Private The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree, Huh Kid?

[Ryv]

What once might've been a busy room, formerly the center of the hospital's attention for several weeks, had calmed down in the last few days. The plethora of doctors, nurses, and medical droids flooding into the room slowed to a steady flow, replaced by a much smaller team. No longer in critical condition, the Sword of the Jedi preferred isolation, having only allowed his family to visit him since his doctor cleared him for visitation. If anyone had questions on why he maintained the solitude, no one asked them. Many of the specialists within the facility knew how fragile Ryv's mental state became after coming out of his coma. Betrayed, maimed, and left for dead, the report issued in the wake of his arrival spelled it all out for those nosier individuals. Still, some were curious enough to join the Jedi Knight when he seemed in a better mood, most of which happened to be a few of the younger nurses. They sent the typical questions his way, asking about being a Jedi, what the training entailed, and what it felt like being the face of an Order while being so young. He didn't enjoy the company, but he didn't have the heart to turn those who helped him away.

Just shy of a week from Loske and Maynard's visit, Ryv found his meditations interrupted by a soft knock at his door. He opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of the Bothan nurse, who acted as his primary nurse following his last meltdown. She smiled as she stepped inside, moving to take a seat at the chair beside Ryv's bed.

"Hey there, Ryv, how're you feeling?" Fremil inquired as she sat.

"I'm fine," Ryv answered quickly. "Still getting used to, you know, getting dressed with one hand and stuff, but I'm good."

"Well, if you just let us attach the cy-"

"No," Ryv cut in, his latest answer quicker than the last. "When I'm ready for it, I'll let you know. Besides, there was a particularly cool Jedi Knight who spent the last several years of his life, still fighting Sith tyranny, missing a hand. That sorta thing isn't a requirement for us."

"Well, I obviously can't force you, but that isn't why I'm visiting you this lovely afternoon," she beamed at him, her hand taking hold of the drapes.

"No!"

Fremil tore open the curtains without a second thought, the room flooding with light from the midday sun. It warmed the room almost instantly, forcing away whatever groggy feelings remained in the once-lonely Jedi Knight. She stood back up, hands at her hips triumphantly as she looked down at her most challenging patient yet.

"You have a visitor," she revealed, her hand moving to unclip the datapad from her side. "He said he's a friend of yours."

"Unless its Maynard, I'm not really interested in seeing anyone," he waved a hand, shooting down the idea without hesitation.

"I wouldn't think you'd be one to turn down the Sovereign-Imperator of all people, mister Jedi," she turned the datapad about, revealing a small holoprojection of Tavlar's grizzled face, alongside shifting information denoting the soldier's status and bearing. "Came all the way here, fresh from the war front, to visit you," she stepped towards the door, offering him one last glance over her shoulder as she began to shut the door. "Are you sure you'd like me to tell him you aren't accepting visitors?"

Ryv sighed, rubbing his face with his remaining hand. "No... no! Don't send him away. If the General decided I was worth the time, it wouldn't be wise to let him down. Surely he could be doing something better with that time than visiting a dumbass like me, but it's better I don't piss him off," his words were spoken almost matter-of-factly as if he'd taken to convincing himself of the endeavor. Ryv threw a leg over the side of the bed, and moved towards a small stack of clothes folded up on a smaller table, pushed up into a corner. Slowly, the amputee leafed through each article of clothing, eventually deciding upon an 'Alcoholic Massacre' t-shirt he'd won for placing top three on the leaderboards during a significant solo-raiding event. Throwing it over his head, he managed to squeeze into the shirt before disappearing into the bathroom to clean himself up a bit.

After a couple of minutes, Ryv walked back out into the small space and took a seat at a larger table brought in at his request earlier in the week.

Irveric Tavlar ​

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I R V E R I C _ T A V L A R
I N T E N S I O N

Coruscant. He didn’t anticipate finding himself within this choking, controlled chaos again so soon. He attempted discretion, but that soon calcified into a borderline delusion even as he traveled in a relatively meager escort fitting for his station. A station which had grown in its power and implication dramatically since the last he appeared here.

To say he was polarizing would be a undervalued appraisal of his perception within the Core. Tyrant. Monster. Traitor. Criminal. Nothing he’d never been privy to. Not that he’d ever been a confidant to revelry either.

None of it mattered anyway, Irveric had honed his instinct in ignoring the rabble. He was far too singularly focused on his own distorted path to be swayed by any of it anymore.

He’d recalled the moment he further reconciled with Lanik Dawnstar after the wary alliance between the New Imperials and Galactic Alliance was brokered and although he’d addressed Ryv in commands in Harnaidan, the wayward Sword of the Jedi eluded him otherwise.

The door hissed open in its metallic uniformity to make way for the Sovereign Imperator and unfurl the home Ryv had made for himself in recovery from Borosk. Bitter defeat, were respite not to come so soon in the New Imperial counter offensive on Dubrillion, Irveric might be far worse for ware mentally. He was spread as thin as his own military was they as crept toward the gates of Bastion and worked to contest the rest of the front.

Though he'd survived the fray at Borosk and Dubrillion without any degrading injury save for the cybernetic which was ripped clean from his limb and then replaced with a more sleek and effective prosthetic, a respite in contrast to the crude limb the Sith had grafted to him.

His lone eye was drained, weary. The signs of new scars and scorching from tibanna burns splayed in reddened hues over his skin, a typical sight of the Imperator every time he'd seen combat though at the time of Lanik's funeral he was well rested from the front at Muunilinst.

"Karis...I had heard you were gravely wounded at Borosk...I was not aware of the extent..." He could see the nigh fatal nature spelled in the venue he continued to live in, recalling his own gruesome injuries following Mandalore. Of course, it was fitting they encounter one another in a venue similar to the first they'd met face to face.

"I had mean't to speak to you the last two occasions I'd been dragged to the Core. Be it Unity Day or...laying Lanik Dawnstar to rest, but I could not find the opportunity. A shame, but all the same we've perservered to this point from Mandalore. Most everything everyone has said about you be it within my own ranks or among the Alliance has been glowing and yet...you seem...forlorn." Irveric comments, devoid of most context concerning the Sword.

Ryv

 

[Ryv]

Fingers drummed weakly on the table's surface, the slow-rolling sound meant only to break the silence that fell over the room. Ryv took the seat furthest from the door, his back to the window, attention locked on the wall beside the single entry. His training demanded he maintained a near-constant vigil to ensure no one could enter without him knowing. He failed to maintain his usual alertness in recent days, his mind a mess. Hours dedicated to meditation, yet he couldn't keep his conscious thought from wandering towards Allyson's betrayal, or Loske's apology. Having now endured someone shouldering a burden meant for him, guilt gnawed at his heart. How many times had he hurt those he cared for, only by taking the blame for their mistakes? All of them wanted the best for him, to see him open his eyes and understand the truth of their struggle. It wasn't his problem to face, at least not alone.

Yet, Ryv found himself losing sight of the individual threads that connected him to those he held dear. Loske and Maynard seemed further and further away with each encounter. Bernard still didn't forgive himself for Lanik's death, making further growth with the Arkanian difficult enough, not even factoring in the fact Ryv crippled the solitary Jedi, just as Allyson did him. Auteme hadn't spoken to him in months, understandably. Aaron disappeared, potentially dead and gone. Each day brought a new challenge, a change Ryv wasn't ready to face, one he fell short of every time. It might've been comical even, some storyline he might've laughed at had it been on the holonet, or on a holopad. Unfortunately, it happened to be his life. It made putting one foot in front of the other grew more demanding, approaching a point of impossibility.

Fortunately for the sullen Knight, Ryv's quiet contemplation came to a welcomed end as Tavlar's heavy footfalls announced his approach. Ryv looked up, his arms resting before him on the table as the Sovereign-Imperator strode into the room. The Jedi Knight offered a nod, silent as the war veteran appraised the young soldier's wounds.

"These are the effects of war, General," Ryv's voice lacked the mirth it bore even in Sith custody. "You know this better than anyone," his gaze jumped from the beskar horn protruding from the human's forehead to the cybernetic limb, not unlike what the doctor's provided the Kiffar weeks earlier.

What Tavlar said next felt like a blow all its own. To everyone around them, Ryv stood for something higher than any one man. A pillar among the Jedi, he led from the front, lightsaber held high, hope a constant companion. To the Alliance's forces, he represented a time nearly forgotten. Few Jedi waded through an open warzone, pushing through the trenches beside the common man or woman brought to service. Maybe a handful of Jedi could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Jedi Generals of old, making Ryv an asset to what the Galactic Alliance meant to the galaxy at large. Even the Imperials of the Imperator's New Order couldn't deny the sense of strength the Jedi Knight exuded. While he was no Imperial Knight, no stormtrooper could hate the man who willingly risked his life for them.

"I guess it's been harder than I thought it be. I've experienced loss, and I've lived through defeat," Ryv explained, his fingers still weakly beating down. "I didn't think I'd get through this war unscathed, hell, I still fully expect to die. I just," he sighed, eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed in clear-cut frustration. "I didn't think the person I loved most would do this to me, General. She took my hand, she betrayed our people, our home, and our fight, but... I just... fuck, man," his hand found its way to his face, blocking out the world once more.

"Why?" Ryv asked through choking sobs. "Why wasn't I enough?"

Irveric Tavlar ​

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

The Kiffar was quick to spill his sentiment between him and the Sovereign Imperator. It wasn’t anything that really surprised him at initial thought. He assumed Ryv might’ve been able to leave her for longer than he’d been staying. But he didn’t, he wanted to use whatever time he could coop up within these sterile walls as a respite from obligation, responsibility.

Certainly Tavlar had led stormtroopers of the One Sith into battle at his age, he understood what it took to brave war even then. The mettle, the tenacity. But it was never the victories that shone through, only the bitter defeats. He never mulled over the sight of the Imperial crest in its monolithic gallantry flowing freely over Harnaidan, only those wretched screams, those stinging wounds, those forsaken souls at Borosk. That was what was stamped permanently in his psyche.

With the burden of responsibility Ryv commanded, he could only admire the Jedi. Perhaps now Irveric might impart some line of wisdom unto Karis, but that would only last so long.

“No.” Irveric stated outright before immediately following it up in words enveloped with coldness.

“This is all good. You experienced loss and defeat...good, you’re stronger for it. Your lover betrayed you...good, you know who to trust, you know who values you as much as you do them. You twist these wounds deeper yourself, you'll be no better for it.” Tavlar said, fully aware that Ryv might not register his sentiment well at all. All the same, he continued.

“You’re enough, you’re enough because you’re still breathing, you’re still alive. None of the rest of it matters, Karis. You're still upright, you still hold your convictions. That's what matters. So long as you're alive, you have the means to make right on all of it. If you fall short you get up and try again. Whatever you lost along the way, you fought for and earned that right to keep going. All the same, you take ownership of yourself, those around you. That will make you " The Sovereign Imperator iterates.

"I understand though, what it all means. Love isn't so simply cast aside. As rewarding as it can be in its fruition, it can be so insidious in its control, its warping of your judgement." He knew better than most.

"I know because I'd had the very same, the woman I care about had fallen herself, to the darkness. In spite of all my years protecting her from it. Betrayal, deceit. All the same, I continue forward." To dwell on what he could've done differently would've just stopped him in his tracks all the same. He was far more resolute than that.

"You must do the same, continue to be the man you are. You live in spite of all of this, remember that." Irveric iterates.

Ryv