Blood on My Name

[Keira Priest]

Echoy'la​

​

Long had it been since she had walked the streets of Echoy'la with no greater purpose in mind. This was the first time in a year or more that she had been content enough in the progress of her people to take any moment of time for herself in order to do nothing more than exist as she was. Of late the Crusaders had picked up speed once more, bringing in new blood to their ranks and returning to taking territory for their own. They seemed to have entirely shaken the stagnation from their ranks, reigniting that inner fire that gave them a drive and a purpose to move forward. Still that thirst for blood and a fight persisted, but it appeared to be slightly sated now, brought to heel by the thought of returning to what had been their original mission: reclaiming what was lost and bringing meaning back to the mantle of Mandalorian.

For the moment, however, there was rest. A small cadre of Mandalorians found themselves in a tavern on the capital world of the Crusaders, doing nothing more than trading various war stories and indulging in proper food and drink that wasn't easily found on the battlefield. The majority were old soldiers, men and women of various species that had been fighting for years and still found it in themselves to persist against all odds and continue with the fight to remind the galaxy of the meaning behind a T-visor. Conversation flowed smoothly between Mando'a and Basic, from across the bar to face-to-face, the group functioning smoothly as one even in peacetime.

Even with there being no enemy in sight armor was donned by a great number, the weight of the beskar'gam something that was second nature and therefore easily ignored. Their weaponry was another matter, as they found themselves lightly armed or not at all, finding solace and true peace among their own. It was a sight to behold, observing these fabled warriors in such a peaceful scene. This was something most thought Mandalorians incapable of, instead taking them at nothing more than face value as vicious, brutal opponents that granted no quarter to those that crossed them and theirs. But that was an imagery the vode were okay with, doing nothing to correct those outsiders that didn't know any better.

Keira seated herself a bit separate from the main group, leaning against the bar and watching as they all made merry. Her armor had been foregone for this day, as had any weaponry aside from her two lightsabers and the Akaa'gai.​ A glass of ne'tra gal sat nearby, only a quarter emptied. But her focus was on enjoying herself and being certain her people did the same, not achieving some kind of drunken stupor. Alcohol was a vice she had given up once upon a time, only in recent years finding herself capable of exercising enough restraint to partake again. A content smile spread across her face, the first genuine one in quite some time. Peace had come to her people, and it was about time, even if it was temporary.

[member="Marvik Dathu"]

 

[Darth Vulcanus]

Memories had a funny way about them, especially after you'd rolled them into a tight bundle alongside some Savorium Herbs and lit them.

The past burned away as he exhaled, creating a smokey veil that circled his seat at the far end of the bar. Even through the laughter and shouting of the metal clad idiots, Marvik managed an almost zen-like peace as he closed his eyes and let the tendrils of the sweet scented drug wrap around his mind; coaxing an induced smile that creased his features. Right or wrong, the caress of herbs and drink were the only things that got him smiling much anymore.

Opening his eyes, Marvik picked up the half empty glass of whisky he'd set down just long enough to light his Savorium. He swirled it in the air for a moment, his eyes calmly tracing the dark brown substance as it vortexed around fingerprint labeled glass. The aged bounty hunter had come to this distant bar on the fringes of his old home in hopes that seeing The Crusaders would remind him of some long lost purpose he'd forgotten in the clouds of smoke and trophs of liquor. But all this place had managed to remind him was the reason he had chosen to smoke and drink his memory away in the first place. Now here he was, sitting at a bar again and ordering half-glasses of booze so he could pour what little remained of his Whyren Reserve in with it.

A crash threw his attention away from the glass, his hand gripping the Weskar-34 pistol he kept always at the ready by his side. The Crusaders who had marched in were already causing a stir; drinking and laughing and throwing their goddamned glasses on the ground in the midst of it all. If they were going to celebrate some great, meaningless victory they should have gone somewhere else to do it. Sneering, Marvik tucked his blaster back under the synth leather jacket he'd thrown on right before neglecting to shave for the fifth day in a row.

Karking newbloods...

Marvik cursed to himself before downing what was left in his glass, vode arent' what they used to be.

Just as he was about to order yet another glass of painkiller, a woman leaned against the bar a few seats to his left and smiled at the group of half-baked morons making a merry mess of the seats on the opposite side of the bar. She couldn't have been older than Marvik, face rugged from battle and body marked by battle. Not anything particularly striking, not in Mando space anyway. What had caught the attention of the shambles of a man in the corner was her eyes.

They were familiar, like he'd been starring at them in the mirror everyday for the past twenty years. Smiling now, yes, but later he knew that they would grow dark with something much more sinister. Marvik stared for a moment, mouth slightly agap as he took in the woman and her flowing black hair. She was beautiful, yes, but familiar in such a way that almost frightened him. Had he tried to kill her before? Had she tried to kill him? No...he'd remember something like that.

Unless he was drunk. His starring eventually caught her eye and, before she could say something, he sprung into action. Reaching over the bar and grabbing a clean glass, he slid it over the wooden bar to her before standing up and pulling the bottle of Correlian Whisky from his jacket to top his own glass off.

Once the luxury brand sludge had been filled to the brim of his own glass, he held the bottle at face level and tilted it toward her in offer. "Looks like you lot are celebrating something and you shouldn't drink alone. I know I could use some pretty company right about now."


[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Of course Keira had noticed him from the moment she entered the bar. It would have been impossible not to even if she had wanted to. The way he distanced himself from them was more than telling, a persistent unease lingering about him, the same sort that always accompanied longtime veterans of the battlefield. It was something she recognized after too long of seeing it mirrored in herself, and so perhaps that was why she hadn't said anything when he drew his pistol, nor when he approached her now. There was something about his voice that drew her attention towards him, and when she turned to see who he was something about this reality fell away around her for a few moments. Because she recognized him instantly, and she shouldn't have. Not in this dimension, anyway.

This was someone she had met before thanks to nothing more than the peculiarity of the Force and the fabric of time and space itself, though in comparison to the man she had met the one before her was...well, he reminded her of herself, in some way. That was telling enough. The man that sat next to her at the bar was a far cry from the proud Mand'alor she had once conversed with, but in a way she liked this version better. There was something familiar about this incarnation of him, at least. Unlike the last version of him, this one didn't have an image of her already painted for him in his head. It was a chance to start over, and after witnessing the amount of suffering his old self had endured at the hands of Dredge, it was nice to see this one so blissfully unaware.

The offer of the bottle was taken, and she turned it over in her hands before pouring herself a glass and sliding the bottle back over to him. She took a sip, finding nothing more than an overwhelming familiarity in the alcohol. No matter how far she traveled through the years, nothing quite did it right like a Corellian brew. "You know, this has been a bit of a commodity after Corellia was broken." An offhanded comment, and one she made while not entirely looking at him. Her attention for the most part was drawn to those vode that had accompanied her and being certain they didn't get out of hand, but they seemed to be managing themselves quite well despite their typical raucous behavior.

"In a manner of speaking, you could say." There wasn't much to celebrate given that much hadn't happened thus far, but an expansion of territory and the regaining of a foothold in the galaxy was enough. Finally she seemed to wholly acknowledge him, looking over to one she had known in another life as her father, it difficult to reconcile that with all that she knew and was in this galaxy. He wasn't the same, and she was far from the image of anyone's daughter. Not anymore, at least. "That depends on what company you're looking to keep."

[member="Marvik Dathu"]

 

[Darth Vulcanus]

​

The smooth nectar of life slipped past his lips as he listened to the woman challenge his intentions. There was something about the way she looked at him, a sort of spark in her eyes that gave her away. She'd seen him before, or at least thought she'd seen him. After bringing the glass down from his mouth, Marvik's head tilted like that of a confused puppy as he struggled to place how he knew this woman. It was strange, the familiarity in her eyes and the way she spoke. Like a bolt of lighting it stood the hair on his neck straight, a nagging electricity that stirred up old memories so his brain culd shift through them for an answer.

Had he slept with her sister? No...that wasn't it.

Collected a bounty on her husband?...No he'd remember that.

"Some men spend their credits on fancy speeders and exotic rifles. I spend mine on things I forget the next morning." He gave a coy smile, snatching the bottle away to top his own off again as his eyes scanned the woman. "Got this bottle way before someone decided to give Corellia a face lift. Old family I used to work for gave it to me as a gift. Poor bastards."

With his glass again overflowing, Marvik placed the ciggara between his lips and inhaled deeply; the roll burning away in seconds before being flicked into a nearby ash tray. A calm washed over him and the hair on his neck slouched once again. The bottle put him on edge and usually, when he'd had more than just a few drinks, he got loud and aggressive. Today, though, the memories had brought back in him a deep melancholy that only the herb had a chance of sweeping back under the rug.

He didn't respond to the reply on the celebration, in all honesty he didn't exactly care. Mandalorians celebrated a lot of things in recent history and most of them weren't worth celebrating.

"That depends on what company you're looking to keep."

"The kind that doesn't draw on my face when I pass out drunk" He joked, reaching his hand out to Keira "Name's Marvik. Is it safe to assume there is a scary name to go with your pretty face?"

 

[Keira Priest]

Old family I used to work for. What were the odds, she wondered? What chance was there that the family he referred to was the same whose name she still took as her own? It certainly seemed likely, given that the Ticons had been one of those families that held true sway over the streets of Corellia, at least, they had a few decades ago. Before the deaths of the parents, her family had controlled the majority of the criminal underworld on the planet, holding the monopoly on just about everything illicit and underground. And if he had been a mercenary back then, well...there was a very good chance he had wound up under the employ of Jaymes Ticon somewhere along the line. Nothing else would have surprised her.

There was no immediate verbal response Keira could or wanted to offer, and so instead she settled for taking a long pull of her drink, savoring the taste of her homeworld. Remembering was a tricky thing for her, and nine times out of ten it was something she tried to avoid at all costs. Better to hold those memories at a distance, and it was an art she had perfected through the years. Corellia was something to be recalled only in fits and bursts, not something to contemplate on for an extended period of time. And so she wouldn't, pushing those thoughts aside. The planet was broken, anyhow. That was the end of it, or rather, it should have been.

When he offered his hand she shook it, her grip firm and calloused, speaking to a warrior's life. "Keira Ticon. Or Verd, around these parts, depending on who you're asking." Her gaze drifted slightly to those that had accompanied her when she spoke the last half of her introduction, though it quickly enough shifted back to him. "What brings you to Echoy'la? It's not often we get visitors. Or at least, not the kind that go about things the most legally." Trespassers aiming to steal beskar had been a problem for a short while, but they had ironed out the problem quickly enough, and now it seemed everyone knew better than to attempt such a feat as stealing from Mandalorians.

Her head cocked slightly to one side in a gesture that mimicked his own, and she posed an inquiry she was well aware she already had some of the answer to. However, it was worth putting forth regardless, "Narir gar jorhaa'ir ibic joha?"

[member="Marvik Dathu"]

 

[Darth Vulcanus]

[member="Keira Ticon"]

​

​

The whiskey had no sooner passed through his lips when he suddenly lurched forward, sending the brown mist spewing across the floor. Ticon? Did she just say Ticon? She did, didn't she. Wiping away the dribbles of alcohol, Marvik's eyes shot over to the beautiful warrior sitting beside him. He scrambled for words but couldn't find a coherent sentence and instead rambled a stitched together string of syllabels that were neither intelligible nor of any particular language. That was why she looked so familiar. He knew he'd seen her somewhere and now he knew exactly where from.

He'd been good friends with James Ticon. It was a quickly laid friendship but the two men were as close as they could have possibly gotten in the few months leading up to the death of his wife and himself. Eyes shaking, Marvik starred straight into Keira's eyes and tried to place just what daughter she was. He'd stayed far away from most the children, they reminded him too much of his brother and with that other Mandalorian always hanging around them...he didn't exactly feel welcome. He had, however, seen them on occassion and those memories came flashing back to him like bombs falling on a battlefield. The faces of the children laughing as he passed, the faces of them crying in the rain as the police took them away.

The faces of the victims he'd rained horror on in their name.

"What Brings you to Echoy'la? It's not often we visitors. Or atleast, not the kind that go about things the most legally." Her question came before the rambling could accidentally turn into a sentence, but it was exactly what Marvik needed. He didn't know what to say. Sorry I left you in the dark while they hauled your dead parents away? Sorry I always ignored you?

I'm sorry I couldn't save them....

"I-um. It's a long story." Marvik sighed, putting his drink on the table. As he took a moment to collect himself, Keira spoke to him in Mando'a and the creak of a smile broke his features.

"Elek." He smiled coyly once again and topped off Keira's glass, "Haili cetare, mesh'la"

Topping off his own glass once again, he sipped and thought about his next words before continuing in Mando'a.

"I'm a beroya. Ver'verd. Whatever people pay me to be. I was a true Mandalorian once, years ago. I haven't been for a long time though." Shaking his head he sipped once again, "I thought maybe coming back to Mandalorian space would be sentimental but...It doesn't matter right now."

Edging away from the topic, he looked back to Keira, "What about you? I want to hear your story. You seem far more interesting than an old dar'manda warrior."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

There was no doubt in her mind after his display that he knew the name Ticon, and quite well, based on just how dramatic that reaction had been. And it meant something, given that it hadn't held any kind of weight around the underworld or much of anywhere for nearly two decades at this point. That the name of an old, fallen crime family still carried enough meaning to elicit that kind of response meant that he'd had a close working relationship with her father, more like than not, as one of the many mercenaries working under their criminal empire back in the day. It was a resurgence of memory she hadn't anticipated, and she grew uncharacteristically silent as she tried to place how or if she knew him.

Among the Crusaders there was another that had once worked for her family even before he took up the mantle of Mandalorian, and she had spoken for quite some time with Zef about the facets of their pasts that they both shared. Just like him the man next to her at the bar now retained the same deep sense of regret, but there was a solidarity there in that the two of them felt the same. Her brow furrowed just slightly, a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh passing her lips as she shook her head, looking over to him. "So you knew him. Them. Us." It was almost funny, how one like her could be silenced so easily by the mere notion of the surname she had nearly forgotten the meaning of herself.

Wordlessly Keira took a long pull of her drink, grimacing slightly at the burn of the alcohol but enjoying the sensation altogether. Her gaze cut sideways to him, and she raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. "You don't look much older than me. Shove off with that 'old' chit." By her guess he was no older than his mid-to-late thirties, which wasn't that many years older than herself. "I can't say for certain what I have to share that you'd be interested in hearing." Or that she was willing to share. "There's not much to tell of late. Things have been quiet." She glanced back to the small crowd she had entered with, seeming half-distracted with their exploits for a moment or two. Those were her people now, not the Ticons. Not anymore.

"My story..." Her fingers drummed on the bartop, and she finished the rest of her drink, enjoying the momentary rush of a buzz that the whiskey provided. "Not much to tell. Parents were killed when I was young, but you already knew that. Left for the Jedi, that didn't work out. Wound up in the criminal underground again, got tossed between galactic powers for a few years, now here we are. That's the long and the short of it." There was far more to it than that, but she wasn't willing to breach those memories for the sake of a more complete explanation. Some things she would never be willing to talk about with those outside of her family, and no matter how close the two of them became it was that fine line that would never be crossed.

[member="Marvik Dathu"]

 

[Darth Vulcanus]

​

"So you knew him. Them. Us."

Marvik sighed and his eyes dropped to the ground, "I knew James and his wife...well enough for the few months I had with them."

With that, Marvik was mostly silent as he let Kiera speak; giving only a light chuckle when she made her quip on his age. He honestly couldn't remember how how old she was, he never remembered the ages of the children. She was definetly one of the older ones though. Looking back over, he studied her face as she spoke in an attempt to remember anything he could. Her eyes, her nose, anything that would remind him of who she was.

There was nothing...and he regretted that. He did notice, however, one thing that brought a smile to his face. She had grown up to be far prettier than her mother and that was a hard thing to do from Marvik's point of view.

As Keira finished up, Marvik turned his eyes to the ground once more. She was just as broken as he was and that was a damn shame. She had been through something, he wasn't sure what, but it was far more than she was letting on. He had enough demons in his closets to know that much. He wanted to ask about the Jedi and the underworld, but he knew better. Raising his glass, he offered a cheers to Keira with a comforting smile.

"Here's to being karked up then." his smile grew bigger for a moment and his eyes glistened, "You have a story and it might not have a happy journey, but you're alive. You were strong enough to survive it."

The smile faded slightly and he eyes turned to the far side of the bar, his voice becoming quiet, "One day when we are both drunk enough maybe I'll hear the whole thing. Maybe you'll hear mine."

Turning sad eyes back to Keira, Marvik tried to lighten the mood. "jetii, huh? Not surprised that didn't work out. You are far too pretty and seem far too capable to be one of those rat-faced jackasses."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Her smile was halfhearted and mostly forced, dark eyes not seeming to focus completely on the present, rather seeming halfway lost in some distant memory. When Keira finally did speak her voice was quiet, and she didn't look over to him, appearing to be far more interested in her arms crossed before her on the bartop. "I'm tired of surviving. All I've been doing for the past nineteen years is survive. I don't want to anymore." At one point just getting by had been more than she could ask for, but now that she had seen all that she was capable of achieving, not being able to attain that cut deeper than it ever had. Someone like her was never meant to do anything more than make it to the next day, but she didn't want that for her children.

Thin cracks spiderwebbed up the side of the glass held in her left hand, and with a slow sigh between her teeth she released it before it shattered completely, brow furrowing slightly as if uncertain of her own emotion. Instead of blocking such a thing off as she would have any other time she allowed herself to feel wholly and deeply, letting that wave wash over and through her uninhibited. Her next exhale was shaky, fingers twitching slightly, but the following inhale demonstrated a touch more restraint and self-control. Working through her own thoughts and feelings had and always would be a process, doubly so when it came to breaching any aspect of her past. That was a line almost never crossed, for the sake of herself as well as others.

Mention of the Jedi drew nothing more than a scoff from her, shaking her head in contempt for the Order that had long worn out its usefulness, in her eyes. "Capability has little to do with it. It begins with a willingness to get off their shebs and do something in the first place. Something the Jedi have had a distinct lack of lately and always." The sole reason she had abandoned the Order in the first place was due to the distinct lack of accomplishing much of anything, as far as she was concerned. That same stagnation was why she continued to find herself on opposite sides of the battlefield from the sect of peacekeepers, and that unwillingness to act was what led to the Crusaders butting heads with the Silver Jedi.

The corners of her mouth tightened, but for all that had been said which weighed on her so she was strangely relaxed and at peace with the words that had been traded between them. No second drink was called for, and her half-empty glass of ne'tra gal had been virtually forgotten. Everything about her attention had been drawn solely to their conversation, the exchange taking precedence over all else. "What about yours, then?" Something about her tone was strangely resigned, but she still managed to look to him as she spoke. "You worked for my father, but that can't be all of it. You've already heard my story. I'd like to know about yours as well." It was only fair.

[member="Marvik Dathu"]

 

[Darth Vulcanus]

Theme​

Surviving.

Cold eyes grew distant, staring into the past through the bottom of his glass. He knew what surviving was like. He knew what hating life was like. He knew what it meant to want something that you'd never have.

"My story..." Fingers glided down his chest absently before suddenly clenching his shirt, pulling on a spot right below his heart. He could still feel the pit. Even after all this time. Why couldn't he get it to stop? He took a deep breath, fingers tightening. "Maybe my story isn't worth hearing."

It wasn't.

The dark pit under his heart throbbed, black claws pulling more of himself in as the lids his eyes played back twenty years of pain. How long would it take for it to finally kill him? When would this karking hole dig itself deep enough to bleed him out? His glass was quickly downed and another glass poured, disappearing past his lips as quickly as it had come.

"I kill people for a living. I worked for your family. I drink. That's all." Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was the pain. But Marvik's voice had changed, his eyes no longer inviting but burning. He kept them away from Keira though, he locked them on the shadows instead.

The darkness danced with reels of the past. Blood ran like rivers, children's screams turned to gargled prayers and a teddy bear melted away in fire.

"The galaxy is better off forgetting my story." Marvik sighed, pouring yet another drink. If he wanted to remeber his own story, he'd have gone to the graveyards on Corellia.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Music

It hurt, because she knew exactly how he felt. Once upon a time - even now, some days - she felt that same emptiness that cut her completely to the core like nothing else could, gutting her completely. To others it was indescribable, but it seemed now Keira had found someone that felt the same. Not only that, he shared those same memories of loss and regret, and most of all, not being able to do enough. There was no real comfort she knew how to give him, and so she settled for simply existing in the same space, with the knowing that the both of them held within themselves that same hollow feeling of not being good enough. It was a trait a lot of old soldiers shared, more so those products of the criminal underworld.

Wordlessly she reached up to pull at a chain around her neck, not wholly acknowledging his presence. From beneath her shirt she pulled out matte black dogtags and set them on the bartop with a muted clink, the symbol of the Republic just barely visible, it evident that she had done her best to scratch out the symbol of the Galactic Republic. Her name and identification number was still visible, as was the rank she had once held among the failed galactic nation: Supreme Commander of the only standing clone army in hundreds of years. It was something she was still proud of - not the nation she had served, but rather the men she had worked with. No matter what happened, they were one thing she would never regret.

"We all have things we're not proud of. But you're still alive to talk about them, so count your blessings." That wasn't a sentiment she often held, but years of serving in a proper military and watching those she considered family die in front of her and sometimes in her arms granted a new perspective. The dogtags remained on the counter between them, and she looked down at them for a long few moments, lost in thought for a short while. Although it had been years since she served under that banner she still recalled the day she had come into power with perfect clarity, remembering what it felt like to have millions of eyes on her as she took the helm and made her first speech as their new leader.

Looking over at him dredged up nothing more than memories from Corellia, including those she would much rather forget. Despite this she turned to face a man she felt strangely close to due to shared experience, despite only knowing him for less than an hour, and never mind those other galaxies that existed parallel with her own wherein he was an entirely different man. "Believe me, I know how it feels. But if I've learned one thing in the past nineteen years it's that, despite all of the terrible things people like us have done, there's always some kind of chance. You might not ever be able to forgive yourself, but you'll find people that will do it for you." In another life, he had done that. She could only hope that this one would grant him the same peace.

[member="Marvik Dathu"]