For better or worse?

[Lina Ovmar]

The holovid cast an eerie blue-glow across the dark room, paused on a face all too familiar to Mia. She wasn't looking at it anymore, her face was buried in her hands, elbows resting on what little space was left on the chaos that was her desk. Datapads depicting old and new projects all equally abandoned. Several half eaten packets of cookies and yesterdays ration pack meal, among countless bottles of whiskey, some were the expensive stuff, others were the cheap 'need a quick hit' bottles that she'd bought in a moment of despair, when it all came back to her.

What had happened to her plans? To her reason for living again. She'd remembered it when she'd fought her way back, she remembered it when she went home but it had gone. Death changed her perspective and she stopped giving a damn. She stopped trying to create a war hound, selling on all her precious hybrids save one. She stopped paying attention to the chaos, and lost herself in the bottom of a bottle instead. And why?

Because it was easy.

It was easy to be selfish, to cast asunder the people who cared about you and disappear. Hiding was easy. She remembered a time when hiding wasn't easy, when it had never been an option for her, when he had convinced her for the first time that it was safer, not for her, but for everyone else, to run. She lifted her head up from her hands and looked at the freeze frame of Rel Connory's face in the replay of the Inventor Tournament.

What had happened to them?

There was a light click of claws on ceramic tiles and Shadow padded over, offering her a comforting lick and sympathetic whine. Her hand moved to stroke his head automatically. "I was Mia Monroe, Mand'alor the Liberator. I stood for something, Shadow." She looked down at the hounds inky black eyes, for a moment then kissed the top of his head. "Time to stop hiding."

She flicked the holovid off, turned on the lights and began to tidy the chaos that had become her little holding on the Tion Trade Nexus, composing a letter in her head as she did.


Dear Rel,

I'd say you're proving difficult to track again but I'd be lying. I know how to find you, I just simply haven't. There are two things I'm very good at in this world, one is fighting, the other is being selfish. I never used to be that way, but somehow i've become like it and I'm not sure how to go back to giving a feth about everyone else, but I don't want to be a selfish alcoholic anymore.

The first and most important person I need to make amends to is you. You who gave so much, and got so little in return. I'm going to Dathomir, hoping to get lost in the forest and find something to remind me what I'm supposed to be, provided I can get myself out of the spaceport bar in the first place. I'm not asking for your help, that would be unfair to rely on you again to get me out of another mess I've made of my life, I'm just asking for you to come by, if you want to talk.

Or get lost with me. I don't know, it's your call. Just figured it's about time I let you know where I am, should you want to find me.

Mia

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

-Mia

-I thought I'd lost my naivety, but here I am surprised. That's not fair of me to say, but whether or not I'm still naive, I've certainly burned away my patience for veiled half-truths. I think some compassion went with it, and for that I apologize. But you don't want my compassion. You want my respect, and you've never lost that. You deal with your burdens how you see fit. I don't fault you for drinking to handle it. I do, however, fault you for ascribing too much meaning to drink. You speak like you've accepted yourself at a lesser value, like drinking makes you worthless, and like you expect me to judge you. None of these things is acceptable. You and I have come too far to get bogged down in social expectations. Do what works for you.

If that seems like Velok talking, so be it; maybe part of me is still Darth Parash. If so, I don't mind it. There's a pure utilitarianism to that mindset. It helped me get past the dark place where I stumbled after I made your hands.

I'm sending you a better private comm number, and the registry of my public ship. I'm on the governing council of Iron Crown now, in case that wasn't blindingly obvious from a basic HoloNet search. That means I have a full docket and a staff and my location is always known. As a result, I'm arranging a visit to Dathomir under the guise of a trade meeting. I fully intend to split you in half and see if I can't shake you out of your slump the hard way. Because I may not judge, but you judge yourself, and you'll probably be happier if you move past where you're at.

Love always,
Galeth

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Galeth's reply had brought on a mixture of emotions. To even receive a response made her heart skip a beat, perhaps they could amend things, if he was willing to talk to her, yet the more she read through the letter the more confused her emotions became. She was ashamed for thinking that he would judge her in any way, after everything. Nothing for them had been easy, they'd never been blessed with what the work would conceive as a white picket fence relationship. He'd helped her run from Velok and when she thought back upon those days, the chaos her mind was in aside, they were probably their happiest days, when it was just them and the Veil.

Then word reached them of Velok's death and she'd returned but with him working with the republic and tensions between the mandalorians and the republic high, even back then, nothing was easy. Then there was Nemene,and the heist that followed which he'd tried to get himself killed in. Then she actually got herself killed....The list went on, a seemingly endless line of battles, never a moments peace. But after it all, after all they'd done there had never been judgement from either party, they did what they did to survive.

The nerves came last, as she crossed the boundary into the spaceport, or at least what was left of it after the witches raid. The mercenaries and deathwatch loyalists were long gone but she could still smell the fight. Wiping sweaty palms on her trousers she picked her way past broken market stalls towards the landing bays.

[member="Rel Connory"]

 

[Jorga the Hutt]

[member="Mia Monroe"]

The Witchmasters walloped posteriors and procured monikers with the best of them, Rel noted, and they'd really done a number on this port. Dathomir had several trading posts like this, and a few larger ones. The two biggest were probably the Clan Rekali family fortress and repair yard on one hand, and the Arceneau warehouse and spaceport on the other. An Arceneau trade station orbited the planet, too. The Witchmasters' raid had served political purposes, but it had also weakened the competition. That created opportunities, if one had a go-between. Rel wasn't publicly a Mandalorian, but Iron Crown had partnered with Akure long enough that the trade facilitation division had some useful people. Not Witches, exactly, but people who'd done trade with Dathomir and the Mandalorians. Good enough for most purposes.

Dathomir generally had a need for pharmaceuticals; Witch healing covered a multitude of ills, but not everyone had access to a competent healer. Certain other trade goods always sold well here. Iron Crown's new presence in the raided spaceport was low-key and inoffensive, centered on a store. A fairly humble store, all things considered, but with this spaceport's previous management crippled, business was good. A plethora of local pelts and ores commanded respectable prices, both in barter and in coin. Republic credits were no good here (Republic credits were no good anywhere). Huttese truguts and wupiupi, and aurodium coins, formed the main medium of exchange when barter wouldn't do. Locals crowded outside the store's open-air front desk, kicking up dust in the streets.

A lanky man in a nice suit was leaning against the storefront, talking quietly with the crowd. It was a little refreshing to spend time where he wouldn't be recognized. Most Witches didn't get HoloNet News. As Mia came into sight, Rel broke off his conversation and approached her. He'd given innumerable Senate speeches, but he found himself lost for words.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Wary eyes scanned the crowd that had gathered, unwilling to move closer. He was easy enough go to pick out, crisp and clean among the locals. He brought an impression of outside importance, had an air about him that told you it was a good idea to pay attention when he spoke. A politician through and through, but to Mia he was so much more. She watched him approach, eyes never leaving his as he drew closer, her heart in her throat.

Mia'd never been one to cry, not publicly, choosing instead to veil emotions under battle hardened skin, but when Rel was in front of her, there was no one else. The crowd blurred into the background along with the little noise they were making and she forgot she was in public for a moment. She lowered her eyes to the floor, blinking back hot tears.

"Feth." She breathed forcing herself to look up, thumbs hooking through the loops of her belt to keep, her hands steady. "Everything I can think of to say to you right now seems hollow."

[member="Rel Connory"]