Private Ranks Aside | Damsy

[Darth Metus]

Tag: Damsy Callat

She had come so far since the Pod.

When the life of Damsy Callat began, it was to realize the ambitions of a young Sith Lord. She was to be a masterpiece in his quest for power - born of his blood, and thus a rival in his power. However, the circumstances of birth oftentimes do not match the desires of the sire. Therefore, the ambitions were not realized. The young girl was left with a gilded view of her sire, her only parent by blood, from those cloners tasked with her nurturing. It was fortunate, for Darth Metus, that the scales of hubris fell from his eyes.

As the years rolled ever forward, the harsh slap of reality was a far colder Master than any of his mentors.

As he was rattled across the stars, humility tempered ambition. And there began to exist things that mattered more than pushing the Dark Side to its limits. Things that mattered beyond pushing himself to the utmost of his power. There were moments he came to value, such as sparring with Srina Talon , or shopping with Darth Miseria. In time, Darth Metus learned what it meant to be Human. And with it, he accepted titles beyond that of Darth - Father, Brother, Lover, and Friend.

With such adoptions, when he looked upon Damsy, he saw not a creation, but his pride and joy.

She had grown from one who struggled to walk to a full-fledged soldier within his nation. She forged her own path, built her own bonds, and needed not the shadow of the Vicelord to advance. It was her own legend that she wrote - and he had the honor of witnessing the pages. In this, Darth Metus did his very best not to interfere. He did nothing more than ensure that her name was not listed as KIA after her sorties...Now, there was a span of time where he was led to believe that she had perished. But that was for a reason. That was for a mission.

That time, fortunately, had come to an end.

Though he had received the message stating that she was alive and well quite some time ago, the Sith did not have the opportunity to verify with his own eyes. The recent battles demanded his fullest attention, as they did her own. But, for now, they had a moment. A precious pause between the raging infernos that were their daily lives. Darth Metus invited Damsy to join him in Netra'yaim, the home he had erected for their family: House Verd. Down the winding corridors, up the spiraling stairs, his office awaited her presence.

She would find modest comforts upon arrival. A long, crimson carpet stretched from the door to the mahogany desk at the end. A sofa was situated against the wall, across from a roaring fireplace. Comfortable chairs resided on either side of the desk - and seated within the most prominant was her father. He rose, beaming, at the sight of his daughter. Relief evident in those sulfuric eyes that gazed upon her. "My girl!" he said, stepping past the desk. His arms opened wide to receive her.

And the tightest hug of the year was given.​

 

[Damsy Callat]

CEASEFIRE​

Tag: Darth Metus​

Wearing: Leather and fishnets​

She had flown to Krant from free, Unknown Region space, drifting all the way on the wings of her Anura-class starfighter and coattails of mixed feelings. Another year, another truce. Ironic that, for all her years served as a Dauntless commando at various ranks, the only truces she had negotiated - and that verbiage was to be understood loosely - had been of the emotional sort. With War Marshal Terrik, yes, but her father to boot. Theirs broke the most often, for some or another affront that the daughter felt. ​

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From her vantage, their relationship was once again littered with rocks, the aftermath of an emotional landslide. It had happened before, but this time the regolith was of a different bedrock source - not his too-little-too-late parenting attempts to heal the many scars he had left upon her, but blame for what had happened to Omega. Or rather, to Clan Kyrdol's Breshig War Forge Consolidated. Metus as Vicelord was Confederate statehead, after all, had to know by now, and for that she would revolt him just as much as she did Luna.​

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If not more. She was ready to capitalize off of his love, his adoration, twist it against him, and use it as an excuse. It would be a pleasure just as nightmarish as her to see how long she could abuse him under the protection of a daughter until it shattered, and he fought back.​

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Good. How she longed to join Fengris, Kaal, Slahlvo, Eisahn and Rhane alive in death again.​

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Kill me, dar'buir. Her post-Rodian existence had caused her more pain in half a year than her alchemized life had in all thirty one.​

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For whichever reason, he wanted to see her, be it a master chief's tactical diplomacy trying to lure her back in line or simple fatherly loneliness, but she only had one: Sever once and for all her ties with the Confederacy. And if that meant also abdicating her place in his life, which it undoubtedly would, so be it. A cheap price to pay, and a long, long time coming.​

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It had been months since she had been enveloped by the known galaxy’s purple cloud. Nonetheless and all the while, she had been fighting for her father’s nation outside of it, with Ciri Jade and her Starfall Squadron above all other odd, bounty hunting jobs she had taken before, after, between, or simultaneously. To get from where she had been to its eastern seaboard she had to cross into and over the Confederacy’s heart. ​

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The moment she threw open the door of his office, he momentarily paralyzed her with perhaps the sincerest greeting she had ever received followed by the paired physical expression. Ever lost in her swirling anger was the blessing that was his love, recently made unconditional. ​

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“You figured it out,” she began after he had stepped back, ossified herself to the threshold. “Congrats, I guess.” When word had found her in some random space station that Metus had finally completed the puzzle she had left behind since Atrisia, she hadn't cared, neither about the news itself nor what his many reactions may have been - to her initial goodbye comm when she had, in fact, thought she was staring down the End; to her new body; to her reception of the Force, if he had heard of that too. She wouldn't be surprised; Her spacer reputation obviously preceded her much more than she would have liked if Risha Upasi was so easy to reconnect with Damsy Callat. ​

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Though, she hoped against all hope he hadn't heard of the latter detail. She still remembered a conversation in a Nantoonese curios shoppe. He didn't just want someone to inherit everything. He wanted her to. With all she hoped to accomplish here today, she didn't have either time or patience to shut down talk of heiressing his broken House. ​

 

[Darth Metus]

R E U N I O N​

Tag: Damsy Callat

The reception was...ice.

When the Sith embraced his daughter, the reaction was not what he anticipated. Granted, he was not so far gone as to delude himself into thinking the moment would be a snapshot from the holo-movies. Where stringed instruments played a wonderous ballad whilst two souls hugged it out. No, that was immensely removed from reality. However, given his assumption that they were on okay terms with one another, Darth Metus was surprised. The first sign of trouble was the way by which the door to his office was opened.

No knock. It was thrown open - he had killed for less.

Furthermore, her arms remained at her side until he released her. Damsy's immediate response was a practically deadpan sentence and backing away from him. The reaction was one that tempered Darth Metus' expression. Though it was still obvious that he was pleased to see his child alive and well, he wouldn't be throwing a parade for the next couple minutes. Something was amiss. More than just the coded missive from Atrisia. Things that he was unaware of - soley due to attempting to give her the room to exist.

If he had been the type of sire to use his position to advance hers, or to keep undue attention on her, then he would have known.

He would have been fully aware of the inferno boiling within his child's stomach. Of the loss she carried. Of the darkness which weighed upon his shoulders. But, in this case, Darth Metus was woefully unaware...but he would do his best to try. That was certainly all he could do. Motioning with his dominant hand for her to fully come into the office, he turned and strode towards his desk. Saying nothing initially, he reached underneath for a moment and produced a crystal vessel and two glasses.

Idelwil, a personal favorite brought into his life by Valencia Hadley , was the beverage of choice. He poured two glasses, motioned towards the couch with his chin for her to sit, and promptly offered her one. She had come this far, what was the harm in a drink with her old man. Whether she took it or not, Darth Metus heralded his own response with a sip of the drink. "I would have figured out sooner, but I tried to give you room to breathe." he began, absently swirling the drink around in his glass.

"And I won't change that now. You had your reasons for making the decision you did, in the way you did." he didn't say aloud, but she'd know he was referring to the false death. "And, before you walk back out that door today, I just want you to know one thing." Another sip. "Before all this", he said, motioning to their surroundings. Implying the Confederacy. "I was your father. And after all this, I'll still be your father."

"Know that, whatever is on your plate? I'm here." .​

 

[Damsy Callat]

COLDER THAN AN OCEANIC TRENCH​

Tag: Darth Metus​

Before crossing the room after him, Damsy untied her cape and slung it over a coat rack. She did indeed take the drink from where she had perched on the indicated sofa. She had planted her feet wide, dominant but not uncomfortable, and likewise rested her elbows on either knee. She cradled the glass somewhere between her legs. As Metus spoke, she glanced down into the liquid and only looked up, ever so slowly, once he was done, to echo him "Before?" She sat up and rolled her eyes at his notion of fathership. He couldn't be serious, could he? ​

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"Before." As soon as she had asked, she turned rhetorical, unwilling to allow him to backtrack. Not a question any longer, she took the temporal statement as an eventuality. Of course he'd say that because of course he was, if not only biologically. With respect to every other criterion that left, absentee was a more appropriate title. She just didn't feel like beating that tuskcat to death today. And so, after a heavy sigh, she continued, "Y'know what, Father? Let's shelf your parenting an' talk about your leadership.​

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"You look like you dunno what I'm on about," - and he didn't - "so either you really don't or you have the galaxy's greatest sabacc face. 'Former, I'm guessing.​

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"I didn't come here to parse words or walk on eggshells." Her spitfire was continuous. She barely was noticeably breathing, but her voice quality suffered none for it. It was as if the gill slits on her neck had opened to augment her oxygen intake, but they hadn't. She just didn't want him to get as much as a syllable in edgewise until she had said her piece. "You're a bad Vicelord. That's not even me being a scorned daughter. Objectively. You stand for justice among independent systems, at the helm of a galactic giant that's not as well-oiled as as you would like to believe it is." She sat back again, took one hand off her drink, and waved it dismissively with a huff. "But go 'head, turn a blind eye. That's just karkin' fine wit' me."​

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"But you know what ain't? That once upon a time I gave our relationship lightyears of grace because you were my master-in-chief and I oh so desperately wanted to thrive as a Dauntless. But now I don't, so you don't get any of my slack anymore.​

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"Yes, I have a lot on my plate. Enough for me plus the four men," - she began counting on her free palm - "and one woman I lost on Rodia. More than, even." She shook her hand at him before fisting it and bringing it down on the couch cushion beside her. "But, no, I'm not giving you one scrap off it 'cuz when I did to Terrik she chewed it up and spit it back in my face."​

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Only then did she stand, almost as verbal peace. The hydrothermal vent bubbling at the pit the the amphibian's stomach was nearly done erupting. So she took a long draw of idelwil to quell it further. "Fine, you wanna give me space? Then we done?" She set the glass down on an end table entirely harder than she needed to, even harder than the structure could have endured hadn't she pooled the Force around it as insulation.​

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"I gotta go be an expatriate somewhere."​

 

[Darth Metus]

E S C A L A T I O N​

Tag: Damsy Callat

She was indeed a soldier.

If Darth Metus had to hold Damsy Callat in direct comparison to her sibling, Darth Miseria, the two would be night and day. While both were born of his blood, the former was the definition of warrior. In the way she carried herself. In the fire burning in her veins. Down to the way she settled upon the couch. There was no air of nobility or political clout about the Sithspawn. Nothing but genuine cold. And while the frost was directed at him, Darth Metus could at least respect it. She was direct. Genuine. Fuming, yes, but genuine.

After he had said his peace, the young woman began to speak. Her verbiage was quick. Empassioned, and saw her even punch the sofa cushions as the venom fell from her lips. Oh, she was feeling some type of way - about him, about the Confederacy, and everything in-between. At the start, she recognized one thing - he genuinely didn't know the source of her anger. And though he attempted to part his lips to get a word in once, the passionate pace of her thoughts prevented him from doing so. Instead, the man simply took two paces back from his child whilst she spoke.

He leaned his form against the edge of the desk, careful not to knock anything off, and listened. Every so often, he'd punctuate the stare offered with a sip of his beverage. He was calm - at least on the surface. But she had sparked one hell of a conflict upstairs. On one hand, when it came to his children specifically, owning up to his own bucket of bullchit afforded them a whole heap of rope. Because the Sith was a piss-poor sire to most, if not all, of his children, he gave them quite a bit of breathing room in voicing their opinion. But at the same time? There was voicing, and there was swinging. And if he had walked into his father's home, big prick swinging and shooting off at the mouth, he'd still be picking teeth up off the floor.

When finally she finished her piece, the man set his glass down upon the desk. The thud was cold. His arms folded across his chest. His gaze was mixed - and he carefully chewed over each word he uttered next.

"No, we're not done." he began. Pausing to run his tongue behind his cheek in thought.

"It's true, I didn't - and still don't - know what all you've got on your plate. And I'll be point karkin' blank why: You're a grown ass woman, Damsy. I don't babysit a gods damn thing you do, because one, you'd hate it if I did. And two, that would mean I don't see you as a grown ass woman - which I karkin' do." The eloquence of office had clearly been thrown far out the window. She wanted to shelve the parenting talk? Fine by him.

"So no, I don't know what the actual kark went down on Rodia. And I definitely don't know what the kark went down between you and Terrik. I am genuinely sorry to hear that you've lost good people there. That ain't easy. Wasn't for me - won't be for anyone." From here, he pushed off of the desk and returned to standing before his child. The salvation of the end table was not lost upon him - nor was her breathing. "Here's the thing though, you're my kid. End of the day. Confederacy goes dark tomorrow, that's what remains."

"And when you walked through that door, it wasn't the Vicelord who invited you. This ain't Geonosis. This ain't Naboo." This was Home, period. "You got a problem with the way things are done around here? You and about every other country in the Galaxy. But here's the skinny, I ain't Luna Terrik. So when you talk to me, I ain't chewing chit up and spitting chit out. I ain't Luna, period." The man drew a heavy inhale through his nostrils. Escalation wouldn't do either of them any good. And as much as there was a part of him who wanted to invite the angry woman to swing, he released a solemn exhale instead.

"So why don't we start there? What went down between you and Terrik? It's eating you up, clear as day. And like I told you, I'm here. His offhand extended, and his whim saw the vessel of Idlewil leap to his grasp. He said nothing more, opting to refresh her beverage instead. The cup was taken into his grasp and offered. "Right now, I ain't the Vicelord. Talk to me.​

 

[Damsy Callat]

BEARING TEETH AND TALON​

Tag: Darth Metus​

Good men and women died in war. One sithspawn’s six month long temper tantrum wouldn’t change that, no matter how many bridges she burned.​

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“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I've made Lieutenant, Captain, Adjunct-Major, and you don’t think I get it?!” Of a truth she had never been surer. When it wasn’t someone or ones from her personal roost, it was from another squad. And when somehow the 117th had skirted any casualties to speak of, there lay droves across the front. “I’m not mad that I lost them. I’m mad how I lost ‘em!”​

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She laughed, throwing her head slightly back and her hands to her knees. They pushed off, driving her to stand, but otherwise she made no more to distance from her sire. “Me an’ every other country, yeah? Well, maybe I should join one of them. You’re damn right I don’t want to be coddled. I just want some respect. I will not rest until my soldiers get it too." Former was the adjective she left out purposefully, for though they were no longer her command, they would always be her family-in-arms. "And by not knowing what they've endured you offend me, not as your botched experiment but one of your karkin' pawns.” She pointed out a window, to herself, to him, all in turn.​

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Likewise, Damsy took the second glass, looking her father dead in the sulfuric eyes. “No?” Oh, so she wasn’t speaking to the Vicelord? “Well then, when he comes back, tell him to babysit the oceans-damned Confed like it’s his job. Because, that’s right, it is. Oh, and this is for him too.” She unflexed the free hand fisted at her side with inhuman speed, calling on not the Force but her Shi’ido/sithspawn blood, and dragged her open palm against her father’s cheek with the very same haste.​

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The glower storm fogging her deep blue, ocean eyes as if she was turned gave way to the clarity of a daughter’s repressed pity. Give him a chance, it bade her in a small and steady voice. Show him the fault of his way.​

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For some reason, she listened and continued with an explanation somewhere buried in the fumes of betrayal. Luna’s, his, everyone’s. By agreeing to finally explain herself as clear as she had since storming in on her invitation, none of the anger had evacuated either her voice or stance. “While you’re at it, I’ll save you the paperwork request and tell you just what happened, straight from the tuskcat’s mouth: A clusterfeth, that’s what. My guys an’ gals went to intercept an AoC threat under the purview of Grand Marshal Haastal Haran . Meanwhile, a holier-than-thou CDF contractor decided to royally kark CoC and send a fighter-bomber to Omega's coordinates. That crew; that incompetent, unable-to-watch-their-fethin’-fire crew; oh so kindly ushered half my commandos to their Maker. Half.”​

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And she hadn’t been there. Rather, she had been singing lures of the deep to Wild Hunters on Talay. With her cursory command of the Force, though she had previously been training under Gerwald Lechner since Atrisia, she doubted she could have protected her squadmates from the hell that rained from above, but she might have been able to protect them from the Force Using target that put, and trapped, them in harm’s way. From there, things may have gone differently. At least that was what she had to fantasize about if she wanted to fall asleep at night.​

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Which, most nights, she admittedly, emphatically, did not.​

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“And Luna - Luna headed up the friendly fire inquest.” She left it at that as she downed a great volume of her newest drink. Metus was smart; He could figure it out in the meantime. There was no shortage of body language or other context clues. But then she added, “A clue: Someone got to keep their contract, no strings attached.”​

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Then came her first step backwards of the day. The first crack in her vicious crusade. And her eyes somehow seemed more blue than was natural.​

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Analogous to the smell before a rain storm.​

 

[Darth Metus]

U N D E R S T A N D​

Tag: Damsy Callat

It wasn't a matter of casualties.

Both Darth Metus and his child had assumed the burden of command. And since the latter's ascension, there had been countless operations undertaken by the Confederacy. Losses were a terrible thing - but they were a reality that a leader expected. What was eating at the heart and soul of his child wasn't just the fact that casualties happened on Rodia. Something had gone down - enough so that she was willing to storm into his office like this. Rage like this. And as the seconds rolled ever forward, the gloves were coming off.

For the most part, Darth Metus let the remarks slide. She was angry - and because she was his child, he was letting the heat of her venting breeze by. Were she any other soul in the Galaxy, Apprentice, Subordinate, or Otherwise, her head might have been through the wall. But, finally, the truth began to come out. She was not mad that she lost them, but furious about how. She wanted respect for her soldiers. Respect for the fallen. And it was mind-boggling that this was something she was not receiving already. Mind-boggling that something standard did not occur.

And then her hand thundered across his cheeks.

Darth Metus could have done plenty to stop it. Though she was physically swift, she was not her Father. But, instead, he simply relaxed his jaw right before the blow raked across his skin. This ensured that he didn't bite his tongue accidentally. The sting was enough to make his left eye water - and in that instant his reflexes responded. His offhand coiled into a fist, and it took everything in his power not to let it thunder into her jaw. The look that dominated his face said as much. His gaze was fuming to say the least - and two words were the response.

"Watch yourself."

And then she explained. Despite the anger, she finally explained what the hell happened that had broken her faith in him so soundly. And...it made sense. It made fething sense. On the battlefield, there were bad calls. People were Human. Mistakes could be made. And any occurrences of friendly fire were investigated. The families contacted and compensated. Good men and women didn't just di-Oh. Ohhhh. The fury in the man's gaze broke. The angst. The frustration from being slapped and disrespected.

What happened to her squad...it was the same as when the Mandalorians turned their backs on their House. Betrayal. She placed her faith in Terrik, in the Confederacy, in her Father - and what happened? People she cared about died. By allied hands. And there were no consequences. "Damsy. Sweetheart..." His voice was a far cry from the savagery a few moments ago. Gentler. There was a problem - something tangible. There was plenty he could do now.

"I understand. If that were me and mine...I'd be gone too." A hefty sigh escaped him as he racked his mind. There was no use in saying the obvious. No use in doing the obvious. Pinning promotions on the dead was great in the movies, but for the families affected - for Damsy - that was an empty gesture. He could hang Terrik by her toes, but the Sith wagered that's not what she was after. She wanted her people honored. Omega, honored. "Omega are your people. And they deserved better than that. Every soldier who fights for me deserves better than that."

"When the Vicelord gets back," a mirthless chuckle escaped him, "he's going to light a fire under the CDF's ass for this. And Omega? They're going where they belong." He reached out, gingerly placing a hand upon her shoulder. "The best thing I can do is let them go with you. I won't have you losing sleep over them while you're figuring what you want to do out." His fingers gave her shoulder a light squeeze. "I'm so sorry Damsy." ​

 

[Damsy Callat]

D I S I L L U S I O N E D​

Tag: Darth Metus​

Damsy didn't once interject. Verbally releasing all her frustrations for the first time since leaving the arms of Dauntless - an action she was sure she had received a dishonorable discharge for, though she hadn't looked, the stalwart commando in her still too afraid to - had not been as cathartic as she had hoped. The span of perhaps five, ten minutes, had purged her of such intense emotion, but left her seeking the afterglow of refreshment. Salvation. Redemption. That the expected progression had only taken her halfway was even less than unsatisfying.​

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She had struck her father for no reason.​

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The pit at Damsy's stomach at which had been the knot of her rage grew, beginning another. She took another step backwards and reached out to brace herself on the nearest sofa arm. As he squeezed her shoulder, she too squeezed her eyes shut, albeit harder, face dropped towards the ground. She might have skirted from his office without as much as a dried tear on her cheek had her bitterness not been intensified unexpected moral indecision. But it was and, in such and to start, one bit of freshwater squeezed from her eyelids.​

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She shook her head a little wildly, frustrated both at his words and her physical response. "No, I - I won't be made the villain in my own story!" she exclaimed, shoulder shuddering in attempts the free itself of Metus' grip. "Berrezz and the rest have families here. I won't drag them 'cross the galaxy in some self-righteous attempt to save them." She missed each and every one, her second-hand and the privates, to be sure, and she knew their faith in the Office of the War Marshal had been shaken too, but she wouldn't do that to them.​

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"Dad," she said, the shorter version of his second - as far as she was so often concerned - slipped from her lips. "I...don't want your pity. I want you to figure out:​

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"Why Luna didn't tell you." She should have, not because it was an incident that effected his daughter's squadron, but because it had effected one of his. They were casualties, weren't they, and he was reported all other brands of those.​

 

[Darth Metus]

A N S W E R​

Tag: Damsy Callat

Though he head had bowed, the Sith nodded.

Duty weighed heavily upon the shoulders of his child. And in that moment, it was impossible to see her as anything else but. It was so like one of his own to feel this way. To stand at the crossroads of protecting the ones they were responsible for, but also ensuring their happiness. The offer that Darth Metus made would have certainly fulfilled the former of the options. Omega moving away from the Defense Force jurisdiction and following their commander would certainly bring the Siren some semblance of peace of mind. But, the cost? Being made the villain in her own story? It was far too great.

Instead, her words searched for an answer. Why. Not why the bad call had been made. Not why her subordinates had died. But ultimately - why a fatal flaw existed in the Chain of Command. Why had the Vicelord not been made aware of this reality. If not for the fact that his daughter was involved...surely the fact that it was the War Marshal's own people would have been justification enough. Right?

In that moment, a grave sigh fell from the Sith's lips. He reached, raising her chin with his hand. And as her gaze met his own, she'd find his expression one of genuine thought. His lips would part, as if he had an idea as to why on more than one occasion, but nothing came of it. Until.

"Adron."

The answer was brief and made the most sense. Of the two Exarchs, one had taken a special interest in matters of the Confederate Defense Force, whilst the other had been invested in Foreign Policy. This in of itself was not a bad thing, for Malvern made absolutely certain to report anything of note to his superior. But in this, no information was passed along. Why? The Vicelord had a theory. And given the circumstances of Ryloth, it was one that made the most sense. "I'll have to personally confirm but..." he began, trailing off. "Given how Ryloth...affected me...the buck might have stopped with him."

Context was everything. Now was not the time for half-truths, no matter how vulnerable they might be. "I'm sure you heard the report, of the spirits being raised? That was no easy task...Damn near killed me. It's why I was not personally on Rodia or Talay when the enemy attacked. It's why..." He trailed off yet again, shaking it head. It's why I failed you. "We didn't broadcast my condition for obvious reasons. Our worlds going dark, the Vicelord down for the count, there'd have been even more chaos in the streets."

"So, if I had to take an educated guess on the matter...Luna probably did make the report. But it never got to me. Adron would have likely received the report - and I presume he thought the matter 'handled' or something, as I still haven't heard from him about it." His nostrils flared in a heavy exhale.

If this was true, he'd have to make a stop by Ilyria when he was at his full strength.​

 

[Damsy Callat]

H A T E - M E​

Tag: Darth Metus​

"Luna probably did make the report."

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She was almost relived.​

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Almost.​

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And because of it, she forgot all the further insults she had been ready to lob his way. Instead, she said simply, "Then follow through." No venom was present in her voice any longer - she was simply stating what he must do next, not for her love but for the integrity of his Defense Force. On the contrary, she sounded tired. She pulled back from Darth Metus' touch. The skirts of the sofa brushed her calf and she sunk down into the cushions. The moment she was seated, she felt her leg muscles lock. She was sure she wouldn't be able to stand if she wanted to.​

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So she looked up to her father, ocean locking to earthen eyes. She listened intently to what else he had to say. After that, she allowed a moment's silence stretch into many more. Until, finally: "I almost leaked Omega's Rodian report."​

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The floodgates had opened, confessions spilling out in close succession, each mumbled. "I fraternized with terrorists. I gambled away my pension, effectively taxpayer funds. I cheated on A'Runda." ​

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Another pause followed, but in which she push off her tights to stand once more. "I killed Naroh Se," she added, voice clear. The timbre of her voice was steady and held no indication of sorrow. And then it would make sense.​

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"I know what she did to me."​

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How far she had come since the Pod indeed, from the adoptive-mother's mergirl.​

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"I didn't just come to light a fire under your shebbs," she admitted, stepping closer to her maker. "I came for an honor killing." But she didn't say it in a threatening manner, nor did her face express any more hatred. At least, none poised towards him. "...please. Please kill me. I've ruined - nothing is salvageable." ​

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She should have just stayed on Kamino and hunted aiwhas all her life.​