Private Burdens

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

KRIEG
SONS OF MANDALORE OUTPOST
​

After the success of their raid of the Maw, the Sons of Mandalore returned slightly battered, slightly tired to the place they called home presently. Krieg. Arid, dry, barren Night brought the soft caress of a cool, northern breeze - gratitude for the long, scorching day.

Amon Vizsla stared over the basin full of water, the moon illuminated the thoughtful features carving his face. He did not feel home, he did not feel this was the place to be and he knew that right from the start. The Sons of Mandalore were simply the tool through which he would pursue his personal agenda - vengeance upon the Sith for what they had done to his sister. But what came after? The day to Bastion, the Day of Reckoning, drew nearer, yet painfully slow. He had fled his clan seeking to fight the good fight, the good cause and where was he now? Stomping over these foreign principles as he fought for one Empire over the other. Maybe his father was right. You have only one family, boy, remember. The words sliced through his mind like knife through butter, Ronan's face materialized in his reflection and Amon staggered backwards grasping for reality.

A knock at the door.

He splashed his face with water, put on a camo shirt and for the door of his box - a prefabricated supply depot. Those that fleets orbit drop to the surface to resupply a ground fighting force. Amon hit the button and the door slid open to reveal a recently familiar face - Meshla Detta ; in her hand Amon's Antarian ranger dog tags. How had he lost them in the scuffle at the Maw remained a mystery but they meant something to him.

"Thank you." he took them, then, after a moment of hesitation, "Want to come in? There's...water." Indeed, a master at socializing this lone wolf.

 

[Meshla Detta]

Krieg
Sons of Mandalore Outpost
___________________________
​

She hated nighttime. It always ended up with the same outcome. Just when Meshla would finally drift off to sleep, the vision of Valen gasping for his last breathes and the little boy's body convulsing in her arms with blood seeping out of his nose and mouth, and her frantic and heartfelt pleas to the Manda not to take him...

Meshla awoke suddenly in a frenzied state; heart racing, sweat beaded on her forehead, chest heaving with rapid breathes, throat too strangled to call out although in her head the woman was. She threw off the covers and pushed up off the cot with a shakey arm, then swung her trembling legs around and set her bare feet down on the hard ground below. It took a moment to realize where she was - in one of the many tents that were set up in and around the Sons of Mandalore outpost on Krieg. The encampment was growing daily as more and more Mando'ade came to join in the crusade against the Sith Empire to take back what was theirs once and for all.

The moisture on her cheeks from tears shed was wiped away quickly followed by deep breaths taken in and blown out to steady her nerves before rising to get dressed; washing up hastily beforehand to make herself presentable. Not wanting to have to bear the heavyweight of her beskar'gam as her heart and mind were already so burdened, the Detta chose a simple tunic and pants to wear from her footlocker. She pulled on a pair of sturdy leather boots, then attached a gunbelt around her slender waist, slinging it low on her shapely hips, tying off the holster with her slugthrower secured in it onto her right thigh. A leather knife sheath was clipped onto the belt as well; housing her late father's Fett Kal knife he'd earned as an ori'ramikad back in his day. That was all Meshla had left of him now. Funny how the very day the Rapture happened, he had left it at home; something Kable never did Briika shared with her daughter as the momento was passed on to Meshla after the young Mando's verd'goten.

Stepping outside the tent looking more like a spacer than a Mandalorian, the cool northerly breeze felt good on her weary face as the wind gently jostled her dark golden tresses about. A walk in the fresh air would help to clear her mind, hopefully. Meshla hated who'd she'd become, but she didn't know how to move past the raw emotions of pain, anguish, and raging anger holding her hostage. Perhaps death would be the only way to truly escape this hell, but would that selfish act bring the justice she so saught for Little Val and the destruction of her homeworld at the hands of the dark side once again?

As booted feet took Meshla along a worn path, something shiny in the sandy dirt near the base of a bush caught the Detta's eye. Her demolition experience threw up a red flag. She was cautious at first, not wanting to grab it outright and find out there was an IED linked to it. Taking out her knife, the Mando carefully used the blade to get underneath a chain attached and slowly lifted upward. To her great surprise, a pair of dog tags appeared. Rubbing off some caked-on mud, a familiar name was engraved upon the metal. A small smile tried to find a way to her lips as she pocketed the possession found and deviated her path towards a pre-fabricated building where she knew the owner resided or at least thought so. It would be awkward if not dangerous otherwise for a stranger to call upon a Mandalorian out of the blue.

Knuckles rapped on the door before she could fully think through how inappropriate it was of her to bother him at this late hour, then Meshla waited anxiously for Amon Vizsla to open it. He seemed to be awake as it didn't take him that long to answer and was clothed.

"Su'cuy, ner vod... I was out for a walk when I came across something of yours I thought you might want sooner than later," Maya offered earnestly yet with an air of apology for disturbing him.

The young Vizsla seemed pleasantly surprised, but was it because of returning his dog tags to him knowing they most likely were precious to the former Antarian Ranger or because she was the one who did? Meshla wasn't sure where that thought came from, but it was quickly pushed away as the blonde gave an affirmative nod of her head.

"Vor entye and you're welcome... " she answered in a mix of Mando'a and Galactic Basic while stepping through the doorway into his quarters.

"Water is good... " A soft grin then formed at the corner of Meshla's mouth as a small flask was pulled out from an inside pocket of her jacket. "Though, I do happen to have some tihaar if you'd like to wet your whistle with it. I think we deserve a little liquid encouragement after today, and I hate to drink alone. It's not healthy you know."

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

As she went inside, Amon glared at the dog tags in his hand for a long time. A tide of memories crashing into his mind. He probably would've stood there another minute or so had Meshla not shoved his thoughts away. Amon put the tags back where they belonged, closed the door behind and offered her a seat with a gesture.

Frankly, the Vizsla did not drink, nor smoke. None of these vices. Strong mind in a strong body...yet, today felt like an awful exception. He dropped on the ancient cushion besides her, drowned in it for a moment and then produced two equally ancient mugs. Not exceptionally clean, rather dusty, hinting at his lack of presence in this 'home'.

"It's never healthy." he said in his usual neutral tone. The Mandalorian was as social as a slab of rock, maybe even less. Untangling himself from the web of nightmares and burdensome memories Amon finally found the strength to actually look at Meshla. He quickly realized her name fitted her appearance. The eyes. The eyes of blue you could lose yourself in. He glanced back at the mugs awkwardly. Despite their mutual melancholy spilling into the air, her presence seemed to revitalize him for one reason or another. "Late night walk, Detta." he observed, looking back at her. "Can't sleep?"

He couldn't either.

Meshla Detta

 

[Meshla Detta]

There was a rather large cushion laying on the floor of his quarters that Amon Vizsla gestured for her to sit on. Meshla nodded thanks, then eased herself down upon it; readjusting the gunbelt worn to make it more comfortable to do so as it was a normal thing not foreign. After a moment of wistfulness on Amon's part in regards to his returned dog tags it seemed, he snapped out of whatever he was thinking about and plopped down on the plush cushion beside her.

He fished around and came up with two mugs for them to drink from - their condition showed either he was not a very good housekeeper or didn't use them often. Come to think of it, the whole pre-fab place didn't really have that lived-in look rather a come and go as Meshla looked around. Still, it had a semi-hominess feel to it with the man's little personal touches like the ancient cushion they were sitting on and mugs the two were about to partake with. She could tell they had some special meaning to him; perhaps more family heirlooms like his lifted Darksaber?

"Well, I guess we shall drink in camaraderie to be healthy then," the Detta quipped lightly, trying to lighten the mood just a bit.

It was then that Amon's soulful eyes finally met hers full on. She'd seen that look before - her own staring back at herself in the mirror. His gaze lingered on hers for probably a few moments longer than he was expecting before quickly darting down to the two items in his hands. Meshla was actually thankful that the rather ruggedly handsome Mando had looked away because she suddenly felt flush like the temperature in the room had been turned up yet there was a chill running down her spine. The zipper on her jacket was lowered and the scarf unwound from her neck, but she didn't remove either.

Taking one of the mugs from him, Meshla used the hem of the scarf to wipe out the dust and grime from the inside of the mug, then poured a fairly generous amount of the potent and colorless Mandalorians spirit from the flask and handed it over to Amon; their fingers touching ever so in the transfer. She did the same to the other mug that was to be hers, then peered into the calling liquid for a moment deciding on how to best answer his question.

"Elek... My thoughts tend to race at night as I'm sure a lot of peoples do. I was hoping the fresh air and walk would help, you know, clear my mind and all, make sleep come easier," the dark blonde admitted with a weak smile. Put the demons back in their box...

"How about you, Vizsla. What's your story, hmm?" she asked before bringing her supple lips to the rim of the ancient mug and taking a sip of the clear liquid; the all too familiar fruity taste and comforting burn of tihaar relished before swallowing. It didn't phase her anymore, which probably was not a good sign.

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

There was a crackling spark in the eyes meeting when she poured the burning, colorless Mandalorian spirit in his mug. Her gaze shifted to the mug, so did he. A shortness of breath crawled into his chest, not the same as the one in combat; different; familiar; yet, distant - from a different time and place. Amon recognized it reluctantly. His path showed no mercy to both friend or foe. All the choices he had taken in his life with good intention only resulted in
irreparable damage.

He took a long sip from the tihaar, forgotten its scorching taste he nearly growled. Shit. It set his thoughts ablaze into ash. The best painkiller there is, someone once had said, Amon recalled. He also recalled how stubborn he had been about his principles and now a burdened lady comes in and they all collapse into dust. Ironic.

"...what's your story, hmm?"

Amon glared at his mug for a long second before turning to her. The shortness of breath slammed him hard. He cleared his throat, then, "Not a fairy tale." the reply came unintentionally sharp, he frowned, glanced at the drink and back at her. "I took an oath to avenge my sister's death. The Pretender and her lapdogs paid. Now it is time for the Sith." teeth grinded, a deep scowl forming, hate blistering. "I turned my back on the clan, on my father and left to fight for the Jedi in their war against the Clans and their Sith masters."

"The Pretender is gone. The Sith are not. It's their turn." he concluded and took a gulp far more boldly this time. It now tasted like water.

Meshla Detta

 

[Meshla Detta]

Meshla sat thoughtfully while listening to the other Mando as he answered her question. She had left it general enough that Amon Vizsla could share with her as much or as little as possible of his story, and Amon had been very forthright in his reply; the unyielding pain, the anger-no rage, and the deep desire for retribution for what or who that caused the former two emotions. It was as if Meshla was looking in the mirror; two sides to the same coin - one heads, the other tails.

The blonde took another sip of the tihaar looking to the Mandalorian spirit to give her liquid courage to be as honest, or at least that is how the Vizsla's words and visceral expressions came across. She hadn't really opened up to anyone, well that wasn't totally true. Her mother and stepfather knew exactly how she felt having laid into them the last time they were all together...

The day I left my family and clan behind.

Everyone else she'd encountered thus far just thought the young Detta had permanent PMS. The moody temperament was more of a defense mechanism, and the bad behavior a way to deflect and cope with what she was going through. She didn't want anyone's pity nor rescuing - Meshla was no damsel in distress. She was Mandokarla, but even the ones with the 'right stuff' sometimes fall prey to weakness. Basically she just wanted to slay the dragon once and for all so she could be free of the demons that haunted her. Though, would she ever truly be even if her goal was achieved?

Blue orbs flicked slowly from the two-fisted held mug in her lap over to the man sitting next to her on the ancient cushion, gaze meeting his - searching those soulful eyes of his for a moment. They were storm-filled seas yet somewhere in there Meshla thought she found a safe port to unload her weariness and burdens, maybe. Men had always let her down up to this point. Why would this time be any different?

"You and I... " Meshla started out, then paused for a moment shaking her head in a disbelieving scoff. "We have such commonality it's almost funny really. And of all the Mando'ade, the Manda has seemed fit to bring us two together this day and place. You say you have taken an oath to avenge your sister's death. I have too for my son's. You turned your back on your father and clan. I have done the same to my mother and her riduur's aliit I grew up in. You wanted the Pretender to be dethroned. I rejoiced at the news of her demise as that fateful day of the Red Coronation was the catalyst for so many ruined lives and brought us to this moment in time before us... "

The rest of the tihaar left in the mug was tossed back and swallowed in one gulp like it was nothing; a too-often occurrence as of late, sadly. There was no other way to tame the beast that lay within her mind, body, and soul.

"I want the Sith to pay so much for what they did to my son and our people it consumes me, all the time. The agonizing despair and hate, it is eating me up. I just want this to be over with, no need it to be so one way or the other... "

Moisture was beginning to form in her eyes; tears of pain and anger. She looked away because real Mando's don't cry and blinked quickly, but inevitably a single teardrop escaped the long-lashed rims that encircled those rare blue gems and rolled down her cheek.

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

Amon Vizsla was no believer. Manda. The Force. Gods. None of it. All he'd believed in, as short-sighted as he was, that his struggle was solely his. Yet, here was Meshla's revelation and he could not deny the obvious. They shared, at large, the same fate. The pursuit for retribution. Both had lost someone dear to them and they wanted to make the bastards liable pay for it. A dear price.

But what then? What after?

Amon Vizsla could not see further than that. Not a man known for long-term vision, nor intricate planning, never a man of dejarik. Only a man of action in the now, the present. Cold as he came, reserved as he was, the sight of her agony pulled a string unbeknownst to him. Silence reigned in the spartan quarters as she shifted her blue eyes away. Not a man of words, only a man of action, Amon reached for face and softly tilted it back towards him. A single tear drop running down her cheek, he gently brushed it away and sought her lips.

Meshla Detta

 

[Meshla Detta]

What occurred next between Vizsla and the Detta, well Meshla hadn't planned for it to happen though she didn't wish it away either.

To be honest her intention this night was to just return the former Antarian Ranger's dog tags to him and be on her way because she knew they meant something special to him.

But no, Amon Vizsla asked her into his quarters, then she offered to share her drink with him, and that led to them opening up their tormented souls to each other. A perfect storm, wouldn't you say? The need for further human touch and consoling took over especialy after his initiated kiss...

Finding if only a small speck of peace and comfort they did in each other long into the still of the night. Well at least for Meshla.

But what if anything would this mean for Amon and her in the future? Time would only tell, of course. Perhaps this would be just a one-night stand or maybe not...

Don't make more of this than it is, right? Just enjoy the moment as there are too few good ones to be had nowadays... and it was memorable.

The ancient cushion was barely big enough to accommodate them in this manner, but she wasn't complaining except for the night chill in the air that was giving her overheated body goosebumps. The Detta instinctively snuggled closer to the Vizsla's provided warmth as she lay beside him; pillowing her head upon his shoulder and placing a hand over his heart which was seemingly beating strong, steady, and contented?

"That was... kandosii," Meshla complemented genuinely in a soft whisper, then she added with a bit of awkwardness etched in her voice after a long moment as what they had done and why finally hit home. "I... I think now I'll be able to sleep quite well. Vor entye."

 

[Meshla Detta]

NIV Opulence
Medbay
In the aftermath of the Invasion of Bastion
___________________________________

​

The Detta sat quietly in a chair by the bedside of Amon Vizsla; her eyes closed with the injured arm held up by a sling while the left arm rested atop the bed with her hand and fingertips near his.

The laceration levied by Nida Perl during the short altercation they had at the Imperial Datacenter before it imploded on itself was significant, though the deep cut into the right bicep made with a Fett Kal trench knife in the young girl's possession would heal. Luck had been on Meshla's side, moving her seemingly frozen body just so in the last moment before a death blow could be made by the Jedi turned Sith. Meshla wasn't too worried for herself but more so for the man she'd grown very fond of, who laid in the bed alive yet motionless.

After Meshla had gotten them away from the battleground as the invasion was coming to an end, she flagged down a passing medevac to take the severely wounded Vizsla to the medical ship awaiting casualties at the edge of the system. Amon was rushed to a bacta tank and thus the real battle started for the Mando; fighting for his life and staving off death once again, this time in a private battle most likely with himself knowing him.

Because she wasn't 'family', the Detta lied to the medical personnel and said she was the patient's wife in order to stay at his side when he was floating in the bacta tank and now as the Vizsla further recovered out of it, hopefully...

Amon hadn't regained consciousness yet.

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

MEDBAY,
NIV OPULENCE

It all disappeared.

His father's voice, his battle on Bastion, the defection from the Rangers, the elusive Kaine Australis on the bridge of the Terrorstralis; the past, the future - it all descended and perished into an eternal darkness.

And in that darkness, in the limbo of time, a face blossomed.

He opened his eyes. The Mandalorian's vision blurred, unable to discern anything but one face.

Meshla Detta .

Pain suffocated the emotions rising at the sight of her. Eyes staggered open under the weight of helplessness. She stood there, a proud Mandalorian woman burdened by worry. Despite her stance, her impeccable body language, Amon knew she cared. Warmth rushed under his skin scorching any rational questions his mind might conjure - where would this lead to? What were to happen to both? Was he leading on people, again? He'd done it before - when he plotted his flight from the clan and his father, from the desertion of the Rangers to the Sons of Mandalore he used to get through with his personal agenda.

Amon never saw himself as selfish; when you're inside the bottle, you can't read the label.

They stared at each other for a long, long minute before he spoke first:

"You look terrible, Detta." an aruetii's attempt of being humorous in a dire situation; that's what he had learned with the Rangers. It made zero sense to him but the Vizsla was never known for his social skills. "You need a helmet."

He could lie to himself as much as he wanted but...Amon Vizsla was more than just glad to see her live and well. His hand reached, instinctively, for hers.

 

[Meshla Detta]

He moved... Amon Vizsla moved!

The Detta shot to her booted feet from the chair at Amon's bedside; the uncomfortable one that she had kept vigil on.

The blonde quickly removed the sling with an inner groan of pain as her injured arm was taken out, then dropped the contraption to the floor as she didn't want to appear weak in front of him, mandokarla and all, should the Mando she seemingly cared for more than she probably should, did, in fact, wake up.

Meshla's face hovered over his waiting, wishing for his eyes to open as she encouraged him to do so softly, then more forcefully saying his name that now rolled easily off her tongue; too easy it was almost terrifying, almost. It was comforting in a way too.

Amon's eyes slowly fluttered open. It took a few agonizing moments for him to find his focus - too long for Meshla, but she'd take whatever she could get at this point in his recovery. It was hard to wrangle in all the emotions running through her mind and heart at finally seeing the man awake after the scare he'd given them, her, in the first few hours of his care after the battle.

Meshla hadn't allowed herself to feel these emotions since Valen was on his death bed. Once their two gazes finally met in full though, she knew everything would be okay when he attempted a bad joke which brought a much-relieved grin to her face.

"You don't look so good yourself, Vizsla," Meshla retorted, then she reached forward and gently brushed a few strands of wayward hair off his forehead where he had a new scar that added more character to his already ruggedly good looks menacing facade to which she found rather attractive.

"I will wear one again when you do, ner vod.... " the blonde answered, accepting readily his hand that reached for hers, then giving it a little squeeze - a mixture of reassurance and tenderness infused in that grasp. "And no worries, your Darksaber is safe with me. I made sure of that."

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

He embraced her touch and succumbed to its warm grace. Through all the painkillers numbing his senses, it felt good to feel again.

"Vor entye." Amon replied and let the silence deepen. His gratitude was not for the preservation of the Darksaber but for picking him up from the hell of Bastion and essentially rescuing him. The memories blurred in his mind but he knew she carried him on her own through fire and flames to the extraction point; stayed with him all the way to here.

The debts piled on one another.

He squeezed back tightly at her hand and pulled her softly closer recalling thoughts plaguing him since the night on Krieg they thoroughly enjoyed, "This perpetual quest for vengeance..." Amon frowned and looked beyond her. "when we lay justice down for Mandalore..."

"...after this war...what follows?"

Meshla Detta

 

[Meshla Detta]

"Ba'gedet'ye," she answered softly. "though I have faith you would have done the same for me."

Meshla knew Amon Vizsla wasn't just thankful for her retrieving his family heirloom he coveted. It was something in his eyes that told her there was much more meaning to him accepting the debt. She didn't think it was just the drugs speaking. No. It was coming from his heart ever so as the man would allow it to. He cared.

As Amon willed her gently closer to him, his query caught Meshla a bit off guard. She hadn't really thought about what was to come after their shared quest was said and done. Okay, maybe there had been a few thoughts on the matter especially during the long agonizing hours waiting to find out if he would live or die, but Meshla didn't want to get ahead of herself or her hopes up too high of something meaningful coming from all this, or did she?

"I'm not exactly sure, Amon'ika," Meshla replied using the endearment with his name again. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, hmm? But one thing I do know is that you don't have to be alone anymore if you don't want to," the blonde smiled assuredly, then leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to his sickly sweet tasting lips from the bacta...

And she didn't mind one bit. He was alive and that is all that mattered to her at that moment.

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

It was true. He would've done the same.

Amon yielded to her sweet kiss and fell back into the darkness far safer.

--

T O _ B A S T I O N