Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Sound of Silence

Another day, another bitter whiff of black caf as the cafmaker did it's work for me. I always awoke just before dawn, making sure the caf I chose for that day was always as fresh as possible - leading the largest government in the galaxy meant one needed plenty of pick-me-up.

But the pick-me-up was never for me, no. That luxury fell to the woman I work for; Cira. Well, to call her a woman always seemed to me a disservice, and as I poured a fresh mug of the steamy black liquid I couldn't help but shake my head.

She'd long ago ceased being a woman. She'd transcended that. She was a figure. An idea. She represented everything the newly christened Protectorate stood for in both mannerisms and ideals.

Blowing faintly at the coffee just so I didn't have to get the bitter smell of it straight up my nose for a few moments, I opened the large door that was the entrance to the Lady Protector's office and turned on the lights.

It was time for the typical morning inspection as I took my usual short but quick strides into the room to set the caf on her desk.

It was always there when she came in, and who was I to break her routine?

Routine was easy to predict, sure, but it was also easy to defend. It meant I could plan for when people would think she was most vulnerable. A double edged sword, for sure, but sometimes drawing first blood meant you'd be the first to die.

That's what I was banking on.

I set about inspecting the room, as I habitually did, and by the time I was done, I'd be setting the mornings reports on her desk for inspection.

-------------------------------

She'd been here for hours, eyes rarely leaving the datapads that I habitually left in front of her for her perusal. She was a machine, most days, which stood in stark contrast to the startling beauty she seemed to be imbued with.

Her hair was perfectly tailored, falling in gentle waves onto her shoulders. Her outfits were modest, managing to hide her ample assets while somehow accentuating them. It was baffling to me that she was just... intense.

Work was her life.

And I'd never met a woman with that class of looks who wasn't conceited and forward with how attractive they were. She was an enigma in so many ways, and I found myself studying her more often than not.

I knew she hated me; being called a queen on a regular basis would have that affect on most women, after all. But she tolerated me all the same. I often found myself wondering if perhaps Ayden had something to do with that.

Was she letting me stand here and monitor her just so he wouldn't be angry? He was a valuable asset to the Protectorate, after all. Sometimes he wondered if his contributions got lost in the shuffle, though.

Mentally shaking myself from the thought process I caught the faint knock at the door that was the receptionist letting them know an appointment was ready.

That meant they'd passed the rigorous screening down at the front entrance, passed through the screening at the elevator to this floor and then passed the final pat down by the receptionist. That didn't mean they were home free, however.

Moving to the door I gripped the large handle, a gloved hand tugging it open as I motioned with the other hand for them to take a few steps inside the threshold. It was a regular, a Rodian from the Quartermasters office in the barracks down on the lower floors.

He knew the drill.

Allowing me to give him a final pass over and patdown, I flicked my head for him to take a seat to speak with the Lady while I shut the door behind him and moved off to the side. It was rare for a governmental head to only have one guard, but it was better one guard than multiple.

Multiple guards often created problems I didn't wish to be made. That many people invariable tripped over each other in order to try and help, and the excessive training needed to make them a cohesive unit wasn't something I was looking forward to having to go through.

Especially considering if one died the unit cohesion may be thrown off for some time after the replacement came in. That's why I always left the squad of guards in the lobby.

Folding my arms over my chest as their weekly meeting commenced, I looked down to the slugthrower I kept in the chest holster over my left pectoral, making visually sure the safety was off. Considering how often I fold my arms, I figured it more prudent to use the chest holster than a hip one.

It was also a bit more openly intimidating to those not used to a presence like mine.

But still, even as they spoke and she lost herself in the meeting, I found myself drawn to her intensity. Everything was about business, but there was measured care in the way she spoke - like a mother to her children.

Perhaps that ultimately what she was to them all... a mother.

But how do you ask your own mother on a date?

Creepy.

-------------------------------


I'd shot her.

I'd shot her myself.

The entire Tower was afraid of me now, and it was all my fault. Every time I went to her office to supervise the clean up and make sure everything was in order... I could feel their eyes on me, apprehensive. Waiting.

It made my skin crawl.

In trying to protect the Lady, I'd harmed her, and all because that moronic Doctor at the orbital station hadn't told him of his plan. What did he think would happen sending a group of unknowns to try and get in touch with the Lady Protector?

Sarge didn't roll a welcome mat out with anyone. There were checkpoints to go through. There were schedules to keep.

My rigorous adherence to routine and protocol meant any unauthorized visitors were treated as immediate and violent threats. I knew it was silly, but between Clockwork and the Sith he wasn't going to take chances.

Especially because of Clockwork.

When you couldn't even trust the machines that were supposed to file your reports, you definitely knew you couldn't trust the people around you. A necessary evil to make sure no one was going to plant some kind of a virus in their system.

One Red Queen was enough for me, thank you very much.

Sighing, I sat myself down in her chair as the work crews began clearing out for the end of their shift. They wouldn't be back until the morning and I was left alone to stare out the window of her office. No marksman could hit her up here - the angle was too steep from the next highest building. They'd need to be in an airborne vehicle, and one of those would trigger more alarms than a planetary invasion.

Perhaps I was being hyperbolic, but this room was as secure as I was going to make it.

But as I looked out at the industrial skyline, I found an odd beauty set before me, and my mind wandered to just how many times the Lady had sat in this exact same seat, enjoying this exact same view.

What did she see? Was it the same beauty I did...? Or did she just see her life works, laid out before her in a tapestry of industry? Did she see anything besides her work?

That question haunted me in the many moments of pregnant silence they worked in. She seemed content with it, so I'd never bothered breaking it, but I couldn't help but feel there was so much to say. So much she didn't understand.

He wanted her for his own; it wasn't love. Not yet. It was an interest, surely, but how did you go about asking your boss on a date? HK had done it, but that was a bit different. He was a droid after all; less threat involved, really.

Sighing, I set my elbow on an armrest and turned my palm into a chin rest. How could I have been so quick to anger? To shoot her like that?

Why am I such a kark up sometimes.

And why was it so hard to fill the silence?

-------------------------------

Last report of the day.

Last words to be read by the setting light of the local star.

My resignation.

I simply couldn't do it anymore. Too many people were getting under my skin. Hevana was likely the biggest pain. She was too cocky for her own good, but Avicus hadn't been any better. It had felt immensely good planting my boot in his face.

It was obvious he'd adhered to... dark practices than the Protectorate condoned. He'd gone on his way quick enough, and I couldn't have been happier.

But it wasn't just folks like that. The new blood seemed hopelessly incompetent and unable or unwilling to face constructive criticism on their path to being veterans. When I had first joined the Pyre with Ayden, many of the soldiers were career. They were motivated, skilled, and understood war in a way only a warrior could.

But these new ones... these new ones were a trip unto themselves. Every time they made a mistake, their world collapsed. Their was no growth, only an unwillingness to face the realities that we are all imperfect.

They didn't want to strive for perfection anymore. They wanted it handed to them.

But perfection couldn't be attained.

Working with it every day had told me that.

My eyes lingered on the woman as I set down the last batch of datapads with a heavy heart and a heavier mind. She'd ask, I knew that. She'd want reasons.

I had plenty.

But I'd be keeping one to myself - her.

I wanted her. But she was my boss, and I her employee. That wasn't going to fly, especially with her being in the position she was.

It was killing me to work with her every day in silence, the very sound of which lay oppressively against my ears. How could I speak words that would shatter the air? I couldn't.

We'd come so far, but it wasn't far enough, and I doubted we'd reach that point any time soon.

After Elrood, I couldn't help but feel the disconnect grow - but I wasn't going to go out without giving one last contribution. HK and a fleet were headed to Dagobah, and that was where I'd be headed next.

Someone was going to have to save his robotic arse, and it may as well be me. He didn't know what he was getting into, that droid.

I did.

Perhaps I could save a few lives before I went on my ways.

Cira and I spoke, briefly, but I wasn't paying much attention to the conversation. My mind was on the future and what it had in store for me. The pendent given to me by Coryth hung like a lead weight in the pouch at my waist and as I leaned over to press my lips to her temple...

I knew something of me was being left behind.

Taking in the sweet scent of her hair for the first - and likely last - time, I gave her a nod as I shut the door on that chapter of my life, the weight on my shoulders heavier than it had been in centuries.

On to Dagobah.

On to a new life... if I was lucky.
 
I'm truly not sure what happened, and on some level I'm not sure I'm ready to know.

But as I sit here alone in my quarters on the Fortunate Son, I find my mind will nary cease running the images through my head in an endless, infuriating loop. What was I thinking? What had I done? The proverbial can of worms had been opened, but I hadn't found worms.

I'd found questions. Questions built upon assumptions that left in their wake doubt like the tide leaves compacted sand. Crippling, endless doubt.

I can still taste her.

My lips still feel bruised.

What was I thinking?

I'd come to Eriadu to stop the Dark Siders of the Fringe from acquiring more territory as one of only two Jedi the Council would authorize to render assistance. Our help hadn't been enough to turn things in the favor of the Protectorate, but it had seemed we weren't needed.

Ayden had done that himself up amid the blackness of space, so reminiscent of my eyes; my damnable eyes.

My hand aches from the constant clenching of my fist and it is only through sheer force of will that I have no rent this desk in two. The rage serves no purpose, just as what I did served no purpose.

She doesn't want me. She never has.

What was I thinking?

She'd kissed me back, surely, but what good had that done me. It was probably just a game to her. A 'look at what I'm capable of' just to throw me off. Obscenities lingered on the edge of my tongue, the pressure on the trigger of my bottled anger that shan't be unleashed.

Inhaling sharply I slid my chair back from the desk and lowered myself to the floor, letting myself list to the side before allowing myself to curl up on the floor. I find comfort here, for some reason. Perspective, at times.

It's been like this since I was a kid. I've rarely been more comfortable than when I allow myself to lay upon the floor. Perhaps that's because it's where I feel I belong, but I cannot be sure. My mind is so muddled and confused in times of depression and anger such as these.

What. Was. I. Thinking?

Mara deserves better than me, surely. I'm holding her back. She doesn't train; she hardly leaves the room. That's my fault. I did that to her. I have not encouraged her growth as I am supposed to. Or maybe she doesn't want to grow...?

Have I ever considered that she's simply happy to be in that position? But how can she? One day, as with Dagobah, I will not return. Where will she be then? Alone? Bereft of the rock that I have become for her?

I cannot do that to her, not without her having some means of occupying herself and moving on. She's no skills other than her shifting and the ability to fight, but she cannot use a lightsaber nor fire a blaster insofar as I know.

The sigh I release fogs the visor of the helmet that I have laying on the floor next to me.

The visor is every bit as lifeless as my eyes.

Curious how I'd never noticed that before.

Lifeless like Cira's emotions.

I laugh at the thought. I'd angered her. Boy had I angered her. I was right, I knew - I know - but I wasn't right in what I'd done. How I'd gone about it.

I'd shoved her a place she didn't want to be, and in return received that which I did not want. I could almost feel the need to relieve my sorrow thrust upon me by my mind. Yet, as I have always done, I force it back. That bullet will not be bitten.

Not yet. That will come later, in actual privacy.

I doubt I shall see her again, the woman who has haunted my waking moments for these past long months. Had I been the same for her? A demon? A memory? Just footprints in the snow to be covered over by the constant flurry of time?

I screw my eyes shut, willing my mind to cease this endless torment. I can remain strong only for so long, but everywhere I look is weakness. The Order is a mockery of its ideals - people are more willing to jump ship than fix it. There is an intense focus on the negative. No one cares that we aid worlds in need, or help those who cannot help themselves.

They care only that we carry weapons.

They care only that we know how to fight.

There is no focus on our lack of want to fight. Only that we are trained how.

What is so wrong with being able to defend oneself? We are trained to only draw our sabers when we intend to use it, and that is what we do. But we are damned if we do and damned if we don't. It disgusts me.

It disgusts me like I disgust myself... like how I will disgust Mara, and how I have Cira.

Every time my life seems to be going where it should. Where I feel the answers have been laid bare before me for the taking... only then do the walls begin to crumble and the ashes rain from the sky. And it's in times like that that I am returned to Alderaan.

I can feel the concussive impact of the bullets shattering my breastplate, the blossom of pain as they penetrate my chest, and the numbness that came as my mind shut itself down. I didn't even remember hitting the floor of that cave.

Why could my mind not spare me that mercy now?

What was I thinking?

Why can't I help myself the way I help so many others?

The most powerful are always the most helpless, and sometimes I wonder if that isn't life's great joke. The more you know, the less you can apply.

Perhaps that's Cira's problem.

Perhaps I should rest.

Yes... I do believe rest seems good right now. The floor is comfortable, despite being metal. Perhaps I shall lay here, for someone to tread upon. Perhaps that's where I deserve to be.

How I loathe my mind. These thoughts are cancerous.

Rest.

That is what I need. It cures my ails, provided my mind can shut up.

It won't.

Kark.

It never does.

Rest.

Rest..

Rest....

My eyes are heavy. Oblivion is just around the corner, but I've clicks to go.

It's been so long. I'm so tired.

I surrender.
 

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