We were conquers.
Location : Sith-Imperial Space, aboard the Dissident Aggressor
Thematic : Flesh and Bone
Forty eight standard hours after the initial assault upon Muunilinst Lyra had been pulled out of the throes of drug induced sleep greeted by the iridescent lights of the medbay. The room was still spinning as she burned through the last of the anesthesia. Panic was not in her taste, no instead there was a gentle acceptance of the gore that had painted herself and the troopers in the streets of Harnaidan. She was no longer planet side and the hum of a ship all to familiar and it offered a monotone sort of comfort. When her heart rate steadily rose, they assured her she was safe-far away from the front. Lyra had said she felt numb, they had called it trauma.
The woman had been inclined to agree but it was irrelevant in the wake of an active siege; she was..supposed to be doing something? She had promptly called for an escort, peeling herself from the sick bed-uninterested in the medical diagnosis. She had heard a thousand of them before, Lyra knew exactly what had been done unto her. Where bones had broken and where they had to widdle away to save the majority of flesh. No one could quite meet her eye, whispers dancing along the edges of her hearing, and no matter how she searched their faces..Lyra decidedly refused to concern herself with why that might be.
If one person so much as opened their mouth.. a sharp driving spike of anger threatened to bloom from her throat-only to be swallowed. Everything was fine and two men were soon shadowing her. If they raised concerns later, why she had not finished her discharge requirements she would say she could bloody well do what she saw fit. Unaware as
Irveric Tavlar
was made aware of her status, a priority update from the charge nurse to scared to stop her. Slow in the march back to her own offices, Lyra grappled with reality creeping in upon her, fatigue only a heartbeat behind.
What was gone..a phantom limb she ached to stretch, trigger finger and wrist. Snapped off was the only way to describe it. There were no cybernetics immediately available, and Lyra was at a loss. Who required a hand when there was no work to be done, was she listed as inactive?
Would she be any good next time she leveled her rifle up?
There was no other option in her mind, one that did not involve a blaster. The thought made her sweat, she could not even shoot..and she mourned her one true skill. She had built everything upon one hand and sharp eyes. The sling sat uncomfortably on her collarbone, no matter which way she tugged it to adjust it- the thing dug in reminding her of the absence. Lyra could not afford to be dismissed again, not like Folende. Adrift without course. Even if she had been stuck in the vicious cycle of holo work, file then fall in line, shoot. She needed it now more then ever..Lyra stalled in the hall when the soldiers had halted outside a set of blast doors, their footfall drumming in the back of her mind. The trek lost to her mind space as a hiss filled her ears, entering the quarters alone. When the blastdoors slid close behind her Lyra’s eyes fell shut, seeking out the light switch. For only a moment did she let herself breath, wandering..loosing herself in the unfamiliar space and easing herself into the faux leather chair beyond the desk.
This place had not been made her's yet.
The cold dark expanse of space painted the backdrop behind her and she sunk further in until she could bare to look at it all. There were shelves still untouched, what a barren place surrounding her. Finding the smokes she tucked away in the drawer, one slipped between her teeth. The lite clicked and spat, and she struggled to handle it but within seconds Lyra was inhaling the smoke; it filled her nose and her ribs ached. She was just as fucked like the soldiers down like in the gutters; a role of little importance.
It was not for want of greater importance, but rather seeing the possibilities snatched from her-just out of reach and all the lives with it. She had not risen to the challenge of the field.
A string of curses were muttered under her breath, faintly aware of her own voice between her two ears. A decade of service for this, for another stinging failure, for her to hold nothing? The durasteel under her didn’t feel that solid. She was tasting the culmination of every doubt that had dug their ugly fangs in to her, another mission compromised. This shouldn’t have happened, she should've fought harder on Dromund Kass. She should have been thinking ahead, thinking of every possibility, remembering everything that had happened-learning from it. They could have done this from within, they could have done better before it all started, and-Lyra was being naive. She should be concerning herself with the status of the siege, not sitting here..her eyes screwed shut.
They had to make something out of this. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, blood and flesh was committed against the Sith.
If not death, this was a kinder fate than she had expected to find herself in; amidst this march unto horde of black clad soldiers and red sabers. Lucky was not a word she wanted to associate with, was there a greater reason that she had the grace of sitting here now? When was she going to stop regretting the matter and let it be, there was no going back. Lyra was not dead but she felt it in her very core, she should be.
When the smoke singed her lips, she ripped it from her mouth; spitting, leaving it to fizzle out on the desk. It took three attempts before she pulled up the interface, a certain desperation behind one hand. The sound of blaster fire filling the office, just white noise in her mind. Her..one deft hand pulling up the surviving battle interfaces from the assault; cycling through what footage had been recovered thus far. Cataphracts rolled across the recording, and Lyra did not pay time any consideration even as her comms stirred with life. She was at no one's beck and call in this state.
At some point a clatter outweighed the playback's violent noise, her chair hit the floor. There were voices of concern from beyond the blast doors but it fell on deaf ears. She was upon her feet with a rolling gut, chest heaving. Finding herself staring at the portview, looking out unto the remains of their fleet and the stars beyond. Belisariu’s name in red haunting the holopad behind her; vaporized.
It was not what she had hoped to find, no it was simply worse. Take the hotel she had said..
She stared until her vision wandered and blurred, eyes burning, an ache rising through her skull. Hellhound had done nothing but die down there. She had failed, she hadn’t patched the command-consolidated anything. Lead. Lyra was whispering incredulous thoughts under her breath, reflection staring back at herself. Her shoulders were shaking when she retrieved the Durin from her personal effects, a chill licking at her heels. Setting the pistol out beside the reports, it's weight foreign under her palm. It was desperation. Lyra only vaguely aware she shouldn't have it out, and she tucked her hand tucked under her chin to stop the toying of it. Finally deigning to continue watching, picking the chair from the floor-staring at the broken footage of the fifty first’s final flight.
Who would she call upon now? Lyra felt so utterly alone, it had never left her. This cold space uniquely her's to suffer.
Consumed by the next file, troopers were storming up the road and she did not recognize the unit, fire eating up the buildings they cleared. This was it, the clips burning into her mind. It was the death of something greater in her, the longer she watched. Lyra was never going to retire somewhere green, a fanciful thought she had set her mind to on some far and previous deployment. An answer scrounge up when asked, what will you do at the end of your fight? Lyra did not see herself escaping, the footage cut when the trooper was shot down. She could see where she going straight at the end of this fucking tunnel. If they did not achieve victory in the wake of this, it was a vehemently sworn threat until she was mouthing the very words on he lips. If they did not achieve something after this..
For him, for them..they were always the price. She needed..she needed to do something and her hand itched.
All this blood wasn’t worth it. Whispering to herself, the dim blue light cascaded over her as the invasion played across the screen. Reaching up her nails scraping through her hair, pinching at the tender flesh that had only just been mended. What was she doing with herself? There was supposed to be no room left for confusion, but Lyra regretted her service for the first time in her life.
Thematic : Flesh and Bone
Forty eight standard hours after the initial assault upon Muunilinst Lyra had been pulled out of the throes of drug induced sleep greeted by the iridescent lights of the medbay. The room was still spinning as she burned through the last of the anesthesia. Panic was not in her taste, no instead there was a gentle acceptance of the gore that had painted herself and the troopers in the streets of Harnaidan. She was no longer planet side and the hum of a ship all to familiar and it offered a monotone sort of comfort. When her heart rate steadily rose, they assured her she was safe-far away from the front. Lyra had said she felt numb, they had called it trauma.
The woman had been inclined to agree but it was irrelevant in the wake of an active siege; she was..supposed to be doing something? She had promptly called for an escort, peeling herself from the sick bed-uninterested in the medical diagnosis. She had heard a thousand of them before, Lyra knew exactly what had been done unto her. Where bones had broken and where they had to widdle away to save the majority of flesh. No one could quite meet her eye, whispers dancing along the edges of her hearing, and no matter how she searched their faces..Lyra decidedly refused to concern herself with why that might be.
If one person so much as opened their mouth.. a sharp driving spike of anger threatened to bloom from her throat-only to be swallowed. Everything was fine and two men were soon shadowing her. If they raised concerns later, why she had not finished her discharge requirements she would say she could bloody well do what she saw fit. Unaware as
Irveric Tavlar
was made aware of her status, a priority update from the charge nurse to scared to stop her. Slow in the march back to her own offices, Lyra grappled with reality creeping in upon her, fatigue only a heartbeat behind. What was gone..a phantom limb she ached to stretch, trigger finger and wrist. Snapped off was the only way to describe it. There were no cybernetics immediately available, and Lyra was at a loss. Who required a hand when there was no work to be done, was she listed as inactive?
Would she be any good next time she leveled her rifle up?
There was no other option in her mind, one that did not involve a blaster. The thought made her sweat, she could not even shoot..and she mourned her one true skill. She had built everything upon one hand and sharp eyes. The sling sat uncomfortably on her collarbone, no matter which way she tugged it to adjust it- the thing dug in reminding her of the absence. Lyra could not afford to be dismissed again, not like Folende. Adrift without course. Even if she had been stuck in the vicious cycle of holo work, file then fall in line, shoot. She needed it now more then ever..Lyra stalled in the hall when the soldiers had halted outside a set of blast doors, their footfall drumming in the back of her mind. The trek lost to her mind space as a hiss filled her ears, entering the quarters alone. When the blastdoors slid close behind her Lyra’s eyes fell shut, seeking out the light switch. For only a moment did she let herself breath, wandering..loosing herself in the unfamiliar space and easing herself into the faux leather chair beyond the desk.
This place had not been made her's yet.
The cold dark expanse of space painted the backdrop behind her and she sunk further in until she could bare to look at it all. There were shelves still untouched, what a barren place surrounding her. Finding the smokes she tucked away in the drawer, one slipped between her teeth. The lite clicked and spat, and she struggled to handle it but within seconds Lyra was inhaling the smoke; it filled her nose and her ribs ached. She was just as fucked like the soldiers down like in the gutters; a role of little importance.
It was not for want of greater importance, but rather seeing the possibilities snatched from her-just out of reach and all the lives with it. She had not risen to the challenge of the field.
A string of curses were muttered under her breath, faintly aware of her own voice between her two ears. A decade of service for this, for another stinging failure, for her to hold nothing? The durasteel under her didn’t feel that solid. She was tasting the culmination of every doubt that had dug their ugly fangs in to her, another mission compromised. This shouldn’t have happened, she should've fought harder on Dromund Kass. She should have been thinking ahead, thinking of every possibility, remembering everything that had happened-learning from it. They could have done this from within, they could have done better before it all started, and-Lyra was being naive. She should be concerning herself with the status of the siege, not sitting here..her eyes screwed shut.
They had to make something out of this. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, blood and flesh was committed against the Sith.
If not death, this was a kinder fate than she had expected to find herself in; amidst this march unto horde of black clad soldiers and red sabers. Lucky was not a word she wanted to associate with, was there a greater reason that she had the grace of sitting here now? When was she going to stop regretting the matter and let it be, there was no going back. Lyra was not dead but she felt it in her very core, she should be.
When the smoke singed her lips, she ripped it from her mouth; spitting, leaving it to fizzle out on the desk. It took three attempts before she pulled up the interface, a certain desperation behind one hand. The sound of blaster fire filling the office, just white noise in her mind. Her..one deft hand pulling up the surviving battle interfaces from the assault; cycling through what footage had been recovered thus far. Cataphracts rolled across the recording, and Lyra did not pay time any consideration even as her comms stirred with life. She was at no one's beck and call in this state.
At some point a clatter outweighed the playback's violent noise, her chair hit the floor. There were voices of concern from beyond the blast doors but it fell on deaf ears. She was upon her feet with a rolling gut, chest heaving. Finding herself staring at the portview, looking out unto the remains of their fleet and the stars beyond. Belisariu’s name in red haunting the holopad behind her; vaporized.
It was not what she had hoped to find, no it was simply worse. Take the hotel she had said..
She stared until her vision wandered and blurred, eyes burning, an ache rising through her skull. Hellhound had done nothing but die down there. She had failed, she hadn’t patched the command-consolidated anything. Lead. Lyra was whispering incredulous thoughts under her breath, reflection staring back at herself. Her shoulders were shaking when she retrieved the Durin from her personal effects, a chill licking at her heels. Setting the pistol out beside the reports, it's weight foreign under her palm. It was desperation. Lyra only vaguely aware she shouldn't have it out, and she tucked her hand tucked under her chin to stop the toying of it. Finally deigning to continue watching, picking the chair from the floor-staring at the broken footage of the fifty first’s final flight.
Who would she call upon now? Lyra felt so utterly alone, it had never left her. This cold space uniquely her's to suffer.
Consumed by the next file, troopers were storming up the road and she did not recognize the unit, fire eating up the buildings they cleared. This was it, the clips burning into her mind. It was the death of something greater in her, the longer she watched. Lyra was never going to retire somewhere green, a fanciful thought she had set her mind to on some far and previous deployment. An answer scrounge up when asked, what will you do at the end of your fight? Lyra did not see herself escaping, the footage cut when the trooper was shot down. She could see where she going straight at the end of this fucking tunnel. If they did not achieve victory in the wake of this, it was a vehemently sworn threat until she was mouthing the very words on he lips. If they did not achieve something after this..
For him, for them..they were always the price. She needed..she needed to do something and her hand itched.
All this blood wasn’t worth it. Whispering to herself, the dim blue light cascaded over her as the invasion played across the screen. Reaching up her nails scraping through her hair, pinching at the tender flesh that had only just been mended. What was she doing with herself? There was supposed to be no room left for confusion, but Lyra regretted her service for the first time in her life.
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