Or Feathers B'neath the Gibbous

[The Major]

Lanteeb
Greater Conurbation - Kilaado outskirts (X)
Two days after the Second Battle of Dagobah
At Dusk

To see a stormtrooper marching about the streets wasn’t the strangest sight for the initiated member of the First Order. It was possible to in fact be a patrol supporting the local police in protection of the citizenry. In most cases it was posturing to provide the loyal taxpayer a sense of welcome expertise -especially during times of war. What was atypical in this particular scene was to peer upon a clearly battle-wrecked aspect of grief stepping heavily on its lonesome. One would of course be drawn at first the chrome plated glory that was this trooper, only the suit was marred: dirty, stricken with long dried slime and caked off mud. Burnt scars ran up and down the various plates. It was impossible to tell from visual inspection but these were the various marks left from lightsaber scoring. The ultrachrome had proven just barely mightier than that weapon of old, but one had to wonder exactly how many slashes this combatant had pushed through, and whether or not the various dark, ruddy splotches staining the suit were not from enemies slain. The woman ambling down the street in this moribund outfit couldn’t tell you; the last 48 hours had been a blur -likened to a series of vague recollections shifting like shapeless conjuries confined to a acidic mind.

Nightmarish flashes sliced through the fog that was her dulled mind: flashes of blue light and songsteel, of mercenary and trooper rallying in the swamp, dead resplendent in pockmarked blaster holes, of a certain corpse laying peacefully in the streams of rain and the process of carrying said body to a nondescript gunship but covering its face with a cape so as to not look down upon it, strung out questions and casualty assessments, and lists that went on and on and on and on to a point of derelict numbness. Eventually at some point the woman had just wandered off from it all, delegating work silently and handing over all security logs collected. Ceaseless were the urges to provide medical treatment or psychoanalytic assistance. The Major couldn’t even hear what was being asked of her anymore. In her head there was no need to project a call for help from kinsman or expert. All she needed right was a distraction from the pounding of reality.

Had it not been for the emergency transponder flaring up again in Lanteeb then surely she would have disappeared from the First Order’s shores for Almania out of pure gag reflex for a time. Instead, the Fallanassi wandered like the homeless cur she was, wandering with a vagabond’s stumble as she converged upon the location of the beacon like a sloppy, busted guided missile. Automation of self propelled her past any obstacle or challenge, and though she had been spotted or otherwise reported on as she made her way all was ignored. Ignoring calls from command she eventually powered off the devices and continued onward. Ignoring the rebuke or polite notes of concern from fellow passengers or guards she continued onward. Ignoring all cravings of the flesh: for sleep, for food, for healing protocols, she instead abused a number of adrenal stimulants intended for battlefield use to keep her continuously awake and plodding onward. The jittering and hyperventilation had long since passed, although now out of subsequent dosages the surviving Station Chief was aware that her body was overdue for failure. Sheer force of will enabled her to persist to see this course through. Occasionally cheers could be heard and fireworks fizzled in the distance as citizens celebrated the news of the their nation’s dual triumphs. It was easy to surmise that a dispatch had passed up and down the news networks, for even the police and other security forces seemed to be in good spirits.

Dried gore crumbled off of her gear with every pensive plod of her feet, and occasionally the street lined with parked speeders swooned in rhythmic motion like a parabola. The woman would clench her eyes tight until the sickness subsided, now staggering past the private drives to the target. The Major was beyond despair or relief at this point, and although recently upon the swamps of Dagobah guilt pushed her into the throes of suicidal recklessness, all had subsided. She had the distinct sensation that the worst was somehow behind and all was to end well eventually, although if such gentle musing was something she actually felt, or was a result of the quantitative effect of numbing the drugs provided —was beyond her current awareness to define.

The source of the emergency signal now was just before her in a squat apartment building that was typical of this outer area. It was plain and probably home to at least a dozen units amongst a dozen or so more buildings of similar, prefabricated construction. A perfect hiding place between the overstated pomp of a hotel or the swarthy dirt of a rat den was picked here. Probably the kind of residence a lonely landlord would be more than willing to rent out on the fly and spur of moment if an extra credit chit or two was thrown in along with a mutual understanding of no questions. Solitude in a crowd of the working masses —there was no better cloak. Impressed with the foresight but in a stupor the Fallanassi punched in the door code provided in the message. It took three attempts and a deep breath to clear the process successfully. A dreadful sense of irony pulled the corners of her mouth into a smirk behind the now malfunctioning chrome helmet. As she picked the stairs to keep it moving and cleared each flight the huntress wondered how showing up at the door with all her various weapons collected from the previous battle might send the wrong impression to her endpoint. Things were strained enough between them: although the Bureau Rep couldn't exactly recall the final words they exchanged a little under two weeks ago they weren't the most pleasant in effect. The target needed time to cope. Understandable. Welcome, even. Better decisions were made with a rational head rather than in the heat of emotion. But… an emergency was an emergency; although the note was vague on the exact nature of the situation it clearly urged this nearly beaten warrior to come to this very door as soon as possible. It was almost funny: now the Major was tasting the same mysterious brew that she so often inflicted upon friend and peer alike in the past. Deserved, no doubt. That and more.

The Major peeled off the now defunct helmet -internal computer components must have succumbed to repeated strikes- some of that damage having been more directly transferred to the woman’s skull. Sticky, stiffening clumps of blood peeled in stringing trails away from her auburn hair which was matted from sweat or slicked with coagulated cuts. Her face, pale as snow and astonishingly ghoulish with similar abuse tilted forward as the huntress nearly passed out. Steady on, she urged.

Sybil knocked upon [member="Tez Bola"]’s door and could swear she could detect a riveting aria in the distance. It caused her to smile with sunken, deary eyes which twinkled with a happiness that only touches a person when so overwhelmed by the repeated jabs of life that its preposterous continuation could only be met with mirth.

Awake. Stay awake.

 

[Tez Bola]

It had been the longest two weeks of Tez Bola’s life.

After arriving home on Coruscant and in the days that followed, she felt as if she had lived the rest of her life and back to where she was now. It was only matter of time before the ultimate end would arrive, and this sweet release was all that she could hope for. She was tired of the perpetual state of dreadful apprehension she was in. Anxiety and Fear became her familiars but even they shied away in the midst of discerning pursuit.

She was being pursued by individuals for an organization she had no affiliation with but had an idea why. Someone at some point must have seen her at the wrong place with the wrong person.There was much unrest on her current homeworld, dissent and uneasiness oozing along the streets. While Tez wasn’t actively the part of the problem- problem being the war mongering or conquering of planets- her closest friend certainly was. Her closest friend was [member="The Major"], whose whereabouts currently were unknown, maintaining another bout of lengthy radio silence. The illustrious member of the First Order Security Bureau was confirmed to being actively engaged in armed combat, fighting on an undisclosed planet for classified reasons. More secrets to add to the ever growing list. Tez wasn’t irrational- she was aware that discretion was key in such an ever growing faction, especially from a higher ranking official. Sybil had promised to explain as much as she legally could when she returned from her current mission, but Tez wasn’t counting on it.

It was on the third day of Tez’s return from Lanteeb did she notice her dual shadow. She cursed herself for not picking up on it sooner and the emotions that had clouded her perception. Her final moments with Sybil had been harrowing: lies unfurled, true intents revealed, pledges made that were destined to be broken. Naturally, that conversation in her mind replayed continuously, distracting her from this pseudo-regular life. And if the Twi’lek following her had the foresight to cover his distinctively tattooed lekku, she would have fell prey to the scheme he and his cohorts had. She may not have had Coruscant memorized as well as she should like, but knew it well enough to evade capture one night after work. It was folly that drove her into remaining exposed, pretending to play right into their hand. She hoped to learn more about the mysterious figure. She knew his usual posts, and had even planted a few bugs that were gifted from Sybil. Ere their discovery, she was able to learn that they were rebels of a sort against Alliance control, aiming to interrogate outliers in connection with both the Alliance and the First Order. Assumingly because they had been spotted together, Tez would be labeled as a cohort and faction sympathizer.

After a very close encounter, the details of which to be expounded upon at a future time, Tez did the only feasible thing she could think of- she ran. Ran away from her old surrogate life (which turned out to be the opposite of the one she had longed for) and towards the unexpected new. It wasn’t the first time she was in a position of having to drop everything and leave, but it was the first time she did so for fear of her life. Whether or not the group’s intent was actual harm or merely intimidation, she didn't feel the need to stick around long enough to find out. Tez made haste back to Lanteeb, the closest familiar planet she knew, seeking refuge amongst Sybil’s people.

She landed on Lanteeb without incident. Thankfully her pursuers were unable to stow away upon her ship, nor was she met with a welcome party. So far, so good. She aimed for the nearest cantina so she could come up with the next part of planning: find a place to lay low, something off the beaten track. She couldn’t stay at a motel or hotel, because she would need to reveal her identity and submit forms of identification for registry. After feigning to knock back a few pints of dragonjuice with a group of locals (courtesy of Sybil’s emergency chit card), she was able to secure a humble apartment a few miles on the outskirts of the city.

The humble bearings of Tez’s makeshift home were satisfactory enough. The power was still turned off, but at least it had a few pieces of usable furniture. After unloading some of her meager possessions, it was finally safe to send a signal to the person on the other side of her transponder. She kept the message brief, imploring immediate aid, time permitting. She included her coordinates and the passcode to the apartment, not knowing if or when Sybil would actually come. She could only hope for the best whilst playing the waiting game.

More days passed. The monotony of hiding took its toll. When Tez had been brave (and bored enough) she had ventured out to obtain essentials- bedding, basic housewares, food supplies, and most importantly, libations. Liife finally held a semblance of normalcy. That was until she heard a faint rap upon her door. She paused in the midst of preparing lunch, holding her breath to see if they would knock again. They didn’t, but Tez could hear the sound of metallic scraping. With bated breath she tiptoed to the door. She squinted through the keyhole, barely recognizing the face on the other side. She punched open the door mechanism. “Sybil!” she exclaimed, as the red headed limp body fell into her arms. It appeared that she had been leaning against the door due to having difficulty standing on her own. Tez grunted in the attempt to keep Sybil aloft, but the weight of the gear on top of Sybil’s robust frame brought them collapsing upon the threshold. A loud echo reverberated in the long narrow hall when Sybil’s grime covered blaster, helmet and… umbrella...fell. Unable to mask her skittishness, for this scene would surely garner questions she certainly did not want to answer, Tez managed to get out from under Sybil. She then dragged Sybil into the apartment, cringing at the sound of the jagged edges of her chrome suit scratching at the wooden floor, and soon had her inside enough to close the door. She rolled the dangerously pale woman on her back the monitored her vitals- everything seemed to be in order. Tez heard soft mumblings creep from Sybil's parched lips, but paid them no mind for the time being. She dashed to the kitchen, grabbed her basic first aid kit and tended to the exposed minor wounds. Tez went to remove the clunky suit to examine the rest of the potential damage, but had no idea where to start. “Sybil,” Tez said calmly. She ignored the half-faded derogatory word that was etched on the chest of said suit- for now. “You have to help me take this horrid thing off… You look and smell like you crawled out of a garbage chute.”

 

[The Major]

It was only a brief lapse, a momentary split of concentration, and then her senses turned to black. Though it was only a few moments the chrome plated mess of a woman had no recollection or awareness of being a burden of weight for someone ill prepared to drag in a slippery trooper across their entryway floor. Oblivious to sanitizing swabs or patches cleaning her dirty face Sybil didn’t stir back into the waking world until a concerned voice mentioned something about a “garbage chute.” The comment caused an inadvertent smile to split upon the agent’s stark white face —along with the purple bags of unfathomable fatigue and her vein cracked eyes— gave a most horrible, ghoulish visage. Unintended morbidity was just something that came along with the package, and eventually it could probably just be ignored as a quirk of personality. For now, the smirk peeled off as the Major remembered that she was summoned here due to an emergency. Urgency suddenly shattered any semblance of mirth as the whoozy Huntress flipped up in a burst of strength, as though the very touch of fingertips could reinvigorate her to push past the point of fainting. Clunky on her knees, she placed a gauntlet shoded hand upon her friend’s shoulder —perhaps gripping too tightly since it just so happened that Tez was being confused with a conscious saving totem. At the same time the Fallanassi wildly grasped at the floor in sluggish, desperate clutching jerks, searching for purchase on the blaster rifle.

“Tez… Tez... Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? You called.” No smoothness in her voice this time. That voice verged upon mad ramblings. In fact, her next line of sentences slurred in unintelligible hops of breath that whined upward in intonation like questions.

Again the layers of perception failed to keep this one tethered to reality, and as an innocent, or innocent enough, firecracker burst at a festival in the vincity —by anyone's guess, the Major was transported in a chaotic swirl back to the tepid swamps of Dagobah. One final kickback of the drugs, a fateful afterburn, surged and caused the woman’s eyes to bulge sickly. Stabbing those cracked, watering orbs to the nearby window, she nearly shrieked as another device exploded and filled the air with shimmering rays of chippy light that she perceived as those frigates gushing in a shower of molten flame.

“The window! A sniper?! Behind me!” Hooted the Major as she found the G-11F and sloppily pushed her friend behind her with the acuity of a drunk. Sybil shot up in a leaning, clearly compromised stance that was already sending her stumbling across the room. Unable to keep the blaster level she wheezed and pulled the trigger multiple times with haphazard aim. . .

. . .and fortunately the weapon had been emptied. The lady had thankfully forgotten to swap the power pack. Instead the rifle hissed once before clicking with nothing to give. This still didn't save Sybil from doubling over in a crash and bouncing the crown of her head on the wooden floor. An intense swell of pain was enough to knock the truth of the situation somewhat into her redheaded skull. Enough reason prevailed to keep the besmeared warrior in this compromising posture as heavy weights seemed to cause the room to spin. She hacked and quickly puked up bile and began to apologize in continuous mumbles before pleading. Uncharacteristically, she nervously tried to wipe the mess up with her hands as though it wasn't merely just getting more of the nasty around.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Not hit. Get me a stim. Any stim. Quick. Can’t fall asleep yet. Help you? Help.”

The armor plates pressed too tightly, and it tricked her into thinking that her breathing was being cut off by the pressure. Bile and mucus stained gloves pitifully clambered for the emergency seals on the sides. With an audible !pop! the two main parts of the chest and back plates fell to the floor. Luckily for the Major the body-glove had proven resistant to battle damage, showing no signs of slashing or puncturing -but it did stink worse than rotted trash.

Needlesstosay, this was probably a low point in Sybil’s life, although more self inflicted through sheer hot-headedness than any one person or organization’s fault. Next came the webbed belt filled with all kinds of neat little devices or tricks, and in a sinister case another pair of syrettes that were for treating shock if grievously hit. Getting high off of modified morphine would not help her at his time. These accoutrements now fell as well. All that was left were the boots, calf and thigh segments -but without either a chemical to keep her going, or hours of sleep, or someone else sticking their fingers under the gaps between the glove and armor these weren’t going to go anywhere. Adopting a new plan, Sybil modulated her breathing to the best of her ability while making another request:

“Don’t let me fall asleep. Which door is the bathroom? Maybe cold water. . .”

She specifically did not want to ask for help being hoisted to a source of cold tap, but things being the way they were. . .

“Ahhh. . . ​

"!"​

The Major let loose another retch and wave of noxious, thick bile. This time she had the decency of laying it into the natural bowl like form of her discarded chest plate instead of further ruining the floor.

[member="Tez Bola"]​

 

[Tez Bola]

The steely grey eyed woman took a literal step back. These moments, which should have been a semi-peaceful reunion, had been too much to take in at once. Sybil was in such a state of disarray; it was clearly the result of immeasurable trauma. Tez didn’t know if she should keep on as if things were normal to not amp tensions or call an ambulance. Stim dependence, hallucinations, uncontrollable purging- could Sybil even make it through the night?

As Sybil continued to vomit into her equipment, Tez went back into the kitchen for the roll of paper towels on the counter. The last roll, of course. Before beginning the feeble attempt to wipe away the mess ere the smell permeated through the modest dwelling, she wiped what she could from Sybil’s blanched face. She removed the sick woman’s bespotted glasses and tossed them on the couch. Tez tried to not focus on her annoyance with the situation, fully aware that some things were out of her control. It wasn’t so much the human waste spreading all over her floor that enraged Tez; it was the reasons why her friend was in this state in the first place.

She shouldn’t have been there in the first place

I told her not to go

What was she thinking? What was she trying to prove?

Shut up, she’s an adult, she doesn’t need you babying her

Whose war is this, what business does she have with it?

What if she has to go back?

Pushing the gnawing thoughts aside, Tez mopped up what she could, chucking the dripping pile into the compactor. Tez collected the pieces of filthy equipment whilst unintentionally biting her lower lip. She placed them in the front hall closet, removing them out of sight for the time being. She lowered herself to Sybil’s level, and grasped her by the shoulders. “We’re going to get you cleaned up,” she said hoarsely, barely disguising her ire. She hoisted Sybil up, and half guided, half dragged her into the bathroom. Tez sat half conscious woman on the toilet as she turned on the shower. She struggled to take off Sybil’s boots- it felt as if her legs and feet had swollen tremendously while she had been tromping in the swamps. She once again willed herself to focus on the task on hand before imagining the horrors her companion had went through just days prior.

The temperature nozzle rested completely to the right. Tez ducked Sybil beneath the shower head, holding on to her tighter as she gasped and flailed in response to the icy overhead streams. “This is for your own good,” Tez urged. Several minutes later, she was able to wrap a terry cloth towel around Sybil and brought her into the living room. “I’m not giving you any stimulants,” she said sternly. “You need rest, and plenty of it, whether you like it or not. I can get you water or tea, but that’s about it. We can talk about as much or as little as you want when you wake up.”

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Continuously the string that kept a certain woman from falling away from this mortal realm was pulled taught to a point of snapping happily. The bliss of unconsciousness threatened consistently, though its soothing balm was chased away by the only focal point her awareness could cling unto: orbs galvanized in metallic, silvery hue. The bathroom, sensation, smell, even the walls of the apartment slinked away in shadowy forgetfulness. Those eyes remained looking on in determination. In a haze she imagined remorse, spite, and woe; these at least were the feelings expected. Though Sybil tried to pierce the twin veils floating about her there was simply no fortitude to conjure up an attempt. As such, the helpful use of derived inference from empathic mind techniques could not be called upon for assistance. The Fallanassi had to trust that Tez was willing to bear this burden. At this point it was redundant to assume otherwise. Lost in those eyes, cold water struck against her head and gloved figure. Transported to some ethereal perspective above her own body, Sybil espied as a corpse on borrowed time clung to this existence for another night.

She felt old.

Eventually, though perhaps just a little too damp for sleep, the Major succumbed and passed out upon a couch with another mumbled blathering in thankful tones. Flopping upon soft cushions of humble quality, she crashed face down and saw or heard nothing else. In darkness her mind basked a fumed glory of complete and utter blankness. No nightmares to plague tonight: the waking world had proven more than adept in slathering a wayward soul in torments perpetually. The night passed and outside the celebrations of victory pushed on till the early morning hours. A hush fell upon the streets as the skies began to brighten to slate.

During these peaceful hours ere the coming of day was exactly when some unknown trigger caused the Fallanassi to rouse from slumber. The towel from the evening had served as some additional bulwark against her face and the world, for she found it pressed upon thereupon. Sybil’s head burned in the throes of a severe headache -no doubt a result of the squandering of a whole ration of stimulants in little over a day. Thus the damp towel provided some form of relief while being compressed upon her temples. Such trite discomfort was not going to assuage her curiosity, and so she carefully brushed her fingertips up and down the floor next to her improvised bed until she came upon those trusty, albeit somewhat accursed, spectacles. Putting them on added a secondary wave of soreness in what felt like her eyes. Regardless, she surveyed the room slowly, going over the circumstances of her entrance. Pitiful.

After a few minutes of mediative rest the operative worked up the courage to swing her feet out and go for a stand. Immediately, the exposed portions of her toes and heels that poked out of the bodysuit flared in protest as they touched the cold of the floor. She stretched, embracing wakefulness before quietly making the push to walk into the kitchen. This was somewhat challenging as her head offered one final, decent wave of dizziness. Persisting without tripping or otherwise causing another ruckus, Sybil perused the fridge and spotted a galactic standard brand of sport drink that typically also substituted as an aid to those delving into binge-drinking. Also of note was a significant amount of chilled intoxicants still sealed. Perhaps Tez’s issue had nesscestated such distractions. Too tired to examine anything else in the room deeply, the Major found a glass and would have straightaway returned to her place on the couch, but took a detour when she noticed the bedroom was cracked more than enough to peer into. Perhaps this was done so the host could keep quickly react if her guest had a fit. Unwittingly acting like a creeping spider, the Fallanassi leaned her head around the doorway to look into the bedroom with a slowness that would have been unsettling to watch. It was too dark to make out many details but she could just make out the form of someone wrapped in blankets breathing in the shadow. She briefly considered standing there on watch until the morning light illuminated the figure or using the nightvision setting on her spectacles, but something similar to a conscience told Sybil that either action would be a gross overstepping of a boundary. Requited in turn by this notion, the Major left [member="Tez Bola"] alone for now and sat back down. Although a bit too large in stature, she nevertheless tried to crumple herself up as tightly as she could against one of the couch’s arms -folding her legs beneath her rather than letting them dangle. From this posture, she got to work on the orange tinged drink, pouring a glass, then another, and another -waiting for the day to come....

 

[Tez Bola]

Alert yet fatigued, Tez squinted back at the sun’s rays poking through the blinds of her bedroom window. For one reason or another she was unable to get a decent amount of sleep. The time wasn’t important anymore; not like she was going to try to fall back asleep anyway. Her skin prickled at the vague remembrance of the previous night’s subconscious escapades and somnolent breaks in between. Was it all connected or were these merely independent fragments of another life pushing their way into relevance?

Swirls of foamy silver intermixed in the deep cerulean hues of the expansive plane. The plane was a tumultuous one, constantly rocking with crests rising above Tez’s modest stature. She was able to journey across without a vessel, and did so unaccompanied. She felt no fear, only solace that the journey would be fruitful. Ere beginning the trek to anywhere she felt for a hand that wasn’t there. Fingers remained splayed just in case it came around. Droplets of frigid ocean spray moisturized her warm face. A bellowing call like that of a

Tangled crimson strings were strewn upon the reflective glass floor. She tried to help by unravelling the pieces but she kept slipping. Too many pieces were falling away, disappearing in the atmosphere. Where were they going? The thickest pieces became more entangled and soon started wrapping themselves around her fingers. They then slinked around her wrists and ankles, slowly making their way up her arms and legs. More and more strings, in different shades of red and thickness came from below. It didn’t take long for them to reach her neck and

“C’mon, Slow Poke!” the child giggled. Her luxurious raven curls bounced as she skipped ahead of her sullen counterpart. The sun was quickly setting and they had to be home for dinner. Tonight was an important night! Mummy and Daddy were having their friends over, who were big and scary (no, not scary. Daddy called them in-flu-en-tial). They were coming over to discuss important changes in the science world that would benefit all of mankind. “I don’t want to go home,” the littlest girl pouted. “I want to keep playing with you outside.” “I know, Sissy. But we don’t want to get yelled at again for not listening to instructions.” The eldest sister slowed down. She smiled and held out her

The scenes shifted continuously; images warping. Melting. Rearranging themselves to melt all over again. When Tez had fully awakened she recalled the contradictory sweet smells of acrid wind. Winds of… change, perhaps. Change. Whose change, her change? Hers or hers? She needed to know which one so she could jot it down. Blue eyes opened and closed. Stared quizedly. Gainsboro grey stared back. Why would they be lumped together now? Who was lumping them together?

Sybil sold seashells by the seashore

as

Tez told ten tall tales

All the while, someone was watching her. No, something. As usual. Whether or not it was the same “something” that usually haunted her was yet to be determined. Like a spindly spider on a silken string it tumbled taciturnly through the thistles. A thought for another day dream.

The questions and sensations eventually minimized themselves. Tez had heard Sybil shuffling around outside her door and debated whether or not she should call out to her. Tez couldn’t tell if her lanky friend was still in that jarringly disheveled state. The last thing Tez wanted to do was cause a fatality and just let Sybil continue on her solitary nocturnal shuffle.

Tez’s boredom got the best of her and soon she rose from bed, sore and overheated. She went into the kitchen to brew a pot of caf. In the corner of her eye there was movement- slow and deliberate. Tez came around the counter that separated the kitchen from the livingroom. She approached her morose looking house guest and tilted her head it the direction of the empty glass and plastic bottles strewn about her feet. “Care for something a little stronger?” Tez asked raspily. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you were wired from that sugar intake.”

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

As minutes trickled by and the sky steadily brightened from dark purple to silver with golden orange washing along the edges of the horizon, there a measure of time to consider previous events. Mistakes had been made, costly as always, monumental as always; plagued by indecision and requitteed in turn by the curious mania that pressed upon her life like the dragging cesspool it truly was, she sought the means to escape the ever downgrading circumstance of the nightmarish trappings of her clockwork mind. Beneath the veneer of presentation and posh, she was slipping. Somehow, like on that fateful Primeday, Sybil had persisted -although it wasn’t exactly clear if it was her own determination sheering to outlast or some other, sinister turning of the cosmic wheel that propelled the Almanian onward.

In the calm of the coming dawn flashes of the last week played out, each an epiphany stoked by the violence of warfare. While they weren’t exactly the stuff to form repressed trauma the suddenness with which she struck during the battle as mop up operations were conducted left the impression for shock. Sybil wasn’t exactly blind to her own propensity for aggression or violence but the gusto and nigh mechanical perfection of her stringing neutralizations concerned due to recklessness in which they were conducted. At some point a haze of primal focus seemed to dominate her swimming movements through the battle lines as the hunters cut swaths back and forth through man and element alike. In some cases they would double back and it dawned upon her now that her cadre of troops had taken the time to finish off the alliance soldiers too wounded to flee from their destructive wake. All the while, Yidhra’s necklace -its rust speckled looking emerald- throbbed and hummed as targets were struck or slain; all the while it beat a drum of forward momentum into her thunderous limbs as they worked their grisly craft of silencing cries by blaster bolt or halberd tip. Reflecting back on the action she could recall the hot, red urgency laced in anger that permeated her core. In a sense, the device worked as it was crafted: pushing away feelings or despair, fear, or anguish while leaving the seething drive to reach the battle’s end.

Even now it rested against her chest, and she fiddled with it thoughtfully as was a habit when nobody was around to witness the moments of apprehension. Eventually, after pouring and draining a few bottles of sports drink a peculiar type of sugar rush was making the Fallanassi feel a little chipper -although she was jittering and far more animated than usual, going so far as to even squirm in her seat. Curiosity was pinging upwards again. Surely she would have gone to bother her host before long, but [member="Tez Bola"] appeared regardless. The woman with the curly, raven hair looked like she had a particularly bad night of sleep. Did it have to do with the emergency which urged to come back to First Order space in the first place? Intuition pointed to it being something different, as though an odd occurrence was twisting within Tez’s mind.

For now, the Major cataloged this as a question for later one once things were more comfortable between them. Instead, the auburn haired one did her best to smile and nodded along to Ms. Bola’s morning queries. Normally she would have stood up and given her some kind of flourishing bow as a token of thankfulness, but Sybil knew this would only serve to annoy Tez. So she kept to her seat, also concerned that she would twitch unnaturally due to the amount of bombast she would have liked to project. “Yes, thank you. Tez, I can’t thank you enough for watching out for me last night. Luckily for us both whatever pushed you into coming back across the border wasn't ready to ambush you when I was at my weakest. Be assured that from here on my guard will be raised, my suspicion elevated to its peak.”

 

[Tez Bola]

A flash of scarlet spread across Tez’s ochre colored skin- along with that, an intense hotness was laid out thickly over her body. She had nearly forgotten about the dangers that had previously threatened her, having finally found relief upon Sybil’s arrival.Tez stood awkwardly in front of her, picking at a string hanging from her disheveled cream colored tank top. It must surely accentuate the embarrassment coursing through Tez internalized. Who knows whether or not her life was actually in danger, but she definitely couldn’t have stayed on Coruscant to find out. Surely Tez was smart and resourceful enough to take care of herself but why was Sybil the first person that came to mind for help? It just felt right, that’s all. (Or so she convinced herself.)

The sensation continued to linger and Tez knew she had to say something soon. “Er, you’re very welcome. Of course.” Why was she so damn nervous now? “Let me, uh, finish up on that caf.” Tez turned stiffly and her toe got caught on the edge of a throw rug. She slipped, but was able to avoid falling over completely. “I’m fine,” she quickly said aloud, not making eye contact. “It’ll be ready in a sec.”

Tez poked through her cabinets looking for the necessary additives for a nice mug of caf. Unfortunately for her houseguest, Tez was notoriously known for making it terribly. Every. Single.Time. She knew how to make caf, had the right tools that were necessary to do so, but somehow, it always tasted like a sub par watery imitation. She cursed herself for not procuring an instant version for the theoretical visitors to mask this secret shame. Tez didn’t exactly have friends on this planet, but perhaps one day the landlord or the maintenance guy would stop by. She had once read that the customary neighborly thing to do was to offer a cup of hot caf and chit chat over arbitrary topics like weather, sports, and potential political turmoil.

When the final drips of amber liquid filled the carafe, Tez put everything on a rectangular pewter tray and gingerly placed it on the bar that divided the living area and the kitchen. On it was the caf, two large mugs, a porcelain sugar bowl, a milk saucer and a block of butter. Beside the tray was a glass bowl filled with a variety of firm fruits and a loaf of fresh crusty bread. She had two stools on the opposite side of the partition and motioned Sybil to come over. Her hands trembled slightly, but she was well enough to function. “Come help yourself,” Tez was able to say without a crack in her voice. “I apologize in advance for the sludge you’re about to poison your body with. We can always go out for some real stuff later. Afterwards I’ll give you some clothes I think should fit you and you can take a real shower. Sorry for waterboarding you, by the way. And if you’re up for it we can talk about what’s been going on the past few weeks.”

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Before it was simply a suspicion that [member="Tez Bola"] had suffered through a racked night’s sleep. Now, after seeing the target blush and fumble about while trying to gather their wits -all suspicion cemented into certainty. Sybil could see that her friend was struggling, and it was more than just the pressure of whatever calamity that had Ms. Bola forcibly enjoying the sights of Lanteeb. What a pity. How sad. And somehow, despite the issues being raised or tested in the last few weeks by both women there was a brief flash of thought that fizzled in Sybil’s brain: on how she wished there was some action that she could do to assuage her friend’s trouble right then and there. However, she couldn’t place her finger on what form this proverbial balm could take, and from the fading scarlet upon Tez’s face it was best to assume to more words would exacerbate the stress.

Normally, Sybil would balk at being told to “help yourself” when it came to matters of being served libations. Forgiving the change since it wasn’t as though it was typical for her to be inside a private residence (especially when wearing nothing but a body-glove), she stood to, rubbed the sides of her auburn shodded head to massage out the bloodrush, and bent over to pick up the collection of plastic bottles spread out at the foot of the couch. Carrying them over by the fingers she laid them upon the counter before moving over to the tray and pouring herself a cup of caf. Typically she drank this without any kind of alterations, but as she put the mug up to her lips and sipped Sybil did her best to not furrow her brow or betray any kind of shock at the. . . unique flavor of this formulation of coffee. It certainly left an impression upon her palette, but it wasn’t as though it tasted so awful it would cause one to choke. It just verged on too overdone -possibly burnt. Smiling, the Major happily poured a lot of sugar and tried to explain this away.

“It’s quite strong, perfect for shocking a person into wakefulness. Thank you! Unfortunately I’m still coming off the aftereffects of those stims. So don’t mind me while I load up on sugar to sort of rebalance after the burnout.” Her tone was certainly apologetic, as though she was ashamed of having to rely on a foreign substance; it was possible Sybil was not proud of the need but it did help her survive and get here quickly. “You call that fiasco last night waterboarding? No, you helped me immensely by doing that. Yet another thing to be thankful for, my friend. If you think that’s torture you should feast your eyes on some of the more… unique actions of the Bureau.” Subconsciously the Fallanassi was still reeling from the magnitude of the battle and what exactly happen. Crushing feelings of isolationism were buried deep in the haze of violence and death, so Sybil may have been projecting an attempt of normalcy. She grabbed one of the stools that were placed sensibly on the counter side and pushed it over so that once she sat, she was practically leaning up against or over her host while drinking further sips of caf.

“I’m so happy you sought me out for assistance during your plight. Really. Let’s focus on what is ailing you in the last few weeks. I won’t mince words with you, Compeer: I really didn’t think I’d ever see you again after you last left back for your home in the Core. So as loathsome as it is to say aloud it simply must be stated to clear anything between us: it’s a relief to see you again and at least mostly in one piece. I’ve missed talking to you. That now aside, please tell me what pushed you to call upon me in such urgency.”

 

[Tez Bola]

A sip was taken from the deceptively aromatic beverage. Then one more. And... again, for good measure. Tez’s nose reflexively crinkled and added more milk. She watched the whorl of white steadily fade into the vortex of dark liquid, and her thoughts began mimicking the motions. How to begin answering Sybil’s inquiry? How far back would she need to begin her tale? Tez continued stirring her mug, eyes averted. She slid her tongue over her top teeth.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” she began meekly. “And even by starting it this way makes me feel like it’s the beginning of some crummy ‘damsel in distress’ saga.” Tez exhaled, putting down her spoon. “Quite frankly, I haven’t made much sense of what happened, nor worked out what would have happened if I stayed on Coruscant. But the root of it was that I was being followed. For days. I didn’t notice at first because, honestly, I was still upset by our last conversation at that hospital. I was barely getting by when I got back, sulking the whole while. I stopped doing those exercises you taught me out of spite, which was a terrible idea obviously. You would have scoffed at me for not picking up on such obviousness.” Tez attempted a smile, but it most likely came off as a pained grimace.

“When I finally noticed him,” she continued, “a Twi’lek with tattooed lekku, I became proactive. I watched him just as hard as he was watching me, learning his routes. One day I left for work earlier than usual, and planted those bugs you gave me at his ‘posts.’ Thank the Force you’re so paranoid, eh? But at least I was able to get some information before he realized what I’d done. Please don’t ask for them back because they’re... broken... now. But! I do have the recordings saved for you to listen to later. So basically, there’s this sort of underground resistance happening on Coruscant. I don’t know where exactly they are located, but they’re rising up against the Galactic Alliance. And to add to that, they are after particular individuals of the First Order as well as their affiliates. I heard names being discussed back and forth but I can’t remember them all this second. Information is being sought after- about who or what is beyond me, but all I know is, I seemingly was their next target. They must have seen us together sometime this past year and thought I was beneficial in some way."

Tez paused again in an attempt to articulate the next course of events but felt like she was merely rambling. After another sip of caf she debated whether or not to mix in something a little heftier. “Maybe later,” she mused privately. “Long story longer,” she concluded hurriedly, “my Twi’lek friend had rounded up a few of his friends one night. As I was coming home from work they tried cornering me. How expected, right? My fault for trying to elude them in such an obvious way. At least I was able to get a few good hits in. I then ran as fast as I could to the apartment, grabbed a few essentials and hopped ship... here. I messaged you the first chance I got. You’re the only person who could help me ‘cuz, well. Heh. You got me into this.”


[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Before the tale began there was a subtle scrunch on Sybil’s pale visage, as though for a split second her face was about to seize up in a scowl. Only for a moment, and one would have been looking directly to notice the act. No, it wasn’t because of the taste of the caf. A flavor so awful was easily ignored once a sufficient amount of flavoring was mixed in to the brew. Nay, the reasoning behind the little flash of scorn had to do with something so simple it verged on absurd: Tez had chosen to occupy the space on the other side of the counter in a move that made complete and utter sense considering that they were supposed to talk. Meanwhile, Sybil, esoteric in her inclinations, had pulled the stool in such a way as to ensure the both of them would be pitted more closely together if her raven haired friend had decided to indulge but a moment in sitting. A heavy set of days had passed, each hour fraught with stink and death. In its aftermath perhaps an emotionally unstable (at least in her mind) person like the Fallanassi might think of closeness to another living soul that didn’t involve the attrition of battle could in effect reaffirm her connection to the waking world and its tenderness. Something in the desire shared space with the same need to touch something kind, but in this case the exact reasoning eluded her usually quick concentration. It was stupid to stop the flow of the conversation for such nonsense, and oddly enough it caused the warrior to feel a twinge of shame. Survivor guilt, perhaps, or blindness as the result of crippled perception.

Putting that aside, her focus returned to the story being told, and it appeared to strike as quite the close call. A swell of instinctive protectiveness perked up her ears as the details were committed to memory and cross reference in that vast machine-like cog-mind of coincidences.

Then she felt a fear. Pure. Cold. Abject fear. It caused her mouth to dry and her hands to become more wet -all instigated by the allegation that, “You got me into this.”

If everything were normal and all faculties were being enjoyed in their fullest then surely Tez’s more playful tone would have been picked upon. Instead a rebuttal was issued.

“Hardly anyone outside of this nation’s borders can even remotely identify my face. I can assure you that simply isn’t possible, as even members of this organization would find it difficult to say who or what I am. It is possible that your recent travels have placed you on someone’s radar, or, more likely, it could have been something to do with the Coruscant First. They are a fundamentalist political party looking to gain independence from the Alliance.” Something in the tone shifted just ever so slightly from understanding to accusatory. “You mentioned once Coruscant was an adopted homeworld. They seek to curtail immigration and revoke rights on the planet without specific citizenship. Maybe you, in picking that chaotic cesspool of a planet, left yourself exposed to such extremists. Or even it could have been some disgusting slavers. Who can say? Just don’t assume that it’s because of me; it can easily be because waves you don’t even realize that you’re making.” That statement sounded much better in her mind, because the minute her counter rant was finished she started to realize how arrogant and tone deaf it actually came across as.

[member="Tez Bola"]​

 

[Tez Bola]

The sun’s rays poked through the deceptively labeled “blackout” curtains, sneakily stretching throughout the conjoined rooms.The tone of the morning suddenly shifted from open ended, ripe with possibilities, then faltered to dank, dismal and...over. Over before it ever began. Frankly, Tez was confused by the sudden hostility. She believed she told her story in earnest, without embellishment, to the only appropriate party imaginable. A shame that didn’t quite belong to her manifested. She didn’t know what to do with this sentiment, but knew it had to be trounced quickly- else it consume and dominate whatever goodness was left between the two women.

One of the first thoughts that surfaced was whether Tez made a mistake making a confidante out of the one known as [member="The Major"]. The moniker was still yet to be expounded upon. That minor qualm aside, were Sybil’s charged words thrown out in earnest or were they seeds of another growing plot soon to be unearthed? Was Sybil truly a friend or was she continuing her deceptive ways? She being a double agent seemed unlikely (for now), given the adjectives used to describe the planet where they met.

Tez played with a halfhearted notion of leaving. Leaving this room, this flat, this planet, but it all just sounded hyperbolic. Irrational. Unbecoming. Why should she damn herself into a nomadic existence considering she felt that she finally felt a sense of pseudo-consistency. Furthermore, how would she benefit forfeiting her claim to this affluent friendship? Money and titles aside, there was no doubt that there was a certain- she didn’t know what- quality about Sybil that was both infuriating and alluring. Fulfilling and hollow. Worthwhile and… she could go on but she refused to let the silence overtake her.

Nearly spitting and eyebrows furrowed, Tez began sharply: “How can you say that being harassed by a group of strange men was my own fault? The only people I ever spoke to on that ‘cesspool’ were people from work- who by the way I only spoke to at work- and you. I’m not trying to play some assumed victim card here, but I thought you, of all people, would give a damn. Seems I was wrong given this accusatory and, quite surprisingly, misogynistic view of my plight. It’s fine if you don’t want to help me, okay? I’ll figure this out on my own. As I’ve been doing, without you, my whole life.” Tez took a deep swig of caf and reached for the bottle of Corellian Whiskey located in the liquor shelf above her.

 

[The Major]

It would seem for all the Fallanassi’s bluster and poise there was a lot she still had to learn about managing her tongue and censoring its content. Perhaps it was recent events that had her lashing out without patience; perhaps the “good” Major had grown too accustomed to speaking in rebuke and having her subordinates act with little question even when faced with mortal peril. Reality was something in between and far more pathetic: what failures those under her jurisdiction faced in light of the recent victory still weighed heavily upon her heart. Speaking quickly, she rushed in a frantic verbiage in attempt to seal the freshly open wounds once her brain placed everything that needed to be said in a concise order to forego the fear of rambling.

“Forgive me and my aggressive tone.” From thence she stood at attention and moved around the counter slowly, as though it were possible that standing in front of her was a powerful creature worthy of careful approach.

“It’s. . . not - okay. W-well. The exact idea I am trying to espouse -augh. No. Look. Look!” Her body pressed inwards towards the counter, almost as though she intended to shove herself between the bottle of hooch and the mug in Tez’s hand. Then something steeled in Sybil’s eyes as the horror of the previous days made a fresh trench of Hell within her mind.

“We…” This was cut off, because it dodged the blame of who gave the orders. “I… lost a friend during a mission. We both were close, at least in terms of the organization, and they died. Not only them, but a lot of comrades and those who were relying upon me to be responsible for their lives. Now they are gone.” A lead weight began to envelope her tone.

“They are gone. It is my fault. Not because of mistakes either. No. I purposefully put them in danger out of pride. To prove a point. And they died. I could have saved them if this terrible vanity was eschewed. But I didn’t. It was too late when for them when I finally acted...” Instinctively, one of her hand crammed upwards to cover the top of her brow, and her moribund eyes fell to fixate on the bottle of whiskey.

“I’m sorry. The thought that you’re in danger because of me -attacked by foul men seeking to hurt and abuse you- because of neglect or lack of diligence: that frightens me deeply. It’s something I’m afraid to admit. It would mean we were better off never meeting; that you’d be safer away from such an accursed presence.” She moved hands amiss with slight tremors from her sides to wrap around her friend’s grip of the bottle, and the thought occurred that it might be the last time she would lay eyes upon Tez, for the sake of saving her life. Overwrought, a glistening film moistened the whites of her eyes.

“Should I take my leave?” ​

​

[member="Tez Bola"]​

 

[Tez Bola]

Mouth set in a grimace, Tez removed her hands from the pale and clammy ones over hers. Without asking, she uncapped the bottle in her hand and began to pour its contents into Sybil’s mug. Tez then poured a healthy amount of whiskey into her own. “Sybil- please sit,” she said. “Just stay. I didn’t- I couldn’t know. I’m sure there is nothing I can say to assuage any of your grief or regret, but stay here with me.”

Tez waited for her companion to retake her seat. Mug in hand she walked around the counter and took her place on the stool beside. Keeping up with tradition, they clinked their cylindrical vessels and drank deeply. Tez shivered involuntarily. Whether it from the bitterness of the caf or the strength of the alcoholic libation was anyone’s guess but either way it seemed to be one step in the right direction. The two women sat in silence- the only sounds in the room was the hum of the refrigerator and the handful of speeders flying by. Tez took one additional sip of liquid courage and began:

“If I may be insensitive for a few moments- your psyche will not gain anything from being so characteristically hyperbolic. I know you do it in self defense but right now I must tell you to stop. Just… stop. For your own sake. You did your duty, fought for your faction. Casualties, be them friends or the faceless men and women in the ranks, are all part of war. They knew the risks, as did you. Don’t do your comrades any dishonor by blaming yourself or belittling their sacrifices. I’ll try to help you out in any way you need but you have to have the strength to move on. That doesn’t mean forgetting any one or pretending they never existed. You’ll get by. Time will pass and soon you’ll heal. But for now, we have to keep our wits about us. The moment we let our guards down, the dangers both upfront and dormant will claim us. You’ll always be hunted, pursued, and those around you will soon fall prey. Let’s trip them up and aim to be always twelve steps ahead, savvy?”


[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Reprieve. At least, temporarily. Sybil could feel the discussion reorganizing from her defensive outburst to something skimming the boundary of understanding. That is to say: Tez once again exceeded what was expected of empathy. The woman appeared to know exactly what to say to reset the Fallanassi before her rambling form of self-deprecation overwhelmed the contents of any conversation. She was right, of course, as seemed to always be the case when they spoke. In this there was a comfort to be found.

With this relief she inhaled deeply and wiped her cheeks, feeling them itch inexplicably after downing the improvised shot.

“Yes.” She agreed. Moving away from hyperbole and placing herself steadfast in the moment and its simplicity.

“You’re absolutely right, and chattering about this person or that disrespects what they stood for.” But, hidden from plain view was the fact that the Major often looked upon her tenure within the First Order as a job, more or less. Fanaticism or love of country certainly didn’t dominate her motivations. Especially at this low point.

“The truth is it could very well be that our interactions on Coruscant may have been tracked. Right now there isn’t enough evidence to point in any specific direction, but we have our simplest explanation.” She appeared to be masking her turmoil in the problems of the moment, but this had to be the proper balm to soothe her over, for in such methodical and preliminary investigation there was a focused epicenter in which they could ascertain and take action.

“Right now, here on Lanteeb, we’re safe. We can both breathe and solve this puzzle.” Sitting up straight, the Major adopted a more professional posture and activated her dataglasses. Its slight hum could be heard if someone knew to seek its vibration, and in this Sybil had already explained thoroughly to her compatriot.

“Let’s focus on the details while they are still fresh: give me a description of this gang of scoundrels and what exactly they said. There is chance we can narrow down the possibilities -and there is no time like the present. I know this can be uncomfortable -but I’m here with you. Spare no detail. If they roughed you up or… ahem… placed their hands upon you I want to know. Again, any bit or method could further narrow down the pool of questions.”

[member="Tez Bola"]​

 

[Tez Bola]

In between sips of the now luke warm mug of enhanced caf, Tez went into further detail of her recent exploits. She described the group of assailants to the best of her ability, and to supplement the descriptors, she drew upon a napkin the unknown Twi’lek’s lekku tattoos. Additionally, Tez mapped out the different routes she took whilst still on Coruscant when she made contact with those individuals, marking any/all known posts along it. She wasn’t sure how helpful that information would be, but figured she’d bring it up in case the patterns sparked any familiarity for [member="The Major"].

Tez rose from the stool to retrieve her data pad, which was currently in the bedroom. After some audible shuffling, she returned, now donned with a long black cardigan over her sleep clothes. Upon retaking her seat she said, “Like I mentioned before, I have some transferred audio files from those bugs you gave me. Honestly, they’re not all great and on some of them the most you can hear is a lot of mumbling and traffic noises. But hopefully you’ll be able to---” Tez stopped short, eyebrows furrowed. “You’ve got to be karking kidding me.” She tapped on the pad a few more times, her agitation becoming more visible. “All the files are corrupted!? How could this have happened?! Oh, wait a second- there’s one that isn’t damaged.” Tez clicked open the file and turned the volume up. In addition to the sounds of horns and unrelated pedestrians chatting noisily, a male voice could be heard speaking low in between:

“‘Agent Kor Nah reporting. Sighting confirmed- suspected FO female sympathizer number seven, alone, north bo --*horn blaring*-- possibly connected to-’
‘And then I said to Mabel, I said-’
‘-erg or-’
‘GET OUT OF THE WAY, YOU CRINKING BUFFON!’
‘-ardt. Ordering a sweep of-’
‘Waaaaaaaaah!’ *indecipherable rebuttals from an overtired child*
‘-ance HQ at 0500 hours. Coordinates are as follows: 39°37-’
‘Vei csact'i carcir ch'at csan'vun't tomorrow?’
‘Over and out.’”

Tez’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that was less than helpful. Glad to have wasted both our times and resources. I’ll pay you back for those recorders. Eventually.”

 

[The Major]

Sybil ignored the bit about Tez eventually paying her back, thought this was not a result of kindhearted charity (for the bugs, cutting edge Security Bureau tech, were not cheap) but instead derived from a source of distinct apathy. For all the emphasis on form, and the Fallanassi’s manic affinity for aesthetics, credit and monetary value were of utmost despondency to the Faithful Four-eyes. It was little more than a resource, a tool. It was something she always had when she needed it, and it was something she could throw away at any given moment. Although working for the First Order had changed her priority the one thing that maintained its impression upon her awareness from her upbringing in the strange cult of the White Current was the disdain for collecting money. She of course aware of the perceived power credit tended to bring, and how so many in the galaxy were willing to flagellate themselves for even a slight promise of wealth (notwithstanding the many the moribund Major made use of that greed to propel people into her planned paths). It was a matter of need. Tez needed something, and Sybil could provide it. Rarely, Sybil noticed that tended to be the case -regardless of how headstrong or independent Tez made herself out to be.

“Less than helpful? Don’t be preposterous. I heard the name ‘Agent Kor nah’ -and while that may be a callsign it’s at least a start. This is some stellar craft. Were you a spy in a different life?” And then Sybil cracked that characteristic, teeth baring smile. Unfortunately it had that wayward viciousness that so marred her more charitable acts. Already the machine cogs in her head were churning, bubbling with purpose.

“This. . . ‘agent.’ I think they are going to run into a spot of bother. Very soon. Oh yes. They were quite sloppy with you. Probably took you as an easy mark. Good thing that I treat you as the dangerous subject you truly are.” A noise came out from her throat that was reminiscent of a chuckle, though to call it such would be disingenuous.

Her mood wasn’t completely clean from the burden of the last few days, and it was possible that such guilt would color her thoughts for a long time, but at least she had this moment -twisted in context as it was.

“You mustn’t disparage yourself now. Your instincts are keen; they may save your skin yet.”

[member="Tez Bola"]​

 

[Tez Bola]

A lopsided grin slowly arched upon the face of the lesser known character. Tez wasn’t quite sure if her Illusive Pal [member="The Major"] was merely humoring her with these remarks but she wasn’t in the proper mindset to investigate further (just yet). For now, she would graciously accept the inspiringly kind words being offered and carry on.

Tez ran a hand through her curly locks and temporarily mused on the odd series of events that have occurred ever since meeting the auburn haired agent. Music, spies, fancy restaurants with ridiculously expensive booze, weird pseudo-psychic dreams, museums, honing on latent Force abilities, blood. If you added up the time they actually/physically spent together, it didn’t really match up against the strength of their convictions. It seemed to not matter, really, which made it all so gratifying. However, it seemed that by adding up the time spent during their former lives- all their former lives- it may just make a modicum of sense.

“Why don’t you pop in to the shower? I’m sure it’ll reinvigorate you, and we can get this day started,” Tez suggested. “That is, of course, you’d rather keep talking. I’m not opposed to that or starting on a new drink, heh.”

 

[The Major]

At that last comment something shifted in Sybil’s face. Her eyes narrowed as though the strangest thing heard was still computing in her brain. There was no shortage of sardonicism in the expression, and she suspected that’s why the additional caveat Tez provided, ‘that is, of course, you’d rather keep talking,’ was placed in reaction to the skeptical look provided from her houseguest as opposed to a natural continuation of thought. It wasn’t the context or content, because the Major was starting to realize she still had the stink of mud and vomit sticking to her bodysuit -unflattering scent in the flesh. She did feel a bit tired. So it was sage advice.

What was making her tilt her head with the strangest of smirks was the fact that somebody was effectively telling her what to do. That was…. tenuous as a prospect at best, and it wasn’t something the operative was used to -even within her command structure. They typically gestured in the direction of an objective, clarified the intelligence, and she took it upon herself to do the best job possible within the parameters.

This was different.

So she did what was told, walking off to go shower; turning the squeaky head to a colder setting to snap her into awareness, she made no qualms at the further process. Sybil neglected asking for a towel in the confusion, so that would mean (since she was too proud to beg for help when not actively wounded or otherwise in a twisted state of consciousness) using the hand towel hanging limply from the now locked bathroom door. She noted how sticky the lock was to engaged -it in and of itself a relic from a bygone era.

Lanteeb
Greater Conurbation - Kilaado outskirts
A few months later, as the Galactic Alliance fled their capital
Dawn


Steam from the shower still swirled about the bathroom’s ceiling as Sybil wrapped a towel about her auburn twinged hair. A zipper on a bodysuit of compressed armorweave was secured upwards, the suit itself resembling something a swimmer might wear -but at least offering basic protection for everything from the chest down to the thighs along with playing the part of supportive underwear. Seemingly, the woman was more than a bit concerned about being shot. As a matter of decency, she covered up with a white button down and a basic floral skirt. It was still early, and she wasn’t in a particular rush to leave off to the next tragedy. Having since dropped the habit of locking the door so as to not deal with the metal bits sticking, the passageway slid open with a damp hiss.

Putting on her glasses brought reality into sharp focus, and the Major let the data scroll down the periphery of her vision, content with reviewing the updates when the mood finally struck at some point after breakfast. Ignoring her open suitcase with her other clothes lazily laid inside she proceeded to the counter, stretching her long arms out with gymnastic grace before before pushing a button to start a coffee machine on its vaunted mission. Soon the smell filled the humble apartment with rich expectancy. Sunlight flooded in between the gaps of the curtain, and a twinkle of light caught the Major’s eye: her hunter’s axe of songsteel cheerfully gleamed, laying just in arms reach from the couch that served her impromptu bed.

Sybil could almost hear the rays of light singing as they fluttered about the living room, and she waited there contemplating how much easier things seemed when they weren’t complicated.

[member="Tez Bola"]​

 

[Tez Bola]

Tez Bola once thought she had her fill of excitement during the ordeal from months prior. Not that the prospect of nearly being kidnapped should be labeled as “exciting,” but it certainly broke the monotony of her previous (and short lived) average life. While on Lanteeb, she hadn’t really done much besides laying low and visiting various (and dullfully safe) points on the planet. She couldn’t exactly go back home to Coruscant with the war going on, nor was it worth the risk even trying. And to be honest, there wasn’t much left for her anymore.

These days, Tez lived vicariously through Sybil, her dear friend and confidant. When Sybil came to the humble apartment for her unpredictable visits, Tez would listen to Sybil’s stories with rapt attention, completely mesmerized by the eloquent way the tales were relayed. As the yarns were spun, she could almost smell the dirt that her friend trudged upon, experience the sweat dripping into her eyes, and feel the weight of the immense songsteel axe in her hands. While it was undeniable the Fallanassi had a thick silver tongue, Tez wondered if the visions were somewhat aided by the woman’s abilities. Either way, it was a welcome past time.

Fast forward to present day, Tez appeared in the living room, already dressed and exhausted. She had barely slept the night before because of yet another series of disturbing dreams. She would experience the same violent imagery over and over, like a feedback loop from Hell. Only this Hell was unjust- she was being punished erroneously for crimes she never had, or never could, commit. But she would deal with that later. For now, she was occupied by a solitary miniature feather. It most likely escaped from a cushion propped against the sofa, and she watched as it danced gaily amongst the motes in a sunbeam that was pouring in through the bay window. Tez watched it a few moments longer as she came to terms of what the day was- yet another “Last Day.” The last day she would see Sybil for an unknown, and probably extended, period of time. These “Last Days” were always filled with dread and anxiety. Tez smoothed her hair back and walked over to where Sybil stood.

“Where are you headed next?” Tez asked casually. Rather, as casually as she could. She hoped her attempt to disguise the trepidation she felt, by way of the Force (as [member="The Major"] had taught her), was successful. It was impossible to gauge whether or not if this would be one of the few remaining moments she’d have with her Almanian companion, and didn’t want her fears to be exposed by something as droll as the vibrations in her throat. She also hoped Sybil was unable to sense the utilization of the all powerful energy, and that her teachings weren’t wasted on a poor excuse of an overgrown pseudo student.