Private A Chance Meeting

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway


The Wildfire tore quietly through a vast, silent blackness. A multitude of the galaxy's offerings sparkled and shimmered with the promise of endless opportunity, infinitely and every which way into the beyond. So deep into space, it was easy to find a meditative centre within which to reflect and enjoy that glorious, vast expanse.

Alas, aboard the Wildfire, quietude was the furthest thing from anyone's mind.

"Wooooooooo!!"

The catering trolley rolled down the dining hall at haste. Standing with unbelievable balance on top, Amelia zipped past Aleister — who was drunkenly whooping and jumping about giddily — and Rose, who within a matter of seconds had gone from doing much the same, to suddenly realising this could all go very wrong very quickly. Lights blurred and bent around Amelia as she tore past them both without a single hope of slowing or stopping. Her knees had bent and her arms stretched out to provide some stability, as her determined grin remained plastered all over her face. And then...

Crash.

Bang.

Splat.

There was a second of silence whilst Rose and Aleister took a moment to process what happened, as rushed footsteps came from the direction of the cockpit.

Amelia slowly peeled from the wall, and slid down towards the ground like a misplaced paper. Duny's nervous voice broke the silence.

"O-Oh my—"

"AHAHAHAHA, WOOOO!!"

The Hapan picked herself up like nothing had happened, and immediately pulled little Duny into a squeeze. The poor Sullustan had absolutely no say in the matter, as Amelia hoisted him up into the air and twirled him around excitedly.

"A-A-AM-AMELIAAAAA!"

Amelia giggled, finally putting to pilot back down to stable ground. Her cheeks were bright red, flushed by far too many Chandrilan brandies. But today was a celebration. She reached for the bottle she set on the dining table and poured another glass for everyone.

"Rose! Al! Duny—"

"Oh no, no no no. You know I don't—"

"Ugh, are Sullustans always so boooooring? C'mon, just one! It's a party!" She wouldn't take no for an answer, and Duny reluctantly accepted, warily taking a glass and sniffing its contents, recoiling immediately. Amelia shouted down in the direction of the dorms.

"Loooovebirds! Brandy!" She giggled knowingly, shaking the bottle towards a silent hallway. Aleister, largely incapable of speech at this point, giggled too. Rose made a gesture with her hand as if to say 'Best leave them be'. "Pfft, more for us."

One by one, she passed the glasses to her crew; Rose, with her ever-mindful expression, but a timid penchant to join in with the fun; and Aleister, who was a few more shots away from passing out completely, and graciously accepted like he'd just received a Life Day gift. Amelia raised her glass; the others followed.

"To us! To the best crew a gal could ask for. To another job well, well done, and to my absolute babe, the Wildfire!"

"The Wildfire!" came the three voices in unison. Aleister slammed back his glass and promptly fell back into the safety of a chair, eyes barely open. Rose, too, drank without much hesitation, and let out a cough against the taste. Duny, bless him, tried his best.

"Chandrilans really know how to make the good stuff." Amelia sat herself down into a chair, giggling all the while.

What an excellent night.

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

A Chance Meeting​

​

Location: Somewhere in Space​

Tag: Amelia Zin​

Gear: HG-88 Big Iron, SD-L1 Long Blaster, Slicing Glove, Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield, S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor.​

​

The cockpit was silent. No hum of the engines, no steady pulse of life support—just the dull, mechanical whine of systems flickering into standby mode. The fuel gauge had been flashing empty for hours, but Alana had pushed it further than she should have. Now, she was paying for it.

Her Sith starfighter, a sleek, aggressive thing built for speed and precision, was little more than a coffin drifting in the vast black of space. The stars stretched out before her like cold pinpricks in an indifferent void. There was no planet nearby, no hyperlane, no immediate hope of rescue. Just silence.

She leaned back against the seat, staring through the canopy, her fingers absently tapping against the dead controls. Should've planned better. But planning had never been her strong suit. That had been his thing.

Her head throbbed, exhaustion creeping in, but sleep was a risk. She couldn't afford to be unconscious if something—anything—approached. She reached for her flask, only to remember it was empty. Figures.

With a quiet sigh, she exhaled through her nose and muttered, "What a load of Bantha poodoo..."

She thought about the past, the pieces that never quite fit. Nar Shaddaa, Dantooine, the faces she remembered but couldn't quite place in the right order. The gaps in her mind where something should have been, where someone had taken a knife to her history and rearranged it.

And now here she was, floating through nothing, another equation left unsolved.

She was going to die in the void of space. Unknown, unloved, and forgotten.

In a way it was kinda fitting...and that's what also angered her.

It couldn't end like this...could it?

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep...

The rhythmic tone of the warning scanner echoed down the hallway from the direction of the cockpit, bouncing along durasteel.

"Ugh, another asteroid?"

Hands running through ginger, Amelia whipped her hair back behind her. Wearily, she peeled herself out of her far-too-comfortable chair and strode dramatically across the mess hall towards the cockpit, sighing every other step. Everything was just a little bit too wonky. Aleister was already rapidly fading, melting into his chair with dull, dwindling eyes looking nowhere in particular, but as the alert came he stirred, struggling to focus his eyes. Meanwhile, Rose quietly followed Amelia, Duny trailing close behind.

"Sensors are showing a stray ship. I detect one lifeform."

The voice of the ship's AI rang down the hall as they entered. Amelia nestled into one of the cockpit chairs, rolling a simple band off her wrist and deftly pulling a portion of her auburn locks behind her ears, tying them messily into a ponytail. Looking through the front visor, she could see with her own eyes the distant glimmering of a ship. It wasn't moving. Amelia's eyes narrowed, tapping a few commands on the control screen as Duny took his seat beside her.

"It appears to be inactive," came ATHENA's voice again.

"ID?" Amelia's eyes didn't falter from the distant sparkle that got slowly bigger.

"The Sith Order."

Amelia's heart dropped. She had faced pirates, fought off bounty hunters, even bested a Mandalorian or two in an arm-wrestle, and one in an actual wrestle. But Sith? She sunk a little in her chair.

"Shit."

"M-Maybe they're out of power or something," suggested Duny.

"Scans suggest this," came the AI voice once more. Rose remained silent.

"Let'sss just hail 'em." Al had managed to pick himself out of his chair and stumble across into the cockpit finally. He propped himself against one of the walls, just in case. "They can't go nowhere." The engineer hiccupped.

The drunk old fool was right, though. If they couldn't get out of this situation, what would the Wildfire have to lose?

"But... it's Sith..." Rose's voice lacked any confidence, but it was an important reminder.

"What are they doing out here anyway?" Duny enquired.

"Scouting, maybe. Could be something covert. Maybe they screwed up."

"I don't like this..."

"Yes, maybe we should get out of here."

"But it might be good having a Sith owe us a favour."

Amelia sat in silence for a moment, weighing her options, eyes locked on the distant ship. Eventually, she clicked down the button that would send her voice through the many rooms of the Wildfire.

"Jack. Carrie. Sorry guys. Come to the cockpit quickly, please. Trouble." Her voice, that for the whole night had been full of mischief and frivolity, suddenly held a heaviness to it. It was the kind of weighty tone that her crew recognised immediately as something to pay attention to. She breathed in slowly and let out a measured exhalation through her mouth.

"Okay, Duny. Hail them."

Duny fiddled with his terminal for a few strokes, then nodded to her. Watching the pop-up on her own terminal, she clicked. As she prepared to speak, she could hear the incoming footsteps to Jack and Carrie down the hall.

Then she froze. A lump in her throat stopped her from speaking. She wasn't even sure what she was supposed to say in a situation like this. How many people came across stray Sith ships like this?

"Am?"

Duny's voice pulled her back to her senses, and she suddenly found her voice return to. She cleared her throat.

"Sith, do you copy? This is the Wildfire... Everything alright over there?"

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

A Chance Meeting​

​

Location: Somewhere in Space​

Tag: Amelia Zin​

Gear: HG-88 Big Iron, SD-L1 Long Blaster, Slicing Glove, Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield, S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor.​

​

The comm remained open, but for a long moment, no words came.

Alana sat in the dim glow of her ship's emergency lights, fingers curled tightly around the armrests of the pilot's chair. The worn leather creaked beneath her grip. The beeping of the failing systems droned on—a constant, unyielding reminder of how close she was to the end.

Her ship was dead. No hyperdrive. No weapons. No power. She had been floating for hours, watching the empty expanse beyond her viewport, waiting for something. Anything. Either a miracle or a quiet death.

Now, she had one of those in her lap. And it could just as easily be the latter.

"Wildfire, huh? Fancy name." Her voice rasped as it left her throat, dry from dehydration and disuse. She swallowed. "You picked a hell of a time to check in on me."

A bitter chuckle, weak and humorless. Her fingers tapped against the cold durasteel panel beside her, a steady rhythm to keep her focus, to keep her from drowning in the tide of exhaustion and uncertainty pressing in from all sides.

This was a bad idea.

The moment they saw her—really saw her, the red-and-black weave of her Sith uniform, the insignia on her shoulder—they'd make a choice. And she had no reason to believe it would be in her favor.

Didn't matter what she was before. Didn't matter if she barely believed in the cause she served. Didn't matter if, deep down, she hated wearing this uniform, this second skin forced on her like a brand.

What mattered was the moment they laid eyes on her, she was Sith. And that was a death sentence in most corners of the galaxy.

"This is… Alana Calloway of the Sith Order." The words tasted like iron, like something broken and bleeding. The title felt like a chain around her throat, but she said it anyway. Better to control the narrative than let them assume the worst.

She exhaled sharply, shoulders sinking as she stared through the viewport at the distant glimmer of their ship.

“Ship's out of fuel. Life support's on its last legs. If you're feeling charitable, I won't stop you."

There. She had given them the choice.

They could take it or leave it.

Her throat tightened as the silence stretched. The weight of the uniform pressed heavier on her shoulders. The memory of all the people she'd fought, all the ones she'd seen die with that same insignia stamped across their chests, gnawed at the edges of her mind.

If they did pick her up, what then? Would they keep a blaster trained on her the whole time? Would they toss her into an airlock the moment they had her on board?

Would she blame them if they did?

Alana let out a slow breath through her nose. This was it.

"But if you've got a problem with the Sith? I uhh…I know what it looks like but, I’m not exactly their biggest fan.”

Her grip on the armrest tightened again, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

One way or another, she would know soon enough.

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway

"It's a Sith trick!"

Jack had emerged behind them, shirt barely buttoned up, and was glaring out towards where the ship hung suspended in black. Carrie crept up behind him.

"The moment we decide to give 'em a ride, they'll ruin us. We'll have a whole fleet on us! Or they'll do some of their weird tricks and make us all go crazy and kill each other. It's a Sith, for crikk's sake."

Amelia didn't say anything, her brilliant emerald eyes not looking away from the vessel for a second. She furrowed her brow and crossed her arms. Leg folded, her foot tapped against the air mindfully as she considered it all. Rose understood what that meant, and she shot a look at Jack as if to tell him to shut up. Al broke the silence.

"Just one ship, and they'd be stupid to do anything out here on their own. Not in these parts... ATHENA, there's just one lifeform on-board?"

"Affirmative."

Amelia gave a intentional, sharp exhale through her nose. Why tonight, of all nights, when she just wanted to have a little fun? When the voice crackled through the comms one final time to plead their case, she could hear something strangely sincere in that voice that threw her off. Maybe this one wasn't so bad, wasn't like all the others? The silence persisted again, hanging between them all with an undeniable weight.

Suddenly, a low, dramatic groan escaped Amelia, starting as a croak and climaxing into a brief, exasperated wail. Planting her hands on her face, she dragged them down, pulling her eyes lids down in the way a child might when mildly annoyed. Then she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the terminal desk and locking her fingers together. In a matter of seconds, she gave up that position, slammed a hand onto the desk, and groaned again. Then, she leaned forward and tapped the comms channel again.

"Hold tight, Sith."

"Can't be serious, Boss!" Jack's voice raised in opposition. Amelia turned her head, loose locks of auburn bouncing in turn. Her bright green eyes shot right through the gunner, and he went suddenly silent. They'd been through a lot together, she and Jack, and seen a lot of trouble together ever since they both broke out of slavery with Duny and Rose. Very rarely did she need to give a look like that in his direction. It was all he needed to finally shut up.

"Al," she said firmly without anything further to add. It was enough for Al to understand, and he stumbled out of the cockpit down the hallway to gather the crew's weapons. Peeling out of her chair, he placed a hand on Duny's shoulder.

"Duny, take us closer and prepare for pickup. Rose, make us all a caf please, my lovely. Nice and strong, yeah? We're gonna need it. Everyone else, arm up."

The atmosphere in the ship shifted instantly, each member setting into their own unique shades of focus. Amelia stepped back into the mess hall, reaching for Freedom that sat on the main dining table. With a quick twirl over her finger, she checked the gun was properly loaded and placed it on her belt.

Still got it, she thought through the fading haze of alcohol that had been pushed aside in favour of the waves of adrenaline that started to take hold of her.

As the ship got closer, Duny activated the boarding bridge. Back in the cockpit, Amelia sent a final comm across.

"Alright, Sith. Nothin' funny."

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

A Chance Meeting​

​

Location: Somewhere in Space​

Tag: Amelia Zin​

Gear: HG-88 Big Iron, SD-L1 Long Blaster, Slicing Glove, Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield, S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor.​

​

Alana stood still, her body tense as the ship loomed closer, the comm's final crackle ringing in her ears.

Alright, Sith. Nothin' funny.

She let out a slow breath, steadying herself, but it did nothing to dull the sting in her chest. She'd heard it a thousand times before, the weight behind that word—Sith. It clung to her like a chain, wrapped tight around her throat. It didn't matter who she had been, what she had lost, or how much blood she had bled. To them, to everyone, she was just that. A Sith.

A trick. A threat. A monster.

Alana licked the split in her lip, tasted iron, and let the bitter burn of exhaustion settle deep in her bones. She could barely keep herself upright, and yet her fingers twitched against her controls, as if that would help her in this situation.

Her voice was hoarse when she finally answered.

"Copy that, I’ll keep my jokes to myself.” She muttered, barely above a whisper.

She didn't know if they heard her. Didn't much care. All that mattered now was getting through that airlock, getting her feet on solid ground, and hoping—praying—that they wouldn't just put a bolt between her eyes the moment she stepped aboard.

Not that she'd blame them if they did.

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway

Was this a good idea? Amelia wasn't quite sure. But something in that voice seemed sincere enough to maybe show some semblance of authenticity. Or maybe she was just desperate and would do or say anything, sound like anything, to convince them to help her? The Sith were known for their shady tactics, after all. And yet, surely she wasn't stupid enough to try something, stepping so willingly onto a strange ship without knowing what its crew might be capable of. Amelia couldn't decide what to think, but she'd already made the call.

As she stepped away from the cockpit again, she heard the crackle of the comm come through.

"Copy that, I’ll keep my jokes to myself.”

Amelia hesitated for a moment, glancing back to the terminal. Something about that had taken her aback, and she wasn't sure what exactly. Duny glanced to her from his seat before returning to his terminal. She shook off the moment, marching back down towards the mess hall to meet the rest.

Al, Jack and Carrie all stood at the ready with various blasters at hand, all turned to the airlock. The clattering of metal on metal and heavy locks setting into place rumbled through the vessel. Amelia braced herself, pulling out Freedom, just in case three guns weren't enough. But something told her none would need their weapons today. She nevertheless stood by her order to keep them trained, just in case.

The airlock depressurised, hissing violently, until it sprung open. The three crew members trained their weapons on the figure behind it.

"Alright, hand over your weapons. All of 'em."

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

A Chance Meeting​

​

Location: Somewhere in Space​

Tag: Amelia Zin​

Gear: HG-88 Big Iron, SD-L1 Long Blaster, Slicing Glove, Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield, S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor.​

​

Alana remained seated in the cockpit, her hands resting lightly on the control panel, fingers idly tapping against the worn metal. The glow of the instruments cast faint reflections in her crimson eyes as she glanced toward the airlock, where her unexpected visitors stood with weapons trained.


She let the silence stretch just a little longer than was comfortable before exhaling sharply through her nose. Alright, let's not get shot today.

Without a word, she reached down, unclipping her rifle and setting it down with a heavy clunk onto the console. Then she removed her vibro-blade. The blaster pistol followed, spun once in her grip before she laid it beside the rifle. Lastly she popped her helmet seal, letting her silver hair and red eyes be shown, setting it down beside the tools. Slowly, she lifted her hands, palms open, fingers waggling slightly.

"That's all of 'em," She drawled, voice dry. "Unless you count my winning personality as a weapon."

Her gaze flicked between them, taking in their postures, their stances—who was the most trigger-happy, who was the one actually in charge. Her muscles coiled beneath her sleeves, but she didn't move. Not yet.

"Now," She continued, arching a brow, "Am I good to come aboard, or are we just standing here admiring each other?"

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway

The Sith removed her weapons one by one. She was certainly well armed, that much was certain. Amelia expected nothing less from a Sith, a harbinger of death. And yet, when she finally removed her helmet to reveal the fair features of an Echani, a part of her wondered if she was really capable of such destruction these people were known for.

But she looked... haggard. Thoroughly exhausted. Or was this what Sith always looked like, with all their bad mojo floating around them?

Ruby locked with emerald for the briefest of moments, and something grazed against a part of her ever so gently.

A small but sharp intake of breath. Amelia's eyes narrowed, and she adjusted the grip on her pistol.

"Alright," she said, finally breaking that dull silence between them all, the pistol still trained, only lowered slightly now. She turned to Jack.

"Make some space in the cargo hold for our guest." Jack nodded in silence, but before he could leave, she grabbed his arm and spoke at a lower tone only he could hear, "and... put some blankets in there, it's cold down there." She didn't glance back at the Sith, not wanting to show any weakness to her, but the humanity in her couldn't ignore that fact. Jack looked at Amelia with that usual muscleman confusion he so often exhibited, but didn't say anything to contradict his boss. Not in the presence of a Sith. She tapped his shoulder dismissively as he lumbered down towards the hold.

With Al and Carrie still training their weapons on the Echani, Amelia turned to her again.

"You'll remain in the cargo hold for the duration of your time here, until we figure out what to do with you anyway."

She stared at her for a moment, a spell longer than was maybe necessary. She noted the sickly pale complexion on her face, the dulled eyes and bags beneath them, the dry, splitting lips. Maybe she really was suffering. Her sense of compassion — as annoying as ever — tugged lightly at her as she sighed.

"You look like shit. You eaten anything?" She rummaged through her pockets and eventually produced a nutri-bar — warped and pocket-warm — tossing it over to her. "Will make sure you got water too. Can't have a dead Sith on my ship now." She stepped a little closer, maybe a little too close than was reasonably safe, the manner in her posture presenting an air of authority, as her voice fell suddenly darker, quieter.

"Don't cause any trouble here, or I'll put a bolt through you myself."

Her serious face suddenly melted into something more jovial, and a grin stretched itself across her face. "Other than that, enjoy your stay."

She turned on the spot, nodding to Al and Carrie, before swivelling back one more time.

"...and ask Carrie to arrange a shower for you... You stink."

With that — whilst Carrie and Al indicated to the Echani to get moving down the hall — Amelia made her way down to the cockpit again, sitting beside Duny. Releasing the breath she didn't realise she was holding, she wiped the sweat that had formed across her brow and then untied her auburn hair, running her fingers through it to soothe herself. She looked at her pilot.

"Did I make the right call here, Duny?"

Duny shrugged. She sat back in her chair. Another sigh escaped her.

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

A Chance Meeting​

​

Location: Somewhere in Space​

Tag: Amelia Zin​

Gear: HG-88 Big Iron, SD-L1 Long Blaster, Slicing Glove, Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield, S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor.​

​

Alana caught the nutri-bar with reflexive ease, though she didn't immediately open it. Her crimson gaze flicked toward Amelia, sharp but unreadable, before dropping to the bar in her gloved hand.

"You always take in strays, or is today special?" Her voice was hoarse, a touch dry—whether from dehydration or exhaustion, it was hard to tell. She shifted her weight, flexing stiff fingers, but otherwise remained eerily still.

She hadn't missed the moment of hesitation, the brief flicker of something in Amelia's expression before she turned away. Pity? No. Caution wrapped in reluctant kindness, maybe. She'd seen it before in the people who weren't quite sure what to make of a Sith when they weren't swinging a blade at them.

Her gaze lingered on Amelia's retreating form for a moment before she exhaled, a slow, measured breath. Cargo hold. Blankets. Food. Water. It was more than she was used to lately. A small grunt did sound though as Amelia said she smelled, her crimson eyes looking to the woman, almost pouting but not quite.

It wasn't her fault, starfighters weren't exactly a luxury.

Carrie motioned for her to move, and Alana finally did, stepping forward at a steady pace.

"Shower, huh?" She muttered, mostly to herself. "Guess it's my lucky day."

She would continue on down into the refresher, and strip herself of her armor. If nothing else, she was happy to be free of this nonsense.

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway


"You sure you know what you're doing here, Boss?"

Jack was pacing nervously back and forth along the mess hall, as if preparing for some great battle. He just couldn't settle on the idea. Amelia could understand where he was coming from, though. The poor guy had had a few too many run-ins with Sith in his younger years before he joined the Wildfire, and the type of wounds the Sith leave tend to stay with you.

"Could ransom her to the Sith. Might make some good cash out of it." Jack looked at Al, who was sitting in his usual chair, with absolute shock.

"Are you insane? They'd ruin us!"

Carrie leant against a wall with her arms crossed, not entirely sure what to think of it all.
"Could just kill her," she eventually said with a nonchalant shrug, the first words she'd said in a while.

Though she shot a look to Carrie as if to say it was completely off the table, Amelia didn't say anything for a while, as she sipped the last of her caf. The hyperactive buzz of the alcohol had worn off considerably now, replaced with the induced adrenaline and awareness caused from the caffeine. Rose made the best caf.

"We'll keep her around until we reach the next station, then decide what to do with her."

"She'll just rat us out the second we let her go. Before you know they'll all be chasing us all the way to the Outer Rim."

Amelia exhaled a sharp, exasperated breath.

"I'll talk to her, see what's what. Leave it to me."

"Boss–"

"Enough, Jack. Let me handle it. I made this decision, so I gotta deal with it. If it all goes wrong..." She weighed how she would word the end of the sentence, but the silence hung for too long, and she said nothing.

"Guys, get some rest. It's been a long night already, and I won't be sleeping anytime soon. I'll take first watch." She stood slowly, stretching on the spot once on her feet as the crew slowly peeled away and disappeared in the direction of the dorms.

Alone, Amelia took several measures breaths. She wasn't sure this was a good idea, but... something about her didn't seem so bad...

Right?

With a sigh, she picked up an auto-heating tub of some of Rose's leftover orbak stew, and made her way down to the cargo hold. The temperate was considerably colder down this part of the ship, and Amelia maybe even started to feel a tinge of guilt come for her for locking the woman down her. Not that there was any other safe alternative.

She fiddled with the cargo door terminal for half a second, allowing the doors to hiss open and–

Amelia's face flushed almost as red as her hair in a matter of seconds, as she saw the Echani conducting various spins, kicks and chops in a regimented, beautifully articulated manner... exclusively in her undergarments. The briefest of glimpses of tattooed pale skin and taut muscle, and she froze.

"Shit."

She frantically tapped the terminal, closing the door again.

Silence.

The kind of silence that ached. Of all the things that happened tonight...

Ugh, get a grip.

Her own voice chastised herself, and with a sharp inhale she finally found her voice.

"You just let me know when you're decent. Food," she called through the door, shaking her head back to sense.

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

A Chance Meeting​

​

Location: Somewhere in Space​

Tag: Amelia Zin​

Gear: None​

Alana moved like a blade slicing through the air, her body a precise instrument of discipline and control. The dim glow of the cargo hold lights cast shifting shadows over her pale skin, highlighting the taut muscle beneath as she flowed through each movement with the grace of a seasoned warrior.

A leap into a tight aerial twist, her body tucking midair before she landed fluidly on the balls of her feet. She pivoted into a sweeping kick, her momentum carrying her seamlessly into a backflip, legs extended as if striking an unseen opponent. Every motion was sharp, deliberate, honed by instinct and years of training—combat was not just something she did; it was something she was.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself in a low stance before launching forward again. A flurry of rapid strikes—open palm, elbow, knee—flowed into a spinning kick that sent her leg arcing high. She landed with a controlled breath, her silver hair clinging lightly to sweat-damp skin. The cold air bit at her exposed form, but she welcomed it. The burn in her muscles, the sting of exertion—it was a language she understood, a rhythm she could lose herself in.

Then, the sharp hiss of the door opening.

Alana didn't stop, not immediately. Her senses registered the presence, but she carried through the last motion—a final twisting strike—before smoothly coming to a rest, her breath steady despite the exertion.

It was Amelia's silence that made her pause.

She turned just in time to see the redhead's face go from neutral to bright crimson. Amelia's hand twitched at the terminal, and then—

Hiss—the door shut again.

Silence.

A smirk tugged at Alana's lips as she reached for the shirt she had discarded earlier.

"Didn't peg you for the shy type, Red," She called through the door, her voice laced with amusement.

She pulled the fabric over her head, taking her time, knowing full well the woman outside was probably cursing herself into the next system.

"Didn't mean to scandalize you, but I gotta make do with what I've got," She continued, rolling her shoulders. "Combat form needs flexibility."

A pause. The scent of something warm drifted through the thin gap in the door, and her stomach clenched in protest. She debated dragging out the moment—letting Amelia sit in her own awkwardness a bit longer—but, mercifully, she stretched once more and stepped toward the door. She grabbed for the bodyglove of her armor, and donned it, concealing her from within the skintight clothing. She would rap her hands against the door, and set herself up, waiting for the woman.

Leaning against it with a lazy smirk, she finally spoke.

"Alright, Boss. I'm decent." Then, just for fun—just to poke—she added, "Disappointed?"

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway

The Echani's muffled words reached her ears, and an uncomfortable grimace reached her mouth. Towards the durasteel door standing inches from her face, Amelia rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Tsk."

She wouldn't be teased. She was never teased. She was the one who did the teasing around these parts. Nope, she wouldn't let it happen. Not on her watch, and not from a Sith.

"Alright, Boss. I'm decent. Disappointed?"

As the door hissed open once more, Amelia's emerald eyes narrowed, her expression as blank and stoic as she was possibly able to achieve, given the circumstances. But she just had to poke a dash more. She scrunched her face ever so slightly in an attempt to hold back whatever pink might have attempted to return to her cheeks.

"Didn't realise the Sith wore granny underwear," she said, trying to get back her usual facetious tone. It was a poor quip, but it was something, and she needed anything to move all this along. "Here."

She stretched out her hand, offering the tub of stew to her. "Like I said, can't have you dying on us." Her voice was shaded with sullenness, like a child who had just lost an argument.

She shuffled along to one of the storage boxes and hoisted herself onto it, seating herself comfortable with her legs hanging over the side, almost touching the ground but not quite. Then she plunged her hand into her jacket and pulled out a small packet. Carefully taking a cigarette from it, she reached into her jacket again and produced a lighter, sparked it up, and took a long, slow drag. She let it linger in her lungs for a while, and exhaled.

"Hate these things. I'm supposed to have quit." And yet, not every day did you have a lost Sith in your cargo bay. Some days just warrant breaking certain rules. She let the silence linger between them for a moment, before turning to the Echani. She tilted her head, examining her. She was definitely Echani, and behind all that exhaustion, she was quite pretty... but the red in her eyes suggested something else lingering within her, something darker. She took another drag. "You got a name or what?"

 

[Alana Calloway]

A Chance Meeting

Location: Somewhere in Space
Tag: Amelia Zin
Gear: None

Alana eyed the offered stew for a moment before taking it, her grip firm but slow, as if testing the weight of the situation rather than the container. The warmth seeped into her fingers, but she barely registered it. Her mind was still catching up—processing the shift in atmosphere, the strangely casual rhythm of Amelia’s presence.

She sank down onto the nearest crate, one leg drawn up slightly, elbow resting against her knee as she turned the container in her hands. The cigarette smoke curled between them, a lazy ghost of something familiar.

A scoff left her lips at the comment about her undergarments.

Granny underwear?

She’d heard worse, but even half-conscious, the quip left the woman open to retort.

“Didn’t realize you were staring that long to notice,” She drawled, popping the lid off the stew. The scent hit her, and it was… edible. More than edible. It had been a while since she’d had anything that wasn’t ration packs or recycled protein slabs.

She took a bite, chewing with slow deliberation, as Amelia took another drag of her cigarette. The silence stretched—not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken.

At the question, Alana exhaled, rolling the stew’s warmth around her mouth before swallowing. She weighed her answer carefully. Her real name? The name they’d beaten into her head? The one that still tasted foreign on her tongue?

“…Calloway,” She settled on, voice quieter than before. “Alana Calloway.”

She let the name sit between them, watching for a reaction. It felt both foreign and hers, like something half-buried in sand, waiting to be unearthed.

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway

She quipped again. Ugh. On her ship too. She would've denied having pouted at that, but she knew she would've been lying.

Amelia took some more drags of her cigarette — nasty little thing that burned at her throat — before stubbing it out on the crate she sat on and tossing it into the corner behind her. As long as Duny didn't find it, she get into any trouble.

She could see colour slowly returning to the Echani's pale face. She still looked rough, but a shower and food had obviously been in dire need. She eyed her carefully through the light haze of smoke that settled between them, still not entirely sure what to think of her. The way she seemed to lose herself to consideration for but a few seconds whilst she ate, as if weighing some decision far more important than Amelia's question, was something not entirely lost on the captain.

“…Calloway. Alana Calloway.”

She didn't speak for a while as she mulled the word over in her mind, the name hanging between them, stuck within the smoke, as she decided to indulge in another cigarette.

"Alright, Alana Calloway," she said finally, emphasising her name as if weighing whether it was genuine or not, or searching for some hidden meaning in it. "Amelia Zin. This is my ship you're on, if that wasn't already obvious." Letting the new cigarette hang out from the side of her mouth, she held out the packet in offering to her guest. "They're shit," she warned, a small, playful smirk tugging at her lips.

"So what's Alana Calloway the Sith doing out here stuck in the middle of nowhere along the Mid Rim, all on her own with no fuel and power? Something go wrong? None of your Sith buddies able to help? Or were you..." For a moment, she didn't let the word out, though she wasn't sure why. She mused on the woman a moment, emerald eyes locking on her, trying to gauge what she was all about. Something about the way she held herself, the way certain expressions seemed to settle on her. It wasn't what she expected. Finally, the word escaped her half-parted lips.

"...deserting?"

 

[Alana Calloway]

A Chance Meeting

Location: Somewhere in Space
Tag: Amelia Zin
Gear: None

Alana exhaled slowly through her nose, the taste of food still lingering on her tongue, dulling the ever-present bitterness in the back of her throat. She leaned back against the bulkhead, one arm draped over her knee, as she let Amelia's question hang between them.

Deserting.

Her fingers flexed, the word striking something raw in her gut. The captain wasn't stupid—she could tell Alana was running from something. The state she'd been found in, the lack of a proper distress call, the silence from the Sith fleet. Any proper Imperial vessel would've been swarmed by a recovery team the moment it was stranded. But Alana's ship? Left to drift. Left to rot.

Her jaw tightened, but outwardly, she remained still. Controlled. Don't react.

She flicked her gaze to the cigarette pack Amelia offered. She hadn't touched a deathstick in years, not since Dantooine. Not since Alfonz. The old man would've chewed her out if he ever caught her with one, but he wasn't here. And Amelia wasn't wrong—she was a Sith.

Or she was supposed to be.

Alana reached forward, plucking one from the pack between two fingers. She turned it over once, considering it, before tucking it between her lips and waiting for a light.

She felt something familiar clawing at the back of her mind.

"Wouldn't say I had a choice in the matter," She said finally, voice steady but low. "Ship went dark. Had to make do. Not exactly a good look for Sith ship to be sending out distress calls." A half-truth, but a convenient one. Let Amelia make of it what she would.

She met the captain's gaze through the haze of smoke, unreadable. "I was on leave, and I don’t have my own ship. So I made a deal, and took a starfighter out. Didn’t think about how hard it would be to refuel out here. I’m outside the reach of the Order."

She muttered, giving a shrug. “I get it. I’m not big fan of the Sith anyhow.”

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway

Amelia leaned forward with the lighter, striking up the small flame for her guest. Bright emerald locked with deep ruby for all of three seconds whilst she lit the end of her cigarette, a strange, intimate silence flickering briefly between them until Amelia pulled back again to light her own and take a drag. She couldn't ignore the subtle shift in her heartbeat.

She listened closely to Alana's story. She seemed... jaded, as if exhausted by her work, or her identity. Amelia could tell she was trying to put on some kind of front, to appear stronger than she was, perhaps. She wasn't sure. But she recognised in the Echani's face a feeling that was perhaps more familiar to her than was comfortable; that desperate need to keep things together, no matter how much one wanted to just fall apart under the weight of it all.

"You said before you're not a big fan of the Sith..." she started quietly, taking another drag. "Why?"

From everything she had heard, the Sith were a brutal force of weird cultists that stopped at nothing to destroy their enemies. They were addicted to destruction and death, and were devoted to that path without question.

So why was this one 'not a big fan' of them?

 

[Alana Calloway]

A Chance Meeting

Location: Somewhere in Space
Tag: Amelia Zin
Gear: None

Alana took a slow drag from the cigarette, letting the acrid burn settle in her lungs before exhaling through her nose. It wasn't good—too harsh, too cheap—but it was something. A distraction.

She tilted her head slightly at Amelia's question, watching the ember at the tip of her cigarette flicker in the dim light.

Why?

A better question was where to start. She could lie, say something easy—something about power struggles, infighting, the endless game of politics and ambition. That was what most assumed anyway. But Amelia had sharp eyes, the kind that didn't miss much. The kind that wouldn't buy a simple answer.

Alana sighed, tipping her head back against the bulkhead. "Because they're hollow," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "They act like it's all about strength, about being the best, about rising above." She let the words hang for a moment before shaking her head. "But it's a lie. It's not about power—it's about control. You're only as strong as the leash they put around your throat."

She tapped the cigarette against the edge of the crate, watching the ash fall. She hadn’t smoked one of these in a while.

She liked it.

"They chew you up. Make you into what they want. And if you're not useful anymore? You're gone."

Her jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark behind her eyes.

Then she exhaled again, shaking off the tension. She looked over at Amelia, lips curling in a wry smirk. "So no, I'm not a fan." A pause, then, with a small quirk of her brow, "That make sense?"

 

[Amelia Zin]

Location: Somewhere along the Mid Rim
Tag: Alana Calloway


Alana's words and voice held a weight and conviction that hung in the room heavier than the smoke. Amelia paid attention to every word, taking it all in with a keen awareness, her demeanour turning suddenly more serious. She could tell the Echani wasn't lying. The way in which Alana suddenly opened up to her like this was strange, but maybe had spent so long not being able to talk about it, and she had bottled it all up until now.

All it took was a blanket, shower, food, and a tipsy pirate captain's probing questions, apparently.

But Amelia didn't tease, didn't jab, didn't quip. Instead, her emerald eyes gazed directly at the woman, taking in all of her, as the soft orange light of her cigarette cast small shadows across her features with each drag. A silence stretched between them, undeniably so, as if pushing the distance between them both eerily closer, until Amelia finally broke off from her musing.

"Yeah," she murmured, her voice notably more firm, contemplative, dark. "I get it." She couldn't fully relate to the life of a Sith as Alana explained it, but she had the misfortune of getting messed around by plenty of people, and groups, with the same sort of ideas. Her eyes flicked down towards nowhere in particular, lost in a half-buried memory.

Somewhere in that hanging silence brewed a mixture of feeling, not of anything between a prisoner and her captive, or a captain and her guest, but something more authentic and complex.

"So..." she finally continued under her breath, eyes shifting up again to meet deep ruby. "...What now for Alana Calloway?"

 

[Alana Calloway]

A Chance Meeting

Location: Somewhere in Space
Tag: Amelia Zin
Gear: None

Alana exhaled slowly, letting the weight of Amelia's words settle over her like the lingering smoke between them. The way the pirate captain didn't joke, didn't smirk, didn't try to play this off—it surprised her. She'd expected some flippant remark, maybe a drunken jab to break the tension. But no. Amelia just sat with it, the same way Alana had been forced to sit with it for far too long.

Her fingers idly traced the edge of the doorframe, eyes unreadable, but her mind was a storm. What now?

She could lie. Could spin something easy, something simple. But after everything she'd just said, after the strange, almost comfortable quiet that had fallen between them, lying felt pointless.

So instead, she spoke the truth.

"Now?" Alana murmured, tilting her head slightly, the dim light catching in her crimson gaze. "Now I wait for the moment when the past catches up."

She flicked the ash from her cigarette into the tray, watching as it crumbled apart like old memories, like the pieces of herself she had been forced to bury.

"Now I see just how long I can outrun it."

She finally looked back up, meeting Amelia's emerald eyes without flinching. A wry, bitter smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

"And maybe—if the stars feel like being real funny—I figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do in the meantime…but for now I’ll keep working my field, but I can hope that things will get better."


It had worked out in her life thus far, she supposed.