Private Fear and Loathing in District 7

[Yula Perl]

In the last few years, Yula had fallen into a rhythm. Wake up, do her eyebrows while the caf was brewing, then trundle downstairs to the first floor of their unit. What was originally intended to be a living space had been converted into her workshop shortly after she'd moved in; boosting speeders and designing droids was how the Zeltron had made a steady living.

The occasional war, protest, or special interest would draw her attention away from Denon and into the wider galaxy, where she could flex her combat and technopathic proclivities. This was all par for the course when you were housing three Jedi, one of whom had a penchant for kicking spice dealers into next Taungsday like it was going out of style.

She still felt the itch, occasionally. Dagon had seen her high a couple of times before they'd gotten together. Once while they were dating, he's found her overdosed on the couch. The door frame of their kitchen still had cracks from where he'd gripped it.

Yula had gotten clean after that. She went in a little harder on the caf and sigs, but those vices killed her slower than the spice. For all of her failures, she didn't want to become the corpse who shot up with impressionable young minds in the house. So she dumped her stash, figuring she'd gotten all of it, and didn't look back—not even in the throes of withdrawal, puke in her hair and uncontrolled shuddering.

"You find those handlebars yet?" She called out to Corin, who happened to be on his way out when she'd roped him into her work. A customer had brought her an old model Imperial speeder bike—she had no idea how or why—and was now requesting some interesting customization. Those handlebars weren't in production anymore, but she swore she'd ripped an old pair from a project years ago. They were back, deep in the closet she insisted.

With Nida confirmed captured by the Imps, death by caf wasn't exactly cutting it anymore. The itchgrew more urgent, but she'd thrown herself into work instead. Grasping at straws just to get through each day, but Force had her grip strength gotten better.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Yula rose from a squatted position near her latest project and paced towards the half-open grate of the garage. She took a heavy drag from the cigarra between her lips, held it for a few moments, then exhaled into the thick clouds of the city-planet.

"Looks like rain."

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

"If you didn't have so much junk laying around..." He muttered quietly to himself, hands with bruised knuckles and raised, torn skin poured into the various compartments that Yula allocated for her supplies. Too bad it was a system unlike the rest of her oddly effective creations, this one was a mess although Corin remained certain there was a method to the madness stored somewhere in the depths of her mind. Chaotic, just like Yula.

He was halfway out the door when the Zeltron requested his services once more, the touch of rain even sprayed over the jacket. One step out and two steps back in, it seemed, but of little bother when it concerned the woman that near raised him. He turned out... yeah. It could have been better, but whether that was fault of their own or the nature and early nurture that burdened the young Jedi was up in the air. Sometimes. It was all but decided to be the latter on some occasions. In any case, it was better than the slums. Like a poison, drugs and violence consumed all that dwelled within them; a creation vat for addicts and criminals alike, a route that Corin sometimes wondered if he was destined for himself.

His mother certainly was, and so when the hand that rummaged around in the dark found a misplaced lock bag with golden spice -- the same kind that the vigilante worked tirelessly to eradicate the sale of -- it filled him with a sense of dread. The scenes of a woman with his eyes staring blankly towards the ceiling, unable to respond with noises other than grunts and groans until one final breath croaked the remaining life out of her; there was no revival this time, this was the end.

Corin fell silent in his stare, a narrowed set of dark eyes with a furrowed brow swirled over it. He never responded to Yula, as if he vanished behind her.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Yula was beginning to wonder if she didn't have those handlebars after all. Instead of outright admitting it, she turned to the far side of the garage where Corin was, intending to hurl some good natured insult about his skill in finding things.

But he wasn't searching. His back was to her, unmoving, focused on something else. Yula's skin prickled at the nape of her neck when she approached him.

"Hey, quit slacking." She japed, vaguely aware that something didn't seem right. "Did you find a dead bo-"

Yula's voice died the instant she saw what was in Corin's hands. A memory better left forgotten, that's what.

Moving to snatch it away, she muttered darkly.

"That was a long time ago."

Not too long, though. The kid had a history with this stuff, Dagon told her when they'd taken him in. Lost his ma to addiction. Made sense why he was hellbent on eradicating it by any means necessary.

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

The boy Corin had once been may have needed to run off into a retreat in order to hold onto whatever item he should not have, but the man Corin had become was tall among other things. His drug-filled hand rose into the air, high above Yula as his other had only risen a palm as if to stop her though only held out in front.

"But you still have it," with a face of thunder, Corin remarked with a cold measure in contrast. "I bust my ass out there to make sure no one can get ahold of this, and it's here? In our home?"

In a silent fury, he only stared.

"Who sold it to you?"

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Yula silently balked, face scrunched as Corin held the bag out of reach, deflecting her with a palm as he did so. The ire etched into his strong features reminded her too much of Dagon—wonder where he'd learned that look from. Appropriate, the same abject shame she'd felt when Dagon had found her relapsed now washed over her, yet Yula held fast before she could be swept away. She wasn't using now and had no reason to feel guilty, right?

Despite being taken aback for a moment, Yula met him head on with a steely gaze. He'd been a challenging adolescent, one who'd grown into a challenging adult. A tall adult with the martial skills and unrelenting tenacity to knock most folks into next Taungsday if they weren't careful.

But he was still Corin. The orphan kid with a troubled past who'd found a strange home with a Jedi vigilante and a tech junkie. He was family.

"Even if I could remember, they're probably behind bars now. Or dead. This was years ago, Corin."

She twirled the spanner in her hand idly. Not that she was going to use it.

"Give it back so I can flush it."

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

The concept of family.

One that a younger Corin may have undoubtedly spat bile and venom in the face of. His mother left to suffer under the waves of addiction that in time claimed her very life, while there was no telling who, what, where, or why his father even was, is, or continued to be. Left to his own devices for years at a time, what was family but another cruel joke to kids like him?

Maybe that's why it cut so deep now. See another person he let in beneath the cold and harsh exterior lose themselves to drugs and other horrid vices, but now Corin wasn't some kid to be swept aside and silenced when protesting concerns or worries. He demanded action of himself, always. Even sought to turn it into a case for all of a few seconds - no wonder as to where that desperate pursuit for more work came from, was it?

"Leave it with me," Corin said flatly, the familiar and judgemental stare still present. "I'll dispose of it."

He stowed the pouch in the pocket of his jacket, "In the meantime, you think real hard about where you got it so I can pay that neighbourhood a visit."

She knew damn well what that spelled for those in it, should they be up to no good.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

"Cut the attitude."

Yula didn't reach for the bag again—she weighed her options, and it wouldn't look good if she did. No way in hell Corin would be sneaking off to snort a line in the bathroom, anyway.

"I know it wasn't what you expected, but I'm clean." She spread her arms wide, the gesture meant to drive the point of her words into his thick skull. "Been that way for years."

She wouldn't have been able to slide an ongoing addiction past Dag, anyways. Or maybe she would, given how much of his time was spent elsewhere, fighting the ills of the galaxy This wasn't about him, though.

She turned back to the speeder, eyes trying to find purchase in some part of its mechanical body but focusing was hard.

"Just flush it and we won't talk about this again."

This was a hard, threatening finality to her voice.

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

"Yeah, whatever." He said with bite and the roll of his eyes. It was a thick skull mounted on those shoulders, after all.

He felt the touch of rain, the spray deflected from the stone and concrete before the droplets themselves matted strands of hair to his forehead and forced his frame to condense and hunch. He was local, Corin was used to it - the unkind nature of this concrete jungle, wild beasts traded for ruthless criminals. Denon was plagued by them and the spice they peddled. The same type stowed in his pocket now.

He knew his share of frequented corners in the aptly named Seven Corners, the same to be said for common street dealers. Corin liked them as bait for others, a vessel up the food chain, and sometimes they were merely fresh out of the system and back to their old habits. Crime was static, despite the efforts made. Maybe part of him just liked hurting people.

"Don't wait up."

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Silence stretched between them as Yula returned to her work and Corin stepped through the garage's threshold. It was uncomfortable and heavy, muggy like the humidity building in the air. Denon wasn't an easy place to live; even the weather turned against you here. Choked with smog and pollution from illegal dumping, it wasn't uncommon for acid rain to eat away at the lower levels.

Yula place the wrench down heavily, causing the rest of her tools to leap and clank together from the sudden action. "Feth." She announced, striding out into the open air, catching up with Corin and seizing the brooding man by the wrist.

"I know you're pissed, Corin— I would be too. I don't want you painting the curb with whoever's standing there because you're pissed."

There was a note of genuine concern in the firmness of her tone. Yula paused for a moment, the next thought forming awkwardly on her tongue.

"Listen it- I'm not doing it anymore. I…" Her eyes shifted, aware of the public nature of their conversation. “Come back to the house and I’ll explain. You owe me that much."

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

He followed up with seconds of silence, of hesitation, of consideration. His averted eyes scanned about the neon cityscape, still brimming with life no matter the condition; the city never sleeps, not for anything. People paid no mind to the conversation that trickled out onto the street, expected to be a quarrel of some kind but of what importance was that to anyone here? Especially on the nature of drugs, seemed the most common cause for some issue or relief on Denon.

"Fine," he muttered as he wrested his wrist from her control, "Let's head inside, then."

Corin looked to her expectantly, a hand slapped against the controls of the garage and set the door down.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Once upstairs, Yula busied herself with the caf machine out of nervous habit. Tough times always went better with a cigarra and a cup of brew, she'd said. Really, she just needed time to organize her thoughts. Explaining her previous addiction to Corin—someone she considered a younger brother—was foreign territory. A few minutes of percolating went by too quickly, and she begrudgingly approached the kitchen table with two mugs of caf whether he wanted one or not.

"You know how the galaxy sucks, right?" Seating herself, Yula rapped her nails against the ceramic cup. "Before I even met Dag, I dabbled in spice to make some of my problems easier. It helped, for a bit. Sometimes the problems got worse—and that little bit of spice that helped before does nothing, so you take more. Before you know it, you're…in a bad spot." Overdosing on the couch. Switching her explanation to the second person was an unconscious effort to distance herself from the problem.

"For a while, the only thing that got better was me at hiding my stash." Yula took a long, hard stare into the mug as if an easier explanation was on the smooth surface of the caf. "One night, I almost died. Dag brought me back. He was mad—just like how you are now. The way you looked at me back there, reminded me of him. And when we took you and Jem in, I didn't want you guys to come up in a house like that. Wouldn't be fair to you." She smiled, faintly, sadly, awkwardly. Despite the odd home, they were family. A younger brother and sister. Corin had come from a rough life and had some edges that they weren't able to sand down.

For a few moments, Yula simply stared at him with tired eyes. Was this just another one of her failures, compounded upon everything else she'd been unable to do because of her own selfishness and lack of ability? Kyra, Nida, Zaavik—she'd been unable to help them all, the guilt of which eventually led her down the rabbit hole of addiction in the first place.

"Anyway, we did a sweep when I got clean for the final time. Barely ever use that closet, so must've missed it." With a grunt, she drained half of her cup.

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

In response to the initial comment, it was as if dead eyes stared forwards over the steam that flew from the caf. He was never too fond of it, the taste too bitter; an odd comparison found within himself, with a life characterised by consistent cynicism as a result of harsh and brutal experiences Faint flickers of warmth waxed and waned at the best of times. Yula understood that of him, one of the limited few. It was a list of two, with a potential third - Corin preferred to remain silent on the matter rather than warrant unwanted attention on those intimate details.

His arms folded over one another atop the countertop. He felt a touch of sympathy, but it never showed. His features resembled stone in all their stillness.

"I understand it," Corin remarked coolly, "It doesn't make me cool with it."

An unending grudge. He wouldn't let some personal vendetta go because someone he cared for became entangled in it, too. Too stubborn for that, maybe something learned from Yula and Dagon. Possibly a bad mix when it came to raising a child, in some manner of speaking.

"I don't know what else you want me to say."

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

"I'm not asking you to be okay with it." Yula gave Corin a tired smile, idly rotating the base of her mug. "In fact, would be worrying if you were. I only wanted to let you know that I'm clean, maybe with too much detail now that I think about it."

Admittedly, talking about it had been a release. Corin had listened, silent and unreactive. But he'd listened.

"The people you go after—spice dealers? Or are they spice users?" Her tone turned more conversational for the time being. Dagon had undertaken the development the majority of Corin's martial skills, but Yula was more than vaguely aware of who they'd gone after. Before the Padawans, it had been her and Dag roiling through the streets of Denon. Sometimes they were even on the same side.

She sipped her caf, a bit more delicately than her last swig.

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

It was with eyes on Yula that Corin sat there, as still as stone. He felt the caf heat into the ceramic in his hands, it even started to burn. But the question filled the young man with a sudden sense of guilt, of dread. In his time with Dagon, Corin sought out the dealers to put an end to it - if some spiced out oaf came at them, so be it. But mostly left them on their own. But Corin on his own, or with Rafe, yeah. He was a little less concerned about who he want after.

Just some fool so high on their own supply they don't know which way is up. Corin showed it to them when he knocked them to the ground, glassy eyes facing up.

"What does it matter?" He dismissed abrasively, "If they're out there hurting people, they get what's coming to them."

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Yula returned Corin's gaze, appraising the young man without judgement. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He didn't answer directly, but he'd said enough for her to understand.

"Addiction is a difficult beast." She admitted, leaning forward a little and taking note of the reddened skin where Corin gripped the mug. Yula preferred her caf hot, near boiling. It had lead to no shortage of accidents in their home; combined with tibanna oil and innumerable half-finished mechanical projects, it was a miracle that their block was still standing.

"What I mean is…" Another sip, this one to gather her thoughts. Confronting Corin usually went differently—there was usually a lot more yelling involved. Those bouts tended to be superficial— maybe he'd broken something by being careless, or dialed up the snark to 11. They weren't really prone to navigating more complex issues like spice dependence. "Barring the party kids looking for a high, most folks turn to spice because they're suffering. Everyone has a vice to make themselves feel better. Even you, Mister Bloody Knuckles."

"Doesn't make it right, but it doesn't make things black and white either."

Hell, maybe even those party kids were running from something.

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

On instinct, his brow rose. It came with an expression that thread beyond disbelief and into frustration, the subtle twitch to his lip followed soon after. In the soft push offered to the hot caf poured into the ceramic, Corin felt the freedom of non-burned and still reddened hands as the room temperature alone made strides to cool them both. To say the least, the comparison was irksome. Even if unintended, the rooted issues that ensnared the youth of the now man refused to be rid of him yet.

The vices. The crimes. The dead.

Spice's victim was in more than the abuser, but to those left around them. The restless neighbour that stumbled across the body, the street-rat children that looked on as the pitiful excuse for medical services wheel the body out, the son left to sit and wonder until what food in the pantry was exhausted and a new set of like-minded substance abusers decided the newest vacant lot was to be their own.

"Never compare me to them," Corin demanded bitterly. He turned towards the door in a huff and cumbersome steps that stomped across towards it. But the man turned to face the Zeltron once more, "Those addicts. None of them are victims, they're selfish."

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

"I won't." She acquiesced quietly, but not softly. Even still, her words sounded louder than they really were in the odd hush over their normally bustling home.

Suffering and selfish often went hand in hand. Had she been alone, Yula would have reflected more on how those two concepts had dictated portions of her life.

"Is this about your mother?" Her eyes, devoid of hostility, caught his own. They'd never spoken of her, but Yula had been made aware of Corin's situation from Dagon. How do you even broach that subject with a child?

He was an adult now.

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

Disbelief washed over his face, those bitter features. Just as if Corin dared Yula to continue on as the subtle tilt of his head while hands settled on his waist. "You be very careful with what you say next." The would-be Jedi that felt more and more like some man cursed with bad decisions aimed a pointed finger at the Zeltron.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Yula stared at Corin, past the warning gesture of his finger and threatening tone.

“You didn’t answer me.”

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

"Yeah." He said harshly, sternly. Firmly.

Corin turned towards the door and opened it, "And I'm not going to." He continued, letting it slam shut behind him.

Off and down the stairs, the walk back to his own apartment. Just that final straw, the last snap and rise of pressure. Done, dusted. Back and off towards his own districts, his own rules, his own life. It was better like that, Corin noted, all with no intentions to come back anytime soon.

Yula Perl