Private That Which We Serve

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | MIV Ironsides, Hyperspace

Memories, long entombed within the shadowy depths of Coruscant's many levels, fluttered like fleeting phantoms across Adelle's face—each flicker peeled back the already frayed curtain, revealing a path carved of terrible loss and profound guilt.

Perhaps that was the reason Itzhal turned away when he did, towards the inert plate of beskar that formed the doorway, utterly unremarkable if not for what lingered behind it, somewhere deeper within the ship's bowels.

Armour-clad and stoic, he stood, a sentinel as quiet as the Mandalorian Iron that encased the chamber, firm, unyielding but not unkind. He'd been many things in his life: monster, hero, hunter, but perhaps more than any other, a shelter to those who needed it. Words did not cross his mind, no further wisdom spilt from his lips, only the quiet assurance that he was here as he stared off into the distance. Sometimes silence spoke louder than any platitude.

But mayhaps, if he were a little more honest with himself, most importantly, it allowed him to ignore the haunting expression of bittersweet fondness that split across her lips and shimmered in the corner of her eyes. He had no answers for the spectres of the past.

Even when it came to the spectres of the now, all he could offer was a temporary solution.

"It is not ideal," he conceded, taking a purposeful step towards the dimly lit doorway, the metal plates clacking beneath his weight. "But if we're fortunate, it may serve as a stopgap until we can uncover a more permanent solution."

His heavy boots struck the ground with a sharp rasp as he came to an abrupt stop, his gaze drifting back towards Adelle, concern etched across his furrowed brow, he inquired, "Would other members of the Iron Wolves be able to assist in the matter, or do you fear that whatever you have uncovered is," he flexed his hand, a swirling motion that nonetheless failed to pluck the words from his mouth as seconds ticked past, before eventually he settled on, "infectious. Do they have to see the trick, or does merely knowing about it risk them?"

Tags: Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

M.I.V. Ironsides
Tags: Itzhal Volkihar

Not ideal. Many things in her life had been far less than just ‘not ideal.’ Not ideal just meant it wasn’t the best solution possible. But it was a solution. Adelle pushed herself to standing, picking up her buy’ce and hooking it to her belt.

“It’s something and that’s better than nothing,” she said, stretching her arms out in front of her. His question about enlisting others of the Iron Wolves made her pause. Infectious, she wasn’t sure about. Halcyon’s reaction hadn’t exactly inspired confidence in sharing the information—Adelle couldn’t recall hearing anything about the veil from Halcyon as a warning prior to boarding the Ironsides. Not that they were close enough to have casual conversations outside working in the medbays but still. Not a peep.

“I’m… honestly not sure,” she said slowly. “I’ve already talked to someone else that knows about it and before I asked her directly, she said nothing about it. At the very least, it’s not something I’m willing to risk. I’ve dealt with the… side effects this sort of thing causes before. I’d rather not expose other warriors to it right before we go to war.”

She walked past him to the beskar door—fething Hells, a door made of beskar—and keyed it open. “Mind leading the way?”