#[ trilla suduri x savage opress tbt. ]

[vendettamuses]

@maximuses said: The Second Sister was content that the rescue had gone well enough. There were some injuries to be shared among the Agency's forces, but they would all survive. Still, she couldn't help but notice a bitter taste in her mouth as she'd nursed Savage back to health. A tugging in her chest that'd ultimately made her more upset. Why did she feel so strongly? Why was she so drawn to someone like this? The last time she'd let herself get so attached to someone... Cere's name crossing her mind made Trilla flare with resentment. Even after the talks she'd shared with Rayn to come to an understanding of the situation. She knew Cere was only trying to save the Younglings. She knew Cere would never abandon her. She forgave her. But the Dark Side was powerful, and it kept a firm hold on Trilla's heart. Which is why when Savage had silently questioned the sudden influx of tension between them, she snapped. "You nearly got yourself killed. You weren't thinking of what could have happened rushing ahead of me like that." She watched him, eyes calculating as a cocktail of emotions built in her expression. She was regretting this already, but the words kept coming. "I'm more than capable of defending myself, you know. You were already injured! I could have-!" I could have lost you. "... We will work on your self preservation when you are ready to train. Rest." (muse almost got killed meme)

⚔️ Almost Killed Meme // ACCEPTING ⚔️

Savage was not like his brother. He was not like Maul at all. He lacked the carefully concocted poise and subtlety that the former Sith possessed. He did not have wit and cunning in spades. Rather, Savage's strength was in his strength. Brute force, stamina, endurance. All that which made him a powerful, capable fighter. A Warrior. Yet at times, it still remained to be seen that there was some greater gentility that bled through the hardened visage of hatred that fed his power through the careful training of the Dark Side. Flickers of an old life in which his strength was used to protect rather than attack. Echoes of gentler, more considerate version of himself. Sometimes, it was more prominent than what he was now.

This had been one of those times.

There was no thought behind his actions. Only blind instinct. The old, almost primal urge to act in the defense of the Second Sister. Devotion in every swing of his lightsaber, ferocious protectiveness in ever snarl and swipe of his claws at the threat that persisted. He fought and fought, until he was disarmed. And even then, he fought on, until his muscles were taught with the grip of iron and rope, and he was forced to his knees. He bucked like a wild horse, refusing to break or be tamed, swinging his head about with such fury in the drive to catch something on his horns and gore them. Even in defeat, he refused to yield. The fight only left him when he turned to see that she had been left behind unarmed.

Only then did he allow them to lead him off like a lamb to slaughter. Docile. Unprovoked. As though he'd never been violent to begin with. Because as long as she was safe, his purpose was fulfilled. Damned be the torture, the starvation, and the cramped cage they left him to die in. Only when she came for him and he saw she was in danger again did the fight seem to return to him. Like a switch flipped on and off, a robot serving one purpose: to defend and nothing more. The drive, that devotion carried him until she was safe again. Only then did he allow himself to collapse from the exhaustion and the pain.

Awakening to her scolding was hardly pleasant. But comapred to how he'd been spoken to in the past, it was tame. He did not flinch, did not grimace. His expression remained blank and emotionless as she spoke. He watched her, blinking slowly, sluggishly. Allowing her her piece before response. "My job is to serve and protect you, Mistress. We are kin in our betrayal by the Sith, and so I give my loyalty and devotion to you. I am ready to give you my breath, my life."

The words might have been romantic. Might have been perceived as a confession of love if they weren't spoken so... plainly. As though he was simply stating a fact. As though the underlying subtext that he was nothing more than a servant, a tool, a weapon was normal. And perhaps that was what Savage saw himself as. Just another tool in someone's arsenal. A personal servant. A weapon with no other purpose than to simply destroy all who he deemed a threat. And at her dismissal, he leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking nothing of it. The switch flipped off.

The tool was put away for now.