Private Old Wounds

[Asha Seren]

Asha wasn't sure she'd ever adjust to the chaotic nature of cities again. Once she had thrived within them, the Coruscanti underworld had been a scene she'd known all too well, down in the depths of that world it was densely populated and ever in motion, sights and sounds and smells assaulted the senses, and no matter the time of day it felt alive.​

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But she'd spent so many years alone, in isolation, that now it was simply harrowing. Despite the heat she'd seen fit to hide beneath the cover of her cloak, hood pulled up to obscure her face in shadow. Her presence through the Force was strange and turbulent, it was bleeding from her in an uncontrolled and unpredictable fashion. Maybe being among so many others wasn't a bad thing in that case, it would be harder to pinpoint the cause of it.​

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At least, she hoped that was the case.​

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Head kept low, she drew as little attention to herself as possible and slipped through the crowd as though she were back in time on one of her missions as a Jedi Sentinel. Hide in plain sight, even without the Force that was something she could do. Second nature, akin to breathing in truth.​

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They'd been in Falleen Throne for a few days now, it provided them with time to refuel and supply, to stretch their legs. Mostly Asha had wanted time to breathe, and to provide Cale Gunderson and his boy with a chance to spend time away from the wound that had reopened within her. He'd told her she shouldn't be apologizing for it, or fretting, but she knew it was strenuous to exist around.​

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Soon they'd likely be on their way again. Having been unceremoniously dropped back into the Galaxy without more than the clothes on her back, Asha was aware of all the things she was lacking. Basic necessities that weren't necessarily hard to come by but which did require, well, credits. Credits she didn't rightly have. In the jungles of this place she'd come across a few things which might be bartered with, but thus far she hadn't exactly had much luck.​

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She lifted up a pretty run of the mill and basic comlink, and the owner of the stall she was presently at asked for a thousand credits for it. A bewildering amount in truth for one such as she with not even one to give, she almost balked at it. "Do you barter?" she inquired, voice soft and fleeting as the wind itself. From within the folds of her cloak she produced some sort of relic she'd unearthed. The vendor scoffed at it. "Credits only" he stated.​

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"Haar'chak" she huffed under her breath as she turned to walk away. At this rate she'd be stuck with the clothes on her back until she was sound enough of mind to find a place of permanency and a job to go with it.​

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And Force knew how long that would take.​

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Ijaat Mereel ​

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"Haar'chak"

The words hit Ijaat's ears like a clarion trumpet. Not because they were mando'a, no. But the accent was not that of some outsider spouting off words. The bite on the front of the 'h' and the way the 'ch' became almost and 's' spoke of a Concord Dawn native speaking. Or that whoever taught them the language was such. With a fluidity belying his size and armored frame, he wove through the handful of people between him and the speaker. His armor faintly glowed despite the greys, reds, and yellows on it, radiating a presence in the Force that anyone with the mildest sensitivity could feel. And by the pain and glaring hole in the aura of the other, she would feel it.

"Here. Allow me. Too long since I heard such words from my homeworld."

The voice came out tinny and distorted from the helmet amps, and he reached up, a hiss of a gasket as the helmet unsealed and he tucked it under his arm. A silver beard and mustache, with close-cropped hair to match and a grizzled face with ice blue eyes. It was not a kind or open expression resting on it, but the eyes faintly shone with genuine amusement at the situation.

"Cuyir gar be adate, burc'ya?" <<Are you of the people, friend?>>

Casting an eye to the vendor, he smirked.

"And next time, shopkeep. find a better grave to rob for your wares. That's practically as old as me", he said, indicating the comm unit. A hand drifted close to his blaster, and the shopkeep nervously slashed the price a bit before the exchange of credits for item took place. Still robbery, but the gesture mattered. He had more than enough credits to spare.

Asha Seren

 

[Asha Seren]

With the general din of the city in mind, it would have been easy for Asha to dismiss the words as being meant for someone else; the accent though, the accent made all the difference. It had her pausing in her retreat away from the stall, and pulled her from the depths of her clouded mind and back to the present. She looked upon him, clad in his bucket, and even before there'd been any sort of exchange of coin she dipped her head into a slight bow of thanks and respect.​

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"Vor entye, ner vod," <Thank you, my friend> she retorted, surprising even herself with the ease at which the tongue returned to her. How long had it been, even prior to her death, since she'd last traded words with another who spoke it? Even she and Tracyn Ordo had been more likely to speak in Basic, a product of their place among the Jedi.​

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Though she understood the query he posed her way, the words she sought were not quite so easy to draw from the depths of her mind. So she smiled a rueful smile, observing the man as he relinquished his helmet and revealed an aged face, and switched back to Basic - quieter though, the words were still meant only for his ears.​

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"Once, long ago; your people saved me from a purge, and raised me until it was safe to reunite me with my people." Had she stated who her people were, or more that the purge had been of the Jedi kind, no doubt it would have been grounds for confusion. Outwardly the woman could not have been more than mid thirties, but that was far from the truth of it and many more decades than that had passed since the time she spoke of.​

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She sensed the Force within him, and wondered who if any he was beholden to through it. In a Galaxy so tumultuous as theirs it was often a difficult task indeed to avoid recruitment from either side. ​

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Still, as long ago as it had been Asha had never forgotten the service they'd done, nor the lessons they'd taught. She might not have been borne a Mandalorian, nor truly classified as a Foundling, but it didn't matter. Not to her at least. Besides, was it not a Mandalorian she had ultimately married..?​

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"Mando'ad draar digu" <A Mandalorian never forgets>; the words were accompanied by another tip of her head. By now he'd purchased the comlink from the merchant, and Asha had a debt on her hands she wasn't sure she would be able to pay any time soon...​

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Ijaat Mereel ​

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"Indeed he does not. Nor does she. Whoever taught you, taught you well. Tell me... "

Taking her by the shoulder he guided her from the crowds a bit and lowered his voice, a tinge of concern in it as he spoke. His guard was up, and a hand had never strayed from his blaster, and mental inventory took over of the possible ways the lass could turn this into an assassination attempt. But still, he had to try.

"How long has your aura been so damaged? It's not sustainable..."

With that, she would feel the gentlest of touches from his mind, soothing her emotions as the Jukere had taught him. An attempt to engender peace and trust from this mando'ad who clearly needed help.

Asha Seren

 

[Asha Seren]

Another inclination of her head as he spoke of the one who had raised her during such a time of pure chaos. That she remembered enough at all to have been noticed by a true Mandalorian spoke volumes to the work he'd done, in truth.​

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Soon though she found herself led through the crowd, and though her adrenaline began to flare she felt no immediate sense of danger through the Force. Such would have alerted her even in her taxed and sickly state, this much she knew from her previous delve into the jungles which surrounded Falleen Throne.​

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And it was that sickness he saw fit to speak of. He was wary, she could sense as much within him, but it was an understandable response to all the girl was putting out.​

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The question was a difficult one to answer, and given all that it entailed it wasn't something she could answer with as much truth as she might have liked, or as much as he might have preferred. One could never be too wary, though, even around perceived kin.​

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If not for the soothing touch of the Force he emitted, and the genuine concern she felt from him, she might not have seen fit to answer him at all.​

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"What do you know of such things?" she inquired instead, no hostility just genuine curiosity for the answer. If he could help... Well then perhaps the answer was worth stating.​

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Ijaat Mereel ​

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"I have stood on Bogan. I have cleansed parts of Mandalore itself. I have suffered such a wound in a prior life, before my benefactor altered the course of my life. Besides the crafting of beskar, such wounds are probably one of the things I know most about.. Admittedly, an oddity for my people. But I am content being from a different Era and kind of Mando'ade. Honor deems I should do what I can to help one of the people who suffers as I once did, before others brought me to be healed."

Taking time to say the words, still exuding calm and peace, he smiled, patting the brow of the helmet he held, with it's distinctive jaig eyes as the place his fingers tapped in indication. All the read in his stance spoke of sincerity, of earnestness. He had come to learn to rely on the rare moments when the Manda, what others called the Force, guided him to one of his wayward kin like this.

"Great stories are rarely solo, and not even one as mighty as yourself can struggle through such alone. If you will come with me, I will do what I can to help, and show you a way forward. A way back to your people, even, if you want. If not, take the credits in this bag and do what you will."

Dropping a bag with more than enough credits to outfit herself and a small crew a few times over between them with a gentle toss, the Iron Father turned and began putting his helmet back on with a hiss of sealing gaskets, and for a moment took in the sight of Asha as he stood silhouetted in the setting sun at the end of the Alley they were in, then began walking to a nearby hab unit/cantina across the way, one hand riding the hilt of the short, broad beskad at his hip, the other swinging freely but ever close to the blaster at his hip.

Asha Seren

 

[Asha Seren]

His answer was plain and yet fulfilling. He was familiar with all that she exuded, having lived through it once himself; she sensed no lies. Not through the Force, not upon his features, nor his body language, just sincerity. When he was finished though he didn't further press her for answers, not yet at least, he left an open offer on the table instead.​

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She'd barely processed that fact when he tossed a pouch of credits her way. Instinctively she caught it, though the surprise upon her expression made it all too aware that she hadn't even realized she'd done so. It was good to know that her reflexes were still honed, even after so many years lost.​

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"If you truly know how to fix what has been broken..." Whatever she might have said trailed off, hope could be a dangerous thing. Even so, she found herself following after him out from the alleyway and back into the crowded streets which made her want to crawl away back to obscurity. She said no more as they made their approach to the building, still carrying the pouch though she'd make a point of handing it back to him once they weren't so out in the open.​

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Help or creds, he'd said, and there wasn't a cathar's chance in hell that she'd be taking both.​

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Ijaat Mereel ​

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"I do not know if I can, but I may know others who can. Understand, my path is of Balance, as a Mandalorian should be in the Force. Neither overly Light nor overly Dark sided. So some of my knowledge, practice, and suggestions may be ill-suited to one who I assume was at least at one time, a Jedi. But know that I will not harm you and will seek to only help you."

As he talked, they walked. People in the Cantina seemed to know the aged warrior, and most gave him a respectful, but not per se fearful, berth. Several other Mandalorians were scattered in the establishment, some in Protector colors, training with him by edict of The Quartermaster to then provide bodyguards and mercenary commanders for the Galactic Alliance and Aerarii Tithe . Others wore their own colors, but all had something for House Mereel on them, marking them as members of the growingly resurgent Mandalorian House.

Entering a room, he held open the door for Asha Seren to enter. Within was a scholar soldiers quarters for certain. Dataslates, books, scroll and more littered a desk with a holoquill and flimsiplast 'paper' half finished with notes. A pair of holocrons even rested on a bedside table, inert at the current moment. On the opposite side of the room rested a trio of footlockers, one open and obviously meant to store armor, the other open with guns, and the third closed, but with the oiled pair of beskad on it, it was very easy to guess what lie in it. A deactivated forge-droid also rested next to the armor, customized to the point it was unrecognizable from its original R-series astromech frame.

"Please come in. These are my private quarters, and guards will be outside momentarily. We can talk safely here."

 

[Asha Seren]

"I too have walked a path of balance" the woman stated, a glimmer of understanding within her gaze going unnoticed since she was following his lead. "Your methods may not be so strange to me." As much as she had indeed been a Jedi, Asha had also at numerous points in her life aligned herself with the Je'daii of Tython.​

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It was a line she always seemed to toe, between the two sects. Drawn from one to the other, and back again. There was much about each side she understood, agreed with, it wasn't easy to cut ties with either.​

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They crossed the cantina, and as they walked Asha kept her head low and avoided the gaze of the inhabitants. It wasn't until they entered his chamber that she looked up again, and took in the room itself. Humble, but also homely; the books were a nice touch to be sure.​

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"Thank you" she replied, as she waited for the door to close; then she turned to face him. "The wound... It is both fresh as a spring flower, and half a century old." Looking at her that probably wouldn't make much sense, she couldn't have been too far from her mid-thirties yet she said it with conviction.​

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"It was sustained in my youth, the product of a poorly broken Bond..." Unlike with Cale, she didn't seem to be going into quite so much detail about it. It was an exhausting story, after all. "It was fixed back then. Sort of. But I... I've seen the depths of the Nether since that time. It seems as though it returned with me, when I entered this... new form of myself."​

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Force, even just saying the word clone felt wrong. It was too much to admit to, that she wasn't even the original version of herself. That her soul had body hopped a thousand different clones over the past two decades locked away on Panatha.​

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Truly, it probably would have been enough to fracture her regardless of whether the old wounds had seen fit to persist.​

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Ijaat Mereel ​