badawanwrites

[badawanwrites]

Breaking the Silence

Title: Breaking the Silence Fandom: Knights of the Old Republic, Knights of the Old Republic 2: the Sith Lords Chapter: 2/? Words: 1715 Status: unfinished - abandoned Relationships: female Revan & female Exile, past female Revan/female Exile Characters: female Exile, female Revan, Carth Onasi, Canderous Ordo, Bastila Shan, Mission Vao, Zalbaar, Jolee Bindo, HK-47 Warnings: alcohol abuse, canon typical violence, PTSD, depression, mental health issues

chapter 1 │ chapter 2  │ chapter 3

The Jedi Exile has spent a long time imagining what she’d say if she ever saw Revan again.

When she gets the chance, it’s not quite what she expected.

-

The first thing she notices when she boards the Ebon Hawk is a swoop bike. It looks recently polished - red and shiny and cared for - and she wonders if it belongs to this Ceeira person that Revan has become. Rea had liked speeders, but she’d never gotten to race properly - she’d had too much resting on her shoulders to ever indulge herself when it came to hobbies. It had broken Senna’s heart back then, watching Rea ignore her dreams. Sometimes thinking about it still does. She’d talked Senna’s ear off about how much she wanted to several times, though. The idea of her doing so now almost brings a smile to Senna’s face.

(It’s odd, feeling a wave of genuine affection for Revan. Or the woman Revan had been before she fell - full of dreams and idea and good intentions that she never managed to achieve.

She’s not sure that she likes it.)

The second thing that greets her is the twi’lek girl from the other day seemingly very concentrated on a game of Pazaak against a T3 utility droid. Senna watches as she puts down a minus four card, making her total a nineteen, as opposed to the droid’s total of eighteen. She then turns and offers Senna a wide smile.

“Mission, this is General Keyis. She’ll be travelling with us.” Bastila doesn’t offer any other explanation than that, but if Mission minds, she hides it very well.

“Please just call me Senna.” She offers the girl what’s supposed to be a friendly smile, but she doubts that it comes across as such. Still, she makes an attempt, which is more than she’s done for years now. She thinks that has to count for something.

“Awesome! Welcome onboard, General Senna.” Senna almost corrects Mission’s use of her former title, but then she notices the grin on her face and realizes that she’s teasing. “If you ever wanna play a game of Pazaak, come find me! I guess you could play Ceeira too, but she’s terrible.”

The droid lets out a series of offended beeps. “I’m sorry, T3. You can play him too. Ceeira keeps insisting that he cheats, but she’s just mad that she can’t beat him.”

Some things never change, it would seem.

The next person she’s introduced to is the grumpy veteran from the cantina the other day. She learns that his name is Carth, and Carth - well, he doesn’t seem to quite know how to react to her presence.

“I don’t think we’ve met before.” He says as he watches her with what looks like suspicion. “But I’ve certainly heard of you. You fought in the Mandalorian Wars, right? We used to call you Revan’s left hand.”

“Yes.” She confirms. “That’s me. I’m guessing you served too?”

“I did. Under Admiral Karath, before he turned traitor. So if you were one of Revan’s jedi, where’s your lightsaber?” How she hates that question.

“You know, I thought I needed a challenge so I decided to start using blasters instead.” She lifts her chin and looks into his eyes, unblinking, silently challenging him.

“Well, we already have a Mandalorian onboard. I guess one of Revan’s friends was the next logical choice.” He sounds just about as tired as she feels. He sends Bastila a look that she cannot decipher, but she’s fairly sure that she knows what the eye roll Bastila responds with means.

“I’m not one of Revan’s friends, and if this is going to be a problem -”

“It’s not. Welcome to the Ebon Hawk, General Keyis.”

“Please, just - my name is Senna. I’m not a general. Not anymore.

She walks in on a Cathar jedi meditating later that day. Juhani seems a lot more pleased to have her on board than Carth.

The wookie from the cantina joins them on the ship the next day with fresh supplies, and Mission seems overjoyed to have her friend back.

Senna spends most of the time making the cargo bay habitable and doing maintenance on the T3 unit which is long overdue. She’s pretty sure that she spends more time than strictly necessary on it, but she needs to calm her nerves before Revan’s return, and the droid seems almost excited to help her.

When she’s not with T3, she spends time with Juhani. Senna tells her stories about the lesser battles of the Mandalorian Wars. About nights spent at camp drinking and laughing with her troops. About singing and laughing and hoping for a better tomorrow.

(It’s surprisingly nice to talk about. She purposely avoids the subject of Revan, but even so it’s been forever since she’s gotten to think about the Wars without choking on her own guilt.

It’s nice to remember the early days, before everything turned bad.)

Juhani in turn tells her about what Dantooine is like these days. She tells her about the council, and about her brief fall to the dark side, and about Ceeira’s sudden arrival.

It’s odd, thinking about Revan saving someone from the darkness that she had so readily embraced years ago.

She doesn’t sleep much, though she hasn’t in ages. The ship is full of noises that are foreign to her. The snoring of a wookie. The sound of military boots pacing. The light whirring of the engines.

She doesn’t even pretend that they don’t startle her.

She doesn’t know the others well enough to go talk to them at night, so instead she sits in her makeshift bunk, hugging her knees and trying to steady her breathing.

At least she can’t have nightmares if she doesn’t sleep.

Her relative peace of mind is over the moment Revan returns to the ship with a loud, unashamed laugh.

“I’m telling you, Candy, the only reason I survived is because of my winning smile and infamous charm. I could have been dead right now.” She wraps an arm around a muscular, scarred man’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep calling me that and I’ll send you back to the Selkath.” He grins back at Revan which only makes her laugh more.

“Query: Who is the new meatbag?” a droid – Senna would have assumed protocol, had it not just referred to her as a meat bag. She really should not be surprised to find Revan in such company. She always did have an odd sense of humor.

“What do you – Oh. Hi.” Revan’s arm leaves the man’s shoulder instantly. “Bastila didn’t mention that you would um… Join us.”

“It’s a recent development.” She replies neutrally. “She thought I could help with your mission, seeing as I knew Revan and Malak.”

“That makes sense.” Revan looks relieved when Senna doesn’t reveal her identity in front of her friends. “Um… This is HK-47. He’s an assassin droid.”

“Ah. That explains his rather… Colorful language.” Senna nods and turns to the man. “I’m Senna. I, um… I served under Revan in the Mandalorian Wars.”

“Canderous of clan Ordo. I served against Revan in the war.” He was the Mandalorian Carth had mentioned, then.

“Well, I guess we’ll both be serving the same side this time around.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but she doesn’t laugh or even look at him. She cannot move her eyes away from Revan.

“Guess so.”

Having a Mandalorian on board doesn’t do anything to improve her sleep.

“We’ve found the maps on Dantooine, Tatooine and Manaan.” Bastila points to each of the three planets on the holomap behind her. “Which leaves Korriban and Kashyyk. I suggest that we go to Kashyyk first.”

Senna wonders how they’re going to approach Korriban without anyone recognizing Revan - or without anyone recognizing her, for that matter. It’s a gamble, and not the fun kind. She doesn’t say anything.

“Czerka Cooperation practically owns Kashyyk these days, so if we’re going there we’re gonna have to be careful.” Carth points out, and the wookie – Zalbaar - Senna’s been informed that his name is - roars in agreement.

“I think Kashyyk is the logical place to start too. Three jedi, a Republic soldier, a Mandalorian, a kid and a Wookie walking around Korriban doesn’t seem like a brilliant idea.” She points out.

“Yeah, and you. The Sith would know your face, right?” Carth massages his temples.

“They might. I’m more worried that they’ll recognize the jedi that killed Revan, though.” She looks directly at Revan as she says it.

They run into each other in the main hold one night. Revan (Rea, Ceeira, whoever she is these days) is holding an empty mug, staring at nothing in particular. Senna has a bottle of whiskey in one hand and her pillow in the other.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asks Revan, to fill the silence if nothing else.

“Something like that.” Revan replies with a shrug.

“Me neither.” She sits down and opens her bottle. Revan sits down next to her but doesn’t says anything. She thinks she might have preferred talking.

“I keep having these dreams.” Revan explains after a bit. “About lying on a field on Dantooine and watching the sky and I’m so happy. And then I wake up and it feels so far away.”

She pours some whiskey into Revan’s mug before drinking straight out of the bottle herself. She’s much too sober to be having this conversation.

“We used to hide there when we were in trouble. You and me and A- Malak, I mean.” She closes her eyes and takes another drink.

“I knew you before the war?” Revan’s voice is full of genuine surprise and she feels her heart breaking all over again.

“We were friends.” Senna confirms before getting up. “I’m gonna try to get some sleep again. You should too.”

She doesn’t sleep at all that night. Instead, she lets her mind wander to sitting with Rea’s head on her lap on a Dantooine field, laughing at Alek’s impression of Vrook.

It’s strange, how all three of them are still alive and dead at the same time. Alek, now Malak, so consumed by his own hatred that there’s nothing left of him. Rea, a jedi again, but one without any recollection of who she is. And herself, dead in the force and wandering the galaxy hoping that she might some day find a way to justify her existence.

The force certainly had a sense of humor.

[badawanwrites]

Breaking the Silence

Title: Breaking the Silence Fandom: Knights of the Old Republic, Knights of the Old Republic 2: the Sith Lords Chapter: 2/? Words: 2381 Status: unfinished - abandoned Relationships: female Revan & female Exile, past female Revan/female Exile Characters: female Exile, female Revan, Carth Onasi, Canderous Ordo, Bastila Shan, Mission Vao, Zalbaar, Jolee Bindo, HK-47 Warnings: alcohol abuse, canon typical violence, PTSD, depression, mental health issues

chapter 1 │ chapter 2 │ chapter 3

The Jedi Exile has spent a long time imagining what she’d say if she ever saw Revan again.

When she gets the chance, it’s not quite what she expected.

-

Revan’s jedi companion – Senna is sure she’s seen her before, but she can’t put her finger on where – tries to maneuver herself and Revan away from the cantina.

The former dark lord doesn’t seem quite as eager to leave as her friend, though, and instead stands there watching Senna was a mix of curiosity and confusion for what feels like the longest seconds of her life. “What did you just call me?”

“Is this a joke? You’re the one who insisted on -”

“You’re mistaken.” The jedi’s eyes widen for just a second before she schools her face into the very picture of calm. Senna doesn’t need the force to know that she’s terrified. “Revan is dead. Any resemblance that my friend may bear to her is purely coincidental.”

“Don’t insult me.” Senna stands up slowly, bur doesn’t move to approach them. The jedi takes several steps backwards anyway. “And don’t lie to me. I know her. I fought beside her. That’s Revan.”

She can tell that Revan’s mind is at work. She recognizes the way her eyes are shifting and her hands are moving around restlessly from long nights on her flagship strategizing. Strange, how a person can seem so different and exactly the same all at once.

Senna had found it endearing once. Now it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

“Who are you?” Her tone is careful and placating, but there’s a hint of genuine confusion in there too. It hurts more than it should, having Revan watch her without any recognition, and for all the times she’s fantasized about this very moment, she’s never once imagined that Revan would look at her like a stranger.

She hates that it worries her more than it angers her. Resents her urge to ask about Revan’s well-being rather than yelling. That’s not how this is supposed to go. She’s supposed to vent all of her built anger and hatred and finally find closure. There’s no closure to be found here.

“What happened to you?” She asks instead, forcing her voice to remain steady. She clasps her hands behind her to hide that they’re shaking.

“What… Happened to me?” Revan’s brows knit together for a second before she turns to her companion. “Bastila, what’s going on?”

(That’s where Senna knows her from, then. Kavar’s padawan from back on Dantooine.

Rumors say that she’d been the one to strike down Revan. Funny, that.)

“I’ll explain it when we have some privacy, but as it stands we’re in a crowded room and this is extremely sensitive information.” Bastila glares at Senna for a short moment, as if she’s to blame for this entire situation. “You can come too, I suppose, since you’re the one who brought this up, but I must warn you that this woman is under my protection, and I will not let you harm her.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly carry around a lightsaber these days.” Senna unclasps her hands and gestures towards her hip. She does carry a small blaster and a concealed vibroblade. She doubts that either of those things would help her if a fight was to break out.

“Anymore? Then… Of course. I should have realized.” Senna bites her tongue to keep back a yes, you should have.

“Not to interrupt what I’m sure is a very fascinating conversation, but would someone please explain to me what’s going on?” It’s phrased as a request, but it comes out like a command.

“I have a room not too far from here.” Senna lets out an exhausted sigh. “I suppose we can use that. This way.”

 -

 They walk side by side to Senna’s hotel room in a tense kind of silence. She wonders if saying something would make the situation more tolerable. She decides that it probably wouldn’t.

Bastila is on Revan’s right side, she notices. Senna is on her left. She’s always on her left.

 -

 She’s on her left side on Dantooine when she and Rea and Alek decide to go exploring the crystal cave shortly before building their first lightsabers. Rea and Alek are holding hands, and she doesn’t quite know why it bothers her so much. She tells herself it’s because she doesn’t like being the third wheel.

She’s on Rea’s left side when they recruit for the wars. Rea does most of the talking – they both prefer it that way – but she does her part to connect with potential allies through the force. Afterwards Rea laces their fingers together and offers her a wide, unguarded smile and Senna spends the rest of the day feeling like she can fly.

She’s on Revan’s left side before Dxun. They’re holding hands here too, although there is nothing gentle about it this time. She’s clutching Revan’s hand as tightly as she can to ground herself. To stop shaking. She’d do anything to kiss her goodbye before heading into battle, but there are people around them and they’re trying to be discreet, but how she wishes…

She’s on Revan’s left side when they’re strategizing a few weeks before Malachor V. They’re not holding hands anymore. Not often. Revan pacing, and Senna thinks that she’s agitated, but she has no way of knowing because she won’t take that force-damned mask off and nothing feels right anymore. She just wants to go home.

 -

 She’s not sure if she positioned herself there or if Revan did subconsciously. Perhaps it’s merely a coincidence. It doesn’t feel like one.

 -

 She leads them into an easily overlooked building, slightly to the East of the cantina. After offering the Selkath in the reception a quick nod, she continues down a well-lit, narrow hallway.

“We’re here.” She stops in front of the door and unlocks it as quickly as her shaky hands will allow.

Her room is messy and impersonal. The walls are a sterile and bright shade of white that almost hurts her eyes to look at. Her clothes are scattered across the floor. There’s an open half empty suitcase in the corner of the room. Her bed is full of random droid components. She doesn’t apologize, and if either of her guests care, they keep quiet about it.

“Now tell me what’s going on!” Revan hall-yells the moment the door closes behind them. Her eyes move from Senna to Bastila and back again until one of them start speaking.

“Remember when I told you that we intended to capture Revan, not kill her?” Bastila’s voice is shaking a little, though she shows no other signs of being nervous.

“I do. I still think it’s naive, but I remember.” Revan’s voice is quieter, but no less agitated than it had been before.

“Well, I didn’t tell you the whole truth. We did capture her, although not in a state we could have predicted.” Bastila moves some of the droid components out of the way and sits down on Senna’s bed. Her posture is excellent, and the memory of master Kavar telling Senna to straighten her back enters her mind without an invitation.

“I don’t follow.” Revan taps her leg lightly with two of her fingers.

“Revan’s… Your mind was destroyed by Malak’s attack. We… The council did everything in their power to keep you alive.” Bastila is avoiding eye contact with both of them. Something bitter inside Senna is convinced that there’s more to the story than that.

“Then where did all my memories come from?” Revan’s brows knit together and the tapping on her leg increases in speed and loses some of its rhythm. “I was a smuggler, I… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your memories couldn’t be restored.” Bastila’s eyes move from the wall to her hands. Senna doubts that she’s being honest.

“But you could have told me.” The further she gets to the end of the sentence, the louder she speaks. The rhythm of her tapping goes from shaky to nonexistent.

“We couldn’t take that risk. We needed you to help us uncover Malak’s plans. We needed to stop him. If you’d known -”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” Revan shouts. The tapping stops altogether. “I had the right to know who I am!”

“I know.” Bastila picks up a stealth booster from the mess on Senna’s bed and turns it slowly in her hands. “But we couldn’t tell you. It posed too great a risk and stopping Malak has to take top priority.”

“When did you plan on telling me, then? Surely you must have known that someone would recognize me sooner or later.” Revan is pacing now, and gesturing wildly with her hands. Senna feels very much like she’s watching a private moment that she should not be present for. “Malak, if no one else. Since, you know, I was his master, apparently.”

“By then we would have had the knowledge we need to stop him, at least.” Bastila is staring at the stealth booster without any real interest. “You must realize how important stopping him is. Especially after Taris.”

“Of course I know how important it is. That’s not the point! You should have trusted me! You acted like we were friends!” Revan’s hand moves to the hilt of her lightsaber as if on instinct and then settles on her hip. “I need some air.”

“Ceeira...” Bastila’s tone borders on desperation now, and Senna wishes that she hadn’t offered up her personal space for this discussion. None of this is satisfying.

Seeing Revan hurt and angry and broken doesn’t make her feel good. It makes her feel sick and wrong.

“That’s not my name.” Revan crosses her arms over her chest and glares at Bastila. “I don’t even know what my name is. Was. I don’t even know what my name was.”

“Rea.” Senna says quietly from her place by the wall, hands frantically searching for pockets that she doesn’t have because she doesn’t know what to do with them. “Your name was Rea, before the war.”

“Rea...” Revan repeats, nodding to herself. “How did you know me?”

“I… Was a general during the Mandalorian wars. I was one of the jedi that left the order with you.” She’s gotten so used to running away that not having an escape from this conversation is terrifying.

“You’re a jedi? But you don’t carry a lightsaber.” Revan comments. It’s not a question, but Senna can tell that she’s supposed to answer anyway.

“No. I don’t.” She simply replies. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink or five.”

 -

 She decides to stay on Manaan in spite of it all. Not permanently, but a small part of her needs to know that Revan is okay before she can focus on anything else.

(it’s the same part of her that had spent nights where she should be preparing in Revan’s bed, arms wrapped around her waist and face buried in her hair.

The same part of her that would have followed Revan to the end of the very universe without complaining.

The part that she thought had died when Revan had let herself drown in her own darkness. The one she thought she’d killed after Malachor.

But then, it’s not the first dead thing to make a reappearance in her life this week.)

 -

 There’s a knock on her door, five days after the confrontation. She expects it to be Revan, here to ask questions about her past or to vent her anger. When she opens it, she finds Bastila instead.

“I thought we could talk.” Bastila invites herself inside and sits down on Senna’s empty desk. Senna sits down on her bed on the opposite side of the room. “About Revan and Malak.”

“I doubt you want to hear what I have to say.” She replies and sits on her hands to keep them still. “But go ahead if you must.”

“I think you should come with us.” Bastila sounds serious, so she bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

“I would literally rather enter a rancor fighting pit unarmed and covered in sauce.” She says instead, and Bastila makes a disgusted face. She takes that as a victory.

“General Keyis -”

“I’m not a general anymore.” Senna corrects, more harshly than she had intended. “And I have no interest in following her again. Last time cost me everything.”

Not that she has anything left to lose at this point, except perhaps her life.

“You knew her before… You know her when she was Revan. And you knew Malak.” Bastila pauses to look at her. “We could really use the help of someone who understands them, and Revan’s...”

“Had her mind wiped so thoroughly that she doesn’t remember who she is.” Senna remarks. This time her harshness is intended. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“I was gonna say ‘not herself’.” Bastila’s lips turn into a thin line. “You must understand how important it is to stop Malak. You know better than anyone what he’s capable of.”

“I do.” She confirms and moves her hands to her lap as they start prickling. “But I know what she’s capable of too. And I’m a lot more afraid of her than of him.”

“I know that I’m asking a lot of you. I wouldn’t if I didn’t think you could make a difference.”

“I won’t sleep on the same side of the ship as her. I’ll take my meals alone. I’ll keep to myself when I’m not needed, and I can leave whenever I want, no questions asked.” She already knows that she’s going to regret this, but it’s been a long time since she’s gotten to make a difference. She’d almost forgotten what being presented with the option feels like.

“If that’s what you want.” Bastila concedes. “We’ll find you a bunk before we leave. Ceeira’s… Exploring with two of the others, so you can go take a look if you wish to.”

“Does your crew know?”

“No, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. To keep the peace between everyone. It’s already a… Delicate balance.” She’s not sure that she’s comfortable with them not knowing, but she decides to let it rest for the moment.

“They’ll find out sooner or later, you know.” She gets up and starts tossing her scarce belongings into her suitcase. “But I’ll keep your secret. For now."

[badawanwrites]

Breaking the Silence

Title: Breaking the Silence Fandom: Knights of the Old Republic, Knights of the Old Republic 2: the Sith Lords Chapter: 1/? Words: 1520 Status: unfinished - abandoned Relationships: female Revan & female Exile Characters: female Exile, female Revan, Carth Onasi, Canderous Ordo, Bastila Shan, Mission Vao, Zalbaar, Jolee Bindo, HK-47 Warnings: alcohol abuse, canon typical violence, PTSD, depression, mental health issues

chapter 1 │ chapter 2 │ chapter 3

The Jedi Exile has spent a long time imagining what she'd say if she ever saw Revan again.

When she gets the chance, it's not quite what she expected.

There are too many Republic soldiers on Manaan.

She should have expected that, of course, with Malak’s Sith constantly attacking the Republic. They’d need the kolto.

She watches them try to avoid the Sith soldiers in the Ahto City cantina. It’s a strange choice to keep them in such close proximity of each other, and she wonders if it worries the Selkath at all. The Republic wouldn’t dare break the neutrality, but a soldiers aren’t diplomats, and drunk people aren’t known for making good decisions.

Not that she cares about the Republic these days. She hasn’t cared since the order cast her out for going to war. Hasn’t cared since Malachor V. It’s just that she prefers them to the Sith.

(She’s gotten so good at lying to herself that she barely even notices anymore. She’s not quite sure where she acquired that skill.

Maybe it comes naturally to runaways.)

She watches as a human man (dark hair and frown lines and a look in his eyes that she recognizes all too well from her own reflection. All barely contained anger and sorrow and loss. A veteran, then), a twi’lek girl (she can’t possibly be more than sixteen. She’s probably younger. She doesn’t belong in a cantina. Especially not one full of soldiers.) and a wookie (tall and proud. Only a few gray strands in his fur.) sit down at the table next to hers.

There’s nothing remarkable about them, but there’s nothing remarkable about anyone here except maybe the two mercenaries that challenged her to a drinking contest weeks ago. She’d won. They’re still bitter.

And is it really eavesdropping if their conversation is loud enough for her to hear?

“I’m not a child, Carth, there’s no reason I can’t help her!” The twi’lek girl pouts and crosses her arms over her chest, looking very much like the child she just denied being.

“Well, Ceeira doesn’t agree and neither do I.” The veteran – Carth – replies sternly.

“You’re just mad because she didn’t bring you either. I’ve seen how you look at her, you know.” The girl’s pout turns into a lopsided grin in record time. “You like her, don’t you?”

“As much as I like any jedi. She’s a friend.” There’s a jedi on Manaan, then. Possibly more than one.

She only has to stay for five more days if her maintenance job stays on schedule. She needs the credits.

She doesn’t want to stay.

“Mmmm sure. Do you stare at all of your friend’s -”

“Mission.” He sends her a look that Senna would probably recognize as disapproval if she knew him better. The twi’lek girl and the wookie both laugh wholeheartedly, and Senna wonders to herself how a solider, a child and a wookie ended up traveling with a jedi.

“Can I buy you a drink?” It’s one of the mercenaries from two weeks ago. No longer bitter, then. Good to know.

“Sure.” She answers, and offers him the closest thing to a smile that she can manage. “I could use a drink.”

She thinks the woman is a Mandalorian, but she doesn’t want to know, because she doesn’t want to hate her. If she knows that she fought in the war, she doesn’t say anything, and for that she’s grateful.

–

She sneaks out of his hotel room as soon as the woman falls asleep, a little less lonely and a lot less tense.

Ahto City is even more peaceful at night than it is during the day, and she allows herself a moment to enjoy its serenity before returning to her own room and her own bed.

-

Fixing droids is easy. She’s done it a million times before, both during the war and her exile. She feels at peace when she does it. More than she ever did meditating at the temple. Maybe that was the first warning sign.

The T1 series utility droid that she just finished doing maintenance on beeps excitedly at her, and she offers it a calm smile.

“There. Good as new.” She tells it, as she pats it absently on its head.

“Beep-deet-bip.” It replies with a little wiggle.

“You’re very welcome.” She gives it a final pat before working on one of the other droids. If she’s efficient, she might get to leave earlier.

-

The next two days follow the same routine as most of her days have since her exile.

She wakes up tired. It’s been years since she’s had a night of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. She drinks too much caf to stay functional during the day because of it. She knows that she should see a healer. She doesn’t want to.

She goes to work. Sometimes, she works with droid maintenance. Sometimes she’s a slicer. It depends on what planet she’s on and how desperately she needs the credits. She’s not picky.

After work she goes to the local cantina. Sometimes she’ll play Pazaak. Sometimes she’ll drink alone, and sometimes she’ll flirt with whoever is interested. Mostly she just listens to hear what’s going on in the galaxy. That’s how she’d found out about Revan’s death at Malak’s hand. Or ion cannon, rather. He never had been able to best her in combat.

(Sometimes she wishes that she’d been the one to do it.

Sometimes she wishes that Revan was still alive so that she can confront her, if for no other reason.

Most of all, she wishes that Revan was still Rea, and that Malak was still Alek, and that the wars had never happened.)

At the end of the day, she goes to bed. It doesn’t matter if it’s hers or someone else’s. It all depends on her mood and how much she needs to distract herself.

When she wakes up the next morning, the pattern repeats itself until she becomes unable to distinguish between days. She should probably be more concerned about that than she is.

-

The last day before she leaves Manaan, she finds herself in the cantina again. Not to drink, not today, but she does want to say goodbye to the two mercenaries and the guy she’s played Pazaak with a couple of times.

And perhaps to satisfy her curiosity about the jedi presence on Manaan. She never did know when to quit.

(They shouldn’t need Kolto, she thinks bitterly. They have force healers and they refuse to go to war when needed.)

“… I got out of there, didn’t I?” She doesn’t hear the first part of the sentence, but the voice that speaks it is familiar.

She hasn’t heard that voice in years.

“That’s not the point! We cannot endanger the mission by angering the Sith. Do you have any idea how important -”

“Yes, because you keep telling me! I did what I had to. It’s not my fault that -”

“You’re so careless, Ceeira, you need to learn -”

“Control? You’ve said that about a million times, and I feel like you’re singling me -”

“That’s ridiculous. I would say the same to anyone without proper training in the force. You don’t know what you’re risking by -”

“If we want to find the star maps, we have to do what it takes to find the star maps.”

Something ugly twists in Senna’s stomach when she realizes where she knows that voice from.

She looks different and the same all at once. Her hair is the same dark color as it’s always been, carelessly pulled away from her face. Her eyes are the same blue color as they’d been back on Dantooine before they’d turned sickly and yellow during the war.

She’s still smaller than one would expect. All narrow shoulders and skinny legs, and she’d be so very easy to overlook if her very presence didn’t command attention.

Senna knows the tone in her voice better than she wants to. It’s the tone she’d used to recruit their fellow jedi back at the enclave. The one she’d used when demanding that the council take actions against the Mandalorian threat, and then later when her followers dared question her. All anger and righteousness and fire.

She has no doubts about who this woman is.

And yet, her walk is different. She no longer looks like she carries the weight of a million corpses on her shoulders. She does not walk like a caged animal. Instead, she moves like a young woman with her whole life ahead of her and with a carelessness that Senna doesn’t think that she’s ever seen before. Like she’d never let herself drown in the pits of her own corruption.

Her smile is bright and honest. That, Senna has seen before, but it’s been so many years that she may as well not have.

She’s dreamed of this moment for years. Dreamed of getting to confront her old friend. Dreamed of getting back at her for Malachor, and Dxun, and every single other death trap that she’d been sent into. Dreamed of a fight. Dreamed of an apology. Dreamed of a confrontation.

When the moment comes she can’t find her words. All she can do is stare, until her mouth finally forms around two familiar syllables.

“Revan.”

[badawanwrites]

10 for tia/laine :) <3

Thanks Gigi!! I hope I did your girl justice :D

10. staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

-

Laine Pell. Quietly observant - determined - ambitious - eager - driven - pragmatic. Some might choose to describe her as emotionless, as cynical and cold to her very core. Tiennle might have - did - ages ago - before this - thing - between them started. Now she knows better.

Laine is cold but not. Cold until Tia needs her - needs the comfort of careful fingers running through her hair - until she needs a hand to hold - a kiss on the forehead after a rough day.

Laine is emotionless except for when the stress gets to her - when she’s desperately grabbing for something - anything - to keep her grounded. She’s emotionless except for when she’s homesick - except for when the fear of failure starts eating her up from the inside.

Laine is a person no matter how hard she tries to convince everyone that she isn’t, and it breaks Tia’s heart and fascinates her and frustrates her all at once.

Today is one of the days where it frustrates her. They haven’t spoken since their last fight - the last - you don’t have to be who they want you to be - and - when are you going to start taking anything seriously?

It’s been long enough that love bites have faded - scratch marks healed - long enough that Tia doesn’t even remember what their fight was about.

It’s been long enough that they’re sitting on the same bed in their shared room, both pretending to be otherwise occupied - Laine with school work, Tia with the latest addition to her favorite book series - while stealing glances at each other - trying desperately not to get caught.

Laine - observant as she is - catches Tia first, but instead of looking away - instead of getting flustered - Tia keeps her eyes firmly trained on her roommate’s until they start to shift downwards towards her lips instead.

They sit like that for a few minutes - Tia with her eyes on Laine’s lips - Laine watching her with anticipation - when she finally caves.

“Pell, can I -”

“Yes.”

The resulting kiss is surprisingly tender. Hands find each other - fingers lace together on their own - and there are no I love yous - no I’m sorrys - those are not words that they use with each other - but they both know, and that’s enough.

[badawanwrites]

for the kiss prompts: 17 for thalia/luna? 🤔

Thanks :D I haven’t written Thalia before so bear with me

17. height difference kisses where one person has to bend do wn and the other is on their tippy toes

-

Hoth is eerily quiet at night. For all its fighting in the day - for all the confrontations with the White Maw and the Republic - the temperature drop after sundown makes it dangerous - more so than usual -  for most species to roam the ice planet.

The Chiss woman sneaking around the Canyon is freezing in spite of her natural immunity to low temperatures. It doesn’t matter how many layers she’s wrapped herself up in - the cold is cruel and biting, and no matter how many steps you take to prevent its influence, it will best you eventually. Perhaps she has more in common with the weather than she cares to admit.

It doesn’t take long for her to find what she’s looking for. A door hidden in an ice block, only visible because of its recent use. She lets out a sigh of relief - she craves the comfort of lounging by the safehouse’s fireplace - wrapped up in a blanket - wrapped up in the lover she’s here to meet.

She knocks on the door twice, waits a few seconds and then rapidly knocks three times. A few moments later she’s faced with another Chiss woman - tall and dark-haired and clad in all black.

“Come inside. ” the woman - Thalia - steps aside to let her enter. “There’s a pot of tea in the kitchen.”

As soon as the door closes she starts shedding off her layers - quickly and efficiently - a testament to years of having to change into armor and out of it again on a moment’s notice.

“I assume you’ve swept for bugs?” it’s a stupid question. Thalia is a professional - and bug sweeps are one of the first things they’d been taught at the Academy.

“Twice.” She nods. “And I’m guessing you weren’t followed?”

“Not as far as I can tell but it’s - complicated these days.” It she takes a moment to take in her surroundings. The place hasn’t changed much since she was last here - modestly decorated - Imperial standard issue military furniture, a single fireplace, and a shelf filled with books on survival techniques, Sith history and a variety of Empire-approved novels.

“So. Business or pleasure?” Thalia’s tone is professional as ever - but Luna knows her well enough to notice the way she frowns in concern - the way her shoulders tense - not quite ready to relax until she understands what’s going on.

“I -” she takes a moment to think. It’s not exactly business-related. The job that caused this whole - thing - is finally over - she’s free, technically, but -

(“Keyword: onomatophobia.” the cruel voice in her head says - and it’s not real - she knows that it isn’t real - she overrode the keyword and they can’t hurt her anymore, but the indents of the shackles are still there and she’s not sure that they’ll ever fully disappear.)

“I just - needed to see you.” Thalia wraps her arms around her slowly - carefully - giving her time to step away if necessary. She leans into it as much as she physically can.

“Mivasi…”

There’s something grounding in the use of that name. A reminder that she’s more than a handful of carefully crafted aliases - more than an empty vessel for the Empire to use and discard as they see fit - that she’s a person with a past that reaches further back than her Intelligence days do.

They stand like for a while - it could be minutes or hours - Luna’s lost her concept of time in her lover’s arms and she think she might prefer it that way.

“I won’t ask if you’re okay.” Thalia tells her when they finally manage to let go of each other. “I know that you’re not but I’m not gonna push. But I’m here if you need me. Laine as well.”

“I know.” Luna smiles - and oh, it’s been ages since she’s genuinely smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Thalia leans down towards her - as slowly as she’d done with the hug - almost as if Luna’s going to run off if she goes too quickly.

Luna shifts her weight to the tips of her toes - this is one of the moments where she cannot help but curse Thalia’s height - technically standard for Chiss women, she knows, but infuriatingly tall all the same - and meets her lips halfway.

The kiss starts off unusually sweet - slow and cautious - as if Thalia is testing the waters to see how okay she really is with - well, this. Or perhaps they’re just rusty; out of sync - it would make sense, it’s been almost a year since they’ve last gotten to see each other between undercover missions and keywords that put them at risks.

Still, it only takes them a few minutes to find their usual rhythm - her lips against Thalia’s collarbones - Thalia’s hands in her hair - and suddenly Hoth feels a lot less cold than it had done when she arrived.

[badawanwrites]

“Well, this contest isn’t going to rig itself.” for tia/laine?

26. Well, this contest isn't going to rig itself

-

"Walter finally signaled. The meeting is tomorrow in the Duros sector safe house, usual time." Tia adjusts her dark blue wig for the fourth time in the last five minutes. "I don't like it. It's too sudden, no alternate time and location in case of surveillance. Something fishy is going on."

"This is Nar Shaddaa. When isn't there something fishy going on?" Laine turns to assist Tia with her wig problems.

"It's my home world, you know - watch the pins."

"Case in point." she fastens Tia's wig with one final hairpin and a very proud look on her face. "There. Shouldn't fall off now."

"Ready?" She grabs her jacket - she usually doesn't wear green - not if she can avoid it - and walks to towards the door as steadily as she can manage in the heeled boots that are part of her costume.

"I've been ready for the last hour." Laine simply replies and follows her. "I'll babysit Pollaran, you take care of Gramac."

"I could take down Gramac with my eyes closed after ten shots of Hothian vodka. Child's play." Her mouth twists into an arrogant grin. "In fact, I'd do that if the Star Cluster had anything decent on their drinks' card."

"I'm sure you could." Laine rolls her eyes. "Well, this contest isn't going to rig itself. Let's get to it."

"Music to my ears, sweetheart."

[badawanwrites]

for the prompts: 92 for athamew/kai? 🤔

I had a feeling ;) Thank you Dani!! :D I haven’t written in what feels like ages so please bear with me

92. “Wake up, sleepyhead! I made pancakes!”

Mornings on Nar Shaddaa are strange. There’s no sunlight peeking through his curtains, no rhythmic sound of boots against the ground at sunrise, no lingering smell of rain in the air from last night’s thunderstorm. The only thing lighting in the alley outside of Athamew’s apartment are neon advertisements for a nearby Exchange-run cantina, the newest implants available in the Corellian sector and a skincare product that he’s pretty sure is a pyramid scheme.

Still, despite the fact that there are no visible differences between night and day on the lower levels of the Smuggler’s moon, he always wakes up at the exact same time.

His morning routine is pretty well-established by now. He usually starts off with a shower - sonic, fresh water is hard to come by here - he then proceeds to have a drink, a cup of caff and a ration bar before he leaves to do whatever job he’s agreed on for the day.

Today is different. He doesn’t wake up alone - a recent development that he had not seen coming. He’s not hungover, there’s no smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his skin - usually a souvenir from time spent with his more questionable contacts - and he’s… Happy?

He catches himself humming on his way to the kitchen - some pop song he heard on the radio - and instead of grabbing the nearest piece of nutritional cardboard, he goes straight for the refrigerator.

He still cannot quite believe it. Kaizen Amhi - Jedi Battlemaster - Hero of Tython - certifiably good person - here, in his tiny, crappy apartment - in his bed - and oh, this could be dangerous.

It’s not the first time he’s been with Kai, nor will it be the last, but Kai has never stayed the night before, and he’s starting to get used to it. And that’s what’s dangerous about it - he hasn’t had a real friend since he left home, and Kai doesn’t know about his past yet.

In spite of that - in spite of his fears, his secrets and his knowledge that this will never be anything more than it is - here he is, in his kitchen, early in the morning, making pancakes - cooking for the first time in weeks - to make his partner in crime with benefits happy.

(Maybe not in spite of it. Maybe - just maybe - knowing what to expect from this - thing - between them is why he doesn’t want to run away from it.

Kai doesn’t do attachments. Athamew is afraid of them. It works.)

Kai is still asleep - on his stomach, with the most hilarious bedhead, snoring loudly into a pillow that Athamew is fairly sure Kai stole from him some time after they fell asleep - when he returns to wake him.

It’s hard to suppress the wave of affection that washes over him at the sight of this strong, brave man who seems to think that it’s his responsibility to carry the weight of the entire galaxy on his shoulders - letting himself be this… Normal in front of Athamew.

It feels a bit like a declaration of trust and he’s not sure what he’s done to earn it, but he does know that he’s going to do his very best to honor it.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. I made pancakes.” He interrupts his own inner monologue - he’s here for a reason, the growling of his stomach reminds him - a reason that does not involve overthinking this entire situation.

“Thank you.” Kai yawns into his hand and tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Still early, I just - tend to wake up early. Do you need more sleep? I can -”

“No, no, it’s fine. I prefer to get up early too. Pancakes sound amazing right now, actually… Let me put on some pants and I’ll join you in the kitchen?”

“Sounds good. I’ll make some caff while you get dressed, um - I’ll see you?”

“Yeah - yeah.”

The pancakes turn out to be good, as does the company, and maybe letting someone into his life isn’t as scary as he thought it would be.

[badawanwrites]

prompts: 131 + marley? ♥

Ayyy thanks :D She’s usually really put together so I don’t know what happened here but

131. “There’s no limit to where my reach is!”

It’s too much.

Intelligence has been in disarray since the Empress’ death. She’s running on three hours of sleep, her comm hasn’t stopped ringing since the announcement and she has not been able to get a hold of Lana.

There are knocks on her office door every ten minutes, every time she looks at her datapad there’s a new message for her - all labeled urgent, all in need of answers now, now, now, all important, all adding to the crushing weight that she’s already failing to carry on her shoulders.

She’s supposed to be good at this. This is the one thing she’s ever been good at - she’s efficient and hard-working and ruthless. She’s everything that someone in her position is supposed to be, and yet here she is with shaky hands and a tight chest and difficulty breathing and she doesn’t even know where to start.

She reaches for the hidden drawer under the table and pulls out a bottle of Corellian red. She tries not to do this at the office - it’s tacky and people gossip - but this is an emergency and she needs to dull her senses to get through it.

Drinking straight from the bottle doesn’t do anything to make her feel more in control of the situation, but it does help her breathe and distance herself from the moment.

When she feels the effect kicking on, she heads towards the refresher - she has her own private one - one of the few perks of being the one in charge, along with the sleep deprivation, constant stress and assassination attempts.

When she reaches the ‘fresher, she splashes her face with cold water and takes a moment to examine her appearance.

The bags under her eyes are more prominent than she would like. Her eyes themselves are bloodshot, and she looks - fragile.

“I can do this.” She tells her reflection. She doesn’t think that she sounds very convincing but then, she never does before these secret little mirror-pep talks that she gives herself when she feels truly lost.

“I am good at my job. I am powerful. I know what I’m doing.” Slightly better, but still not quite what she’s going for. She holds her breath for a moment, stares into her own eyes and exhales.

“I can fix this, because I am smart and resourceful, and there’s no limit to where my reach is.”

And that does it. She feels slightly more grounded when she returns to her office and starts looking through her messages.

This is going to be a long couple of days, but she knows that she’s competent enough to get through it. She has to be.

[badawanwrites]

35 for tia + the chaos squad?

Thanks Gigi!! :D

35. “I decided we’re past courtesy. I brought tacos and tequila.”

Keep reading

[badawanwrites]

Home

DROMUND KAAS JUNGLE, 8 ATC

-

She’s always known without a shadow of a doubt that she does not belong here.

She’d known when her father sent her off without so much as an encouraging word - despite her crying - despite her mother desperately pleading him to let her stay.

Keep reading

[badawanwrites]

luna + self identity??

"Self identity?" she hesitates for a moment before continuing, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

"I gave up my right to such a thing ages ago, when I first started doing field work." she takes a long, deep breath and closes her eyes.

"If I'm being entirely honest, I'm not sure it's something I had to begin with."

Something flashes across her face - regret, longing, melancholy - but it's gone less than a second later. She straightens her back and lifts her chin in determination.

"Not that I mind, of course. It's a small sacrifice, and one necessary for me to fulfill my duty to the Empire. I'm proud to serve in any way I can."

[badawanwrites]

How do you feel about Mandalorians? (for Ceeira)

"You know, people ask me that a lot these days." Her posture is relaxed, if a little lazy, and a carefree grin is playing on her lips.

"I think I'm expected to hate them because of - because I was - am - Revan, but guess I don't really see a reason to. We all did terrible things during the war, me more than most I guess, and if I can be forgiven for all the horrible things she - I - force, I should be used to that by now - did, then it'd be pretty hypocritical of me to hate an entire people, wouldn't it?"

"But," her grin turns playful and there's a spark of mischief in her eyes, "I might be biased, considering that I share a bed with Mandalore himself most nights."

[badawanwrites]

Lusia on being a therapist??

"When I was younger, I thought I'd grow up to be an archivist, or a scholar like my Master was." There's a warm smile playing on her lips, putting a single dimple on display. 

"Not that that was my only area of interest. I've always been fond of diplomacy as well, even before the Force and the Council put me on that path. And teaching. I've always found teaching to be very rewarding."

She pauses, trying to decide what to say next. There's a certain calm that radiates off her - one that invites people to trust her, to let their guard.

"There's this common misunderstanding about the Jedi, that we either do not feel or that we repress our emotions the moment that we start feeling them. The code teaches us that there is no emotion, there is peace, and no passion but serenity. People outside of the Order - and some within it, for that matter - have a tendency to take this literally."

She's had this conversation too many times to count. It shows in the steadiness of her voice and the practiced ease accompanying her words. She takes a few deep breaths before continuing her lecture.

"It's not that emotion is evil - every sentient being feels, it's only when we let our emotions - and passion, and ignorance and inner chaos - rule us that it becomes a concern.

"My job as a mind healer is to help people - Jedi and otherwise - process those emotions in a healthy way. Only when we've acknowledged what we feel and why we feel it can we move past it."

The smile returns to her lips - wider than before.

"I suppose that being a mind healer requires me to be a scholar, a diplomat and a teacher all at once, from a certain point of view."

[badawanwrites]

tia + the empire?

Her eyes narrow and her body goes rigid upon hearing the question. She knows that she should have expected it, really - people are curious about her upbringing, about her father, about the hell hole that he tried to convince her was home. Most people, however, are tactful enough to let her pretend that that abominable place doesn't exist while she's sober. 

"Why the fuck do you wanna know?" she puffs out her chest in an attempt to seem intimidating, but the truth is that she's afraid of acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, she's as much of an Imperial as she is from Nar Shaddaa. That after all she's done to escape, to remake herself, she's still forced to carry out their little assassination missions. That some of the people she cares about the most are still serving this horrible, horrible state with blind conviction.

"It's a cesspool of nasty little fascists who think they're better than everyone else because they serve the most evil fucking man in the galaxy." She crosses her arms over her chest and clenches her jaw. 

"Fuck, I need a drink."

[badawanwrites]

Luna's feelings on defecting??

"Defecting?" She raises a single eyebrow. "You must have misunderstood my mission report. I never actually defected, I was merely trying to infiltrate the SIS."

To the untrained eye, she's the very picture of calm stoicism. Her back is straight, but not too straight, her hands are folded loosely in her lap. Her feet are planted firmly on the ground, legs uncrossed but not spread.

The only thing that betrays her fear is the look in her eyes, subtle and undetectable to people that aren't Chiss.

"I'm neither stupid nor disloyal enough to actually defect." The corner of her mouth quirks up into a smirk. "I live to serve the Empire, and I will die in its service. Rebellion serves no purpose but to prolong the war."

She knows she'll spend the rest of her day wondering if she's made the right choice. If working for the enemy makes any difference other than easing her guilt about the horrors she's committed in the name of the Empire. She also knows that she'll come to the same conclusion that she always does; if there's even the slightest chance that she's making a difference; if she can save even one life, it's worth it.

[badawanwrites]

heva + duty?

Heva snorts and shakes her head, fighting the smile spreading across her face. "Is this off the record? No? Oh well."

She taps her fingers against her desk and fights back the sarcastic response that so desperately wants to leave her lips. She takes a deep breath. Duty. She can do this.

"I think–" she pauses again, suddenly unsure of herself as she always is when she has to be honest. "I think my relationship with duty is… complicated."

"I feel like you expect some patriotic for the Republic kinda speech, but I can't give you that because that's not really… that's not why I signed up." the confession tastes bittersweet in her mouth. "It was just kind of convenient, you know? After military school. And I fucking hate the Empire, so you know…"

She takes an uncharacteristically long break in a rare attempt to choose her words carefully.

"I think duty is… A lot of things, really. As a medic I have people depending on me. It's my duty to not let them down I guess. Garza likes to say it's my duty to follow orders but I don't think she's right. I think it's my duty to question orders," she worries her sleeves with her thumbs absently.

"Like. Hypothetically, if I was ordered to kill someone innocent on the off chance that they might be dangerous in the future–" her voice grows louder, angrier, implying that she's not being hypothetical at all "–or I'm asked to lie to a senate committee, surely it's my duty to break those orders, right?"

" I guess duty is–doing what's right even when it's hard, no matter the personal consequences. I'm not very good at that."