you are the rocks upon which others break. you are the siren song that ensnares hearts and smashes bodies. you grab onto people in the storm and pull them down into your dark waters.
âhey,â he scolds playfully, a weak smile bending at the corners of his lips. âdonât knock the mechanic, heâs set to be my husband here soon, you know.â and then he chuckles because heâs said the same about pomona, that they intend to be married shortly, even directly to her, and maybe with any luck, the two of them might even get along with each other so that there could be a mass wedding aboard the derelict. wouldnât that be cute? wouldnât that be wholesome? wouldnât that be entirely against everything heâs learned about the jedi ways so far and cause every single jedi master for the past thousand years to roll in their dusty graves? sounds like a good plan to akaides.
at least it would get their attention.
he listens to joules explain about his love as they sit together, listens as best he can and pictures the young, silver-haired boy flying through space and wonder, trying to picture himself in his stead, trying to paint himself in the clouds, between star clusters, cascading through atmosphere, and enjoying it. he realizes itâs not the speed or the danger that irritates him so, itâs the lack of things in this ship that bothers him; the lack of air, the lack of space, the lack of real gravity. the lack of pressure. he closes his eyes. âiâm sorry to hear about your ship, she sounds beautiful.â
he thinks about the question posed to him, aligning the feeling joules had to what was available on goreo gamma, and grins again, blue eyes growing distant. âthere were these creatures on my homeworld that swam around the islands twice a year for the season changes, called akaiâdiniâtheyâre huge and they glow underwater, and whenever they come around, everyone plays hokkem,â he pauses, frowning, reaching for a translation of the phrase. âuh, itâs when we all dive into the water with breathers on and catch one of their limbs with long hoops attached to sticks. itâs very hard because theyâre very fast and if you donât catch the ones up near the surface, because theyâre the quickest, you have to swim deeper for the larger beasts. anyway, you catch one and ride it out as far as you can towards the great endarkened storm, before letting go, just you and the water and a thousand akaiâdini all glowing and howling at each other through the pressure and the blue and the peace.â
explaining it out doesnât give as much weight to the experience as he wants it to, but itâs impossible to put into words the sanctity of being out there, surrounded by wonder and adoration like that.
he shakes himself from the memory and finally looks over to his friend, grateful that joules is here, grateful that heâs helping akaides center himself. the offer of food is as tempting as it is nauseating though. âas much as i appreciate that, i think eating right now wouldnât do me any good keeping the contents of my stomach inside my stomach.â he gives him a weary look. âunfortunately, i need to be here, i need to get used to this, to space. i donât know how long we could be waiting and i canât be the weak link jedi of the bunch.â
there are many things akaides vahn has forced himself to grow accustomed to over the last few years since being off planet. the dryness, the silence, the ugliness. thereâs a blackness to space as gaping a maw as any that can be found inside menâs hearts in a way akaides hadnât anticipated and isnât sure he entirely understands as a concept. thereâs a blasphemy hanging from the tongues of strangers that heâd never encountered on goreo gamma, everyone so eager to prove themselves more hardened and stony than whoever else has come before, as though rocks never turn to rubble, as though streams donât eat away at mountains, as though there is no strength in being subtle, or careful, or gentle. his jedi robes still fit him ill, the oceans of his homeworld still call to him from across the galaxy. heâll never be unmarred from the deaths he is constantly escaping from, the destruction he is constantly slipping around. his life still might not suit him as well as heâd hoped, no matter how hard he prays for liquid moldability with the force.
but one thing he canât bring himself to familiarize with is the way people ignore each other on this ship. ignore. just turn off their hearing as though they have flips inside their heads that they can simply shut down, like thatâs not the rudest thing in the world, like thatâs going to erase the factual reality around them. zur says nothing, does nothing, bending his apparently pinpointed focus on the wall, and akaides misses home like he misses a lung. âcome now, mr. horny, donât be childish,â he tells him, reaching out through the force to lift up a few small objects on the floor and spinning them around without touching any of them physically. âyouâre the one who kissed me.â
the older man stands and approaches akaides, his face easy and smiling and friendly, eager to correct the wrong impression the padawan has obviously come to. akaides blushes slightly, blinking about a million times and dropping his hand from the cool metal of his lightsaber, embarrassment burning hot in his chest at his jump to conclusions. âoh i see. i apologize, i thought you were⊠well i wasnât sure that you wereâŠâ his teeth click against each other and he forces himself to inhale painfully. âmy group and i have been through a lot, as you can imagine, i suppose iâm overly cautious.â
he bows his head a bit when the other steps into his space, wanting not to offend the other any more than he possibly already has, but then his eyes grow large and confused at the offered hand in his direction, tilted sideways, the thumb up. he stares down at it. âuhâŠâ he stutters, glancing back and forth between the manâs eyes and his strangely positioned hand stretching out. âwhat is this, what are you doing?â does he want something? is this how his people ask for recompense from perceived wrongs?
akaides doesnât wish to be any more rude than heâs already been, but he doesnât really understand the proper procedure in this circumstance. he decides the best course of action is mimicry and aiming for the best. he sticks his hand out in his the same fashion, towards tercai but not touching him, unsteadily, uncertainly. he hopes heâs getting this right. âmy name is akaides vahn, iâm one of the jedi padawan the derelict managed to pick up from the devastation on devaron.â
an eyebrow on akaidesâ forehead quirks up at the confession, his head tilting, his lips quirking. bade is usually so confident in his easy smiles and charming demeanor, itâs hard to imagine many of the crew disliking him, almost ridiculous. âdoc doesnât like you?â he asks with a small chuckle, his expression taking on a momentarily suspicious face. âdid you bump into him in the hallways too?â his smile widens and he shakes his head. âeveryone on this ship has such a strange tendency to run into each other, itâs so tight. for what itâs worth though, i donât much like the doctor myself, so howâs that for a pin on its head? when row woke up, he didnât even bother letting anybody except the captain know, which, since sheâs more my crew than his, you can imagine how frustrating that is.â a hand in his hair, and sigh through his lungs; this is how akaides sells the stressed look. itâs more honest than heâs been with bade thus far, but every moment is more time heâs out here instead of getting this crate back to his bedroom.
he shrugs with badeâs dismissal of the offered conversation about the captain, deciding he doesnât mind and he wonât press the issue, which is probably best given that he doesnât know how close bade is with mr. i-want-to-be-a-god killer, but at least this way establishes that he isnât excited about carrying the crate around or interested enough to talk about it. âhey, wash the worry from your mind, my strong wounded friend, no one enjoys getting tipped.â he grins and snorts, leaning against the crate in an easy fashion. âare you going to be alright though? i hate to sound like a classically pushy jedi shaman, but if you need a little push with the healing process on thatâŠâ he wiggles his fingers, fully expecting bade to turn him down.
he doesnât comment on her praise of that asshole of a doctor, rolling his eyes and clenching his teeth together in an effort not to launch into a generalized ranting complaint about all the things onboard this heap of rusted metal and shaky screws that have bothered him since arriving. she doesnât know about the battles, the needless death onboard, the chaos of the last few weeks, the way life is discarded and played with as worthless out here on the rim. akaides has always known things were bad, has always known how desolate the galaxy can be, but he hadnât ever intended on being party to such atrocities so many times in his life. heâs seen too many people murdered. is this what heâd signed up for as a jedi? heâd thought they were keepers of the peace, not warriors, but lately, watching haru, heâs begun to question everything.
âwell if they canât get you a room to sleep in soon enough, you can dock in mine. iâm not really using it, as you can see,â he gestures behind himself to the pile of blankets and pillows heâd been resting on, a pathetic half-smile on his lips, the hope that she wonât worry too much about him over it. âitâs very blue in there though, fair warning. iâve been using it to practice.â
he shakes his head at her explanation of what all she knows, what sheâs been updated on, again cursing himself and his absence the past few days. heâs missed everything to do with her re-introduction to the sorry state of things. âreyâs gone and not answering any messages iâve been trying to send her. i meditate every night and reach out for her, but thereâs just⊠nothing. even normal, covert signals iâve been getting the other techs to send out arenât receiving any feedback. i didnât see her die but,â the word chokes in his throat as he glances away from row, ignoring the images of faces that swim into his mind, the jedi padawan bodies heâd had to leave behind, âwe havenât been able to convince the captain to go back to devaron to check.â
but row wants food so akaides nods, refiling that information for later, inhaling deeply and forcing his mouth into a pleasant, crescent shape. if thereâs one thing akaides vahn is good at, itâs pretending like everything is okay. âsure, of course! please, sit.â he motions to the long table in the middle of the room. âyou rest, iâll make you something. i think they have some good ekstel soup around here somewhere.â he steps around her to begin fiddling through the cabinets and drawers, not as familiar with the small kitchenette as their resident cook wing is.
her edict for him to stop calling her pomegranate only makes him grin wider, determining to use that nickname for the rest of his life until he becomes one with the force, forever and ever amen. he canât help it, itâs not his fault her parents named her so closely to a fruit and that she reminds him of something small and sweet and bitable. he suspects she has no idea the type of energy she puts out, how her small stature makes her a target and her personality makes her difficult to take seriously. she speaks as though her words ought to carry weight, and in some aspects he does try, mindful of the line between them as respectfully as he can for not only her sake but for his as well, but oftentimes she is just too delectable when sheâs frustrated.
âi donât do well with tough love, iâm too fragile.â he pulls his blanket up over his face to block out the dim lighting that manages to filter through the thankfully small windows around the room, all things hateful in this ship one way or another. either he suffers with it out in space, or he suffers with it planetside, with the sun streaming through with reaching, grasping fingers. âis avoiding me your new tactic to illicit my curiosity for you? i know you donât genuinely want me to leave you alone, thatâd just be ridiculous.â he pauses, tilting his head, remembering her face, her eyes, her cheeks, the way she likes to turn away from him when he caresses a nerve in her mind. âif that blush of yours is anything to go by.â
he enjoys her laugh though, allowing her mood to seep into him a little bit more across the distance, her pleasant cadence curling his own lips in response to the sound. âwe havenât done anything yetâis that an invitation? you always know where my room is, pomegranate, and there are plenty of nooks and crannies iâm always willing to meet you in. as romantic as that sounds.â he chuckles low in his throat. âah, she hurts me but still gifts me a glimmer of hope! youâre saying if i can impress you enough, youâll lower your standards for me?â the absurdity of that thought lights up the inside of his skull like city lights. âwell lets see, what feats of miracles could i enthrall you with? what magical tricks could i dazzle with?â he rubs his chin and pretends to think about it. âi have a laser sword, those are generally pretty cool. i can move things with my mind. i can heal people who wish to be healed.â he pauses again, a small, secret smirk melting on his lips like butter. âi can read minds, pomona. i could read yours, if you dare me to.â
adorable. he hears the word and echoes it through his mind, mulls it over between his teeth, dissects the syllables, the idea of it. not for the first time, he wonders what sort of planet loralei originates from, he wonders what sort of upbringing she surrounded herself with. itâs true that too many people would rather punish small children for their basest need of survival, especially when they go outside the established laws to do it, but he just shrugs, understanding that the laws of life and death are rarely so rigid or strict. âexistence is complicated; anyone who canât see that isnât paying enough attention. children, even adults whose understanding of the universe have grown from their experiences growing up. evil is a flawed concept, and iâd rather not inflict my belief on the subject onto another, especially over a subject as dubious as bad thievery,â he brandishes a light grin for her.
at her questions though, he laughs heartily, his head falling back for an instant. âwhy loralei,â his eyes gleam bright and blue as the sky overhead. âwhat makes you think i havenât already robbed something of you?â but his own concept makes him chuckle more and shake his head. âi donât seem like the type to you? my old iskarin, my teacher, would have laughed at that, would have ranted and raved about the stresses i put him through.â he speaks with affection though, the manâs old wrinkled face swimming up in his vision, the way heâd smiled, the way heâd scolded, the way heâd died. akaides presses his lips together and glances away, inhaling deeply to re-steady himself and answer her inquiry. âa young girlâs heart. does that count? thatâs the most valuable thing anyone can steal, isnât it?â
he side-eyes his walking companion, her tone easy enough but a slyness in her look that suggests sheâs teasing him to prove or confirm her own suspicions about something under the surface. he doesnât even have to think about the answer very hard; itâs obvious. âof course you would be good at it, youâre beautiful. beautiful people donât need to be silent or nimble about things, they donât need extra training or slight of hand, their beauty itself is enough of a distraction, a mask if you will, to cover well over anything else they may beâŠâ he hadnât meant for the last words of this sentence to come out of him like this, hadnât meant to imply things, his eyes locked on hers, peering into her with the crowd around them fading out in the din, but now that heâs here, now that heâs speaking, he canât help but finish, however slowly, âhiding.â
he breaks away from her, turning away in the hopes she wonât be angry, trying for a lighter tone. âin any case, for a woman like you, i have no doubt youâd be good at anything you put your mind to.â
                                                                                                            (tw death)
                                                                                                   (three years ago)
and in the dream, it ends like this:
the children call him sozzen, templeman, as they run past his robes. this is the part when they laugh and he laughs and the world laughs. hundred of feet below, the waves crash against stone. hundreds of feet sideways, the ocean spins. the hurricane is near. the hurricane is always near. sometimes sozzen canât tell if the storm is building or dying. sometimes sozzen canât tell if he is building or dying.Â
in the dream, the man they call sozzen already knows how this will end.
the children are there for a moment, and then they are gone. this is the part when everything drowns. the waters begin rising, and the sky begins screaming. sozzen looks up, squinting into the burning sunlight. except that there is no sun in his dreams. thereâs never any sun. the lights are from incoming destroyers, the screaming is from whistling wind against their metal blasters. he sees them come but he doesnât move, he canât move, frozen still, because this is how things unfold. because the rocks beneath his sandals stick into him like pins. because the anxiety and horror must be witnessed by someone who sees it coming from a klick away. because no warnings can be given, because this is just a dream.
the edges of everything become smeared, brushed through, like a ruined oil painting. the pirates come and open fire on the witless townsfolk, the helpless people. buildings explode. the scattering begins. the man they call sozzen is finally free to run.
images blur together, the way they always do. he threads through the small, glittery town as his people die, and he always gets to them just a hair too late, a step too slow. they cry and reach out for him from all angles and he reaches back for them. he knows every face. until he doesnât. until the ravagers come. until they bear teeth and knives. until they rip jewels from chests and gems from backs. until they desecrate the rites. until they carve through bodies for gold.
his name is not sozzen, but his people beg him by it anyway, their fingers like claws in his robes, talons that scrape against his ankles. little maggiris wie, with her messy hair and freckles, her clothes torn off her, her left leg torn off her. old lyonaide foss, the carpenter man, his body suddenly cut in two at the waist, staining the holy ground of the temple. japa syn is a healer, but she cannot heal her two children who lay broken and bleeding in her arms, their eyes wide and accusatory. and he tries, he tries, he tries to help. but nothing helps. nothing stops it now.
but this. this is not the worst part of it.
the worst part comes when one of the pirates breaks off from his troupe and stomps over to where the man they call sozzen lies cast down across the stone steps of his own temple, his head ringing from a blow, his body cut and leaking. the worst part is when the pirate aims a blaster at him and little timmolase vane, all eleven years old, steps in the way, taking the initial shot. the worst part is when sozzen is not fast enough to stab the raider before he can kill again. the worst part is when timmolase dies anyway. there amongst the carnage, there amongst the wreckage, there, with his face smudged like an irreparable painting.
and loss is a wound that itches under the skin, loss is a scar carved into a mountain. loss is the world greying out from color, the unbearable bearing of a pressure akin to the bottom of the ocean. loss is a silence that eats away at hearts, a rotting of the bones from the inside out. loss frays at the edges of sight and tugs at every single blood cell, as though everything wants to escape this moment, right down to atoms, the singlest ingredients that make up the universe. loss is a question with no answer: how do i survive without? why wonât the world galaxy just stop? can things just stop? please? just for a moment? thereâs just too much, too soon, too fast and i wasnât ready. i wasnât ready. can we start over? please?
âwhat are you doing?â asks a voice from sozzenâs left, and he looks up at the girl with the dark eyes and white clothes, her hair in three buns at the back of her head. she is not from the village. she is not from this planet. he already knows. heâs seen her before. in other dreams. âwhy have you brought me here?â her face is runny and dripping just like everything else, streaking with water, hard to decipher.
âhelp me,â he begs, his voice sounding like breaking wood.
this is the part when she finally looks up and notices the havoc around him, his world cracking, his people dying, screaming, running for their lives. she grits her teeth and from her hands, a strong yellow beam of light shoots out, a thin glowing sword, a laser, a saber.
                         this is the part when he blacks out.
                                                             this is the part when he wakes up.
âsozzen akaides,â timmolase calls as he shakes his patron awake, the temple manâs blue eyes flickering open, his hand lashing out to grip the young boyâs arm in a vice. they stare at each other in a confused silence for a heartbeat before akaidesâ mind returns back to him and he releases the child.
âwhat is it?â akaides mumbles as he looks around himself, hunting for signs of the battle. theyâre in his bedroom, akaides on the bed, timmolase kneeling beside it.
âalmost dawn. and you were moaning in your sleep.â timmolaseâs eyes gleam in the morning haze. âwere you having a nightmare, sozzen?â
and this. this moment here. when the world is still yawning and the storm is still churning and the light is still brimming. when the raiders are still far away and the children are still laughing and the girl with the buns and the light sword is nowhere to be found. when the horrors of his dreams are still just dreams and he can shrug it away with the rise of stress, the rise of guilt, the rise of nerves. this moment is the one heâs lived with for months now. this moment is one he will live with for years now to come.
âeverythingâs fine,â he smiles, plastering the relief across his face like a mask, as though itâll be enough to keep all the hells at bay. âeverything is fine.â
credit where credit is due, zur hops off akaides as though the jedi is on fire, slipping to his feet quicker and easier than akaides would have thought possible, leaving the blonde still on the floor to watch and chuckle at him. akaides stays down as the other stomps around him, wading through the pillows and ritual placements without care or consideration, without mindfulness or a second glance, and the padawan thinks for a moment about physical retaliation, how zur might react if one of these pillow managed to hit him back, shove him out of the way. object density means nothing to a jedi who understands that all things fall through space simultaneously.
but he shelves that thought for now, the brief sharpness in his face easing back into brilliant blue and messy hair and curling lips, his body rolling over onto his stomach as he decides he will not be playing zurâs little cover-up game, he will not be erasing their brief romance from either of their minds. zurâs back is tense, his movements jolting and jerky, his voice threadbare and demanding, borderline angry, and akaides determines that some retributions are better than physical ones, some punishments have more to do with time than force.
âwell donât let me keep you from your oh, so important excuse to come into my room unannounced. i suppose you couldnât have just comm-ed me to ask what was wrong or to give me a momentâs warning before you barged in, but iâm only just sorry i wasnât entirely naked when you opened the door, zur.â he pouts up at the zabrak, bottom lip puckering out, eyes bright and mocking. âthatâs a moment of time iâd do absolutely anything to go back and change. just think of how close you and i could have really gotten just now.â
instead of answering the question, akaides rolls over onto his back once more, on one of the larger pillows, an arm curling up behind his head to prop it up, as though this is comfortable, as though this is normal, as though this isnât a complete breach of space and privacy that crawls up akaidesâ spine like an insect with barbed legs. he smiles even wider at the ceiling. âwould you believe me if i told you that was my first kiss, zur? you have no idea how important a kiss is to my culture, if we were back on goreo gamma, weâd practically be married by now.â a lie if ever there was one, but zur doesnât know that, doesnât know about the hamilâgadairn, the rituals of intimacy. very few people in the galaxy do.
akaides lifts an arm up from his knees and runs his fingers through his hair, his knuckles curling, nails scratching, the mess of his appearance frizzing out even further, his maelstrom atmosphere shuddering out from every pore on his skin. he is a catastrophe inside himself, every inch begging for land, begging for water, begging for solidity, and he has to shut his eyes against the onslaught of what he knows to be true: that the universe yawns out in every direction, unfathomable, and he could very well drown out here as surely as any ocean.
âiâm not sick.â he lies. âor at least, iâm not ill with a bacteria, itâs only weakness that wants to infect me, throw me off.â he groans and presses his head back against the wall, forcing himself to glance up at joules, his shoulders hunched, his jaw tight. âhow in the blazes do you manage to fly this monstrosity anyway? how do any of your people enjoy it up here? itâs a terror.â he glances sideways at the large front-facing window and winces again, shutting his eyes. âit makes me feel like iâm being swallowed whenever i look outside, i hate it.â
hate. a strong word for a jedi to use, perhaps, especially with so much on the line with them all already, their equilibrium shaken, their trust and faith scattered to the solar winds, as ungraspable as air in void. he can practically hear rey scolding him, telling him to be more careful with his words, to be more mindful of his intentions-- but thatâs not something akaides has ever been good at, with his easy grins and teasing eyes, even at the temple, even before the temple. he keeps his eyelids closed as he asks, âyou had booze and you didnât share? thatâs awfully selfish of you, frosty, you know how important having drunk pilot onboard is to everybody.â despite his nausea, he cracks a smile.
when akaides had first knocked into the other, he hadnât noticed just how badly bade must be hurt, had underestimated the pain he must be in, the damage heâs sustained, which is the reason for his grin, for his light tone, for the teasing, surface level concern. but when bade falls and doesnât immediately get up, akaidesâ smirk curls downwards into a frown and he reaches out towards bade with an open palm, not touching him, but reading the energy and heat bade outputs, the friction of his blood pooling around a hidden injury on his leg. an eyebrow lifts, blue eyes dark and sly. âyouâre badly hurt, handsome. should you be walking around like this?â he could try to heal the other if he puts enough focus into it, but heâs not entirely sure bade would want him to; it requires a certain kind of intimacy bade might not appreciate from him. âdo you want me to call for the doctor?â
as bade stands though, akaides stands with him, matching his speed smoothly enough, stepping near the crate along with him and letting the lie slip across his lips easy as honey, a shrug, a smile, breezing and chuckling. âcaptain just asked me to bring this crate to him in the nav room, iâm not sure whatâs inside it. i didnât really ask. sorry iâm so clumsy with it, this beneâdhur is heavy.â he casually leans a hand on the top surface of the massive box, as though heâs not eager to lift it up again, so heavy, so bulky, the chore heâs been tasked with so drab and dull. woe is him. âcan i ask you? is the captain always such an asshole that he expects everyone to just cater to his orders no matter what? he can be so pushy sometimes.â his tone is soft, joking, like this is the secret they can share together, this and nothing else.
akaides steps into the sunlight and glows like a beacon, his clothes clean and pale, hair blonde and still dripping from the shower heâs just gotten out of, his energy high and pulsing around him, his eyes bright and peering into the sky above him, mirror shades of blue. the world theyâve landed on is green and leafy, another forested planet like eedit, where the trees stretch their long trunks into the clouds, holding thousands of years in their rings, and the populace live in treehouses high above the ground. he has no idea why the derelict has landed on this place, what business there is to be had here, but heâs grateful.
down here, the aching expanse of the universe is nothing more than a nightmare to forget, so he lightly taps the arm of aodhan playfully as he passes him in the cargo bay, a grin tugging on the corners of his lips. âthere will be a stream somewhere nearby,â he says, as though thatâs the highlight of their visit here, as though the water sources of this planet are the only things that stay on akaidesâ mind more permanently than his own name. as though he needs the presence of the universal life-giving liquid to tether himself back into his own body, his spirit lost without the ebb and flow of it. âcome find it with me. we can practice sparring out there as well.â
sparring, which isnât something they get to do much of anymore, constantly cooped up inside this horrible metal coffin together with so many other people, so many curious eyes, and the captain, who seems to hate lightsabers more than he hates his own crewâwhich seems to be substantial. out here, out in the world, out in the green and blue, the grass and sky, they can find their centerfold again, they can apply the truth of their arts without worrying about putting a hole through the spaceship and accidentally killing everyone. âwhatever youâre doing, itâs not as important. come,â he coos, his eyes glittering as he snickers. âi promise not to beat you too badly this time.â
âpomegranate,â he answers warmly into the receiver, his eyelids fluttering closed for a moment, his ears absorbing what little background noises he can collect, the surrounding sounds behind the young girlâs voice. thereâs bustling and conversation, and based on pomâs own admission, sheâs gone out from the derelict on her own, out into the world theyâve based on for now, and he feels a mild pang of sadness for not being out there with her. he hates being cooped up here on this ship most days but heâd only gotten an hourâs worth of sleep the night before and even the sun wouldnât appreciate seeing his black-rimmed eyes or tightly-spun temper today.
but hearing pomâs voice still brings a curl to his lips regardless of his general mood, his frustrations at being awoken dampening instantly at the lull of her cadence. sheâs always so softly spoken most of the time, so itâs a treat for him to hear her annoyance, even if itâs directed at himâactually especially when itâs directed at him. he enjoys teasing her too much to deny it conceivably, her brow furrowing, her eyes darkening, her lips pressing. itâs fascinating, really.
âi call your bluff, little pomegranate, i donât think thatâs your heartâs desire at all.â he drops his tenor to a lower bass range, a quiet baritone between just the two of them in the empty mess hall space. âi donât think you really want to talk to xeune, what if she gets upset that youâve left before saying anything to her?â he asks the question in a serious tone, even as a grin tugs on the corners of his mouth, but he doubts xeune would actually care so much. heâs not entirely sure what their relationship is beyond friendship, but pom herself is the one whoâd said âdonât be madâ as soon as sheâd picked up the phone. heâs merely playing off that.
âthatâs a truly hurtful thing though, pompom, donât you like talking to me? whatâs happened to our connection, our affection, our affinity? here i was about to carve your name into my soul, and you donât even want to speak to me anymore.â now the joke is plainly in his voice as he chuckles. âyou should have told me you want nothing to do with me before i asked the captain to marry us, you silly girl.â
With the longest day behind him, Bade moved through the hallways of the Derelict with intend on keeping himself busy with at least something until nightfall, until his eyes felt too heavy to go on. He had been in the med-bay most of the day, and he had been careful not to show Doc - or in this case make as little sound as possible - that his leg wasnât healing quickly enough. His own fault he knew, running around with Joules, running around the space station, of course it wouldnât. Now he limped through the halls and grunted every ten steps. Part of him wanted to blame the jedi.Â
He stumbled forward when someoneâs case or something heavy appeared out of nowhere and fell to the floor. âPuta!â he rasped as he twisted his body until he was leaning against the wall with his back, his hands around his thigh.Â
the crate that sits on the right side of the derelictâs cargo bay, a medium-sized, unassuming black box, stares up at akaides while he stares down into it, its contents glowing and warming in the cool, artificial atmosphere. it seems to have been discarded, tossed in with the heaps of trash and various bits and pieces of leftover junk from previous jobs, forgotten about at least for the most part, by the rest of the crew. it is all thatâs left from the botched job on the lunar queen, the destruction of the station, the dispersal and loss of the hundreds of jewels theyâd collected on the surface of ailon. there arenât many of them left, twenty, thirty, little more than a handful, but they blink up at him whispering of power and honed control, of possibility and potential, making the tides inside akaidesâ mind shift and rage into a brewing hurricane.
these donât belong here. they donât belong to a scavenger crew on some nothing ship, headed nowhere except a junk bin.
so he closes the crate and hoists the damn heavy thing up, carrying it as quickly as he can towards his bedroom, aware that heâs making plenty of noise, causing plenty of fuss, but hopeful that he can move fast enough to get away with it. his plan isnât foolproof though, as evidenced when bade runs right into it and falls backwards, making akaides want to sigh. âsteady on there, wavewar,â he says, wincing as he sets the crate down. âwhat are you--? that was a bit of a dramatic reaction, are you hurt?â he steps around the crate to crouch down near the other.
