Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Dance

Naboo
First Annual Protectorate Ball
Camp Lanthala - Protectorate Base Outside Theed



Moonlight would stream down in silver rays, casting it's sheen upon the Protectorate military came through the gate. This would occur throughout Protectorate Space in hundreds of venues -- some in high security military bases, while others would have the luxury of utilizing a far more lax venue.

With Naboo being so close to Confederate Space, and in the wake of the increasing threat of the One Sith, it was understandable that the Protectorate Day ball would open it's doors at Camp Lanthala. However, what would differentiate this one is that while others would have the Lord and Lady Protector cast their welcoming and celebratory speech via holo-recording, here on Naboo, they would beheld the Lady Protector's tangible presence.

There, with a small smile that lit her lightly tanned face, stood Cira bedecked in a slinky navy blue dress that would softly hug her shape. Modest at first glance, there was nothing too overt or scandalous -- that is, until she would turn to the side. That is when the soft expanse of the curve of her back would be bare for all to see, the fabric of the dress scalloping right at the low of her back. The most daring of ensembles one would have ever seen the Lady Protector wear.

It suited her, such a contradiction of modesty with bold daring. One would wonder why she chose this particular dress.

Too bad that those who were aware of her type of humor were neither present nor alive.

What manner of thoughts she had in regards of her escort would be carefully hidden away in that familiar expression of welcome and cordial greeting.

Not a single word had been directed at Sergeant Major [member="Sarge Potteiger"] 's direction.

At least not yet.
 
Nobody said it was easy....

Elegant as ever, she was. An exquisitely curved vixen pulled straight from the angels of his nightmares. A gloved hand lifted, fingers curling inward as the soft fabric brushed its way across his cheek, half a day stubble providing friction that reminded him, somehow, of his own imperfections. He'd helped build this nation, brick by brick, blaster by blaster.

He was even aware of his own reputation in regards to the inclusion of this world. It didn't take a genius to figure that one out. Where had the Sergeant Major been the entire time they were trying to protect to the Queen? Who knew, but he was there to cast judgement upon the gathered masses by the end. Some had said he'd been there the whole time, waiting to see if he'd been needed.

Others presumed he'd been running late.

No one thought he'd been buying a home in Lake Country. Just how he liked it, well and true.

No one ever said it would be so hard...
Clasping his hands in the small of his back, broad shoulders and chest constricted by the tight fabric of his dress blacks, he fought the urge to adjust that damnable collar as he stood behind the Lady Protector like the stalwart guardian he'd always been. It took every last ounce of his considerable self control to avoid staring at the exposed flesh of her back which curved tantalizing outward into a rounded...

He shook his head to banish the thoughts, as no good would come of them. No good like the vase that had shattered against the wall of her home, or the lamp that had followed suit. A frown crossed those weathered but shaved features, black eyes furrowing as thought became evident in their abyss.

Just take me back to the start.
[member="Cira"]
 
Tell me your secrets...

There was a routine to it all. An expected scene that had normally played out during her tenure as the Lady Protector. Social events like this were not her cup of tea, the woman desired a level of privacy and that shard of icy fear at the claustraphobia of so many people crowding her would resonate in the back of her mind.

However, that wasn't part of the role she was expected to play. Cira, the Lady Protector, would elegantly conduct the role of Head of State. She would be cordial and follow decorum. She would smile politely in greeting, call them by rank and name and welcome them to the Protectorate ball.

But she wasn't ever truly comfortable in such a public role. Ironic for a woman who forged the Protectorate from a Private Military Company with the help of others. She disliked the public figure, but someone had to lead. Someone had to step into those shoes.

Things were so much easier when it had been Tegaea, Ayden, and her together. Complimented each other. Funny how things go...

...And ask me your questions.

A deep breath would fill her lungs, and she gave yet another cordial smile. The distant strains of melodic music would soon come streaming from the grand hall where the revelers would enjoy the remainder of the ball. Cira's duty, for the moment, would be placed on hold while everyone found their seats.

Gold eyes would pan their way to the stoic guardian at her back, and she finally took a moment to truly let her attention fall upon him. She'd been avoiding it since he'd appeared, and to be frank, for a few seconds she had not recognized him. At least, not until she she saw those familiar glittering voids framed by that expression of smugness at her brief shock -- that the half joke of accepting him as an escort to the ball on the condition of him shaving had actually been met. The bastard.

Running in circles...

With the stragglers of the ball now moving inside, they would be left to their own affairs, at least for the moment. Seconds would tick as she took a few moments to study him. It was certain that the full beard aged him; without it, the years would shed from his hardened face to reveal a much younger visage. One baring the scars of a lifetime in the trenches, scattered as pock marks of shrapnel along one side of his face. These were normally hidden behind the thick shaggy beard he normally wore, but now would be stark against the cut of his jaw, where the brief five o'clock shadow would already attempt to reclaim what had been lost, the tangled dark veins testifying his ordeal on Dagobah stark now against the skin of his neck.

...coming in tails.

She had no realized how young he was -- granted, in comparison to her own age, anyone would be. But that was neither here nor there, for it was not information she relayed publicly. Mind would wander and before she knew it, her eyes would lock once more upon his own. Awkward tension would ensue, and that crown of auburn would turn away to face the direction of the ball in itself.

...Heads on a science apart.
Ever so slowly, she would began her slow amble towards it with a slow hip rolling fashion. Her hair would start to softly sway with each step, until suddenly she would cast her gaze over her shoulder. Her profile turning towards his, one would wonder if in a dare. A contradiction of facets.

"Are you coming or not?"



 
I had to find you...

There was a pause to his attentions, a haunted look to his eyes, as if he knew exactly what he'd done to her in the solitude of her own home. She was a woman of power and means, driven and secure in her accomplishments. He was a man of strength and skill, driven only when ordered and secure only in the sanctity of the squeeze of a life-ending trigger pull.

So little pressure for such a large undertaking. A single chisel strike to collapse the mountain. As ever, his observant gaze lingered only ever so briefly on his target - her - before traversing the much thinned crowd of attendees. Two soldiers, likely not the partying type or, more likely voluntold they had post tonight closed the gate behind the last of them. They'd be manning the wall this eve, even as soldiers not unlike himself busied themselves manning enough alcohol to drown a small town.

That brought a sigh from his lips, even as those orbs of midnight black settled onto hers again, as expressive as ever in his need to say something but restraining himself.

Expressive eyes weren't normally something one would associate with someone like him, but he'd spent so much time covering it that his eyes were all that were left to convey emotion. A furrow of the brow, a downward cast to the edges where time was just starting to chisel away at the tautness of his skin. All of it was a roadmap to a complex and winding pathway known to many as Sarge.

Tell you I need you...
Oh, but he did. As many times as he'd been to Zeltros, he'd never truly gambled. But here he stood before the ultimate prize, no ace in the hole and a crummy hand. Poker faces had never been his strong suit. How did you pierce the veil? He wasn't sure. She was changing, as sure as the seasons molded the summers breeze into winter's bite, but who was to say this wasn't her being vindictive?

He didn't like not knowing. He needed control. Knowledge.
She would never give him the former. She may yet give him some passing form of the latter.

Three words hung from the end of his lips, dangling on the precipice of life and death, clinging with white knuckles to the safety of that which remained unspoken. A simple push was all it would take and they'd tumble, forever scattered upon the basin of her ears, a shattered mess of feeling that would require no small amount of clean up.

Tell you I'll set you apart...
Her sultry voice, as enthralling as ever, pulled him from the caverns of his own mind. Head lifting and turning, dark eyes made darker by the way the moon shadowed the brim of his cover, he gave a slow nod. "I'm right behind you." He says firmly. Just as he'd always been.
 
Nobody said it was easy...

There was something about Sarge Potteiger. He didn't just occupy space; he saturated it. It was an odd sensation -- or maybe familiar? It was hard to determine at times, even harder to digest it. It was as familiar to her as it was strange, no longer the void in the Force he'd once been. Now she could sense the breath of him. Awareness. That blasted awareness.

Her shoulders rose as she took another breath, a hint of a cordial smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she would continue to walk. All the while, she would cast hidden glances at the corner of her eye at him. Centuries of observing others had its merits and boons, her ability to catch the smallest of details with her intellectual mind. It was much like Sarge's own ability, albeit his was more towards determine the best method of providing the killing blow.

She gave a sigh. This was going to be a long night.

No one ever said it would be so hard...

More glances would be spared, registering what she could from under the shadow of his cover. There was something about his expression that relayed there was more than met the eye. Subtle nuances over the angular features. He'd mentioned in his letters he was from a planet called Terra -- the name eluded her and despite her best efforts curiosity would bloom.

Like he knew it would.

"I'm right behind you." He says firmly.

She cast a glance at his direction. He didn't say, Just as I've always been.

And she didn't say, Not always.

That tension would grow. He had something else to say. She could sense it, much like every other time where he'd sit in her office or at the lake house where his thoughts ran as deep as the Nine Hells in itself. The only thing out of the ordinary was that for once, he held it back. it was in those non-verbal conversations, where they say all those things they didn't say with their mouths and instead said it with their eyes.

It would continue. Ambling along, Corellian gold would linger upon him for a moment as she didn't say, What is this? Nexu caught your tongue?

Her head would pan forward there after, a cordial smile sent shining to Pyre officers sending a passing greeting.
 
The attention they received could not be more different. On one hand a beloved public figure, capable of inspiring fanatical loyalty from the oldest serving members of their cause. On the other hand, a quiet, unassuming man with a chestful of ribbons, easily the most decorated soldier in the Protectorate. Hers was an adoration. His was a respect mingled with a twinge of fear.

If he'd shot the Lady, nothing was stopping him now. Especially if he was trailing in her wake, uniform as crisp and polished as it had ever been during his tenure as her guard. There was something about this kind of attention, when he wasn't secure behind his armor and masks, that made him wish he had a weapon. This was what he got for being on her arm, however.

He'd asked for it.

He'd wished for it.

It was his price to pay.

Heads on a science apart...
A weight settled atop his chest, that familiar imparting of wordless information trickling down his spine like the cool rush of water. What aren't you saying?

His features cast themselves downward, mind recoiling inward as he fought the impulse to simply blurt out what he wanted to say. This was far too public. She would be far too taken aback. Tonight was for her to put on a show, shake hands, give out smiles and quiet words of confidence and praise. Nowhere in that careful mental schedule did 'Sarge's feelings' get stenciled in.

Nothing you'd want to know. His eyes locked on hers, then drifted away.

...I was just guessing at numbers and figures.
His attention thus back to the crowds, he was suddenly giving faint nods of his head and a few shakes of the hand as he passed by people he knew. Or, in some cases, people who knew of him. It made him uncomfortable, but it was flattering all the same. Yet, despite all this, he couldn't get the woman in the low-backed dress out of his mind.

The physical proximity didn't help, but she was a cipher. A code. Every line translated meant another to go, and the key always seemed to be changing. Evolving. In the same manner as a virus, she'd embedded herself within his system and was proving impossible to root out. But a virus implied he didn't want this. That he should be fighting it.

But he wasn't. He'd surrendered long ago. She was an enigma in many of the ways he was, and perhaps that was what had him gravitating towards her time and again.

Pulling your puzzles apart....
 
"Sometimes the greatest journey,
...Is the distance between two people."

They'd soon come to a stop that would overlook the vast assortment of assigned tables and bars. Out towards the right, bedecked in all its finery would be the seat placement for the Lady Protector and her escort, along with the rest of the higher level appointments. The local Exarch had decided to join them, and invitations to the Queen had also been given.

For now, however, everyone was to make way to their seats. There would be speeches a plenty, one Cira was sure to present, but following that would come the normal pomp and circumstance of traditions that would echo throughout Protectorate Space on this very day.

No words would cross between them. None had to. She understood them regardless.

Questions of science..

Or at least, as much as her mind may make her believe so. Things were a bit more logical for her. Numbers and figures.

Science and progress...

They were far more easier to understand and comprehend than that which hid behind the veil of obsidian night. It made her an uneasy, jumbled set of nerves. Every fiber of her being warning her to not push, to not dig deeper. But perdition her blasted curiosity! It frustrated her as much as it intrigued her. Nerves propelled her forward, a bit faster than she'd intended. A half step would send her in a slight stumble at his direction, swaying to the right as she attempted to regain her balance.

Heat would rush along her length as hands came up to find purchase, one landing upon the brawn of his arm. Gold eyes shot up, widening as they caught his.

Do not speak as loud as my heart.
 
Oh, you're a hard one...

As they'd crossed the threshold, Lady Protector to the fore, he'd been so engrossed in thought as to neglect to remove his cap. His eyes were alive, making threat assessments on everyone in the room. Likely places for sharpshooters were figured, and he had already calculated four structural weak points that were the most probably targets for any explosives.

It kept his mind active.

It kept it off her.

The void shifted, glistening as it drank in the sight of so many people, and then it seemed to retract, as if afraid of where they'd be seated. But again, he'd signed up for it. This was what he wanted; or so he kept telling himself. His damnable mind couldn't stop second guessing itself, and it drove him to wit's end some days.

...But I know that you got your reasons.
A Sergeant - one who'd been a private back on Denon - made a motion to his own head with a smirk. Brows raising, Sarge had to fight a bit of color rising to his exposed cheeks as he reached up to pull the cap off. A moment passed as he moved to tuck it under his arm, feet automatically moving at a quicker pace to keep up with Cira. He'd not even noticed, honestly. He'd always walked quickly.

But at the same moment as he was tucking the cap under his arm, he was moving, arms flexing and releasing what he'd been holding in order to take hold of something far more important - the Lady. Knees bending only slightly, he caught her, one hand coming to settle on her flank and the other on her hip where he could find the best purchase.

Oh, did the warmth rise even further.

"Mind your step..." he mutters quietly, giving what could only be termed a warm smile, even if he looked a little uncomfortable with all the attention.

These things that are pleasin' you, can hurt you somehow...
 
It's like you're my mirror..

Cira's eyes locked with his, and Sarge bequeathed her a rare vision indeed, a soft smile. Funny how such a simple act brought more emotion to his expression than most had never seen before. Her breath caught at her throat and heat suffused Cira's cheeks, more so at the sensation of his deep voice vibrating through in a most annoying way when he spoke.

...my mirror staring back at me.
She turned her head, breaking free from Sarge's gaze. A murmur of gratitude came next as she collected herself, slowly taking a step back to slip from the warmth of his large had at side. Thin fabric as it was, even through gloved hands, her skin seemed to sear at the touch. Her fingers would withdraw from the brawn of his arm, giving another nod.

"Time to find our seats," she said low, giving a reassuring smile at the questioning glances from nearby attendants, all expressing concern from those who had seen her slight slip. Despite the inconvenience of her insides swirling like dried leaves, she did her best to contain her composure. Yet the heat upon her cheeks and the lingering burn of his touch said otherwise.

"I am quite alright." she said with reassurance, although a voice in her head yelled that she was not. This was a horrible idea. Why did she ever agree to it?
 
Helping her to her feet, he was visibly puzzled by the color that rose to shade her cheeks a rosy hue. It was something he'd not yet seen from her, and somehow, someway, she'd managed to take what was a normal, human reaction to an embarrassing situation... and make it seem like the most revealing response in the galaxy.

She took her leave of him and his touch, and he gave her a slow nod as he crouched to pick up the hat he'd dropped. She was already moving away, and his head lifted to keep an eye on her as that no doubt expensive dress clung desperately to her full frame. Yes, it was time to find their seats. The ones impossible to not notice.

You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet.
Standing again, heart aflutter and face cooling now that the attention was more focused on her than him, he was able to compose himself somewhat for the brief walk it took to catch up. "You're not alright." He murmurs quietly, knowing that if she were, she'd never have stumbled to begin with. Her mind was somewhere else, and part of him hoped it was on him... but a more rational part of him knew it was likely something work related.

It was always work related.

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table...

They got to their seats, and he set his hat down on the table before his gloved hands reached out to do something automatic, and yet surprising. Even for himself. He pulled out her chair for her. He, quite literally, could not remember the last time he'd done that. "But then again... neither am I." He murmurs, leaning down to whisper it to her like an adviser trying to guide their charge.

Once she was comfortable, he himself settled in to his seat, hoping that the night would go quick. Just not too quick.

But you always want the ones that you can't get.
 
I wake up in the morning, and put on my face...

A sharp intake of breath would cut the silence between them. A tremor raced through Cira's body, and she stiffened as a shiver went shooting down her spine in tingling awareness.

The one that's gonna get me through another day...


Oh perdition. A tattoo thrummed in her chest and in her veins. It was in the whisper. In the low tenor of his voice just loud enough for her to register his words. It was low and rich, and went humming through her deeply as the crash of the ocean's tide.

But then you came around me, the walls just disappeared

She didn't turn her head; she couldn't Instead her entire attention was placed upon the assembling ceremonial guard. She couldn't dare turn, her profile to him -- by all appearances nothing would be amiss based on her expression.

Nothing to surround me, and keep me from my fears...

But it would be there -- subtle, but there among the rapid flutter at the base of her throat, for her heart was pounding so hard she could scare hear the announcement that the ceremony would begin in five minutes.

I'm unprotected


Breathe. Just breathe.

You're not alright. But then again... neither am I.

She didn't want to think about what that meant. What that implied. What went unsaid. It caused her mind to wander. To tempt that insatiable curiosity she had. About what he meant. About him. About --

"Few do among such a large crowd," she said in a low hush, unable to turn to him. To see look him in the eyes.

It would only make it too real.
 
How blue could I get?

His black eyes scanned the guard, the crowd, before lingering upon her for what he felt was a moment too long. He quickly turned his attention elsewhere, hoping beyond hope that no one saw that desire to just... not dwell. She was a sight, and she was what he wanted to look at. But he couldn't. Not right now. Not like this. He'd never been good in crowds, or in public.

There was something about lacking privacy that just threw him for a loop. Just like her, he'd taken to wearing masks to get through the day.

You can ask my heart.
He was getting under her skin, he knew that. She may as well have been an open book, laid bare before his inquisitive eyes. It was amazing what a year together could do for your ability to understand someone at an instinctual level. "And some don't even do well alone with another." He chastises gently, voice directed away from her as if he were speaking more to himself than her.

But like a jigsaw puzzle it's been torn all apart.
To change the subject was the only thing he could think to do. "So what's the agenda for the night..?"
 
There would come a tightening to her middle, one she decided to ignore by way of claiming the glass of water in front of her. The subtlest of trembles would show, barely there for the most observant of minds. A cool sip would parch her cotton mouth, the icy water a refreshing break. His question would demand answering, and in short she would by simply giving a nod towards the lobe-paper itinerary in front of him.

The nights events were to follow an opening ceremony, followed by introductions and greetings from the overseeing staff member of the event. A guest of honor would take time to conduct a speech - thankfully it wasn't Cira this time around - and then the celebratory tradition of cutting the cake. The closing ceremony would follow and then the night's festivities were to be enjoyed in whatever manner the revelers would find to be their prerogative.

A three to four hour affair that couldn't pass any faster. Another deep breath would follow -- a greeting of a Omega Defense Force Commander followed by her subsequent cool greeting herself. Like clockwork, much like before for those meetings in her office.

All the while, she did her best to avoid temptation and glancing over at her peripheral towards his direction. As much as she tried to ignore him, she could not. His presence resonated with an undercurrent of energy he'd once lacked before. The Void in the Force now was to an extent, a beacon at the edge of the sea amidst a storm. Constant. Steady.

There.

It annoyed her to no end. Question being, for what reason entirely? Answers to questions she rightly didn't want to quite know. Not yet. That rabbit trail went down a hole that she knew would change everything.

She wasn't quite ready for that.
 
He could see it, the faint way her head was always angled to keep him somewhere nearby. She was afraid of looking at him, much for the same reason he was afraid of looking at her. What did you do? Stare awkwardly? Blush? Perhaps hope that they don't notice the attention? It never worked out that way. He'd never been in a grade school romance, but he imagined it usually started somewhat like this.

Perhaps he should just pass her a note; check yes or no.

But as with everything he'd ever done in his life, it would never be that simple. If only, if only...

Gloved hands shifted, brows furrowing as he looked down at the itinerary like this was some sort of vacation trip. Or a wedding. Most of it was what he'd expected - a speech, some cake, a 'do whatever you want but don't be an idiot.'

But as he scanned it again, a frown creased his features, his face draining of color. "Kark me sideways."

Speech by the Guest of Honor - Sergeant Major Potteiger (Ret.)

He groaned audibly. Who'd blabbed.
 
It was the sudden expletive that came tearing from Sarge's mouth that finally managed to draw Cira's attention to him. What she found was rather perplexing. His face had lost at least three shades of colour, blanching for whatever reason. A frown grew over her brow, and her eyes fell to the lobe-paper itinerary he held tightly in his hand.

"What?" she found herself asking, turning to her own itinerary to review it herself. A quick skim would reveal the reason for his audible groaning.

Speech by the Guest of Honor - Sergeant Major Potteiger (Ret.)

Both brows rose high at that. Even more so at the summary of exploits and feats publicly known of the Sergeant Major, all written neatly in script detailing his military career within the Protectorate.

"Well well well... this should be interesting." she would say in a low hush as the lights would darken and the opening ceremony began.
 
For once since the start of their entire evening, a subtle smirk went curving demurely over Cira's lips. Her chin would lift, there was a notable perk in her stature, back straightening just so.

The woman certainly had an odd sense of humor. Perhaps it is because the man beside her rarely would express any level of uneasiness. There would be several ancient cultures that would peg this as 'karma', whatever matter of divine forces would sway causality.

For the present time, Cira would enjoy her glass of water. Her eyes reflecting the sword ceremony as Protectorate soldiers in their dress blacks would create the ceremonial arc.

Here came the opening prayer ---

Next would be the welcoming and introduction.

And finally, the guest of Honor...
 
Sarge was so deep in his shell he didn't even realize it was time for the speech until the guy next to him gave him a subtle nudge. Giving an exhalation more aptly termed a huff, he stood and made his way up towards the stage, overwhelmingly concious of just how many karking people were here. The last thing Cira would hear before he was out of earshot was 'shoulda thrown me from the window.'

Sighing, he made up his way up to where some cheeky karkhole had decided to put a podium... and another friggin' pamphlet. He frowned, hefting it and turning it over in his hand to read the laundry list of accomplishments he'd had.

Most decorated soldier in the Protectorate...

He stared at that pamphlet probably longer than he should have, a glaze settling over his eyes. Finally, he blinked, set it down, and rested his palms against the sloped surface of the podium. The microphone was on, he knew that because everyone else had already been up here not feeling embarassed while speaking.

"Seems I didn't get my marching orders until I sat down." He says dryly. "Shoulda figured I'd be the last to know I was speaking." There came a few chuckles at that, but his voice was quiet, introspective in a way Cira would know far too well. "I assume I'm supposed to regale you with stories of my triumphs and tales of heartbreak, build up your confidence and patriotism."

His lips creased downward. "But I'm not entirely sure how well I can manage that. In fact, according to this - " he held up the pamphlet. "I'm retired. Last I checked I was still dead. Guess the Pyre does have a sense of humor." A snort was heard. "I"m sure many of you know of me through word of mouth - seems everywhere I go people know me, but... I don't know them."

That seemed to put a weary smile on his face. "It's nice to know you've accomplished something in your life, and every time someone gives me a faint bit of a smile and feeds my fragile ego with a bit of an awed look... I'm reminded I've done something." He looked down to his chest. "As if I'm not reminded whenever I button this vice of a uniform." Again, a few chuckles.

"But as cliche as it sounds, I wouldn't be where I was today if it weren't for the folk around me. Many of you know the Lord Protector as your employer, guiding hand, leader; whatever you term him, he's in charge. But before that he was, and still is, my friend. I wouldn't have survived the end of the plague were it not for his help, and I'd like to think the same is true for him."

There was a long pause, thoughts gathering in his mind as he thought of what next to speak. "Either way, it was him that guided me to join the Pyre, and my tenure here began the same way it was served - by breaking into the Lady Protector's office." A cheeky grin split his face at that, and he visibly winked over to her table in an exaggerated manner. Cue cat calls and clapping. "First time I ever broke in, she threatened to throw me from the window. I spent the whole time hitting on her. She was not amused; can't imagine why." He chuckled.

"Second time I broke in, former Protector Alcori stunned me, called up the Lady, and then stunned me again." His chest shook as he laughed. "I didn't look back after, doing for the Lady what I did for Ayden, and along the way I managed to be, more often than not, in the right place at the right time." A finger rose to scratch behind his ear, and he had to take a minute to make use of a water bottle thoughtfully left for him in the hollowed out shell of the podium he wanted to cling to.

He was a bit more at ease now, thankfully, despite the cotton mouth. "I do have to say, though, in all my time traveling the galaxy, I've never found a place quite like this. It ain't an easy job, and Force knows it can be thankless - I've been nearly thrown from dropships more times than I care to count - but it's fulfilling, and you know that no matter how deep the hole goes, one of you buddies will be right there with a shovel to knock you unconscious so you won't fight the rope he's tied to you to pull you up."

What a fabulous mental image. "I don't even know where I'm going with this, really, considering I wasn't given forewarning, but... the more I think back, the more I realize how much like home this place really is. I, personally, never knew where home actually was." He looked down at the podium, brow furrowing, before he looked over to Cira then the crowd. "But I found it here, in a redheaded boss who couldn't stand me, and a group of soldiers who helped make building this Protectorate possible. I've always heard that earning medals isn't about you, it's about the guys next to you, and I'd say that's pretty true. I wouldn't have survived Denon without Sergeant Chenna and her squad, and I'd never have been able to blow that bridge on Eriadu if Jorus hadn't flown into the fire to deliver me to the objective.

It's a long road, life, and some days are longer than others, but as people like me - the 'old guard' - phase into retirement - or death, in my case - new heroes will rise in our wake. I considered building the Protectorate a labor of love..." and he did his best to not look at Cira, "...and I've found that many of you share the same sentiment. Maybe one day I'll be so lucky as to shake one of your hands when you step up here to tell everyone about the time the ol' Sergeant Major of the Pyre bumbled his way through a nonsense speech about who knows what."

He gave a tired smile. "But then again, that's all I've ever done; bumble through things and hope they turn out alright. Pretty sure I was actually trained to do that, come to think of it." He shook his head. "I've spoken enough, I think. Have some drinks, live it up, pretend I don't exist and everyone enjoy your evening." He needed to sit down, get plastered, and forget life.
 
What were you thinking?

Cira asked herself for the umpteenth time as she would unconsciously smooth the line of her skirt in a nervous gesture with her right hand. She sat in a small personal airspeeder transport, on her way back to Lake Country with a man she'd been flirting with disaster with since they'd first met. The duty of an escort no less, was to ensure that at the end of the gala affair she would safely be seen to her abode. Though to be frank, the past three hours had simply spun into a haze of cordial greetings and obligatory dances that she had no true recollection about.

It all started with that blasted speech.

Awareness kicked up a notch. Giving half answers and more questions. Reasons for her behavior she'd ignored more often than not. Among other more complicated reasons she was trying to figure out.

Silence would thicken within the small cabin of the airspeeder and Cira could practically feel the walls seeming to close down on her. It was all his fault.

With a slightly troubled inhale, the young auburn haired woman lifted her head, the motion causing the mahogany highlights to shimmer in her hair under the dim glow of the moonlight. Turning to the right, she caught her reflection against the thin glassteel of the viewport, its mirrorlike surface reflecting her appearance.

Aren't you somethin' to admire?
Her lips were stained red, her eye make up dark and perfectly applied. Her hair was still artfully arranged in soft, thick waves around her sun-kissed face, framing eyes that were a deep amber colour; and if anyone cared to take a closer inspection, they could see that within the smoky topaz hue were flecks of gold. Set in the dark makeup, her eyes were extraordinary.

'Cause your shine is somethin' like a mirror...

Perfect. Stunningly perfect -- because I made it so. It wasn't Talia that would stare back at her, but the Lady Protector Cira. No one understood that.

Another rush of confusion would wash through her. Words. His words. Emotions would war; anger and frustration, fear and wariness, denial and a waning sense of oblivion she clung to in desperation. Like a sinking ship fighting to stay afloat against a stormy sea, she felt herself falling and failing.

And I can't help but notice
You reflect in this heart of mine


An ache would rise within her chest, painful. Raw. It was uncomfortable and she didn't want to deal with it. She didn't want to focus on the why -- she just wanted it gone. Like an arrow that had found a chink in her armor, that pointed shaft would dig deep, become a thorn that would only continue to fester until she could not ignore it any longer.

If you ever feel alone and,

Emotions running wild with her thoughts, her lashes would lift, gaze drifting just off to the right just as another reflection would join hers. A rugged jaw peppered with a growing shadow. The chiseled angular lines of his face that told a story of battle in shrapnel scars on one side, yet held the youth of a man barely in the cusp of life in the other.

The glare makes me hard to find...

A few dark closely shorn forelocks would seem to rebel, as if taking the same scruffy faced arrogant arsehole of a personality, turning just slightly at his temple and at the nape of his neck, just before disappearing under the thick leather guard of his dress coat. But all that faded in comparison at the glistening voids of his eyes as he stared at the reflection -- no.... as he watched her.

Just know that I'm always
Parallel on the other side...
 

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