Just stretching my legs [Open to GA Members]

[Tydeus of Tion]

A blonde giant strolled into the room, gait the easy confidence of a man who had seen a lifetime of war. He seemed younger. Not as if the years had somehow erased lines and scars. He walked like a man free from the crushing weight of responsibility. Ryan was glad. Matteo had born the worlds on his shoulders in his time. He hoped he'd found some measure of peace.

Korr took a step forward, features creasing into a smile. Faltering only when Marcello's face clouded over. He found those blue eyes fastened on the young woman. Ryan's brow rose a millimeter. Perhaps they knew each other. It certainly seemed as if everyone else in the hangar did, or wanted to. His lips twitched.

"Marcello," he called, voice the crisp, clipped tone of a Coruscanti. Korr stepped forward again, mouth slipping into a grin. "It's been an age."

[member="Marcello Matteo"] | [member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“Well, that’s what I meant. Not meaning to say boys are directionally or instructionally challenged. It was more a..” she huffed heavily, bottom lip jutting out and directing a stream of air directly at the wisp of baby hairs that spread across her forehead “idiom.

One would expect the first-timer not to get directions right to the hive. That would be not smart, so good call there. I could be trouble with a capital ‘SITH’!” Loske stopped talking now, immediately wishing she could vacuum the words she’d just sputtered out right back into her stomach. “I’m not. Of course. I—“ [member="Sarge Potteiger"] interrupted her verbal onslaught and pointed her in the direction of [member="Marcello Matteo"]’s pointed glare. He looked frustrated with her, and she’d never even met him before.

Something inside sent off warning sounds, like an internal alarm that started in her brain and echoed around her ears. Dizziness relayed through her cranium. Memories that she was familiar with, yet very distant from blossomed in her mind’s eye, with nothing but a silhouette that mirrored the build of the blond man in the hangar. Externally, panic manifested on her face and was near immediately replaced with solace. As if her system had written an override for situations like this; and rather than confusion she looked toward the man with a sort of wonder. As if he were someone she ought to know, someone who could offer her something that would quell her innate desires for belonging. But that was something she sought from everyone, and was ambitious at best.

Then [member="Ryan Korr"] stepped into view and took over [member="Marcello Matteo"]’s attention; and Loske didn’t know whether or not to be relieved, or frustrated.

“It’s okay..” Loske murmured, not really able to move her eyes from the Jedi Master Sarge had pointed out. There was something in his look that suggested it was not the typical gaze of attraction. There was something else there - beyond the girl’s myopic and unsocialized comprehension. She blinked heavily, before looking down at her feet then back onward to where they were to be heading. “I’d best check-in before I start socializing too much. I have a tendency to head off on tangents and lose sense of time — given the fact that the conversation is returned, of course.” Lie. Loske could talk for hours in solitude.

A final, almost understanding tight-lipped smile and shrug of her shoulders, directed toward Marcello in parting as she took the steps forward to urge Sarge to continue his guidance.

For some reason, she was more nervous than curious in this single instance.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

[member="Ryan Korr"]'s greeting did draw Marcello's attention, but it wasn't an immediate snap. Glacier-blue gaze lingered over [member="Loske Matson"]'s presence mostly out of curiosity. Sure, he could just let the girl walk on by and allow her to continue being a mystery. However, Marcello had lived through enough to know that these sensations were anything but normal. Marcello had no children, so he certainly no idea what it felt like to see your flesh and blood for the first time.

However, he'd established strong connections through the Force to...at least two people in life. One of whom was standing directly in front of him, no doubt patiently waiting for acknowledgment from an old friend. The other was worlds away at the moment...but never far from his heart or thoughts. And now this girl was here...giving him a feeling that was similar and yet altogether different. Perhaps if Marcello was Kiskla, he would have preferred some element of covert investigation...or maybe he would have just dismissed the sensation as some lingering effect of interactions on the edge of death.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Marcello watched briefly as the girl tried to slink away from confrontation. That certainly was not like Kiskla. Little Kiskla had been very in-your-face-anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better. It had made Marcello want to punch the teenage Kiskla in the face.

Which...he basically did shortly thereafter when they were supposed to be teaching combat tactics to others.

"An age and a half..." Slowly, Marcello tracked his full attention to Ryan with an easy smile. "Old friend." Stepping forward, Marcello reached out to grasp Korr's forearm as he clasped the man on the back in a friendly embrace. "It is good to see you, and I hear congratulations are in order? Or..." Marcello's smile deepened ever so slightly. "...perhaps condolences?"

Obviously a reference to the younger Jedi's elevation to Grandmaster.

As for Loske...Marcello wasn't concerned about her 'getting away'. Now that he'd identified the source of the strange sensation, there was not likely a place on Sullust where she could go outside his ability to locate her.

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

With [member="Loske Matson"]'s apparent insistence to be out of the presence of @Marcelo Matteo, the middle aged mercenary gave a slow nod of his head in recognition that perhaps they should get going. "I get the feeling that socializing is something you're exceedingly good at." With a faint lift of his chin, he left the landing pad - and the others there - behind, before hooking an immediate right.

They were headed all the way down to the southern most point of the starport, where a checkpoint kept civilians from just walking onto what amounted to a series of military landing platforms. That's where his dropship was, because while he'd said there was probably a greeting party somewhere, in actuality... he was the greeting party. He just liked to get a sense of people.

And she was nervous, but genuine. He could live with that.

"Also, as the person in charge of handling Sith prisoners, I'd suggest not saying 'Sith' like it's a brushed off point of conversation. Sith killed the woman I loved, then brought her back as an abomination.

You do want to be Sith with me standing this close."

It was dry humor, but also a thinly veiled warning. Stepping up to the checkpoint, Sarge provided his documents, and once the guards saw that she was with him, they merely asked for an ID so they'd know who was coming through. Moving down a corridor to a trio of landing pads, he angled towards an M47, matte black and with a pair of guards at the bottom of the ramp. Both were garbed in carapace armor - form fitting - colored a royal blue.

The packs on their backs connected through thick power cables to the battery wells of their blaster rifles, providing a much larger amount of shots between reloads. And more power. They merely nodded to Sarge as he stepped up the ramp, knowing Loske was right behind. "Get yourself strapped in. We've a ride ahead of us."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

The compliment from the father-aged fellow made Loske's cheeks hot with cheer. She smiled sheepishly and gave a swing of her ponytail in confirmation. Socializing was something she was good at. She'd always had many friends in The Republic (Lie. Manufactured memory). Sometimes though, she couldn't tell if networking went so pleasantly for her because she was saying something worth responding to, or if others just wanted her to be quiet and offered their own side to fuel the conversation.

While they walked, Loske made quiet awe-filled observations of the almost robotic armour that covered [member="Sarge Potteiger"]. It looked as heavy as it looked meticulously crafted. Yet, his steps didn't seem any more heavy or measured than the average pilot; as if the metal were less of an exoskeleton and more of a second skin. Her staring was cut off when he made the comment about Sith, and she blinked in surprise.

"You guard Sith prisoners?" She repeated, nearly flabbergasted by the thought. Sith were creatures of dark magic - she couldn't imagine the techniques required to keep one restrained! "Oh. I'm sorry. I -- I've never actually seen a Sith. They're more stories to me, the infinite bad guy y'know? It's like saying 'I'm going to kill you' when frustrated. Didn't think, sorry. Strange to think the impact that something so distant seeming can have on people's lives. Like your misses - wow." Her jaw hung for a bit, swaying side to side to prevent more words from spilling out.

"Resurrection." She whispered, teetering the breath on a whistle "Magic." The little pilot wanted desperately to press, but she held her breath. He seemed transparent enough, but she didn't want to overstay her welcome before even arriving.

Further questioning was lost anyway, as she had to shuffle the location of her helmet to produce her identification to the officer.

Quick steps hurried behind the armoured man when her breath caught in her chest. "Woah.." came the awed drawl when the M47 appeared to be her ride. That was a sexy vehicle. "This is yours?" She squeaked excitedly, focusing on restraining her muscles so not to run ahead and inside of Sarge. She couldn't help but touch the ship the first moment she got though, a tingle of anticipation coursing through her body. In the hull, her wide ocean eyes didn't stop absorbing and she almost walked into a few things as she was too busy twirling this way and that to observe different elements of the ships insides. Obediently, she nestled into the ship's passenger seat, legs tight to the leather and buckled herself in; it pressing against her like a restraint until she couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Can I..." It was happening. The question. Her brain was a klaxon of protest, but her stomach and heart whirred with the potential of 'yes' "--Can I drive?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The two soldiers came up the ramp after them, the engines warming up with an ear splitting roar that could be heard through the opened back of the dropship. Each took the first seat on either side of the cabin, closest to the ramp they could get. Setting their armored bulk into their seats, they strapped themselves in and rested their weapons upright between their legs, stocks pressed to the decking.

A faint clicking inside their helmets said they were speaking, and Sarge just stood in the open maw of the ramp, fingers wrapped tight around a handhold over his head. [member="Loske Matson"] would find ear protection over her head; ear protection that was connected to the comm system of the dropship. An armored finger motioned for her to put it on. She'd hear the rough timbre of the soldier's voice in her ears, now, loud enough to be heard over the twin engines that were pushing the dropship up and off the landing pad.

"You aren't flying." This wasn't a Galactic Alliance ship; this was a Protectorate one.

That meant she didn't get to touch.

"Sith are a curious breed in that they can be anyone. Chiss, Human, Duro. It doesn't matter. Often, they look no different than you or I. But it's an illusion. You see, the Dark Side of the Force uses your own life energy for power, corrupting you from the inside out like a cancer that can spread from organ to skin. Without their illusions, they would look like a decrepit old sentient by the time they hit middle age.

The Dark Side affords great power, but at great cost.

They're the worst thing this galaxy has ever spawned. Vong are the worst thing another galaxy ever spawned. I made it my mission to keep them out of the Protectorate, and in that I was disturbingly successful. Strap some Force-nullifying cuffs on them and they're generally useless. My mind is a fortress, so even if they wanted in, they couldn't. Knock on the gates plenty, sure, but no one is answering.

Easy enough job. They get too stupid, I drop them into magma. That's how you handle a Sith; by not playing their games."

The young pilot was a veritable font of almost endearing curiosity. Almost. Her questions were asked from a point of ignorance so harmless he couldn't take offense. She spoke out of wonder, not inquiry. He could answer that. It nearly made him smile.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Puffed up with excitement, Loske deflated like a balloon being squeezed at the nub. Minus the whining of air - though her childish pout was noticeable as she pulled the hearing aids over her head; her own helmet still balanced in her lap.

“Next time, then.” The girl nodded in agreement to a deal that had not been made. It was as it a pencil were already sketching in the date for when she and [member="Sarge Potteiger"] would take to the skies in the matte black baby once more with Loske at the helm.

He distracted her date-keeping by explaining Sith further, in a way she’d never heard it. Being disturbingly successful? Whatever did that mean? Still, she swallowed it with twisted lips; really not paying too much mind to the conversation and more focusing on the happy purr from the powerful engines that moved them from being parked to a smooth hover. Her eyes were peeking over the dashboard, palms pressed against whatever surface she could touch, admiring gleefully the make and gentle transitions of the ship.

He said another thing that piqued her interest though, and so, being as she was, she decided to pry further; enunciating a little bit more with the mouthpiece intrusively near. “Your mind is a fortress? How.”

 

[Whispers of Lumirith]

And Greyson would find himself somewhere, doing something.

Probably challenging some dock worker somewhere to a game of sabacc and smoking some cigars ontop of that. Loske was in good hands, right?

Yeah - she was.

Spoiler

Gotta add in a surname - posts getting lost, no tag, etc.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Loske Matson"] actually made the mechanical warrior snort - mostly with amusement. The ramp remained open, as all cities were underground on the planet. A hazard of the lava flows, from what he understood. He wasn't a scientist, and he'd never bothered asking why the surface was toxic. Not like he could fix it anyway. There weren't enough bullets to kill radiation. They rose to a hover, and then the engines rotated, pointing the exhaust towards the rear, propelling them forward with the sort of G-Forces that pushed you back into your seat.

It eased, though, as they began to bank their way through gaping tunnels connecting cities to one another. They were headed south, through sentient-made caverns, each so spacious the engine sound was lost. They were a spec in the tunnel, little else. A marvel of engineering, really.

"Before I was stranded on Dagobah, there was a research team on Elrood. The Dark Harvest had just occurred, and they were trying to find out the source of the malady - and possibly a cure, if possible. We were hired to run protection and evac, and when we got there the place was in danger of being overrun by reanimated corpses. Deep in the bowels of the place was an artifact, and me being the lad I was, I touched the thing. Lit me up like a Lifeday Tree - I was Force Dead, except for that brief moment.

After Dagobah, I was Force Sensitive, but I couldn't read minds, nor sense emotion. My mind is essentially a black hole in the Force. No idea how. Goes both ways - they can't look in, but I can't look out."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“You were stranded on Dagobah?” Loske asked, mildly baffled at the prospect. What an adventure. Although, that would probably be one of the last places in the galaxy she’d want to be stranded. Everything there was rotten, old, and sunk and whatnot. She did not do well in swamp situations.
“How did that happen? And how did you get back, if it was full of zombies?”

Loske was very pleased they were cruising at a low altitude. Although she was a boast worthy pilot, when the air got thin out in space she always got queasy. Which interrupted her ability to converse; and that would certainly be a detriment in this instance.

“Huh. That’s kinda neat — having The Force suddenly. Did you throw up? I would imagine everything would be hypersensitive at that point; overwhelming almost.

So you must not be a Jedi then..” she glanced in [member="Sarge Potteiger"]’s armoured direction. He was wearing more than robes, and she couldn't see a lightsaber "How did you handle suddenly having all that supernatural power?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge gave a low rumble of amusement at [member="Loske Matson"]'s questions. "Yes, I was stranded. I'd gone and..." he sighed, shoulders slumping a bit, "...well, I left my fighter. I wasn't anticipating coming back alive, so I hadn't bothered to prepare a full fuel load. No sense in allowing anything else to get off planet. I was eventually picked up by a scoundrel who was digging through the battlefield for scraps. Most of the undead seemed to die off when the battle in space was won.

Their 'leader' must have retreated into the depths of space. But the massed turbolaser fire above was so intense you could see them flash like lightning across the sky."

Flexing a hand absently as he stared out the back of the dropship, he shrugged. "I don't recall throwing up. It came gradually, like someone was slowly increasing the volume on music you didn't realize was playing. But once I had it, I did the same thing I do with all my tools - I reserved it's use for when it was absolutely necessary.

And I was a Jedi, once. Talked the Mandalorians out of bombarding Coruscant from orbit."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Not having enough fuel to leave seemed smart, Loske nodded in appreciation of the intelligence of the solution that could have ended his life. Sacrifice was a heroic thing - and it caught her wondering if she’d have the guts to do the same.

“You should use such talents now.” Loske commented, unkindly referring to the problem that had been broadcasted back at the docking bays. The conflict between the Republic and Mandalorians was shameful.

“Seems the Republic can only talk themselves into things, and then act out.”

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Loske Matson"]

Sarge gave a faint shrug of his shoulders as the engines howl lowered to a growl, the dropship slowly as the pilot buzzed authorizations to the gate - although it was more just a giant stone archway. Passing through it, they banked wide, keeping slow as they passed a plethora of barracks, armories and other assorted buildings built into the mountain they were now inside of. "I don't care anymore." He says flatly. "When I was a Jedi, the Silvers formed - and why? Because they didn't want to fight for the identity of the Order.

Instead of discussing our differences and mending old wounds, they simply tore themselves apart.

The Republic lost Coruscant in the aftermath of half the Order disappearing.

I used to fight for a flag, Miss Matson. Now I just fight for myself."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

"But some tried to talk, didn't they? Bring all the Jedi back together?" For some reason, her tone was desperate. She knew the end of the story but she wanted nothing more than to know there were some heroes woven between the epic stretches.

The way [member="Sarge Potteiger"] spoke, he was the pinnacle of that now. She rocked forward, hands on her knees observing the interior they swept into.

"Where are the silver Jedi now? There are Jedi that work with the Galactic Alliance too, right? Those two we saw back at the hangar, in the cloaks?" She was of course, referring to [member="Marcello Matteo"] and [member="Ryan Korr"]. @Damain Starchaser didn't dress like a Jedi, so she didn't assume him one.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"We tried to talk," came the response, [member="Loske Matson"] now a distant afterthought to the man lost within his own mind. In his mind's eye, he could still see it - the Grandmaster, bringing a Sith forward into the Jedi as they discussed whether or not he was fit to lead. His rationale had been that the Sith was good, and that he was a friend. But a Sith couldn't be a friend, or at least, that's how he saw it.

If you were of the Dark, you lived in shadow. You were not friend to the Jedi so long as you continued to dwell where the Force did not wish you to go.

He was a tumor, benign perhaps, for now, but in the end he would wind up malignant. But the Grandmaster didn't want to listen, and in the ensuing shouting match - one more becoming the Senate than the Order - half of them had decided to pack it up.

His brows furrowed, eyes weighing themselves down with regret as the sheer realization that on some level he'd contributed to the problem hit him full force. He'd accepted it, and yet never made peace.

The warriors back still faced the woman, and his broad shoulders slumped. Gone was the bedrock of strength he personified, replaced with the weary slouch of a soul beaten down by the incessant march of time.

"But no one listened." His head hung at that, turning to the right as he studied the grating of the dropship floor. "The Jedi are a disparate organization in the manner the Sith should be. Where the Sith rallied around a figurehead, an ideal, the Jedi flew to far flung worlds where they could establish their own 'Orders,' with the only gripe being they were beholden to the Republic before and weren't anymore.

But we were never beholden to the Republic, you see. We spoke, but we were not beholden. We upheld their laws, but we were seperate. Seperate but equal.

People lost sight of that, and in the end the idea that we weren't our own group split us asunder. The Sith won that day, and it was through no action on their own that it occurred. The Sith in question could hardly be termed a Sith. Dark Jedi are no less welcome, you understand, but this was not a Sith plot.

This was us - adults. Jedi are meant to be raised from birth, because only those who have grown up without tainting themselves can resist it. The first sip opens the floodgates, because you can always delude yourself so long as you don't drink of that cup. But the moment that first drop hits your lips, it's there, in your mind, forever.

You know.

And you cannot un-know.

So us, adults, who had known anger and rage, who had known love and horror. We squabbled and bickered as all adults do, as all people who indulged themselves are known to engage. But we paid no attention to the future, because all we cared about was ourselves.

I'm ashamed, Loske. I'm ashamed because I did nothing to stop it."

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Distraction momentarily drew Marcello's focus away, but that steady blue gaze finally settled on Ryan, depths clear as mountain springs. They clasped each other's forearms and Ryan felt a foreign sense of relief wash over him. As if for these past seven years he had been wallowing through a bog, unable to find a steady path. Yet now here he was, back on solid ground.

He hadn't known how much he'd missed his former master. Hadn't realized that Matteo was in many ways his last anchor in a storm, last bit of rock to cling to in a vast ocean of darkness. Seeing him again sent a rush of nostalgia through Korr. He couldn't place it at first, couldn't remember the last time he had felt this way. Too many lost battles and abandoned temples. But here, in this moment, standing in the middle of a strange spaceport with identification papers in one hand and goodwill in the other, Ryan felt at home.

How strange.

"Ah. That." Korr grimaced, "A temporary position. With the Republic as it is there are many of us who feel that we can better serve the galaxy by reuniting Orders rather than insisting on keeping them separate. I've just completed my paperwork for integration into the New Jedi Order. The old Order died a long time ago. We were just living in its empty husk."

"And you? I believe last I heard you were on Naboo."

[member="Marcello Matteo"] | [member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Let's face it.

Loske was a happy-go-lucky teenager with a swinging ponytail, doe-eyed gaze and a goofy grin.
[member="Sarge Potteiger"]'s fascinating reality was the first thing that turned her face to silent stone.

And it was only her first day.

She couldn't help the twitching downturn of her features as she winced in reaction to the armoured warrior's words. She was drawing into herself- shoulders pushing forward and heels into the ground. The same sort of preparation one's body makes when's roller coaster begins its climb before the drop.

Sarge's words were crisp in her ears. From his mic to her headphones, not a single syllable was missed. She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, her teeth clicking together each time. His weaving of the story was one that would stick with her forever.
Her bottom lip stick out slightly, dwelling on the story before doing what she could to swivel her chair. It wouldn't move. She instead, she twisted her torso, looping her arms over the shoulders of the seat and perching on her knees where her butt had been.

“But you did something.” Ever the positivity fairy, Loske couldn’t bear the dread that stringed along Sarge’s voice. “You’re here with the Galactic Alliance now, a place where lots of people are working together. Like professionals.”

The One Sith had changed the galaxy. That was inarguable. Humans had emotions - and the stories of Jedi trying to ignore them was impossible. You needed emotions to make decisions. To guide you; but you also had to have knowledge. To her, a Jedi was a balance between the two; with the power of The Force to take action.

“Have you talked to anybody else about this? About how you feel?” She was no psychiatrist. Loske had, almost quite literally, been living in a bubble for the past eighteen years. (Lie. Four).

She wanted to hug him. Poor, sorrowful guy.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He could practically hear [member="Loske Matson"]'s world getting turned upside down. It didn't take a genius to figure out that reality was stamping on the fires of her jubilant innocence. But what he couldn't see was that for all the attention she was giving him, his paired guards were too. Both sat, weapons as secure as they were. Sitting up straight, they nonetheless leaned faintly in his direction, heads turned.

You didn't get Sarge to talk like this.

At least, he imagined that's what they would have been thinking. But no one had asked, and so no one had gotten an answer.

"I went back to the Pyre, Loske. That's what I did. I was at Eriadu when the Pyre repelled the Fringe, and it was there I saw [member="Cira"] for the first time in years." He almost sounded amused, but it didn't drag his voice from the depths of sorrow it had fallen into. "She was standing there, surrounded by reporters, all asking the same question I wanted to.

Why? Where? Where did you go?

But it had never occurred to me that she might ask the same thing of me. And so I stayed with the Pyre for a time, and I watched her die on Coruscant. I then watched the Vong turn her into a killing machine.

Then, suddenly, I was in charge. And rather than take a war to the stars as most heads of state seem to do, I ceded the defense of our member worlds back to them, and I folded the Protectorate back into being simply a mercenary unit.

That's what I did, Loske. I've never started a war, but I've always been good at ending them. I'm a professional killer - I believe Jorus once termed the phrase 'hypermurder' to explain my particular skillset." There was a shrug of the massive shoulders, even as the dropship began to bank towards a landing pad where a lone Sullustan stood outside, waving signalling cones.

"I talk to Cira, from time to time. She was never big on feelings, but a natural part of the healing process is the need to discuss what you've been through. So I've listened to her. She doesn't need my problems too."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“We need more people to end wars.” The blonde ponytailed teen added sagely, nodding in slow confirmation - approving the words that she spoke.

Loske got lost with some of the characters in the story. She didn’t know who [member="Cira"] was. Her blonde brows furrowed as she attempted to scratch through her memories, seeking the buried recollection. Something cued and the Lady Protector information bubbled forth. It was faint. Neither Kiskla nor Marcello had immediate interaction with the woman, nor were privy to many of her speeches, so the information Loske had on the Protectorate leader was scarce.

“I think she might.” Loske offered, gesturing with her free hands over the back of the headrest. She wasn’t sure if they were in a relationship or not — there were some major holes in this delivery, and it was like she was supposed to know exactly who it was that [member="Sarge Potteiger"] was talking about. Out of respect for his candidness, she tried to seem as informed as possible “Relationships are about mutual communication. Right?”

She had no idea. Loske had no relationships, save for the friendship she’d established with @Greyson Tarrik purely because he thought she’d saved his skin. So she could do a little ass-kicking from time-to-time. They’d been hanging out for a while, and they were chummy, open, but beyond that Loske was the last person in the galaxy to be giving relationship advice. Although - she did have her ideals. A picture of what a perfect relationship would be. She pined for it somewhat, because she felt that with that sort of feeling a sense of belonging would be established.

“And it sounds like she’s not the only one who needs to heal.”

Yes. Come one, come all - see Dr. Matson for relationship counselling.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Loske Matson"]

Sarge gave a chuckle as they swung in for a landing, the dropship easing its way onto landing struts that groaned under the immense weight of the craft. "Another time, perhaps, Loske. Another time." He turned towards her, finally, his guards standing to move down the ramp. "But here you are - there will be someone at the end of the pad waiting to take you to your squadron. As for me, I've some things to take care of elsewhere."