my messages?"

How do you think you get galactic range? That's all me. And...I only read the threads I'm interested in.

A heavy eyeroll was her response to the nosy astromech.

At least you know he's alive now.

 

[Micah Talith]

[member="Loske Matson"]

Tossing the datapad back to his workbench, Micah sighed. From behind his fingers, he caught sight of the bowl he'd thrown in his frustration. It was a good thing that this forge and workshop was off the main house. He'd found a small cave that opened to the ocean. After a few years with his father, he managed to construct an entrance from the beach that would lead inside, opening it up to a forge and an assembly of shelves, anvils, workbenches and a curious collection of natural hides, bone, and antlers.

These were all collected from his many travels with Vexen, having spent the bulk of his teenage years and early twenties hunting creatures and treasure troving for what he could use in his creations. Now, things were a bit different. Indeed more difficult, and he found himself becoming increasingly frustrated and prone to snapping at others.

It wasn't his normal behavior; everyone knew it. His father and his mother were already concerned, with the latter quietly talking to Micah about it away from Kira's ears.

Something had happened back on Anoat Station. It had to do with his uncle Cameron and the events that occurred surrounding his death. Micah stared down at his right hand, his fingers curling into a tight fist. No, not death. His uncle hadn't died that night. He was still here.

Another beep drew the Talith from his dark thoughts. His datapad again. Intergalactic messages took time; this was no different. However, he was surprised when he discovered it was Loske again. Honestly, he figured she'd take a while to respond in kind with some huffy retort.

Much to his surprise, the pilot had decided to play a hand of sabaac instead. He gave an amused snort.

A bluff? Very likely. But it was a distraction he was willing to take. He should have just replied with some wisecrack response. Instead, he chose a direct challenge instead.

To: Loske Matson
Re: Re: Re: ...

Guess I'm not doing well. Get your candy stripes on and come work on your bedside manner.

She wouldn't take the bait, Micah knew that much already. As much fun as it was to poke fun at her, Loske had a way of backing out much as she did back at his cabin when she came looking for a guide.

--

 

[Loske Treicolt]

The response came in and Loske was not sure which person she was. A dangerous blend of both donors with a healthy dosage of her naive self. Her lips tucked inward when she read the message once more, and raised her brows.

You don't know what a candy stripe is, do you.

"I heard it at the hospital once."

Frank rocked side-to-side as a physical evidence of a doubtful mhhmm. There were a few seconds of doubtful silence that passed before a blue projection manifested from Frank's front. It was a silhouette, quite curvaceous in a frock that Loske didn't think was real. There were red and white stripes indeed, which is what Loske had pictured, but there were a lot less of them than she could have considered practical for someone performing health-oriented duties.

"People wear that?! NURSES wear that?"

A long time ago, on a planet far far away.

"Wow, it can stay there then. That is not happening."

So you're going to go see him?

"Hey man, this guy is dead to the world. And he's replying. I feel like he could use a visit."

Anything with a pulse...hm?

"You keep this up and you're not coming. You'll never see Alexandra again."

Frank squeaked.

To: [member="Micah Talith"]
RE: RE: RE: RE: ...

She started to type, and laughed instead -- immediately explaining the joke in her head to the astromech. Between squinting giggles, she managed to conjure "Hah--I almost asked what side his bed is." The droid didn't think it was funny and Loske waved him away, dismissing the idea as a joke of her own.

Message:
Patch those coordinates through.
Looking forward to you being patient.

Ha! That was a good one. It had a play on words and it was sassy. Proudly, Loske sniffed her triumph and tossed the datapad away from her.

That was alright.

"Get out of my room, Frank!"