This Isn't Awkward At All, No Sir

[Tamara Wren]

'The Spirit of Fire'​

Alor-class Dreadnought​

Echoy'la​

'The Spirit of Fire' had been where [member="Ronan Vizsla"], Tamara Wren, and the many of those who had gone with the rogue Mandalorians had called home since their exodus from Wayland. Part of the Ne'tra Fleet, it was the largest of the ships, the one dearest (if one could be called that) to the Vizsla Clan's A'lor. They called it home now.

For Tamara, it would never be home.

It was hard to decide if it was because it wasn't Wayland, or if it was because everything since her death had seemed lack luster and faded. Since her return by [member="Darth Carnifex"] after the Red Coronation, the previously vibrant and passionate young woman had been dull and withdrawn. She focused on her duty- to her father, to her clan, finding what solace she could in doing things that were at the very least of use. She found no joy in things that had once offered them so easily. Even with her father's help, her memories of her life before were scattered, pockmarked. She knew she had lost far more than she had remembered, but without things around her to remind her of the missing, missing they remained.

Perhaps it would have been different, if they had stayed on Wayland. Surrounded by green and living things, by people full of life and love.

It was impossible to say. Because the reality was that they were not.

Instead Tamara walked cold, grey halls. Too easy to be solitary for the majority of her time. The rest of it? Eating, training- raiding, sometimes killing. At the side of one Ronan Vizsla. He loved his daughter, but that was not, this time, enough.

Tamara had gone off ship for a few days. She had come back while her father was away on business and that was probably just as well. There was something in her step. A smile on her face that she would push off, but would perk up again when she wasn't paying attention. And she wasn't paying attention an awful lot.

She hemmed. And hawed. And thought. And hesitated. Started down the hall. Stopped again. Rinse and repeat for half an afternoon before the knock sounded, a little hesitantly, on [member="Irella Vizsla"]'s door.

 

[Irella Toldreyn]

Echoy'a, The Ne'tra Fleet, The Spirit of Fire, Irella's Quarters, Undetermined Time
Settling In | Interacting with [member="Tamara Wren"] ~ Raven (Far From Home) ~ "I'm sending the raven."
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This wasn't home.

Home, to Irella, was the putrid streets of Nar Shaddaa's Red Light District. No, not for that; she loathed any mention of the idea. It'd been home because it was the poorest district out there, which was why many often turned to selling themselves like that, and it had been where many stray children found their makeshift homes. Irella had been fortunate to be scooped up by Nar Shaddaa's Praxeum shortly after her 'arrival' in Red Light -- And ejected right back into it just as quickly when it fell apart. Light just never seemed to take root on the Smuggler's Moon, and leaving it behind might have been for the best for the rogue.

Adapting to The Spirit of Fire, however, was a struggle. Learning Mando'a was a definite struggle. Becoming a true part of Vizsla?

The worst struggle of them all.

That might have been why, jolted from meditation from a knock at her door, that Irella felt a trickle of dread. Her signature in the Force was impossible to conceal, simply too big to hide -- Immense potential packed into one ex-Padawan. They had called her prodigal, once.

Then they had called her traitor. She had thrown the word right back at them, and that was the first time the Jedi had ever drawn blood in a fight. It wasn't the last.

"It's open." She called out in a dim voice, but she knew who it was anyway. Much like how Tamara could, likely, sense her through the Force, she could feel Ronan's daughter in kind. Considering the frigid reception at the Emperor's ball less than a week prior, there was no way to tell what the young Vizsla was after, which made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. Maybe a fight. Like father, like daughter? Even when telling the Wren that the door was unlocked Irella rose from the ground, padding across her room to key the panel and open the door, revealing a wearied blonde.

"Tamara," Her voice was bleak, like when you were presented with the expected but had to pretend like you hadn't seen it coming in the slightest, "Can I help you?"

 

[Tamara Wren]

Any other time, Tam would have caught more of the subtext. It wasn't really hidden, after all.

But she was young- and wrapped up in something very new and very important.

She also couldn't sense the other woman through the Force. Without real training, it wasn't even something she technically knew she could do. Like a one way mirror, Irella could see into her but not the other way around. Tam was just one big ball of nervous energy when she came through the other woman's door.

Oh, she wasn't entirely oblivious. The weariness in Irella's voice, something in her eyes. It was enough to make Tamara pull up short and rein in for a minute.

"Uh, hi."

She didn't come in- the way Irella had opened the door, the way she said 'can I help you' was not the same as an invitation into her room.

Tamara reached up with her left hand, scratching absently at the back of her neck.

"I wanted to check how you were settling in." Not entirely true, but she realized standing there that it was the right thing to do. Ask that first. "I know I wasn't.... super friendly. When you showed up. It wasn't you. So I thought I'd see how you were. If you needed anything. Since you'll be staying with us, being part of the clan now."

[member="Irella Vizsla"]

 

[Irella Toldreyn]

Echoy'a, The Ne'tra Fleet, The Spirit of Fire, Irella's Quarters, Undetermined Time
Thrown Off | Interacting with [member="Tamara Wren"] ~ Raven (Far From Home) ~ "Black bird in the sky."
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It was awkward, being shorter than someone younger than you. Irella easily had ten years on Tamara, but, still. Damn those Vizsla genetics. She was inclining her head slightly just to meet the half-Firrerreo's eyes.

Her brow rose as Tamara spoke, not in a way that indicated disbelief, just curiosity. It was interesting, how Ronan's voice provoked such anxiety via Irella's synesthesia but his daughter seemed to be a measure of calm, almost excitement, making the corner of the blonde's mouth tug upwards. Irella seemed much more at ease even after just listening. Head tilted slightly, that expression older women often adopted that seemed to be somewhere between wise and matronly appearing across Irella's face, "It's alright," She exhaled, in response to the younger's acknowledgement of her behaviour, briefly stepping back from the doorway that she had been almost protectively domineering, letting Tamara enter if she so desired, "Your father's..."

"--Ronan." She offered a little weakly as if expecting her to understand what she meant (Thankfully, she might) and Irella had already suspected that likely most of the tension had resulted from him, like most things. Despite the miscommunication concerning relations-- Understandable, she had been a 'plus-one' --He was still difficult to deal with. Like wrangling rancors. Her arms crossed a little habitually, just somewhere to put them Irella she spoke, "Most avoid me, but that's alright. Better here than the Smuggler's Moon." Oh, the stories she could have told. The clear, ice-blue gaze of her fell upon Tamara momentarily then, inquisitively, "But you need something, don't you?"

"I can feel it." She had little doubt in her mind that Tamara knew she was former Jetti, she couldn't imagine that little rumour not circulating around the ship and, indeed, the whole damn clan. The inquisitive side of her had taken over now, though, and she seemed to be waiting for Tamara's explanation.

 

[Tamara Wren]

When she said 'your father's..... Ronan' Tam made a face.

"Yeah he is," she muttered.

Clearly they still hadn't talked about whatever was going on between them.

The young woman stepped in once Irella made it clear she was welcome. Dark gaze glanced around, taking in the differences between their spaces. Even only being here for such a short time, Irella's room looked more like.... a home should. Tamara had been on board the ship for over six months now and someone walking into her room would assume someone had only just settled in the day before. There were no personal curios, nothing bright or colourful. Someone who didn't know her might assume she simply didn't care about material things. Someone who did however, would recognize the stark difference between now and her room before.

She'd come past Irella, pausing in the middle of the room. But when she continued, Tamara paused, turning around to face her.

Absently, not really thinking about it, her hands ended up behind her back in a subconscious gesture that went back to her childhood and talking to new people. On the ship, she didn't keep her hand wrapped, only when out and about, but the gesture was reflexive no matter what.

"Um.... Uh, yeah." She looked a little sheepish. "I.... could use some advice, actually. And I don't want to talk to my dad about it. Could... would it be okay if we talked?"

Her eyes went to the door behind Irella. The unspoken 'privately' was clear.

[member="Irella Vizsla"]

 

[Irella Toldreyn]

Echoy'la, Ne'tra Fleet, The Spirit of Fire, Irella's Quarters, Undetermined Time
Most Definitely Thrown Off | Interacting with [member="Tamara Wren"] ~ Raven (Far From Home) ~ "Sending a signal that I'm here."
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Irella blinked.

Then she blinked again.

Silently, a hand raised, and the door to her quarters shut. The pannel's button had been pressed down by an unseen, well, force (Take a guess at what that could be) but it was clear in her silent agreement to the terms laid out. A part of her felt a twinge of pity for the youngster, lips twitched into a frown, "Sure," She started out hesitantly, verbally reaffirming what she'd already suggested, "What's, um, up?"

Irella's quarters really were, in her mind, nothing special. Four walls, a floor, a ceiling, and a few stray pieces of personal effects that all in all seemed remarkable but charming. Most important of all was her lightsaber, sat on the desk, unconcealed, but it had a hiding place if necessary. The Kyber crystal within sang a sweet song in the Force to its master, but at the moment she blocked out the urge to keep it on her hip or even on her person. Letting it 'sing' into the void as it remained idle, less and less used now that she was apart of Vizsla. Maybe that was supposed to be sad. She could pass it on, she supposed, to some willing wielder outside the clan, but her selfish desire to keep it was too strong.

Standing and talking was awkward. The use of the Force was liberal in her quarters, space she deemed 'safe', so the chair of the desk was quick to pull itself out and turn rather unceremoniously in offering as the shorter woman moved to lean against the slab she called a bed.

And already she could feel herself starting to sweat. Irella had never known her mother in much official capacity, beyond the fact she was half-Echani. And it was hard to avoid the parallels of this being very reminiscent of those sort of conversations younglings and seniors often participated in, the ones that accidentally turned out parental. She had always been the one asking, never the one answering.

First time for everything. Clear eyes focused on Tamara, as she awaited what this was all about.

 

[Tamara Wren]

Tam was untrained in the Force. But she was familiar with what it looked like wielded. She could do a few small things herself, but mostly didn't. It was a habit, to keep that private. So the casual, open use was a surprise to her. She expected that from the Darjetii, the Sith, yes. In truth, she'd known no Jetii and had nothing to compare to, but she didn't actually see Irella as that. She saw her as clan- adopted, new yes. But there was no line between that and someone who was family for the young woman. Once you put the name 'Vizsla' upon yourself, there was no such thing as 'other'.

Before her death, Tamara had worn her heart on her sleeve. It was easy to see just what was going on in every line of her face, her body. Now, things were more muted, more difficult. But the awkwardness was clear.

Despite the belief that clan was family, Tam wasn't used to talking about things that were bothering her. And especially not THIS topic. Well, one of the topics anyway.

"It's a couple things actually," she said, slightly chagrined. Taking the chair that was offered, she paused, then hesitantly settled down. Immediately she settled her elbows on her knees, leaning over, chewing on her lower lip.

She should probably start at the beginning.

"Did, um. My dad ever tell you. About me? About what happened?"

It would be easier here if he had, if she didn't have to explain it again. Irella's blank face and shake of the head told Tam they weren't doing this the way that would be easy. Of course not.

"I...." She screwed up her face for a moment. "I died. About six months ago." She opted for straight forward. "The Sith brought me back." She didn't mention the price her father had offered- his hand as a weapon, as needed. That wasn't hers to share. "Things have been.... wrong. Ever since. I don't...."

A small frown. Her left hand flexing absently.

"I can't paint, unless it's of someplace terrible. I barely dream usually, but every now and then I do and it's terrible and vivid. I don't feel.... much of anything any more. I don't remember a lot. I have to be reminded of something. Then the memory comes back. But there's so much I lost that I think might just be..... gone. Or, I thought it was."

Tam looked up, the same dark eyes as her father's, but softer, without the fire and raw stone.

"I.... met someone." There was something more behind that, a slight flush of her face before she rushed on. "Who said he could help. I trust him. The thing that's been wrong is that a piece was left behind. In the Netherworld." The last part said heavily.

A plaintive look. Hands twisting absently together.

"We can get it back.... well, someone he knows can."

A sith spirit from the nether. Yeah that was weird to explain. But also, not her secret to share.

"But.... we don't know.... what will happen. When we do. And.... and I don't know if it would be better.... to do that. Or to find a way to make peace with.... what I am now."

There was more to it, but she breathed in there, pausing. Face a little cagey, waiting for a response, any response. Not sure really what to expect but hoping. For what, she didn't know. But for something.

[member="Irella Vizsla"]