...I’m waking up, to ash and dust...
The cracked and barren soil of Nancora crunched passively underfoot. The arid air was still and silent save for the scuttling of craven critters that were either bold or immune to the lingering traces of danger the deserted planet held. Voices echoed in the wind, a haunting hymn rementant from an already forgotten war.
Thousands had died in the fighting alone between the Brotherhood and the Collective, even before the detonations around the planet had started their cacophony of destruction. How many had truly been lost? Only the few fringe scholars floating through the galaxy knew, or cared.
Of course, someone did still care, because that was what she did.
“I still don’t understand why you wanted to come here,” Marick Tyris spoke to the cloaked figure beside him. The bronze-skinned woman scrunched her nose, turning her blindfolded face towards his.
“This is where it all started, really,” she explained. “I was gone, but somehow, I felt everything as it happened. Satsi. Turel. You...” her voice trailed off somberly. She shook her head and then seemed to perk up, moving as quickly as an eight-month pregnant woman could, and bouncing ever so slightly on her toes. “Which means there are still people here who could still use my help. I wasn’t here then, but maybe I can make it up to them now,” she explained, hints of hope fluttering in her voice.
At her side, she carried her field medic triage kit. The two had been visiting some of the remote outposts to check and see if anyone needed medical attention. While most seemed wary of the Arconan’s methods of using the Force, both had enough medical knowledge to still provide assistance.
Marick’s face remained passive and pensive, but he nodded once. The couple continued, making their way into the remains of what was once a bustling metropolis on the frontier of an industrial complex.
Weather-worn plated buildings leaned against one another with the hope of keeping each other upright. There were a few lights on in the makeshift windows of some of the homes, but there were still three buildings of note that seemed to have stood the trial of time.
Radiation levels had, by all accounts, dropped in the time since Faron City was a major part of the Collective stronghold’s lifeforce. Even in the wake of Nancora’s abandonment, the galaxy was far too vast to leave any one habitable place alone for too long. There were always folks looking to get away from someone, or something, and where people gathered, there were opportunities for commerce.
Marick and Atyiru entered the tavern that was adjacent to what passed for an inn. The building wasn’t much, but a bit of credits bought shelter from the elements and a place to “safely” dock his ship and the other additional resources provided generously by the Shadow Lady, Lucine Vasano. Which meant, of course, that they weren’t alone.
“They said the Collective had a fierce hold on this place,” a slim Human with an athletic build dressed in plainclothes explained to a table of patrons. “But when they came for us on Arx...wham, bam,” the scoundrel mimed an action sequence as a slosh of his drink spilled from his mug and onto the creaky, durasteel table, “we showed them who the real boss was.”
Marick narrowed his eyes towards Aru Law, Aedile of House Qel-Droma. In exchange for resources from the Clan, Lucine had requested that Aru and a few members of the Dajorra Defense Force joined the relief effort. He had objected, but of course Atyiru had insisted it would be fine.
Aru continued to regal his retainers with stories as he played a set of sabacc cards, exaggerated losing his credits, and offered to buy them all another round.
Atyiru clambered up towards the bar and carefully moved into a padded stool that she favored. Marick moved to lean on the counter beside her, remaining alert to his surroundings but otherwise blending in wearing his grayscale clothing covered in dust. Atyiru, meanwhile, beamed at the bartender, a weathered Weequay with leather folds and beady eyes. “Good evening, Drakey!”
The bartender, despite his outwardly gruff appearance, offered a friendly smile to the white-haired woman. “My Lady,” he said simply. “What can I do for you?”
Atyiru tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Let’s see, I’d like a Corellian sunrise with tequila and ice, hold the tequila,” she rattled off with a flick of her hand. Drake nodded patiently and moved to fix her a juice drink. He smiled at Marick, but already knew better than to ask the Hapan if he wanted anything.
As Drake came back with the drink, Aru had, for some reason, decided he was bored regaling the DDF soldiers with his tales of grandeur, and had his eyes set on something more rewarding of his attention. He saddled up to and leaned against the counter next to Atyiru, seemingly ignorant to the Hapan hovering quietly beside her.
“Welcome back, Lady Arconae!” Aru greeted.
“Why thank you, Aru, it was a fruitful day, indeed, helping those that were in need.”
“Of course, of course,” Aru nodded along, shifting a bit as he tried to figure out where he was supposed to look when talking directly to the eye wrap-wearing Miraluka. “So, I’m sure you’ve been asked this before, but uh, if I told you that you had a lovely profile, would you hold it against me?” the Aedile said with a grin that stretched his skull-patch goatee.
“It would be rather difficult to hold a profile to you, wouldn’t it? They are usually flat, or so I am told, and you rather exist in three dimensions, Arr-Arry!” Atyiru responded cheerfully.
From over the Miraluka’s shoulder, Marick did not tense so much as he went inhumanly still like a stone.
“I could show you how dimensional I am...” Aru smirked as the gambler gently touched the woman’s arm, hand ‘accidentally’ brushing against hers. The high stakes gambler glanced knowingly past Atyiru and towards the Hapan. To his credit, Tyris did not so much as blink, his too-blue eyes simply locking onto Law’s.
"Pardon me, Mister Law, but I would rather not be shown anything, thank you. Remove your hand." Atyiru’s usually smiling lips turned down into a deep frown. The facial expression itself seemed to change the very aura of the room. Even those that were not Force-sensitive could sense it.
Aru leaned back and held his hands up. “Sorry, sorry, I just meant that after such a long day you’d want someone to show you a good time since you likely haven’t had one in a whi—”
“—what is that supposed to mean? Because I’m pregnant? Or because I’m fat?” Atyiru snapped, her usual, jovial tone turned sharp and biting. “Surely not even my husband would want to touch me when I am the size of a space whale? But I’d somehow want you to? I am...offend!“
“Do you mean offend-ed?” Aru tried to correct, but only seemed to dig a deeper hole.
“—so now I’m stupid and fat!?”
“Uh...”
“Marry,” Atyiru murmured.
There was no warning when Marick moved. Whether it was on command or cue, there was no telegraphed sign or tick of motion. One moment, Aru was leaning up against the counter, stammering his response, and the next he was flying backwards. Marick still stood in place, but his hand was now extended, the result of making a flinging gesture that had guided the telekinetic toss of the Aedile.
While still young in the Force, Aru Law had worked to earn his place in the Brotherhood. The Mystic managed to land on his shoulder blades, using his falling momentum to carry him back towards his feet. He thrust his hands out to the sides for balance, then raised them in front of him.
“Woah woah woah, we were just talking!” Aru explained.
“And you’ll have to answer for your words,” Marick replied calmly, having peeled away from the bar and positioned himself between Miraluka and his Aedile. “Sir,” he added tonelessly as his Elder lightsaber appeared in hand and sprung to life.
