Private Ship Troubles

[An're Zeehra]

Tag: Die Shize

"Kriff!"

An're stared at the blinking red lights in front of her. There were at least 4 different parts of the ship failing simultaneously, and the realisation was dawning on her that she couldn't fix them. She couldn't help but feel disheartened at the fact she had been on her own for a grand total of a week and already had gotten herself into trouble.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on breathing. The ship, a YV-666 light freighter named the Convor, had been chosen simply for how easy it was to steal. Her parents hadn't placed any trackers on it, it wasn't watched particularly closely, and it had barely been off planet since they had acquired it.
An're was beginning to understand why.

She tapped at the datapad in front of her, reading through the bleak diagnostics. Both the primary and backup hyperdrives were failing, and the engines were overheating due to the cooling system, which had been gradually breaking more and more as An're had been flying. Much longer and she would be aimlessly floating through space waiting for the life support to give up.

The twi'lek sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she needed help. Although the planet Lantillies wasn't too far away, she doubted her engines would make it that far. She pulled up the distress beacon but stopped herself, her finger hovering over the screen. She turned and looked around the cockpit, taking note of all her belongings. Her eyes were drawn to the concealed hatch in the floor. She got up out of the pilot's seat and opened it, taking the small bundle there and stuffing it inside her bag before slinging the bag over her shoulder. She then checked her blaster, before placing it in the holster strapped to her back.

Anyone could answer the beacon and she had to be prepared for any nasty surprises.

An're returned to her seat and tapped the distress beacon on.

"This is An're Zeehra from the Convor. Does anyone copy?"

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music IC

Spoiler

​

...Gravity...
...Can you...
...Feel me..?
...Mov...ing...

A man…closes his eyes…in his ship.
Behind his eyelids…he sees…visions.
Darkness. Then light. Stars. So bright.
Memories…a galaxy...am I…dreaming..?

SOS
ISS
123.
ABC.
Letters.
Numbers.
What does
It mean?
VCX-100

In the freighter’s cockpit there is music.
It is pleasant to a man as he listens to it.
His seat is craned back as he sits back.
On a console are propped boots black.

"This is An're Zeehra from the Convor. Does anyone copy?"
Someone is in distress? Out in the stars it happens often.
A man remembers; voice in his cockpit is like a whisper.
It opens his ears and opens his eyes. Darkly…go…soften.

Lo—his eyelids flutter open.
He’s awake now. Not broken.
Whether a dream, not scared.
Whether it is even nightmare.

Hmm, a woman’s voice.
Thinks the man’s voice.
Within his head, that is.
Internal monologue, his.

“Yes, I am receiving you.”
Speaks calmly. Grins too.
Can’t see him being rude.
A man like him is yet true.

When it comes to women, that is.
Bored, he is; queue a lady’s voice.
Breaks a silence by music’s noise.
No one to talk to; he can’t resist.

However, this man knows one thing.
That he’s a Sith, she knows nothing.
If she was yet sensitive for the Force.
His signature in it is yet a closed door.

“However, no one else seems to be.”
For they too may have answered quickly.
That means only one man is on the scene.
Adjusting his seat, the man removes his feet.

“This is Drane T’keen of Darkstar.”
Isn’t strictly the name of a Sith ship.
“I fly a light freighter. Are you all right?”
Can only speculate either way. Nice guy?

An're Zeehra

 

[An're Zeehra]

Tag: Drane T'keen

A few minutes passed of silence.

An're closed her eyes and tried her best to reach out in the force. Her rudimentary knowledge rarely allowed her to do much more with the force other than sense things, and even that generally only left her with more unanswered questions.
She could feel a faint hum of life from the nearby planet, but that wouldn't be of any help. There was nothing else. Frustrated, she kicked at the co-pilot seat and watched it spin before settling a few degrees out from its initial position.

Suddenly, the comm channel jumped to life.

"Yes, I am receiving you."

A male voice rang out from the cockpit speakers.

"However, no one else seems to be."

He was right. There was nothing else coming through but his voice. If An're wanted help, it would seem that this man was her only choice.

"This is Drane T'keen of Darkstar. I fly a light freighter. Are you all right?"

He sounded nice enough.

"I'm having some engine trouble, I just need some help so I can land and fix it properly."

An're chose her words carefully. She was painfully aware that this man was the only life form around, and the last thing she needed was to sound desperate and put herself completely at his mercy, no matter how nice his voice sounded.
She subconsciously tapped her back where her blaster was, double checking it was still there.

"The cooling system is failing and my engines are overheating. I'm worried that if I try to get enough speed up to get to the planet and land, the engines might give up halfway."

Her stomach knotted as she watched the caution light blink rythmically. She wondered to herself which danger scared her more, her engine failing, or the stranger sitting in his ship somewhere nearby.

 

[Die Shize]

null

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music IC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

A man speaks in a sophisticated Basic accent of refinement.
It is comparable to Received Pronunciation of British English.
A woman speaks in an accent but her voice he finds delicate.
Out in space, the last passerby had been just a man in a ship.

She sounded nice enough.
Trouble with engines, is it?
He heard no lies in drums.
His ears—as music hums.

A lady speaks of her problems.
Overheating. Cooling system.
She has more than one then.
Will a Sith be more or less?

“It does sound like a pickle.”
Calm voice to keep her calm.
A Sith—but this one isn’t fickle.
Taps buttons, console at palms.

“But, by the stars, I’m here to get you out of it.”
With that, scenarios play in the mind of a Sith.
A name is a name. What species? And her face?
He was curious—could go for a game to play.

“Well, best send me your position then, ma’am.”
He would sit at the ready with two good hands.
“Four hands can patch your ship back on track.”
Then, maybe, two, not one, would in turn land.

Once An’re’s position was relayed to Drane
He would move his ship and make his way
Over to her position to help in her situation
Unless this narration leads to her damnation.

An're Zeehra

 

[An're Zeehra]

Tag: Drane T'keen

"It does sound like a pickle."

Normally a phrase like that would sound sarcastic, but Drane spoke calmly, his accent radiating a sense of wealth and authority. An're guessed he must be from a central planet, or at least one with money. Something about his voice drew her in, made her want to trust him.

All the more reason to be wary.

"But, by the stars, I'm here to get you out of it. Well, best send me your position then, ma'am."

A gentleman, it would seem. An're sent her coordinates, and was rewarded with a satisfying ding! from the ship's console. Drane seemed eager to help, and An're, perhaps naively, was ready to accept it.

Her mind flicked back to her childhood, years spent hiding in nooks and crannies of the ship, staying out of sight. Don't trust anyone. Stay out of sight.
Everything comes at a price.

An're listened to the silence in the cockpit, waiting for her new acquaintance to arrive. What would be the price of this favour?
She checked her blaster one last time.

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music OOC

Spoiler

​

And, like that, arrives a man.
Darkstar, though, is her name.
The name of a man’s ship, Drane.
Light freighter, settles it, opens hatch.

The docking tube connects the two.
A man walks it calmly but purposefully.
Must not delay given he is on a mission.
Her ship needs him given its condition.

Convor, she is called.
Rhymes with Endor.
Rhymes with Andor.
Rhymes with condor.
Rhymes with concord.
Moving…moving along.

Another hatch at the end of the walkway.
A man is bidden entrance and he steps in.
Boots tip-tapping more than click-clacking.
He moves on, in Convor, a man, a carnivore.

A man stands all in black.
Jacket, boots and pants.
Gold trimming though.
Namely on his coat.

A lady might yet first see
A gentleman’s countenance.
On his face, his lips are thin.
Corners upturned as if smiling.

Subtly, naturally, gentlemanly.
A mouth’s corners can peak.
A narrow face, slim, cheeks
Are hollow; a pointed beak.

A man’s eyebrows are black.
Angled like blades of scimitars.
Beneath the brows there are
His eyes. Bold—black and gold.

A man’s skin is like charcoal.
Like a grey night for a storm.
He is a black knight, a bold
Man, a Black Swordsman.

Thin, athletic, don’t let his
Elven figure fool you, no.
His lips curve like a bow.
Arrows behind can kiss.

A man’s ears are like blades.
‘Knife Ears’, some may say.
If they did, it was a mistake.
Drane, well, he lives to slay.

Has the ears of an elf.
He is a Sephi as well.
Long black curly hair.
Highlight of silver bare.

“An’re Zeehra, I take it.
And I am Drane T’keen.”
A man looks at a woman.
What does that man see?

"Let's get right to it then."
He claps his hands at that.
"Engines first, I do reckon."

An're Zeehra

 

[An're Zeehra]

Tag: Drane T'keen

An're waited for the docking tube to lock into place between the two freighters. The gentle hum of Darkstar only emphasized the unhealthy groaning and clanging from the Convor. An're leaned on the wall next to the doorway, willing the ship to hang on. Just a bit longer.
Once the docking tube was in place, An're pushed the button, opening the doors of the Convor.

Stars.

Walking towards her was a tall, thin man. His skin was a deep charcoal grey, and it seemed to almost glitter in the light, as if he was made of silver. He had long curly black hair, with a small tuft of silver highlight. An're couldn't help but want to touch it. She had seen plenty of humans and humanoid beings with hair before, of course, but his looked impossibly soft and shiny. His hair was about the only soft thing about his appearance, though. Everything else seemed... pointy.
He had sharp cheekbones, pointy black eyebrows, and long, knife-like ears. His thin lips were upturned, giving him the appearance of smiling, or possibly smirking.
And then there were his eyes. They were both impossibly dark black, and bright gold.

An're couldn't help but stare, taking in his features as he walked towards her. She had never seen anyone who looked even remotely similar before, and he was breathtaking.

He was dressed in all black, with gold trimmings on his long coat. Compared with An're's simple, utilitarian outfit of a long-sleeved high neck top, combat style trousers and chunky boots, Drane looked as if he had stepped out of a fairytale. An're suddenly felt the need to straighten herself out. She patted her head scarf, making sure it was sitting straight, and pushed both her lekku behind her back.

The two couldn't have looked more different. An're was slim but all softness, from her soft rounded features to the curves of her lekku hanging behind her shoulders. Drane was sharp, athletic.
Beautiful.

"An're Zeehra, I take it.
And I am Drane T'keen."

"Y-yes." An're managed to blurt out. "Pleased to meet you".

"Let's get right to it then." Drane clapped his hands, pulling An're out of the trance she seemed to be stuck in.

"Engines first, I do reckon."

"Yes. Engines." The young twi'lek shook herself and turned around, waving her hand to indicate for Drane to follow her.

"This way."

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music OOC

Spoiler

​

Violet.
Violent.
That man.
The woman.

The girl has purple skin.
A voice of a young lady.
Looks younger than me.
Maybe nineteen. Sixteen.

Drane T’keen is taken to women.
But a man like him has his limits.
This young woman could be a kid.
But can kill her if need be, this Sith.

The lady pushes both her lekku back.
Before her stands and watches a man.
Watching neither her lekku nor a hand.
Eyes into eyes. Grey into gold and black.

Whatever shall become of you, I wonder?
His black hair, silver whisper, against lekku.
Purple, a stark contrast for dark, blends too.
Twi’lek indeed against a less obvious species.

Drane T’keen is a Thyrsian from Thyrsus.
Drane is Thyrsian and he is also a Sephi.
Drane thinks thus while pinching his chin.
As the Twi’lek kid struggles and stumbles.

Stuttering forth her words as words curve.
In a Sith’s head but, besides, in a warrior’s.
Of the red sun, this Sith is one, Red Warrior.
Thyrsian, in battle born, a Black Swordsman!

“Yes. Engines.”
Good. As bidden.
Listening’s important.
For children, he reckons.

Already Drane is wondering after the lone girl.
Is she wandering alone so far from her world?
The young Twi’lek shook herself and turned
Around, waving for Drane to in turn follow her.

As is commanded.
He is yet a servant.
He is a Sith Knight.
And he lives to fight.
But more than that.
Is a passionate man.
Of arts, has passion.

On the way, they’re walking.
Down corridors and turning.
“Just you on this ship then?”
Asking as he turns his head.

They arrive at the engine room.
Drane hears the hum of music.
The music of the very starship.
Gestures his hand. “After you.”

A man can be polite.
Even toward the Jedi.
However, they’re neither.
Man, girl, to one another.

They are nothing more.
They were nothing less.
As she opens the door.
The man is further led.

“Do you like music, An’re?”
Drane asks without looking at her.
His eyes dance over here and further.
Over there, searching, and in no real hurry.

“I work better with a calm violin...for instance...”
Will be sublime if she has speakers on her ship.
Either way, together they check its condition.
At terminal, Drane analyzes engine systems.

“That power cell there has all but exploded.”
He points his finger at the screen he opened.
“Need to replace it quickly.” He speaks calmly.
“Cooling tubes too. Don’t want chemical spills.”

Starship engines were powerful constructions.
Heart of a ship, like the beating heart of a sun.
It isn’t good when a starship’s engine blows up.
Yet, to get the job done, they had the equipment.

An're Zeehra

 

[An're Zeehra]

Tag: Drane T'keen

The pair walked down the halls of the Convor, An're walking in front with her mysterious companion following behind. An're could feel his presence behind her, not through the force, but as if he hung in the air around her. He walked with a confidence that can only come from experience. Experience that An're clearly didn't have.

"Just you on this ship then?"

An're kept walking, but the question made her falter slightly. What did that mean?
Was he just asking out of curiosity? Or was it something else?
Was he trying to find out if she had anyone to protect her? An're imagined his eyes darting around the ship, trying to work out if there was anything valuable enough to take. One twi'lek on her own wouldn't be able to stop him. Not even a competition. Was he waiting for his opportunity to pounce on her and leave her with an empty ship? Or would he go further than that, make sure there was no one left to tell what he'd done?

"Yes, just me. I was on my way to meet up with a friend when the ship started acting up."

A friend. Someone was waiting for her. They would notice if she went missing.
A lie, but how was he to know that?

They reached the engine room, and Drane waved his hand to indicate to her to go first. An're studied his face for a second before obeying.

The room was hot, further evidence of the rapidly failing cooling system. The lights blinked on upon their entry into the room, flickering slightly before steadying to a pale yellow light.

"Do you like music, An're?"

Music wasn't something she had a lot of experience with. Occasionally her parents would land on a planet with a cantina and spend the evening there, and while her parents sat for hours at the sabacc tables or drinking the strange coloured drinks that she never understood, An're would listen to the band playing. She liked that. But she wasn't sure that was the answer he was looking for.

"I... yes, I suppose."

"I work better with a calm violin...for instance..."

Drane stood at the terminal, reading the list of damages to the ship. An're went to a different terminal on the wall, tapping away at the holo channels before she settled on one playing a calming melody. Sounded more like piano than violin, but it was something to fill the silence.

"How's that?"

Drane listed the jobs that quickly needed doing to the ship. His calm, melodic voice was complimented by the music playing in the background, and An're felt as though she could listen to him speak for days. She watched his hands dance across the terminal, checking the readings. The light in the engine room wasn't very good, and it made his deep grey skin look almost black.

The two began work on the ship, the twi'lek digging through the tools thrown haphazardly into a small box in the corner of the room, taking out anything they needed.

"So-" An're cleared her throat, looking up at Drane from where she was crouched on the floor. "Where are you from?"

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music IC

Spoiler

​

And, like that, music plays in the head of one man. In the ship he’s in, that music permeates like a feather on skin. It penetrates like a whisper in the ear. Punctuates like words in a chorus of chords.

Harmony off the keys plays for Drane T’keen. A piano, melody at the mercy of fingertips, breathing yet O so breathless. Like bells, like chimes, that finger’s strike, tapping across the keyboard as though dancing feet.

The moments are oceans in Drane’s mind, in his soul, flying and swimming in seas of memories. He remembers home, he remembers her, and a fire in the cold. Standing in the middle of the room, alone, by firelight embers.

There’s noise, it’s a girl’s voice, and even in their temple it makes the boy tremble. Down memory lane, it fades away from Drane in an instant, the very moment before the boy and the girl begin to kiss.

A man’s eyes blink beneath pale yellow light. He’s on his knees, sailing away from fantasy back into reality, whether Drane wants to remain within it or not. The face he sees is a girl’s, like his girlfriend’s had been, all those suns and moons ago. An echo…

“...I…I…” Now it is a Sith’s turn to stumble. Trembling… A tool is in the man’s hand, it has a purpose, he knows how to use it, but suddenly he can barely think. Memories… To the sound of a feathery violin.

“...Thyrsus.” He answers, hoping she had not noticed his moment of distraction. Daydreaming for even a second could lead to forgetting when it had even happened. “I was born and raised in the city but I was no gutter rat. My parents were veterans, woman and man, father and mother; of war and pain they knew intimately.”

He fidgets with this and fiddles with that. "And how to provide a child with a loving family." Neither fidgeting nor fiddling, moving magic hands. He’s no repairman but experienced enough with fixing his own ship that Drane translates the same from his ship to her ship.

“Can you pass me that widget, please?”

He asks on his knees but he is not necessarily begging for it. From the widget would come a whozitwotzit wrench–a-ma-thing-jig and then an electronic pulse actuator to fix the ion modulator attached to the isodyne interface and tethered to the isolinear relay for the something something multi-phasic temporal convergence in the space-time continuum something or other.

“We’ll need to deal with these cooling tubes first, basically, otherwise we fry the other components and go the way of the dodo in a moment.”

In the heat, Drane wipes sweat from his brow, deciding it’s time to take the jacket off now. He has a plain T-Shirt underneath as white as a sheet and his arms are as dark as his face.

“And you? Where are you from? Where are you flying to?”

Drane’s gaze does not meet An’re’s face as he begins applying pliers. A violent being, although he speaks slowly, as steady as a bow gliding gracefully across the strings of a violin.

An're Zeehra

 

[An're Zeehra]

Tag: Drane T'keen

Drane stuttered as he answered An're's question, as if it had brought back a memory that he would rather not think about. An're thought that was odd. Throughout the whole exchange Drane had been calm, collected, completely unbothered even by the ship that was falling apart around him.

She didn't react to his moment of hesitation, but something about it almost made her feel comforted. So, he wasn't as flawless as he would like her to believe.

Thyrsus.
An're turned the word over in her mind, but it didn't bring back any memories. She didn't know anything about it.

"I was born and raised in the city but I was no gutter rat. My parents were veterans, woman and man, father and mother; of war and pain they knew intimately."

She glanced at Drane's face for a second as he said this. He told his story with a neutral expression, his moment of hesitation a moment earlier all but forgotten. An're couldn't help but think of her own parents. Loving is not exactly the word she would use to describe her upbringing, although she always felt as though it would be wrong to complain about it too much. After all, she had seen enough of the galaxy to know it could have been a lot worse. She had seen plenty of children with abusive parents, or without parents at all. Compared to that her own childhood seemed pleasant enough, although she generally had to find things to entertain herself.

"Can you pass me that widget, please?"

An're obliged, passing the tool over with the handle facing towards Drane. She dug through the toolbox until she found a spanner and set to work on the cooling tubes.

"And you? Where are you from? Where are you flying to?"

"I'm not really from anywhere. My parents travel a lot, so I spent most of my childhood on a ship. We had a base on Corellia but I wouldn't really call that home."

That was the easy part. Talking about her childhood was fine, and she was vague enough that she didn't really have to reveal too much. But where was An're heading?

"And where I'm going... let's just say I'm trying to... find myself."

That was one way to put it.

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music IC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

Music…
Why do you do it?
A man asks himself.
Violin—a piano, too.

Like the strings of a universe, if a universe can curve—instruments sing words.
A guilty conscience, a man has, for those left so alone and far behind his back.
His parents, they were safe and okay, for a Sith Champion, their son, ensured it.
But…what about her? Where was the Marshal’s daughter? The girl who was his?

Pain, a Sith knows, even—and especially Drane.
She was gone, long ago, but he holds her name.
Like he holds his tools or even the necks of fools.
A Sith, a warrior, must ever be a dragon and a bull.

A girl speaks and a man listens. An’re mentions that her parents travel a lot, across the stars, grasping the hand of their daughter as they carry her further—or crushing the hand.

Drane, he’s both too old and too young to have children, he reckons, and wouldn't even know what to do with them. Yet, he ever remembers when his collective took in stray children, raised them under the blades, raised them to…slay.

An’re speaks, Drane thinks, wondering what a guy’s life would be like growing up in the space between worlds rather than living under one sun. Like all the warriors in the temple murals…

He blinks himself out of it, breathing in the breeze of a daydream yet again. Drane twists his wrist, loosens that and this, gestures his hand to An’re for her to pass him a cooling tube. Fingers curve, Drane pulls out a dying light, a spared rod, spent and gone, replaces with a bright light, too.

Hands move to that piano’s tune.
A piano makes room for the violin.
Fingers glide the bow, sweet string.
Fair as hair, strings of time, of space.
Heartbeats on strings glide like waves.
Gentle, soothing—not thudding, violent.
O violin, how serene your sound, whisper.
Drifting like a leaf in wind or leaf on water.
Yours is the breath of an ocean and a stream.
A chorus of a universe—if one can ever dream.

“That is ever the adventure, isn’t it?”
He might have finished with ‘kid’ but left it. Whoever this young lady is, right now she was a girl, a person, to talk to in the middle of nowhere, just a girl with tendrils instead of hair.

“Here is a truth, An’re Zeehra.”
Metal clicks as hands finish one aspect and move onto the next.
“We are all trying to find ourselves. Those who say otherwise are simply idiots.”
In the blood of my enemies, victory will bleed as bright as sunlight.
No time to delay or look away, Drane works further, but the man spares a glance at her, eyes into eyes.
“You never really know yourself until you have been tested to the limits.”
In battle, I bring my enemies to their knees, and their deaths grant me breath, let me breathe!
The engine ticks like a bomb’s tock.
A Sith…knows this…that’s why he…had to leave…
“And the universe knows no limits. It is vicious, insidious. You don’t know yourself until you have truly survived it…”
-Tick-...-Click-...
“Or died trying.”

An're Zeehra

 

[An're Zeehra]

Tag: Drane T'keen

"That is ever the adventure, isn't it?"

From an outside perspective, An're could understand why it sounded like an adventure. Spending your childhood travelling, seeing so many different parts of the galaxy she had lost count. But the truth was that she never really felt like she had seen it, and in the midst of all of the travelling around she had forgotten to pick up a solid identity.

"I'm not sure." She replied, twisting the spanner around in her hands as she spoke. "It sounds fun but I never got to see anything really. Mainly it was just... lonely." Throughout her whole childhood, An're had never really had the chance to make any friends. She was never on one planet long enough to plant roots, and with her parents' shady dealings they had always made it clear that it was better for them for An're to keep to herself. Maybe that was why she was so desperate to find herself, and why she clung so tightly to the strange manuscript she found so long ago.

It gave her a purpose.

"Here is a truth, An're Zeehra."

An're bristled at the slight change in Drane's tone.

"We are all trying to find ourselves. Those who say otherwise are simply idiots."

Their eyes met briefly, but Drane quickly looked away to continue what he was doing.

"You never really know yourself until you have been tested to the limits. And the universe knows no limits. It is vicious, insidious. You don't know yourself until you have truly survived it…"

There was something in Drane's tone that scared An're. His air up until this point had been calm, collected. A little distant perhaps, but who in the galaxy didn't have their secrets? Who didn't have a reason to be fearful to get too close? Something had changed. His words were full of darkness and malice. Drane had a past drenched in a lot more darkness than he was letting on. And An're had a feeling that perhaps he himself was the source of that darkness, the cause of it.

"Or died trying."

They looked into each others' eyes once again, for just a moment. An're felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Then, all of a sudden, the ship gave an almighty shudder. An're stumbled, but stayed on her feet by grabbing onto the edge of a panel on the wall.

The shudder seemed to be the ship's way of kick-starting itself back to life. The sounds that had previously been groaning and wheezing were replaced by a much healthier sounding hum. Whatever laid in this man's past, one thing that An're had to admit was that he had indeed fixed her ship. And she had done embarrassingly little to help the situation. She let out a small giggle that was half nerves at their conversation and half relief at the condition of the ship.

"Well, it sounds like she's doing a lot better. Thank you."

She had a terrible feeling that thank you wouldn't be the repayment her new associate was looking for. And although the question she was about to ask could be a dangerous one, she didn't exactly have much choice.

"What can I do to repay you?"

 

[Drane T'keen]

Music IC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

They looked into each other’s eyes once again, for just a moment.
For just a moment he saw her again those years ago, all those years.
A moment, it stands still, like a star in the distance, or frozen tears.
Time, like a banshee’s cry, like the whine of death; greatest opponent.

In the heat of the engine room, a girl feels a cold shiver run down her spine.
A man, no engineer, no builder or fixer, except to engineer death and pain.
Frozen in time before her, just for a moment, no smile or scowl, dark, bright.
A girl’s face, a Twi’lek, but his girl was Thyrsian, Aurlyn, while the man is Drane.

A moment, trapped in time, like a droplet of wine, red as blood, red sun.
It catches a man off guard, hearkens to the past, long as sunlight’s rays.
A blade, a hilt, a sword is a killer’s hand, he came to hurt, came to slay.
Endless as a boundless ocean, sea of life, or death, bright dark blood.

His eyelids, shutters for the soul’s windows, so soulless, hollow, empty.
He had feeling once, this man named Drane, feelings, for a girl aplenty.
Like sunlight at twilight, like starlight at daylight, that girl was long gone.
Before a man’s face, a girl’s face, time, and he hopes she will yet see dawn.

Words—words were wind, meaningless and as tasteless as a stale kiss.
A moment trapped in time, fading away, treacherous as a snake’s hiss.
Whoever this girl truly is, this Twi’lek named An’re, may she forever live.
May a daughter survive her plight, a drifting journey, moments to relive.

Nonsense, in the end, for amid that soul’s shutters comes that starship’s shudder.
Whatever the hands of the man did and had given, he can hardly even remember.
The moment passes like a leaf in the wind, whose edges are frayed, torn asunder.
Gone as quickly as a snuffed flame, candle’s wick snipped, fading like fire’s embers.

A girl grabs onto the edge of a panel on the wall. Beside her, the distracted man falls.
He braces his descent by grabbing hold of a terminal, feeling its hum, hearing its pur.
Standing on both feet, upright, a Sith Knight by a teen who otherwise means nothing.
Another day or night, he may have crushed her like a bug in the way, as was his curse.

For a moment, though, as the Convor whirs to health, life over death, the man gazes again.
It was all he could do, neither smiling or frowning, remembering or forgetting—gripping.
Silence in his look, quiet as the ship’s rhythm, her thrum, beside piano, violin, in their den.
The ocean, expanse, that darkness of outer space where moments fade away—slipping.

His vision upon her, hers on him, eyes into eyes, the girl speaks, thanking her helper.
For a moment, however, that man is motionless, soundless, hardly aware of his breath.
Thoughts are an echo in his head, as trapped as a bug in its cocoon, like a caterpillar.
Trying to squeeze its way through, into starlight and sunlight, but the butterfly is dead.

Words are wind, the man thinks to himself in the span of a second, like a spanner, a wrench.
Tools in his hands, they helped a stranger fix her ship, but those hands also created death.
He had killed, had tortured, that man named Drane. Only a fool would thank a murderer.
Echoes in eternity, blinding bright, time is a withered sea, memory pale as moonlight, burnt.

"What can I do to repay you?"

Eyes into eyes.
“Survive.”
Hers into his.
“Don’t die.”
It's cryptic.

He steps forward, closing the distance, but it isn’t her and it isn’t him, so like a father to a daughter he moves in without a kiss. He plants a hand, unless she resists, upon her shoulder, and it grips.

“The world, this galaxy, is like an overheating engine just waiting to blow up. Wherever you go, An’re, always remember that everyone and everything around you may explode at any moment. Like time, life and death are both a curse and a gift, and can turn for or against you in the second of a coin flip.”

Nonsense. Meaningless. Words are wind.
Drane… Drane… Drane… I came to slay.
Red sun…red as blood…as red as a Sith.
Carnage. Lust of the grave. I am…Drane.

He looked away, that man like a fading memory, and Drane would walk away unless An’re had something else to say.

An're Zeehra