Ces Bottes Sont Faites Pour Marcher

[Mags Sondeeta]

Quand tu me dis que tu n'as pas d'autres filles




The tube of midnight purple lipstick had nearly been worn to the base. It was imported from Naboo, from a premium line that had been discontinued a year ago. An endangered species of fashion that would never be replaced, capturing a mood that sat hidden behind a stormcloud, uncharted and undefined. She didn't hold out for a special occasion or quantify how many more applications she'd get out of it before the lip color was forever used up. She felt like wearing it, so she did.

Standing in front of her full-length mirror in her quarters, Mags pursed her lips, blotting them carefully on a napkin before crumpling it in her hand and dropping it on the floor. The purple of her lipstick matched the purple of the bruise blossoming to either side of her broken nose, with the darkest blooms of color puffing just below the inside corners of her eyes. The bruise faded somewhat towards the epicenter of the cleanly-set break, with a line of broken skin showing a young scab of maroon. She carefully eased a small adhesive kolto bandage over the bridge, then slid on an oversized pair of black-framed sunglasses that almost-but-not-quite disguised the scene of the crime.

It wasn't intended as a cover-up. It was an accessory. The Twi'lek smirked.



Je sais parfaitement que tu mens



The sun dress slid on with ease. It was white with a pattern of pink carnations and green leaves, with pleats that ended just above the knees and shoulder straps at the top. The neck line didn't plunge, but it also did nothing to disguise the motley array of tattoos along her arms, collar, and chest. Everything from crudely-inked and faded prison tattoos featuring barbed wire and an axe-split stormtrooper on one arm, to vivid ivy and flowers around her other arm, through which the word NAYA emerged in cursive. The tattoos faded at the wrists, leaving bare hands, save for the swollen knuckles with broken calloused skin buttressing each. Mags applied a kolto salve, then gave each set of battering rams a simple wrap of shrink bandage.

She reached to the modest open closet, snatching a handful of thin scarf from a hook on the door frame. It was cut from the same bolt of fabric as the dress, obviously to match. The Twi'lek wrapped the middle of the scarf atop her head and the base of her lekku, then carefully folded the ends away with a toss over her shoulder, so that they didn't quite obscure inked skin.



Tout le monde sait
Que tu me trompes souvent



The jacket came next. Oiled and gleaming black leather with a creamy fleece liner that ran up and over the collar. Even without the patches at each shoulder, it was the kind of jacket that couldn't be mistaken for any other. It wasn't the kind of jacket suitable for officer's bars, and that suited Mags just fine. All she needed was a simple patch across the breast that read SONDEETA adacent to the Alliance Starbird. At the other breast was a well-used pocket. Mags opened the flap, pulling out a beaten paper carton with a picture of a rugged Tatooine Bantha rancher on the front. Three short shakes confirmed to her ear cones that the carton at least had some amount of habit still remaining inside. Good enough. She returned the pack to the pocket.

Looking down to her bare feet, Mags slid down to the foot of her bed, pulling on a pair of mid-calf socks over her contemptuously-woolen legs. Her toes wiggled as all the slack was drawn out, and Mags reached for her boots. As oiled and black as the jacket, with scuffed toes to the point of exposing the steel reinforcement in places. They weren't a statement of fashion, but one of complete practicality. Boots tough enough to kick down a door, and the guy behind the door as well.

She drew one cigarette from the pack at her breast, touching it between purple lips. A match sparked as it raked across a durasteel boot toe, and she touched off the tip with a series of puffs. Satisfied with the state of things after one last look in the mirror, Mags headed for the door to leave, but not before pausing by the refresher to throw the still-lit match in the sink.




Alors méfie-toi, je t'avertis maintenant



Out in the wilds of Jovan she prowled, undaunted and aloof the way that only a Twi'lek could be.

"Hey you can't smoke in Residential!" someone balked, freezing in place as they craned their head back with incredulity. Mags' only reply was the tip of her tchun lekku switching left and up sharply, a members-only insult that not only insinuated that the offended human's parents weren't married, but that his father probably fancied livestock.

Plenty of heads turned between the apartments section and the junction leading to the concourse, but no one else had any other useless advice for her.


Ces bottes sont faites pour marcher



Two minutes worth of browsing at a cart kiosk in the pedway, and Mags found the latest copy of Blasters and Ordnance, which she purchased for two credits, but not before disposing of her spent cigarette in the tip jar. She flipped through the flimsi, activating the touch menu to change the language to Twileki.

An Ithorian prettyboy got his head nearly turned off his neck in the midst of a gawk, and he trilled out a wolf whistle in Mags' direction. She turned a page, drawing her page-turning hand out into a stiff-arm that caught the wolf-whistler under the chin. Mags pushed the prettyboy onto his heels, causing him to fall back against his friends to a chorus of "Ohhhhh!!!"s and howls of laughter.



Et tu vas le regretter




The sign up ahead read Cafe in basic, and Mags took her place in the short queue. Ahead of her, a Bothan had just got his order, leaving a Cizerack woman to be tended to next. That is, if she'd stop talking on her commstick and pay attention to the barrista. Mags allowed that breach of etiquette to exist for....about twenty seconds. She then tucked her flimsi under one arm, reached forward, and swiped the comm stick from the felinoid's hand.

"She'll call you back."

With that, the Twi'lek disconnected the line, and tossed the commstick over her shoulder, leaving a mortified Cizerack trying to figure whether to start something or to cut her losses. Discretion became the better part of valor, and the felinoid surrendered her place in line to go chasing after her discarded communicator.




Car je mettrai ces bottes
Un jour ou l'autre pour te quitter



With the barrista's undivided attention, Mags carefully eased her sunglasses off her head.

"Un cafe. Ryloth roast. And bread."

The human teenage girl in the green apron gawked at the bloom of a bruise across Mags' face. A sympathy grimace formed on her features.

"Do you want cream or frothed milk, ma'am?" she squeaked.

"No."

"Sugar or flavored syrup?"

Mags returned her sunglasses back to her eyes, her patience stretching.

"No. I am sweet enough."

[Mags Sondeeta]

Two minutes later, Mags had her cup of black caf, along with a saucer holding a pair of crusty bread slices. She paid her two credits, drawing a plasteel knife and two foil-wrapped tabs of buerre from the end of the counter, along with a napkin. Turning, the Twi'lek surveyed her seating options, which were few and far between. The dozen or so two-top tables were almost entirely occupied, save for a single table with a sole occupant.

Not bothering to ask if the empty seat was being saved or to ask permission to join the other patron, Mags kicked the chair out enough to allow her entry, and took the initiative to sit without invitation. There, she paid the other person no mind whatsoever. Mags kept her attention fixed on Blasters and Ordnance that she lay on the table as she unwrapped one of the little foiled tabs on the saucer.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan didn't want to talk to anyone right now. He stewed over the implications of his latest outing, and needed help figuring out, yet again, where the hell the lightsabers came from. He needed time and tools to dissect the tractor beam projector too. The next ship to Ossus wasn't for the better part of a day. He took a deep breath. Patience.

He went through the previous footage again. Were the Binayre Pirates just toadies, or part of the larger scheme? While mostly deaf to the Living Force, he had a nagging itch that told him this was a dust spec on the bigger comet. No new clues in the footage, so he pulled up his list of notes, which left him with more questions than answeres.

He slowly reached over his now empty plate for the cup of black caf, but grabbed the wrong one in his distracted state.

[Mags Sondeeta]

The gaffe went unnoticed by the similarly-aloof Twi'lek, who was far too interested in reading up on applications of the new arc caster cannon system to notice the theft. Only a half second later did she reach for her own caf, finding the cup a few inches farther from her than she realized. Mags didn't realize her folly until she was already mid-sip from a cup that was half as full and half as hot.

"Ah!" She recoiled slightly from the stranger's cup, her lekku rared up on her shoulders. A broadside of vulgarity was loaded on her tongue and ready to fire, but the volley stayed at the sight of the stranger across from her. Behind her oversized sunglasses, the Twi'lek's green eyes lost their feral flash, returning to a yellow alert of smoldering wariness.

"I zink you 'ave my cup."

And I have yours, left plainly unsaid. And not immediately relinquished. Instead, the Twi'lek found her attention fixed on Morgan's chin, of all places. A strong chin. You could strike a match on it. Mags tasted the residual caf staining her lips with the faintest of tongue presses, her lekku slacking as they eased down to drape once more.

[Morgan Evanar]

The cup was halfway to his lips when he was pulled back to reality. Morgan experimented with the heft of the cup for a moment, and then set it back down, closer to Mags than himself. He took in the Twi'Lek in front of him: mirrored stylish glasses, newish bruises, broken nose, kolto patch, lipstick (color interesting), Blasters and Ordnance (newest edition), small scars (shrapnel?), strong accent (Ryloth native?), lekku relaxing, fast fight/flight--favoring fight based on the lekku's previous position, slight head tilt (inner ear injury?), hands slightly swollen around the knuckles that used recently, front two knuckles dominant, good puncher. Jacket indicated a pilot. She had shitkickers on her feet, dress was stylish, with a matching scarf. Sondeeta was displayed on a patch. Extensive tattoos of varied quality. Cigarette carton in her pocket.

His eyes met hers for a brief moment. She was still on guard. His said nothing.

"I'll get a fresh cup if you like." Morgan offered even though her own cup was still unsullied except from his oversized hands. He straightened in the chair and sniffed. They were drinking the same caf. She had smoked in the last 30 minutes.

[Mags Sondeeta]

It hadn't escaped Mags' attention that the caf she'd sipped by accident was precisely her preferred bean, served simply as-is. Whoever he was, he wasn't an imbecile or a child who insisted on adding four credits of filler to a two credit cup to distract from the ritual. She didn't believe in anything so starry-eyed as serendipity or coincidence, but she'd found herself seated next to a handsome man with good taste.

"I zeenk no. Ze damage, eet ees done."

Spoken with no offense in her tone. Point in fact, Mags went ahead and sipped again from the swapped cup.

"Eef you are ill, zen you are ze 'ealthiest-looking sick man I 'ave seen."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan smiled slightly while witty comments collided in his head. It wasn't every day that he met someone who knew what a good cup of caf was. He took a sip. It was a use the ritual as a distraction to slow his racing mind. He set his data pad down to give Sondeeta his full attention.

In the end, he went for the more direct approach "Even if I was sick, you look like someone who would beat a cold into submission through sheer will and a good right cross." He took another sip of the fresh, hot caf and set down the mug again. Mags did the same. Morgan straightened and offered his hand.

"Morgan Evanar."

[Mags Sondeeta]

She watched him banter and flatter, betraying her interest with the slightest of pivots so that her right ear cone favored him. Someone else might have said something just as understated or clever, and the Twi'lek would have rolled her eyes or told them to jump up the behind of a reek for darkening her path. Morgan Evanar, however, tightrope walked the fine line between the pilot's interest and disdain. He skirted disaster with a look that couldn't be copied. You either had it or you didn't.

"I do not remember ever being sick. Eef I was, zen I deed not 'ave time to be. Unless you are to be cougheeng out your leever, zen I zeenk I will be OK."

Mags' midnight purple lips didn't quaver or budge. Maybe it was a trick of the light that only made it seem like the corners of her mouth upturned. A smile made only by the sort of person that hoarded and never shared them, as she passed a rough-hewn hand over the table to meet his.

"Mags."

[Morgan Evanar]

Her hands carried scars, too. Her grip was firm, and Morgan was careful to match it. Less force meant he wasn't taking her seriously, and more force meant that he was trying to either control or intimidate her. He wanted neither. The handshake came apart and Mags was entertained enough to keep him around for the moment.

Morgan could feel his ability to push the conversation forward begin to stall. So he went with a forward question.

"What's your favorite way to pass a day, Mags?"

[Mags Sondeeta]

"My favoreet way ees by avoideeng questions like zat one." came the dry, smart-aleck response, hidden behind an expression somewhere between deadpan and amusement. Mags hung onto Morgan's question for a moment. She hadn't told him to piss off and run up the bulkhead yet. He'd made it through the default defense, against odds larger than him.

"But eef you say what do you do more zan not, zen 'ere ees ze answer I zeenk."

Mags raised her cup for emphasis, tipping it to her lips. She eased the cup back down, returning her hand back to her mouth with the corner of a napkin.

"We 'ave ze same taste een ze caf bean. Ees zat serendipity?"

The smirk on Mags face hinted at her skepticism, but she'd hear his case.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan had grown up enough to know when he was in a social tail spin. Right now the Bitchin' Belandi repeated "Pull Up."

"Fair enough." He showed his palms outward toward Mags before setting them back on the table.

"We had a two hundred million four hundred and thirty six thousand seven hundred and eight to one chance in meeting each other. Give or take ten thousand. It's a big galaxy, and we both, uh, work for the Alliance. I'm comfortable calling that serendipity, but I'm just an idiot who's good at math." He said, because of course he calculated "Serendipity" in his head. That's what his brain did when it started to puzzle things out.

He took another sip of the coffee and watched her over the edge of the mug, and couldn't figure out if she was entertained or now totally annoyed.

[Mags Sondeeta]

"When you put eet zat way," Mags quirked an intrigued eyebrow as she dunked an edge of her buttered toast into her caf, "you take all ze romance out of ze notion."

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Mags didn't immediately answer, and took a nibble of her dark-stained breakfast. Carefully daubing after setting the bread aside, Mags leaned back in her chair. She reached up to remove her sunglasses.

"You are geefted in ze mathematique? I do not see an AJ^6 construct on your 'ead. A natural talent?"

[Morgan Evanar]

The sunglasses went up and into her breast pocket, and it was as he suspected. Mags had been in a fight, and she had probably given at least as good as she got. She was still here, which meant, oh who the hell knows, not Morgan. He wasn't sure how much of his mathematical was the Force and how much of it was innate talent, but it was probably some of both. Since he was gifted with the Force the logical conclusion was that it was natural.

"No machine aides, just the strange quirks of nature." Morgan explained, and tapped his temple. "Very good at math, and hopelessly lost at conceptual romance."

He took a ration bar out of his jacket and ate a quarter of it. He folded the wrapper and put it back in the pocket, where it huddled along with the rest of his day's sustaining supplies.

[Mags Sondeeta]

"Zere ees nozzing to know."

Lips pressed in a taut line, Mags leaned back in her chair.

"Romance ees for fools. You like someone. Zey either like you or zey do no. I 'ave no time for zees game. You 'ave a 'andsome face and you are not an eembecile. I could share a table weeth worse."

Taking refuge another beat behind her caf, Mags continued to size up her drinking partner. She returned her cup to the saucer.

"Eef I were a romantique, and I am not, zen next I would ask what ees eet zat you do? Gifted with numbers. An academique? Military scientist? Pazaak cheat?"

[Morgan Evanar]

He flashed a wry smile at her handsome comment, and the tips of his ears went a touch pink. He wasn't immune to flattery from a mutual interest.

"Well, I like your company, too." Morgan admitted, and took a slow draw from the mug. He'd been near a few firebrand pilots in his time, but Mags carried some different baggage, and it was something that had shaped her personality. All Alliance veterans had seen things, but he suspected hers went beyond the average.

"Sometime Pazaak cheat, former droid mechanic, former gang member, mostly former slicer, and stock market hobbyist. My day job is Jedi Knight, but I've been voluntold into a few different posts in the Navy, like the Novgorod." He explained.

[Mags Sondeeta]

"Zat ees funny." Mags stated explicitly without a laugh, betraying only half a begrudged grin. So he didn't want to talk about his professional life, and that was fine.

"Usually when I 'ave 'eard ze one about ze Jedi, eet comes weeth an invitation to see a lightsaber." the Twi'lek made an acerbic face as she dredged her toast in her caf.

Symbolically cutting that option off at the pass, Mags deftly snipped the caf-soaked corner of bread with a quick bite.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan shrugged, and looked Mags dead in the eye as he reached in his jacket. He drew his lightsaber from it's shoulder holster, rotated it level, and put it gently down in front of him on the table.

His eyes never left hers when he pulled the coffee back to his lips.

[Mags Sondeeta]

A fleeting look of genuine surprise widened the Twi'lek's eyes as she passed her attention between the lightsaber and it's owner. The wide eyes didn't last, but they were replaced by an actual smile. A small one, but not to be confused with a smirk or any symptom of ambivalence.

"I 'ave not met a Jedi since I was very young."

She was instantly taken back in time. The lightsaber hung on Master Di's belt, just about at eye level. He seemed so tall and invincible to her when she'd glimpsed him. Amid the violence, hunger, and terror - Master Di was hope. That hope did not go unquestioned for long. Master Di fell. So too did Lessu, and all of Ryloth. She'd hoped to wake up from a nightmare when she'd first seen a Jedi, but she learned early on that even Jedi weren't invincible.

Suddenly aware of her own silence, Mags returned to the here and now.

"Zen I suppose ze less fantastique claims, zey are also true?"

A thought crossed her mind - a thought that her thoughts might also cross his. Was that not one of a Jedi's many powers? She felt all the fear and wonder that went with that possibility.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan knew that look he spied when he put the weapon back in it's holster.

"I'm barely telepathic. The way I cheat at cards is through math and old-fashioned tell reading. Congrats, you've met one of the odd ones out." He raised the mug and took a small sip before placing it back on the saucer.

"The less fantastic things are all true. What about you? Ryloth native?" He asked.

[Mags Sondeeta]

"Yes." she admitted, reaching for her cup again. By the time she'd drawn it from her lips, she was holding it with both hands.

"For all until ze last two years."

Mags rolled her shoulders slightly beneath her jacket.

"Weeth ze treaty, ze Imperiale occupation, eet was no longer sustainable, as zey say."

The twi'lek's jawline tightened as her expression turned smoldering.

"So zen zey left. As eef zey 'ad simply decided eet was so."

Her cup was returned to the saucer, loud enough to clatter the dishes.

[Morgan Evanar]

He'd struck a fresh nerve with extra histamines. He watched the Twi'lek boil at the mention of home. Life on Ryloth had never been easy, and when the Republic transitioned to the Empire after the Clone Wars, things quickly went from bad to dire. The last time he heard anything about Ryloth from a native was on Nar Shadda during his slicer days, one of the times he gave his roommate stripper a Naktochi Lek massage after a rough night. Nar Shadda led to weird people.

"You earned your wings. Are you flying with the Titans or the Far Eyes, or...?" He let the question trail off. It was entirely possible she was on leave from elsewhere, and was passing through Jovan like he was.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Glad to be off the subject, Mags visibly cooled down. She lost interest in the last two sips of her caf, pushing the saucer away.

"I am weeth ze Titans, for now."

It was a noncommittal response. She knew that the K-Wings were likely to be assigned to their own dedicated group sooner rather than later, but the bureaucracy moved a few steps slower than common sense. Still, his detailed interest was reciprocated. Mags' tchun gave a flip over her shoulder.

"And you? You 'ave ze largest resume I've seen. Do you also fly?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"The Verpines forgot about mutants like me when they designed the X-Wing. All I've flown has been smaller freighters, bikes and speeders, but that's because I read the manual. When you break it down, I've only had two jobs. Slicing is the same as being a mechanic and engineer once you abstract the physical away. It's an interlocking puzzle. You just have to know the pieces. And sometimes the hammer to hit them with."

Morgan went a bit distant for a moment, and mentally reviewed his career as a Jedi thus far.

"I'm still figuring out the Jedi part." He said, and took a deep breath.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Mags let the bit about Verpines and X-wings slide. Morgan had already admitted he was an amateur pilot, no need to pillory him for a mistake. Besides, with a skillset like his, she rather liked the notion that a part of him wasn't a savant. That he was, like her, vulnerable.

Even in matters of Jedi training, though the Twi'lek hardly could ever dream of relating. Still, finding his humanity made her think about the other Jedi in her life. Master Di. Master Windu. Master Kenobi. They existed to her more as graffiti mythology than flesh and blood. Pillars of hope in her youth. Ruins of her cynicism as a teenager. Master Di was dead. As best as she could figure, so too were Masters Windu and Kenobi. Flesh and blood. As relatable and fragile as any.

"Do you smoke?"

The Twi'lek offered the Jedi his pick from her carton, flicking open the cardstock lid.

[Morgan Evanar]

He paused. He'd tried them before, and found that he didn't normally care for them. But he shrugged, and took one anyway.

"Normally a few hours after the Naktochi Lek was finished." Which was funny, because that was seldom true. The vast majority of the Lek massages he did were strictly gratis.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Ritual was slavery, but so was addiction. It fit. Mags sparked a match, servicing Morgan's cigarette before her own. In the halo of communal smoke, she smiled at the innuendo. Probably a case of saying all the right things. Maybe she'd make him put his hands were his mouth was.

"Zese will kill us." The Twi'lek propped on her elbows, glancing down to the cherry coal as it danced between her fingers. She exhaled two crisp grey lines out her nose.

"Zat ees what everyone says. And still I smoke. I am not a fatalist. I zeenk zat eef eet ees ze cigarette zat ends me, zat means I 'ave 'ad a life zat ees full, where I learned 'ow to keep going against zeengs zat should 'ave probably left me dead."

Mags expression turned thoughtful as she looked into the pair of brown mirrors across from her. Was she projecting? Yes, probably. And it was foolish and naive and even that didn't matter.

"You 'aven't figured out 'ow to be a Jedi. I 'ave only met one, but I do not zeenk 'e 'ad figured eet out eizzer. So zat may kill you."

She shrugged, drawing on her cigarette again.

"But zen, ze zings you would see before eet does."

[Morgan Evanar]

"It's loaded with carcinogens. It tends to hasten the end." He remarked, and blew a small smoke ring.

"So does my choice of current profession, which, until recently, had a near total on the job fatality rate. I don't usually think about that." Vader, the Emperor and most of the Rebellion's heroes all had a swan song with the end of the second Death Star.

"To beating the odds until the cigarettes can kill us instead." He said with a wry grin.

"To beeting zee odds." Mags said after another drag.

"You should be a therapist." Morgan chuckled. He was amused at the thought in his head of Mag's brusque demeanor applied to a shell-shocked patient.

[Mags Sondeeta]

It would have been a laugh, save for a dash of willpower. Mags settled for a smile.

"And you should 'ave been a comedian."

The Twi'lek shook her head.

"I cannot zeenk of a worse zing zan zees. I am barely okay weeth my own feelings, what would I do weeth ozzers? I barely 'ave a shoulder to cry on, and zen what do I say? But did you die?"

Mags shrugged.

"Absurd. I suppose zere are worse scams."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan grinned wide as his mind filled in the gaps.

"Therapy by precise emotional trauma. 'Did you die zen? No? Did zey die? Yez? Most unfortunate. I have provided zee pillows, zey are for zee tears. No, you may not cry on my shouldehr. Zat is on 'undred credeets, now get out.'" He said in a mediocre imitation of of Mags' accent. "It's got an appeal, but I think some of that is me picturing you in a pencil skirt, which is even more absurd." he added.

[Mags Sondeeta]

The pilot's eyebrows raised and knit as she bore witness to the lampooning, crossing her arms over her chest. She attempted to look unamused, but an insurgent smirk brought out a dimple in sharp relief.

"You are 'aving fun at me."

She broke pretense to draw on her cigarette, keeping her eyes on the comedian.

"Ze only reasons I 'avent punched you are zat you would see eet coming before I did so, and zat a Jedi saying zese silly things, eet ees funnier zan ze punchline. You laugh, you joke, you cheat at cards, and you do not wear ze rideeculous robes."

Mags leaned forward, propping her cigarette arm on the table by the elbow, so that the only thing between them was a wisp of grey.

"What else ees eet zat you do?"

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan leaned in. His eyes could see the irregularities of her skin and tattoos more easily. The smell of her nicotine infused breath, and the sound of her breathing. The thought of her throwing a punch had a different kind of appeal.

"Hyperspace jumps, teleportation, and I always put my partner in fun first. Maybe say more silly things and take a deserved punch for them."

[Mags Sondeeta]

Their trajectories were beginning to align. You noticed the change as a pilot. The subtle shift in contrails of course correction. The possibility of a mid-air collision, or a seamless formation flight. It took two pilots, equally comfortable in their own ability to get it right. A part of Mags lit up at the challenge and the prospect of good things, but this wasn't the only time she'd flown.

For once, Mags seemed almost troubled. Heavy thoughts pushed down onto her residual smile, making the faintest of pouts.

"I do not know. Everyzing you say, it intrigues me, and I want to know more. Morgan Evanar, Jedi Knight. Everyone said ze Jedi, zey are good. I remember so little of zem, but I know 'oo I am, and..."

Her eyes found his again, and Mags took a thoughtful drag on the trailing remnants of her smoke.

"...I zeenk you are making a mistake. I am not a good person."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan's lips pursed together briefly.

"If I've learned anything, it's that having a wide variety of people in my life helps to understand things outside of my normal scope." He said quietly. He took a final drag of the cigarette and extinguished the ends between his fingers. There was a brief flare of heat, and then it was gone. The bits of dried leaf and paper ashed.

"According to the Old Republic Jedi left, they were a bit cloistered. So what better way to be not cloistered than to spend it with you?"

[Mags Sondeeta]

Once again, Morgan had pulled away any of the complicated emotions from their collision course. This was transactional. He was a Jedi Knight who was learning how to Jedi, getting over his cloistering tendencies. She was sharing caf with an attractive human with a strong chin, hands as tough as hers, and one who apparently knew a thing or two about Natkochi Lek.

This was still a mistake, but one they'd both walk away from, so it was practically harmless.

Mags gavelled her cigarette into oblivion on her saucer. She then carefully returned her sunglasses to their perch.

"You said you can...'ow do you say? Teleport?"

A ridiculous and fanciful claim if ever there was one, but Jedi had that tendency to make the ridiculous matter-of-fact. Mags retrieved a pen from her jacket. She took one of the few napkins that remained unblemished from their shared caffeine ritual, and scrawled a series of numbers in aurrebesh. Putting the pen away, the Twi'lek neatly folded the paper, and slid it across the table to Morgan's side.

"I 'ave missions to fly. I weell be done no later zan 22:00. My door ees locked."

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a smirk. He could take a hint.

"And don't bozzer weeth bringing wine. Zere eesn't a bottle fit to drink anywhere 'ere."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan watched her go. The slight sway of her hips was hypnotic. He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and unfolded the paper. It was a deck and room number. He left a generous tip on the table and unfolded himself from the chair. Since Mags would on CAP, and he had an invitation, he might as well learn more about the Twi'lek pilot. But first, a run to clear his mind.
--

Morgan stared intently at the door to Mag's flat while he absentmindedly chewed through a ration bar. The door was there. So was everything behind it, which was the problem. The floor remained mostly uniform, and there was nothing to obstruct him immediately on the other side. It was nearly midday so the corridor was nearly empty. Most of the inhabitants were station personnel, and most were on duty.

Satisfied with the state of observation of the corridor, Morgan disappeared. He re-appeared on the other side of the door. The flat's entryway was illuminated by a dim red light, just enough for most species to not fall over. He pushed the button for additional illumination, and blinked while his eyes adjusted. It was spartan, but cluttered. It smelled faintly of stale smoke. The floor was partially occupied by clothing. One corner had a waste bin that overflowed with empty cigarette cartons and other paper trash. This overflow continued to most open horizontal surfaces. There was a small vanity, occupied by an mix of makeup of various complementary colors and qualities. There did not seem to be a particular pattern of organization. Clutter and clothes aside, there wasn't much here. A lifetime of living light. He was sure that if he searched into one of the closets he would find a bag with essentials, ready for a moment's notice of change. While he had been invited, there was such a thing as an invasion of space, and rummaging through the flat was probably a step too far. He suspected Mags had a threshold where she would go through and clean up the mess, but it hadn't been hit yet. It was well past his threshold for personal neatness, though. Morgan sighed, sat on the bed and broke down the cigarette cartons.

When he was done there was a neatly bagged pile next to the full waste bin. He changed the sheets, and wiped down the exposed surfaces. He did not pick up Mag's laundry. It was left in it's trailing paths and trenches across the floor. The bed was a place to sleep, the surfaces a place to put things, but the clothes were personal, so he left them be. It was possible that she would be upset that he had altered her space at all, but it was done. Morgan pulled his clothing off, folded it neatly, and took a sonic shower. Once clean, he put his pants back on, and retrieved his datapad. He sifted through again with the possibility he had overlooked a detail. He meditated for a few hours. When he could find nothing new, he dressed, and went for food and alcohol. It was 20:30.

At 21:30 He returned with some Chandrillian/Corellian fusion, a bottle of brandy, and a vodka, plus a few things to mix the vodka with. Not that Morgan was really interested in the hangover if he had too much. He pulled the jacket and his weapons off and set them aside on the now empty nightstand top. He turned the one of the dirty pillowcases inside out, retrieved his blaster, and took it apart.

[Mags Sondeeta]

The hatch to Mags quarters slid open with a sudden hiss. The Twi'lek pilot walked in, helmet tucked under the crook of her left arm. She wore the signature orange jumpsuit and white bib of the Alliance starfighter corps. Pausing in the threshold, Mags took a wary glance around the room, settling on Morgan as an afterthought.

"You broke eento my room to clean eet?"

Her face skeptical, her lekku tapped a tattoo against her shoulders. If this came with a lecture, he could leave her quarters via the conventional way. Instead, Morgan had the good sense to do little more than shrug. Mags let that eccentricity go. She set her helmet onto the nightstand in front of her mirror and began the ritual of removing her flight accessories. She'd spent nearly twelve hours in a cockpit. Her body was the sort of tired that only not moving could cause. The thought of sitting or lying down right now seemed poisonous. She needed a drink, and not the sort that the Jedi had brought with him. Or at least not yet. Caf first. Always caf. She could always trim herself down with liquor after that.

Mags removed her oversized gloves, the unpleasant clammy feeling of pent-up extremities began to subside once exposed to air again. Looking up, the Twi'lek watched Morgan work in the mirror's reflection.

"I did not zeenk ze Jedi favored blasters." She breathed in. Above the smell of unknown and inviting carryout dinner, she picked up the artificial bouquet of gun lubricant. It felt comfortable to her.

[Morgan Evanar]

"They're good from a distance, and less conspicuous than a lightsaber." Morgan said, somewhat absentmindedly while he focused on making sure the big Merr-Sonn 434's parts were in order. He mumbled a few components to himself while he ran an oiled cloth over them. He glanced up. She was halfway though disassembling her flight suit. He returned his focus to the weapon again. This was an almost full strip, just short of cleaning the focusing array and trigger system. While the size made for a cleaner Tibanna burn than many other blasters, the Heter valve and XCiter would still get dirty from impurities.

Mags continued to peel herself out of her flight suit. By nature, it didn't breathe at all. In the event you got spaced, you didn't want it to. Morgan surmised that after a day in one of the flight suits you'd feel like the polar regions of Nal Hutta. She smelled sweaty. Mags removed the bib and electronics first, and then peeled the suit to her waist. Mags wore a white, skin-tight long sleeved shirt underneath that wicked moisture away so she didn't stew in her own sweat too much. Just as importantly, it kept the flight suit off of her skin. The boots came off next, tossed underneath the vanity. At last she was able to pull away from the rest of the suit. Underneath was a pair of white leggings and black socks.

Morgan had started to put the blaster back together after he finished copper brushing the expansion chamber, XCiter and Heter valve clean. Mags pulled the socks, leggings and shirt off and went off to the fresher while she undid her bra. The bra and panties were dropped outside the fresher a moment later.

"There's four shots of Chandrillian espresso in the bag. Proper 26 second pulls over a fresh grind." He called after he slid the last latch pin home.

[Mags Sondeeta]

She'd heard him over the sound of the sonics as she stepped into the cleansing chamber, smiling at the attentiveness of her guest, and thankful that he couldn't see her do so. Caf awakened every sense, and even the thought of it seemed to cause the tension in her lekku to slacken. Mags daubed a handful of aromatic balm into her hand from a nearby bottle, spreading the body wash over her. Moments later it, and the dirt of a day's work, atomized into nothing, drawn upwards by the suction hood in the top of the unit.

"Zank you."

Mags emerged five minutes later, clean and glowing beneath a pristine pair of PT trunks and a sleeveless tank. She immediately went to work feeding the caf machine, measuring in two scoops. She paused, looking back at Morgan.

"Did you also want caf? You do not 'ave to be polite, I ruin my own sleep schedule on purpose."

The bomber pilot held the bag under her nose, drawing a long inhale.

"I never take eet for granted. I 'ave 'ad so much caf zat was barely caf at all, back when eet was 'ard to find."

Saying it made Mags recollect. It took her back in time.

"When we were driven out of Lessu, it was 'ard to get any supplies. Zere was no longer anyone coming for our rescue, so ze only sypathy zat we 'ad was ze kind we paid for to 'ave ze smugglers bring us zings. We 'ad caf but..."

Mags signed something sarcastic with a lekku waggle.

"...eet was not much, and very expensive. So we made eet stretch. 'Ave you 'ad cakori root? Eet 'as no caffiene, but eet can roast, and ze taste ees bitter."

[Morgan Evanar]

“Not yet. The caf is for you.” He said, and gave the Deathhammer a quick once-over before he slid the blaster back into it’s holster beside the bed. Morgan rose to his feet and paused in front of one of the cabinets in the kitchenette. He stared at the doors, his eyes unfocused. He blinked once. He opened the cabinet with the plates and bowls, retrieved two of each, and then appropriate silverware. The space was intimate, but he’d somehow avoided getting in Mag’s way by virtue of his somewhat overlong limbs. He then opened a door that contained the glassware, grabbed a stemless wineglass, set it on a back corner of the counter and closed it back. He plated the food, the thick Corellian noodles with lighter Chandrillian spice instead of the typical heavy Corellian cream sauce slithered onto the large plates, and the Nuna and vegetable curry went into the bowls. Morgan intentionally kept the portions moderate, as sex on an overfull stomach was an uncomfortable proposition.


With the table set successfully around Mags, Morgan poured himself a finger of brandy. Her attention was solely on the caf. She burr ground the beans, and then tamped and poured each espresso shot individually, each to exactly 26 second pulls into tiny ceramic mugs.


He sat into one of the chairs at the small table and leaned back before he took a sip of the brandy. He let it roll through his mouth while Mags completed the ritual of the last espresso shot.

[Mags Sondeeta]

The first touch of espresso to Mags' lips awoke her senses. Once the thin veneer of chestnut foam was pierced, she was renewed. Her senses sharpened, and her focus on the toothsome aromas that weren't espresso suddenly could be noticed. Of course the food. It wasn't haute cuisine, but only bourgeois idiots couldn't appreciate the joy of a simple thing done well. Those same bourgeois idiots probably never experienced war as a partisan either. Mags wasn't above trading her dignity to survive. She just preferred not to.

Her heightened sense of smell also picked him up as well. Clean, with a subtle fragrance like musk, leather, and pepper. It complemented the heady bouquet of gun lubricant still stuck to the air.

"So zen, 'ow do you do eet?" Mags eased her caf mug down, exchanging it for a fork as she started corralling her vegetables. "Ze teleportation."

[Morgan Evanar]

The Jedi paused between almost mechanical bites.

"I think I make a very small jump through hyperspace but I'm not sure. Familiarity helps, but first I have to sense the displacement of a location and the object. I know I move atmosphere to do it. I know the process, but I don't know how it works. I've been told it's disorienting." Morgan concentrated for a moment and then a water glass appeared a centimeter above the table. There was a gentle glassy thunk after gravity took hold, and it settled flat almost immediately.

He said, and absentmindedly swirled his fork to accumulate noodles, and took another bite.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Mags wore a skeptic's face, even as she began to parcel up a bite of pasta.

"You say like 'yperspace, but zere ees a durasteel door zere, and eet and you are both eentact."

She wasn't yet certain this was a Jedi trick or merely the trick of a criminal who knew how to bypass a lock. She wasn't exactly a forensics expert.

And then, it happened. The sudden displacement of air went hand-in-hand with a hypersonic pop, startling the fork right out of the pilot's grasp. Green eyes as wide as saucers fixed on the glass as it clunked on the table as if nothing else extraordinary had happened. Somewhere between then and now, Mags had bolted to her feet, knocking her chair flat against the floor.

"Nais d'accar! You were not lying!"

Carefully, Mags reached for the glass. She palmed it, turning it over in her hand. No tricks. One of her glasses from the kitchenette, filled with what looked and smelled like water. Her amazement turned to pointed annoyance. He'd startled her like a little girl. She threw the splash of water in his face.

"Next time warn me before you go and break ze laws of physics! Eef I 'ad been drinking my caf I would be wearing eet!"

[Morgan Evanar]

The water came in slow motion. He watched the leading edge form via surface tension interacting with the air. The soft, diffuse light refracted off the droplets and it distorted Mags’ annoyed face with narrowed green eyes. It gave him enough time to get his eyes closed and the fork out of his mouth, but not much else. With his eyes still winced shut he returned the fork to the plate and carefully swallowed his food.

It was more likely that he would have worn the caf.

“Pftfptlfppt.” Morgan wiped most of the water off his face with his free hand. He blinked several times. He’d made sure she wasn’t drinking or doing anything that would result in any damage from surprise, but she was annoyed at being caught off guard. Mags was a woman who did not like being off guard. He had seemingly violated physics, although he’d imparted his limited understanding of the process to her before he did it. He wiped his hand and face off with a napkin.

Morgan sighed and gave Mags a rueful look. He debated an apology but decided that it wasn’t worth the risk of sounding patronizing while she was annoyed.

“Noted.”

[Mags Sondeeta]

The fire of her annoyance vanished as quickly as it flared, and the Twi'lek retrieved her seat, sitting back to the dinner table as if she hadn't thrown water in her guest's face at all.

"Ze displacement of ze air, zat ees at ze very least 'ypersonic, but zat still does not explain 'ow you pass through ze door."

Mags speared a bite of vegetables, looking from the door to Morgan.

"Eet does not matter 'ow. Clearly you can. Whezzer zat ees by folding of space or somezing, neizer you nor I know. Zere are so many stories of what ze Jedi can do, I should not be surprised zat you can do ze impossible."

The tips of her lekku curled in slightly, relaxing.

"And today I find out somezing more amazing. Zat you are real. Not zat you exist, zat I know. But zat you 'ave ze same leetle zings zat make you more like someone like me."

[Morgan Evanar]

"We're all a bunch of sapients. We all dream. We all have our demons and regrets. Some of us more than others." He said. He ran a hand through his still damp hair as if he were figuring out how to escape the weight of being remarkable. Morgan didn't feel remarkable. He wanted to get this fiery Twi'lek's toes to curl.


His mind wandered. Despite his somewhat philosophical waxing, he felt stymied, because clearly his ability to teleport worked somehow. Maybe he folded hyperspace, or maybe there was another, similar parallel dimension that didn't have the same matter interaction qualities. Why was this bothersome now? He pushed that aside. Mags took the time to enjoy the food in a way that he seldom did. Certainly he felt better after eating, but for the most part it was ration bars and they weren't exactly a culinary sensation. He forced himself to slow down to a pace closer to Mags', and thought about the flavors and textures.


He mulled this as he finished the plate, a small portion that he normally would find less than satisfactory. Perhaps he needed the reminder to live in the moment more.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Was he downplaying it all? Mags had no idea. No reference level. She listened to him talk, favoring her good ear cone as she twirled a cluster of lightly-dressed noodles around the tines of her fork.

"Per'aps I am being naive, zen. Per'aps ze force, eet ees no different zan a sense native to only some species. You and I, we can not see een infrared. It would be foolish to put anozzer alien on a pedestal just because 'e can see what we do not."

Yet, clinging to the margins of Mags words lay unasked questions. She swallowed them, almost annoyed that Morgan had coaxed her into a place this introspective.

"I 'ave 'eard zat ze Jedi begin zeir training young. As children. Was eet so weeth you?"

[Morgan Evanar]

"I..." he paused, attempting to put words to ideas that rapidly swirled.

"...don't have a relationship with the Force like most Jedi, with what they would call the Living Force. They can sense and interact with the life force of most beings and things. I see and sense more of a displacement of everything. Relative location, motion, density, that sort of thing. I think the interactivity with Life makes it a bit different. Being able to see and touch, I don't know, I only get a bare glimpse. It's very blurry and weak for me."

"No. I was a droid mechanic's kid and then a Nar Shadda teen street punk turned slicer before I met any Jedi."

He sipped a bit more brandy, and let the liquid warm and flow in his mouth.

[Mags Sondeeta]

By all accounts, a hard life before he'd met a Jedi. It was almost a complete reverse of her experience. The handful of memories she'd had as a child were happy. A good house. Loving parents. Full of possibility. The Jedi didn't take that away from her. They were just a symptom of the disease. They showed up when everything was already falling apart.

She'd never come close to putting that back together.

And this wasn't blame or angst, it was just the way it was. Mags had almost forgotten the promise and potential that the Clone Wars tore away from her, and that Imperial occupation salted the earth from which it grew. She could have been a beautiful flower, but she'd grown up a weed. Bitter, tough, thorny. But alive and thriving.

So what did Morgan Evanar think? Was he changed for the better? Was he happy? She wasn't going to ask that, and she certainly was glad he couldn't sift the question off her thoughts. Happiness was a luxury. Best to be frugal.

"Zank you for ze dinner."

Mags crossed her knife and fork on her plate. There was food remaining, but she was sated of it. Rising from her seat, she finished the last of her strong caf, setting the empty cup on her dresser with a clatter. She returned to Morgan, pushing his cognac aside as she climbed across his lap.

"I zink we 'ave said enough."

[Morgan Evanar]

The first kiss between two people is always exploratory. A kiss also engages four of the five normal senses, unless there is a case of extreme nearsightedness. Mags tasted like coffee and cigarettes with a hint of the meal. The balm she wore had a flowery spice to it, although there was a faint scent of nicotine in the background. He could hear her breath pause and sharpen. The skin on her hands was rough, and calloused in the spots where it saw the most abuse. It smoothed out the further up her arms he went, interrupted by the occasional scar.


It was when he had started the Naktochi Lek massage that Morgan's mind moved into an experiential feedback sensory loop with a singular goal of making Mags Sondeeta feel as good as possible.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Mags held onto every motion of Morgan's fingertips, feeling the electricity as it warmed through her knotted muscles while piquing her sense of touch. She pulled back slightly from a kiss given more out of custom than feeling, her teeth tensing just enough to hold his lower lip by the shortest of tethers. He didn't seem to balk, so she tested her boundaries. The less they said, the more they communicated. As if he was going to show her how to levitate things with her mind, and she would show him how to bank a Segnor's loop. Not everything had to be concord. That's what made simple things like lovemaking a bit more than what was on the surface.

Still, as they transitioned from the kitchenette to the bed, nothing had really changed. They shared their heat now, but it always dissipated. It was foolish to even try to make something last even a moment more than it should. It diminished nothing. Mags had learned from a very young age to appreciate the fleeting. Things that came once a year or even less.

With their clothing removed piece by piece through their jockeying, Mags now had full run of the canvas. He was tall and lean, without the need for bombastic muscles to define him. There was a tautness to his body, like durasteel cable. Mags raked her nails along his shoulders to give him a sign that she'd been there. He gave way not one bit. She chipped a nail for her effort.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan's conscious was wholly preoccupied, but his subconscious was compiling questions. Each tattoo was of variable quality, but each seemed to have a sensible place in the large whole. There was a personal pattern to the network of ink.

Naked? When did we get naked?

Each scar was the mark of a violent or unlucky event. The amount of tissue and size seemed to be variable. Some were old, from childhood, and some were from the last five years.

Her body was honed for bursts of violence. Muscle was regularly used to climbing, grabbing, running, hitting and carying wrapped her bones. She was tall and lean. The muscle had been earned, and the small portion of fat spread over her body was there because it was necessary.

That looks like a stun blast. That looks like a DL-17 hit. Who's Naya? Who stabbed you in the leg? Sharpnel hit to the collarbone? Lucky to be alive, maybe. What kind of flower is that? Fall off a speeder bike? A swing? Which one makes you happy? Sad? Which one do you talk to every day?

The scent of nicotine: Are you just an addict who picked a vice and stuck with it? Who/when/where/why gave you the first one?

Who?
Why?
Why?
How did you survive? Do you still feel?
Why am I alive? Why are they dead? Why do I feel guilty? Does it stop?

Movements were varied slightly as he honed in on what provided the most satisfying experience for Mags. He learned quickly what was and wasn't working for her. She was unafraid of asserting herself if her desires changed. He was a rapt student.

[Mags Sondeeta]

It pitched and crescendoed like a fever dream, defying expectation and constraint. Morgan Evanar was attentive to her every detail, and she to his. There was a saying among Twi'lek, that lovers moved as one, as surely as tchun and tchin - by the same mind and passions. They were two people, but for a fleeting hour, the line blurred.

In the end they parted, heaving to catch breath from their piqued throes. Mags glistened, her blue tones nearly midnight with satiety. A sheet half-covered her, out of where it ended in the commotion rather than some sense of post-coital modesty. She reached for her pack on the nightstand, sparking a cigarette. A few stoking drags later, she passed it to Morgan in an act of communion.

"I feel like asking you a question, but eet ees ridiculous. I do not zink zat you would 'ave an answer."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan took a slow drag from the cig and blew a smoke ring that expanded slowly above them before it was whisped into nothing by air scrubbers. He appreciated the gesture and the appetite supressing properties. Right now he could eat half the ration bars he had stored in his jacket.




Mag's feet and legs stuck out of the sheet along with her arms and shoulders. Only the right half of his body was covered, except for an arm and a foot that stuck out. He closed his eyes for a moment and let himself sink into the sweat soaked sheets.


"I think we can agree that I have a penchant for the ridiculous." He said and handed the cigarette back.

[Mags Sondeeta]

She nodded at the assessment, watching the trails of dense smoke trace patterns in the darkness of the ceiling. So there was no use in couching her curiosity in modesty. Not with a man who laughed at rules of space and time.

This felt like a confessional. Not that she had sins that she needed relief from, but rather that she had a sense of incompleteness that needed mending. Maybe Morgan Evanar wasn't the Jedi to show her how, but maybe he could point her in a direction.

"Earlier today, you said zat you cannot read thoughts, zat zees ees a thing closed to you."

Her green eyes traced to him.

"Ees zere nozzing at all? Can you sense emotion or feeling? Sense eet een someone close to you?"

Mags swallowed. Her lekku closed protectively to drape over her collarbones.

"We Twi'lek 'ave a saying, zat ees Nante'sse. Eet does not exactly translate, but more or less eet ees to say close, but far. Zat feeling when you are away from a loved one, but you find some of zeir old clozzing, and you swear you can smell zem as eef zey are in ze room. Eet doesn't matter ze time or ze distance."

[Morgan Evanar]

"I don't have any aptitude for reading thoughts. After a long period of time and work I can establish remote empathy for strong emotions with other Force sensitives." Morgan frowned at himself for being so clinical about it. He felt a little defensive with a big helping of inadequacy, especially for something that was likely tied to something very personal.

"That sounded cold. Ugh." He added and took a deep breath before she could reply, if she was going to reply.

"There are some who can do all of those things. Some of us can pick up feelings from objects used or left behind by others. For me, it has to be shared, or maybe, broadcast would be a better word."

[Mags Sondeeta]

What had she been expecting to hear? More than he'd said, certainly.

Mags looked away again, staring at the ceiling as she smoked. She closed her eyes, allowing the veil to obscure all of the loneliness and pain she'd risked badgering by even flirting with a question like that. So close to her unhealing wound, it was so easy to feel like the simple weight of life could subsume her. The only reason it didn't was hope. Torn, ragged, abused hope. And unknowingly, Morgan teased it between renewal and abuse.

Her eyes opened, and Mags fixated on the cigarette held aloft. She passed it back without reply.

[Morgan Evanar]

It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was the answer he had. Morgan took a slow drag as before.

"I can ask someone on Ossus." If she didn't take it, that was fine. It was an honest offer. They might not ever see each other again. That was fine too. Right?

He held the cigarette aloft. Morgan started to wonder what he was accomplishing.

[Mags Sondeeta]

Her lekku burned with a feeling that was a mixture of shame, anger, and sadness. How could she explain to him what kept her awake at night? The demons that gnawed at her guts but pointedly kept her alive and capable of feeling her agony in perfect clarity? If she couldn't explain it to him, what were the chances she'd fare any better with a group of serene-faced mystics?

"What would you say, mm?"

She turned her head to look at Morg, a pointed expression on her face.

"You would tell zem I met zees woman, we 'ad a one night stand, and zen she dropped 'er problems een my lap for you to feex?"

Mags commandeered the cigarette again, drawing on it quickly.

"I am too prideful. I wish I were not."

For a moment she appeared wounded by some thing or many things unsaid. Mags rolled the other way and extinguished the cigarette in the bedside ashtray. Unseen by her paramour, all of her hidden vulnerability etched onto the Twi'lek's cerulean face. In the dim of the room, it was a somber expression.

"You should sleep."

At least one of them might.

[Morgan Evanar]

He could distantly feel her hurt, but after several minutes none of the emotional details revealed themselves. Morgan frowned darkly into Mag's shoulders, disappointed in his lack of empathic skill and therefore inability to help directly, but also at her stubbornness. Even if he could help, would she let him?

After another few minutes of consideration, he decided he wasn't being fair to either one of them. He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I should." He agreed, and let her go.

Mags said nothing. Morgan turned onto his side and closed his eyes.

[Mags Sondeeta]

True to her expectations, Mags slept very little. Even without a pillow full of things to ponder, she chased more restful nights than she caught.

Insomnia was survival. On Ryloth, a heavy sleeper would miss an air raid siren and get vaporized by a TIE Bomber sortie. Or worse, they wouldn't hear the footfalls of a stormtrooper that had crept inside the wire. Mags had learned that lesson young. It didn't change now that she was safe and sound on an alliance space station. She woke at every bump, at every click of the climate control system in her quarters. She got out of bed with an ache in her muscles and her head full of fog. There was always caf. The ritual, the smell, and the chemistry. It helped her cheat circadian destiny. No small part of Mags wondered whether the hours she shaved off needed sleep were hours she'd pay back with an early grave. As if she'd ever be lucky enough to go out in peace.

Her head was off the pillow a good twenty minutes before her alarm. The Twi'lek disengaged the bedside assistant, sourly noting the four and a half hours of rack time she'd logged. Mags slid out of bed, mindful not to disturb her guest. She ground the next serving of caf. While it brewed, the Twi'lek stepped into the sonics, turning the thermal setting up to maximum to clean away the passions of last night. Once the high frequency setting had obliterated the dirt, oil, and sweat of yesterday, Mags turned the setting to the low frequency, letting machine comfort beat as much tension out of her back and neck as it could.

Ten minutes later and it was done. Mags spent another five minutes in front of the mirror. She didn't reach for makeup or toiletries. Instead, she availed herself of her mirror. A few minutes to stare herself down. She could see the wear. A crease in the skin that wasn't there a few years ago. The deviation at the bridge of her nose that hinted at more than a few broken bones. Her eyes. Alone, staring back into themselves. Unable to hide or fake the sadness behind anger. She couldn't even be mad at herself for it, not like this. She'd just see through the whole thing for what it was - trying to run and hide.

Calloused hands ran down to trace one of the tattoos that coursed along her left collarbone.

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan was light on feet, and Mags did not see him until well after he rounded the corner. He paused, and gave her a few meters.

"Hi."

She looked up, angry that he was able to see her in a state of sadness and annoyed that he moved so quietly. Morgan slipped past her and into the fresher before she wound up, if that was what she was doing.

Like Mags, he turned the sonic shower to it's most aggressive setting, and stripped away the physical aftermath of last night's distraction. Morgan turned the power down, and put both hands on the rounded walls and leaned his head against the wall for a moment. It had been a welcome distraction, but his guilt and problems were still there. He stood still for a minute, letting the sound waves massage his skin.

Morgan turned off the fresher and Mags was not at the vanity, but he could hear her in the kitchenette. He put on his undergarments and pants.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

[Mags Sondeeta]

She took her time debating that question in her head. It wasn't going to come clean, or all at once. Before she could even begin, she was going to need the ritual.

A cup of caf slid onto the table by the chair nearest the Jedi. Mags didn't sit down though. She took her own cup standing up by the counter.

"Zere are too many zings to say. Everyzing I saw during ze occupation and ze intifada. Everyone 'as a sad story. Zere are so many of zem."

The Twi'lek sipped her steaming cup, letting the bitter settle on her tongue, she swallowed heavily.

"Not everyzing is made better because ze Empire 'as gone away. Ze dead are still dead. Ze zings zey did, zey aren't put back like zey were."

[Morgan Evanar]

It was true. If something was broken thoroughly enough, it never went back together quite the same. Sure, you could hide it, but it might fall apart at a moment's notice when the right stress was introduced. Morgan had seen it several times: first at home, and then with the Alliance. The Empire had left large holes in billions of hearts, in tens of thousands of planets, in thousands of systems. Ryloth had one of the shortests ends of it. Things under the Republic were bad, and under the Empire they went directly to much worse.

"What about Naya?"

[Mags Sondeeta]

There was a striken look on Mags face, as if Morgan had stabbed her. Her hand reflexively went up to her collarbone, the tattoo there nearly completely covered by the under-tee she had slipped on since the shower. Like a wounded creature, she turned her back to him, keeping her injury as protected as she was able. Not nearly enough.

"Get out."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan stood up and put his hands even with his head. His curiosity had bested his sense, and he had gone too far.

"Okay."

He left the fire-tempered Twi'ek in her kitchenette. He put on the rest of his clothes quickly. He located a pen and a scrap of paper.

Sorry

- Morgan

He left his public comm frequency below it, in case she ever changed her mind about, well, any of it. If she wanted help from a true empath she'd have it. He'd take the door like a normal person this time.

[Mags Sondeeta]

She kept her back to him, taking metered sip after sip. He quietly did as she asked. The door hissed open.

A moment later, he was gone.

"EEYAAA!"

Mags hurled her empty cup against the cabinet. It shattered into a spray of shards, tinkling across the counter and the floor below. She slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor as she clutched both hands over the name etched forever into her flesh.

"Naya..."