Curls of Smoke

[Hira Mitsae]

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N E ' T R A F L E E T​

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[member="Tamara Wren"]​

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How many years had it been?

Ten?

Bit less maybe. Seven or so. When you were younger the years seemed to drag on and on. Always looking out for that next goal post, life day, taung day, but the older you got... the faster it went, no? So while it had been seven, it felt more like an eternity. The years passing by and the Galaxy changing (and not changing) along with them.

Ne'tra Fleet was new to me.

All I had ever known were Thyrsus before and Wayland later.

But the living fleet of Clan Vizsla had always been a backdrop to me. Something there, but not really relevant to the experience. Either way, it didn't matter, what mattered was that a call had been made. Every Vizsla was to return. Every one. Didn't matter how far you were. No matter what you were doing. Vizsla was marching and force save you, if you didn't answer.

The security in the Echoy'la system was tight.

Took about one hour just to get identification procedures right. By the end of it there was no way to keep it secret. Another warrior of Vizsla had returned home. The comm operator on the other side had been clear- get to Bay 88-Z and wait for the Senechal to welcome you. Good luck. Why I needed luck in the middle of my family was anyone's question.

Unless Ronan himself was now doubling as Senechal.

Oh, Force, hopefully not. That would be awkward.

The freighter (Corellian-made, rust bucket, but reliable and that was all that mattered in the trade) settled into the waiting cargo bay. A private one. Maybe they had known my own connection to the Alor, maybe not, but it was welcome either way.

A moment to center yourself from crippling loneliness to..... whatever this was going to be.

Bag in one hand, helmet firmly settled on the head, I stepped on out and into the bay. The steps of the beskar boots echoing against the deck. There didn't seem to be a welcoming party yet. Good. The bag was dropped against a loose crate and I flopped on top of it. For the last few years there had only been the hunt, the fight, the blood.

Not a lot of time to just sit and relax.

It felt odd.

 

[Tamara Wren]

Part of how long it took to verify new comers was getting in touch with the ship's Senechal, or one of the people chosen to act in her stead when she wasn't there. Up until recently, that hadn't often been a thing, but the last few weeks Tamara had actually been busy away from the fleet. Some of it sanctioned- The Sith, Commenor.

Some of it was personal.

As it happened, Tam was there at the moment. Between Commenor and other clan business, it had been nearly a week since she'd been to Teta. The particular pleasantness of those visits typically lasted for a couple of days before starting to fade back into the greyness. It was as though without the slice of her soul that was missing, she couldn't hold onto the feelings for long. That had been, if she were honest, at least part of the decision to accept the shard back when it was returned, no matter the cost.

She wanted to keep those feelings for more than the fleeting flicker they were.

Despite the delay, it took longer for her to come around to the docking bay [member="Hiron Vizsla"] had been directed to. Usually Tam preferred to be there when someone arrived, but the ship was large and she'd been on the opposite end, dealing with a problem when the call had come in. The doors slid open and she stepped through, glancing around. The ship was easy to spot. Had he not yet disemba-

"Hiron, welcome," she said, striding toward the crate he was sprawled out across. She hadn't seen him in years. They hadn't been friends, or even run in the same circles. At least, that's what [member="Ronan Vizsla"] had said when he found out who it was coming in. She didn't remember, even with that reminder, which told her that the assessment was accurate. He hadn't been important to her, or vice versa. Honestly, those sorts were easier.

"I don't know if you remember me, I'm Tamara, Ronan's daughter. I'm here to show you around, assign you a room, get you settled. Was your trip long?"

Polite.

 

[Hira Mitsae]

The hissing of the door as it slid open poked me awake.

Away from the thoughts and feelings.

Back to reality.

At first [member="Tamara Wren"] wasn't all that recognizable. It had been years after all. But then the voice added to the tattoos, before she ended any and all doubts. "Oya, Tamara." Two fingers flicking up, in front of his chest plate where the heart resided. The Mando'ade lived their lives in their suit of armor, it wasn't a surprise to any that they had developed gestures of their own. To convey meaning, to add context that a visor could cloud.

That one was simple-

The heart returns home.

"Endless, but here I am." A moment later I was back on my feet. Bag in hand, before offering an inclination of the head. She was Tamara, daughter to Ronan. That meant she deserved all manner of respect that others didn't.

Truth to be told we never had much contact with one another.

Different circles, yeah? One older, always with the warriors, the other younger and taught at the feet of the Alor (or doing other things). There was only one situation that I could remember, where familiarity had an opportunity. She was a youth then. Being pushed around. I acted before I thought, something that was still a problem these days honestly, and knocked them on their ass. Then... that small girl, shy of ten?

Knocked me on my ass.

That had been surprising.

"Lead on, I will keep up." She was older now, but... more sure of herself. Those eyes reminded me of Ronan. Cold, stoic, seeing everything and not letting it touch her. It was sobering. To know that in the end the artist had accepted the mantle of the warrior.

That was the cycle, no?

The corridor outside the hangar was slightly more busy, other people lounging around, family. Some loading things, others unloading. But always busy. Always. "Somewhere with a window maybe? I am used to the stars by now." That was a luxury in these large life-ships, but it couldn't hurt to try and see what you got, right? Maybe it would be a lucky day.... or maybe Tam would throw me into a boiler room.

Who knew.

 

[Tamara Wren]

She didn't remember that instance. When she looked at him, it was with friendly neutrality rather than real recognition. Something easy to miss if someone wasn't paying attention, but impossible to overlook if someone was.

Reflexively, she counter signed- pulling the motion in the opposite direction, from out in front of her, back to her chest and then down.

Clan welcomes the heart home.

She nodded, turning and leading the way, but pausing once they were back in the corridors to walk more beside, rather than ahead. She frowned thoughtfully at his request, mentally shifting the room she had already intended, shuffling through what was available on the outer hull, how close they were to certain amenities and then nodded again. One was open that fit the requirements, though it hadn't been for long.

People were always lost along the way.

"Yes, that can be arranged," she said, indicating for them to take the next right instead of continuing down the corridor as she had originally intended. While she could have easily consulted the ship's computers, Tamara kept all of those details in her memory as well.

These days there was a lot of room. It was not difficult to remember.

As they walked, she nodded, greeting this person or that. Always by name. She knew everyone on the ship. It was part of the charge given to her. To help those in the clan, on the ship, yes. But also so that they knew her. She understood Ronan's reasoning. Even though she didn't like it and the implications.

As they walked, she pointed out several points of interest. One of the smaller gathering rooms- a trio of teens occupied it, playing a game, not looking up as one of them pumped a fist into the air and another groaned.

"There's one of these on every residential level- people tend to collect there after dinner. Tell stories, play games, watch something together." Not everyone. But enough. Too many loners in the clan. "Usually one is more popular than the others any given night. People seem to know which it'll be and congregate. There's a larger one, with room for everyone on the central level, along with the main mess, but that's used mostly for official business or emergencies."

[member="Hiron Vizsla"]

 

[Hira Mitsae]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Behind the visor I could barely suppress my glee.

One of the things that had seemed... less... than optimal about the Ne'tra Fleet was just that. Not being able to see the stars while floating off to sleep. It had always been a pleasant thing, yeah? Just being able to drift and watch. I still answered the summons, of course. But it had been a concern. Big concern. "Thanks, Tamara. I will remember this." Maybe to her it didn't mean much, but from what I know there were a couple of places worth a lot.

Spaces near the warm spots.

Windows.

The ones closest to showers, cantinas... bunch of stuff to keep in mind.

"I remember a different clan..." Walking past these rooms there was kinship here. It was different from Wayland. Detached from endless surviving against a world that was trying its best to kill you, these people found room to just. Enjoy themselves and each other. Not all of them. There were a few grim faces at the fringes. They were doing their own things. Or mumbling to one another in hushed tones with drinks on tables.

But once upon a time the latter had dominated.

It felt more like a family now, rather than a grim army forced together by culture. "Think it will take some use to, honestly." Would I have been the same as these people? If my path had kept me here, rather than leave at that early age.

Something to ponder about maybe.

Soon enough the room was coming into view. There was still some crates outside, pressed against the nearby wall. "What was their name?" Once given, I chewed at the inside of my cheek, before nodding once. Neeran was not someone I had known. Maybe a new addition. Maybe some recruit long after I left. But that didn't matter. "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Neeran." "I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal, Neeran."

It was the right thing to do.

 

[Tamara Wren]

She made a small motion with her hand- Ronan's- waving away the thanks with a flick of two fingers.

"It does," she agreed, however, when he mentioned the need to get used to it.

In truth? Tamara was only so at ease with it because it didn't matter. One place was much the same as anywhere else. Would the last six months have been different if they had spent it on Wayland? Surrounded by memories, by life? She couldn't know. It wasn't an option, so why worry about that, why wonder?

In the back of her mind, she knew just how wrong that was on its own. That lack of interest in wonder. It was one of the things she hoped would return after all of this. That at least she had.

A hope for hope.

"Not everyone does," she continued. "Some people stay for a time, then go. They can't adapt to permanent ship board life. Some find a deeper community than they had before. And some people..... just have no where else to go."

Which was Tamara?

Which was he?

They paused in front of the door, Tamara glancing at the crates.

"Neeran," she answered quietly.

She couldn't say they had been friends. But her room was across the way and one door over. They saw each other often. Neeran had always had a kind word, asking Tam about this or that. There was something in her eyes- she recognized, at least in part, what Tam was going through. She had reached out. It had meant something. In a different life, that would have been friendship. Easily.

Tamara didn't say anything as Hiron spoke, just closed her eyes and let the words wash over her for a moment. I remember you, so you are eternal. Good words.

There was a moment, a pause after he fell silent. Then she stepped up, keying in a code.

"Here, enter your own now, it will reset," Tam said, stepping back and looking away as he did. Oh, she had access to all of the rooms- she had to. But that didn't mean she took advantage of that, and it mattered that people had their privacy.

"Will you need help bringing anything from your ship?"

[member="Hiron Vizsla"]

 

[Hira Mitsae]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Once the personal code was ticked in the doors slid open.

It was... larger than I expected it to be.

Nothing grand or mistakenly for a Coruscanti hotel suite. But comfortable in a way my own ship had never been. Surprising. Then again, the Spirit was one of the largest ships I have seen. Much less walked through its depths. There were even larger ships out there, but truth to be told I wasn't sure what to imagine when it came to those.

At what point does the scale harm rather than assist, no?

"All I have is in this bag, so nah." It was dropped next to the door. Already I went to disengage the magnetic locks of the helmet.

It hissed with the same sound the doors had.

Then.

Fresh air (relatively speaking) straight up the nose. Into the lungs. I sighed and nodded with satisfaction. That felt better, way better than it had any right to. "How long have you lived here now?" Wayland wasn't that much time ago, from what I had heard.

Yet it felt like some of these people had lived together here for years now.

 

[Tamara Wren]

Even seeing his face didn't jar any particular memories. It had been a long time ago, after all. She assumed he looked different than he had then, which would explain why it didn't. Sometimes when she reconnected with someone she'd known, the memories came back- sometimes they didn't. Not without a more specific trigger.

"About six months," she said, leaning slightly against the door frame, but not coming farther in. Wasn't her room and she respected the need to wait for an invitation. Her and her father especially needed to respect that. "Little more. About half of the people here left Wayland with us at the same time. The rest have come in small groups, or one at a time."

Trickling in.

Many simply hadn't been on Wayland at the time. Some had been afraid- change was hard, and despite the galactic view, not all Mandalorians were fighters and warriors. There were artisans, farmers, builders. Yes, most were raised with at least the rudimentary ability to put up fists or blade if the fight came to them, but it wasn't the same. That had been Tamara as well, before all of this. Perfectly able to fight if needed, but opting for a different life.

She thought that she ought to miss it.

"Do you want to settle in, rest a bit?" She asked, pushing off of the door frame. "I can come back later if you'd rather, or I can show you around more now. If there's anything you need, we can talk to the Quartermaster, he's usually around this time of day."

[member="Hiron Vizsla"]

 

[Hira Mitsae]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

Six months.

Short period of time to settle in as comfortable as a lot of them had.

But then... maybe it was the context behind it. Forced from their homes, on the run, that had a way to bring people together, no? Especially if they hadn't had that opportunity before. Wayland had been dark. Filled with danger and threats. Ronan had never been much about pure uplifting charisma. He had begun his time as Alor by breaking the previous one's back.

That probably summarized the way he handled his leadership role.

"Oh, sorry, come on in, if you want?" So busy with the new environment that I didn't realize she hadn't followed me inside. Even with permission there was some... hesitation. Caution maybe.

Why?

I wasn't sure.

"Hmmm." It was a pretty proposal. Get a shower, lay down, sleep and relax. But.... "Nah, if I do, I won't reappear for a few days." That was the truth of it. So better to handle it now, while still on my legs. The chair was sturdy enough to handle the armor too. Which was good. I didn't feel all too comfortable yet removing the armor as well.

Maybe later.

"I see you finally found the courage to tattoo your face." One of his tats had been made by her. "Still going strong with that?"

Hobbies changed after all.

 

[Tamara Wren]

She did step in after the invitation, but not far.

There was so little privacy on a ship. So little space anyone could call their own. It was a trend that she had been noticing, part of the shift that came as part of the culture of living this way. She approved, as it happened- and it was interesting to watch who made the changes and who didn't even seem to notice that anything was shifting at all. The increased respect for personal space in situations like this with the decrease of space left between the social bonds in the public areas. Both a loosening and a tightening together, just in different ways.

Her left hand came up reflexively to her cheek when he mentioned the tattoo. When had she finally done it? Yes, her father had said when she was sixteen. That was one of the memories that seemed to be utterly missing, not merely one of the ones that required reminder, and one of the ones she felt as though she should experience genuine regret in losing.

"A few years ago," she confirmed, even if it was just going on her father's word. A pause, the barest trace of a frown when up until now her expression had been that pleasant, friendly neutrality.
"Not.... recently." Her eyes shifted away without meaning to. "Not since.... we left Wayland."

It was a perfectly understandable thing, after all. Too much happening, too much to do. Perfectly fine assumption with no need to explain. Not entirely true but not a lie either.

Not since her death.

Imagining the art being taken over and the unintended consequence of that work permanently marking someone's skin- no. Until she saw her intentions through she would not put ink to anyone.

She cleared her throat, focusing on the task at hand.

"If you're ready we'll swing by the gym on this level then up to the main one?"

[member="Hiron Vizsla"]

 

[Hira Mitsae]

[member="Tamara Wren"]

"Shame, you got better since those days."

That much I knew for sure. The skill in her hand was plain to see for all. Maybe that was why she had done it to her own face, allowed the world to see just how much confidence she had in her own work. It was something that was... brave. Putting yourself out there like that. Permanently. I respected it and it immediately made me wonder. What kind of person had Tamara truly become since those days? The cold dark eyes of her father? The artistic sense of her own hands?

Something in the middle?

Maybe only time would allow that tale to be told.

First part of my armor piece dropped to the ground, before I realized I wasn't alone. "Oh." A cough, before I chuckled. "Um. Need to change, give me a few minutes? Then we can head out." Being so used to being alone the entire time didn't help with all this.

A few minutes later the door closed behind me as well.

Regular fatigues, one of the few civilian pieces I had taken with me. "Is there a cantina here anywhere? Get a drink before we check out the rest maybe?"

 

[Tamara Wren]

"Thank you," she said, but her tone was a little distant, distracted. "Maybe someday again, hey?"

Her mind wasn't on the room or the person she was talking to, at least not for a moment. Not until the armor piece hit the floor and she blinked.

"Oh, yes, of course, I'll wait outside."

She wasn't embarrassed or confused. Some people wore their armor around everywhere. Many of those who had just arrived in fact. Some took weeks to settle in enough to feel comfortable. A couple of them never had. Her thoughts traveled to [member="Koda Fett"] and inwardly she sighed.

Stepping out, she waited, leaning against the wall outside of his room, eyes closed. So much happening lately, too many things going on. Normally there was no pull, no tug away from the Spirit of Fire or her clan. But lately there had been something very distinct indeed. But it wasn't enough to have her turn her back on her duties. Sometimes she wished it was. Was that her? Or the greyness? When she got that piece of her back would it be different? She didn't know.

The answer to that worried her in truth.

As the door opened again, she pushed herself off of the wall, nodding at his question.

"There's the main Tap Cafe, same level as the large meeting hall and main cafeteria. There are a couple smaller ones- it's a big ship. But that one's the closest anyway." She tilted her head slightly in the direction they'd need to head before they fell in step next to each other.

"There's lifts up in most corridors. Hard to get lost- at first it was easier, this ship wasn't originally meant to be a colony. But we got signage up, there see? Guides to where things are. The civilian parts anyway."

There were no signs pointing to the main or auxiliary bridge for instance. Or several other key locations.

They reached the lift, and she showed the sign next to it as well. "Level ten is where all of the main meeting locations are," she explained, hitting the button in question. "The offices for the Quartermaster and stuff like that," including her own office, which she barely used if she were being honest, "are on twelve."

[member="Hiron Vizsla"]