A promise (Andra)

[Arage Bao]

Annaj, late at night.​

One blink, empty room. Two blink, Jared was home. It had been a late night of researching, figuring out how to bend (and perhaps break) the fabric of reality, plans were in motion - but they were always in motion, weren’t they, Jared? I felt the need of some rest, some contemplation as it were, so it wasn’t strange that my experiment brought me back here. Should have known really, should have guessed something kept me still anchored in this particular part of space.

Every once in a while when I close my eyes and loosen my grip on reality I can hear her, softly though, too long to really feel her anymore. But just that vague echo that mocks and implies she’s still around, I haven’t been with her for many months and yet I know all about her parties with Shorn. Do I blame her? Of course not. I probably know Andra better than she knows herself, she had always been attracted to the strong personalities, the one that made a whole room revolve around himself, a singularity of charisma perhaps.

So if I don’t blame her, are there any other emotions pertaining the particular situation? Nostalgia, at first glance, perhaps just a trickle of longing - not for her body, but for her mind. Companionship, the kind where you could simple be with a person and be yourself? Where you could, at least for a moment, relax and let your guard down?

Tough luck finding that.

But this wasn’t about that, not really. It’s just what I am trying to tell myself in an attempt to shift away my attention from the ugly truth.

This was a goodbye.

And so the Sith Lord inside of me reached out towards that one person in the swirling maelstrom of personalities.

‘Andra.’ it would possibly whisper to her, before dying down again into a trickle of emotion that spelled opportunity, a wicked grin and a promise.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The voice hits me like a dart through sheets of linen. It pulls into me and I shudder in its' familiarity as a woman shudders in the arms of a long distant lover returning home. I drop my tea and sit back from my office desk in Military HQ on Annaj. After an unacceptable amount of time, [member="Jared Ovmar"] hits me up. Was I not good enough? Was I not bold enough? Was I too instilled with the lurking miasma of our unborn son's ghostly apparition?

Did my exile in the Reaches kill the shifting sands of our . . . whatever it was? Bucket passes me a tissue, I rub at my eyes and take a deep breath. "We're going home, Bucket." Feels like the last time. I hang in the office, I don't want to go. There was this lingering sensation that some day I'd see him again, that we could move past the grief and the tusseled sheets to a balmy companionship. After all, didn't he tell me I would one day go to [member="Mikhail Shorn"]? That one day. The damned day he came back after being dead and reached for my hand his voice shifted, I felt his mind shift and he spoke. Now he speaks again.

Bucket holds up my jacket and as I put my hands through I let the Droid guide me in silence. Bucket opens the door to the loft apartment and I gulp as a burning sensation of salt water touches on my eyelids, but dares not fall. "I heard you. First time in months, guess I haven't lost my touch, eh?"

I stand in the middle of the entryway and push off my shoes as Bucket takes my jacket and hangs it on the nearest peg. There he is, the Grey Prince, the Orphan of Coruscant, the father of my dead son. I still have a smile for him, my lonely protector. It's a smile born out of the good times, the solids he did and the amount of protection he gave. "How've you been, Jared?" My voice catches.

Please don't be goodbye.