The Jedi she's tracking is elusive and knows the city better than she does, even better than Cyraas, whose own endeavors have met with roadblocks. Of course, her lack of success there doesn't mean she's not busy.
Nar Shadda is hell for a healer. So many hurting, and even if she worked night and day [which sometimes she does] she can't make more than a drop in the bucket's worth of difference here. It's frustrating.
That doesn't stop her from heading down to the slums every day, offering her services to the people there when she and Cyraas are not 'on the job'.
After all.... this is her home.
Granted she hasn't been back in years, not since her childhood. But still, it's home. It was in her name, the last name she chose for herself because she didn't have one when they asked at the Temple so they could enter her in thier records.
Narlu'un: of the Nar Shadda, of the Smuggler's Moon.
Newer to her, and perhaps more telling, though, as her first name, whose meaning was revealed to her by her half sister sister not two weeks ago.
Zashii: little Zash.
As in, Darth Zash, of the Sith Empire, Lafayne's master and a very powerful, cunning Force user in her own right. The resemblance between mother and daughter was... uncanny in many ways. On top of the revelation of her birth was the revelation of her family, something foresworn to Jedi as much as emotion and attachment.
The whole thing had her in knots- MORE knots, really, on top of the giant mess labeled 'Cyraas' in her mind, on top of her slowly encroaching death.
Zashii can feel herself beginning to slip a little, faint spiderweb cracks forming under the strain of recent and not so recent events.
And now, this.
She was used to dreams by now, almost used to the nightmares that came from her connection the Plaugemaster. But this, this was different.
This was a vision, real time events, happening somewhere on Nar Shadda... A vision of someone she knew.
Her best friend, Ryza Adaria, former smuggler turned GAR pilot, captured and tortured by Imperials. The last- the last...
...The last had seen her broken, finally, crying in a corner, begging for the pain to stop.
Zashii tried to find her through normal channels. She asked, she searched, she followed leads to dead ends, but came up with nothing. She asked the GAR and the Jedi, but got the same replies, of not enough manpower and the importance of neutrality.
And it was driving her mad. Ryza needed her, needed her help, and Zashii was kriffing useless and yet another night of visions passed.
The night Ryza broke, something also cracked in Zashii; something fragile and small but vitally important.
No more.
No. Fucking. More.
I am a Jedi and a healer and I am not going to DIE knowing I failed to save my best friend. To hell with the Hutts and thier supposed neutrality. To hell with the orders to stay out of Imperial business. To hell with the Jedi- who are THEY to say what I can and cannot do? They do not know me.
They underestimate my power.
I WILL protect them. My friends, Cyraas,- all of them. I will protect them and deliver justice to those who would hurt them.
I will.
And if I have to cut through all of Nar Shadda to do it...
Be that as it may.
She reached for her comm unit, there on her bedside table in the darkness of what passed for night. No sleep, not anymore.
