Charlotte Tur'enne
Jun 17th, 2013, 07:01:25 PM
It was like waking up from a bad nightmare only to find you hadn't woken up at all. Over and over and over again.
To say things had been a blur the last few months was one giant understatement. It seemed like only yesterday she was waking up in the brig on some Jedi ship, mostly being looked at like she was some sort of wild animal by the few that dared venture near. She liked that look... it was far preferable to the sympathetic bits of advice that had come from a few of what she had guessed were "more experienced' Jedi. Torture comes in many forms, she supposed.
Fast forward to the court-martial. Even then she couldn't be rid of the damned Jedi who had actually attempted to speak up on her behalf. Defending her for attacking one of them. She could remember looking at those in the room, desperate to find someone who would say something on her behalf that didn't come off as some mystical mumbo-jumbo insane excuses. Glayde would have said something. He hadn't been there. Dishonorable discharge. She only felt a vague hollowness at the notion that it had happened at all. Better off numb.
Then came the treaty. Peace. A Victory. A true Alliance born of Free Planets, not of Rebellion. A farce. An abomination. No one held accountable. She had raged for days. Maybe she never really stopped. Maybe that's why everything was so fuzzy. Time gets lost easy in the bottom of a bottle. Or Two. Or Twenty. Or...
One eye cracked open and instantly she regretted it. All she could think of wanting to do was bury her face into the pillow and shut things out again but even that effort of movement seemed too much to bare. An unwilling groan passed between swollen and split lips. The taste of blood rather than bile became apparent. At least that was a plus, no point in drinking if you were just going to throw it all back up again. Not that it stopped the headache any... though she did have to wonder if that was from the alcohol or if someone had gotten in a good sucker-punch on her the night before. Probably a bit of both.
Speaking of which... No amount of words with foul meanings could have described the sensation as Charlotte slowly pushed herself just far enough she could roll onto her side and actually take stock of the room she was in. It was nicer than where she had been staying but it wouldn't exactly be unlike her to blow a frakton of credits on a nicer place if she was blitz out of her mind. It didn't seem right though... Everything was too soft and not blood soaked enough. If she had come here on her own last night the room wouldn't have been so damn neat. Meaning....
Charlotte let out another painful mutter as she forced herself to at least attempt to sit up. She got about as far as being able to prop herself up on her arm. Nope, no blood on the pillow and... her other arm came up and touched the soft piece of wrapping that she only now realized was what made her left eye feel heavy as it sat on her brow. Great. So someone not only had dragged her from a perfectly good bar brawl but had the nerve to patch her up? The thought of why anyone would want to do that was more nauseating than the fact they actually had. The sight of a leather jacket on the other side of the bed that clearly wasn't hers and clearly wasn't made for a female brought on a whole new wave of sensations - none of them good. The sudden clenching of her stomach and tightening in her chest had to be shoved aside. Whatever she had done to earn all this was done and over with. No more self destructive than normal, right?
She wasn't proud of the gasp of pain that came as she finally managed to swing her legs off the side of the bed, only could hope it was because of a few bruised ribs rather than broken ones. Another suppression of what could have been a panic attack had to be choked down as she saw she was only dressed in a t-shirt and her underwear. Charlotte found herself, if slower than she would have liked, looking around the room, appraising it for exits and defensible locations. A chair next to the bed seemed to be where the rest of her clothing had come to rest in a tidy little pile, folded neatly and sitting right on top was her blaster. Strange that it hadn't been taken away from her all things considered. She wasn't technically supposed to carry one anymore but who was really going to tell? Apparently not the guy who had brought her here. The paranoid part of her wondered if it was just left there to toy with her. Sure you can try to fight back but we know what you're really like. She took stock of things around the room. Enough to show someone lived here or had been for a decent period of time but not so long as to actually make it homey. Someone was going to come back.
It's funny what training will drill into you. Especially her kind of training. Even ten kinds of frakked up the mind was still aware of things the body wasn't paying much attention to. So it really could genuinely be called instinct that caused her to suddenly lunge for the blaster and aim it at the door just as it slid open, her arm shaking with the effort of keeping it from dropping as a harsh ache raced up through her shoulder. All she needed was the bastard to come into view and at least this nightmare would end.
But resolve wavered. Hard to keep the murderous intent when you know the rather disapproving look that didn't need to vocalize the fact she should put the weapon away. That was fine, her arm was just about to give up anyway and she let it drop limply to her side as the blaster thudded to the floor. Oh the things she wanted to say... wanted to rail and scream and possibly pick up the blaster just to throw it at him.
Somehow all she managed was a meek half whisper of "Hi."
To say things had been a blur the last few months was one giant understatement. It seemed like only yesterday she was waking up in the brig on some Jedi ship, mostly being looked at like she was some sort of wild animal by the few that dared venture near. She liked that look... it was far preferable to the sympathetic bits of advice that had come from a few of what she had guessed were "more experienced' Jedi. Torture comes in many forms, she supposed.
Fast forward to the court-martial. Even then she couldn't be rid of the damned Jedi who had actually attempted to speak up on her behalf. Defending her for attacking one of them. She could remember looking at those in the room, desperate to find someone who would say something on her behalf that didn't come off as some mystical mumbo-jumbo insane excuses. Glayde would have said something. He hadn't been there. Dishonorable discharge. She only felt a vague hollowness at the notion that it had happened at all. Better off numb.
Then came the treaty. Peace. A Victory. A true Alliance born of Free Planets, not of Rebellion. A farce. An abomination. No one held accountable. She had raged for days. Maybe she never really stopped. Maybe that's why everything was so fuzzy. Time gets lost easy in the bottom of a bottle. Or Two. Or Twenty. Or...
One eye cracked open and instantly she regretted it. All she could think of wanting to do was bury her face into the pillow and shut things out again but even that effort of movement seemed too much to bare. An unwilling groan passed between swollen and split lips. The taste of blood rather than bile became apparent. At least that was a plus, no point in drinking if you were just going to throw it all back up again. Not that it stopped the headache any... though she did have to wonder if that was from the alcohol or if someone had gotten in a good sucker-punch on her the night before. Probably a bit of both.
Speaking of which... No amount of words with foul meanings could have described the sensation as Charlotte slowly pushed herself just far enough she could roll onto her side and actually take stock of the room she was in. It was nicer than where she had been staying but it wouldn't exactly be unlike her to blow a frakton of credits on a nicer place if she was blitz out of her mind. It didn't seem right though... Everything was too soft and not blood soaked enough. If she had come here on her own last night the room wouldn't have been so damn neat. Meaning....
Charlotte let out another painful mutter as she forced herself to at least attempt to sit up. She got about as far as being able to prop herself up on her arm. Nope, no blood on the pillow and... her other arm came up and touched the soft piece of wrapping that she only now realized was what made her left eye feel heavy as it sat on her brow. Great. So someone not only had dragged her from a perfectly good bar brawl but had the nerve to patch her up? The thought of why anyone would want to do that was more nauseating than the fact they actually had. The sight of a leather jacket on the other side of the bed that clearly wasn't hers and clearly wasn't made for a female brought on a whole new wave of sensations - none of them good. The sudden clenching of her stomach and tightening in her chest had to be shoved aside. Whatever she had done to earn all this was done and over with. No more self destructive than normal, right?
She wasn't proud of the gasp of pain that came as she finally managed to swing her legs off the side of the bed, only could hope it was because of a few bruised ribs rather than broken ones. Another suppression of what could have been a panic attack had to be choked down as she saw she was only dressed in a t-shirt and her underwear. Charlotte found herself, if slower than she would have liked, looking around the room, appraising it for exits and defensible locations. A chair next to the bed seemed to be where the rest of her clothing had come to rest in a tidy little pile, folded neatly and sitting right on top was her blaster. Strange that it hadn't been taken away from her all things considered. She wasn't technically supposed to carry one anymore but who was really going to tell? Apparently not the guy who had brought her here. The paranoid part of her wondered if it was just left there to toy with her. Sure you can try to fight back but we know what you're really like. She took stock of things around the room. Enough to show someone lived here or had been for a decent period of time but not so long as to actually make it homey. Someone was going to come back.
It's funny what training will drill into you. Especially her kind of training. Even ten kinds of frakked up the mind was still aware of things the body wasn't paying much attention to. So it really could genuinely be called instinct that caused her to suddenly lunge for the blaster and aim it at the door just as it slid open, her arm shaking with the effort of keeping it from dropping as a harsh ache raced up through her shoulder. All she needed was the bastard to come into view and at least this nightmare would end.
But resolve wavered. Hard to keep the murderous intent when you know the rather disapproving look that didn't need to vocalize the fact she should put the weapon away. That was fine, her arm was just about to give up anyway and she let it drop limply to her side as the blaster thudded to the floor. Oh the things she wanted to say... wanted to rail and scream and possibly pick up the blaster just to throw it at him.
Somehow all she managed was a meek half whisper of "Hi."