Private Knightfall

[Loske Treicolt]

The TSE v. NIO Counter-attack on Borosk (Little continuum)
// Beyond Cassel Point, just outside an abandoned factory //
// SMILING FACES SOMETIMES //
​

Reservation ended the chase.

She couldn’t do it.

Loske held back in every way. Her pummelling strikes, her skid to stop from running, her pursuit as a whole.

I'm scared.
Am I the enemy?
Help Me.

The fear in the plea broke her aggression. Teeth clenched before a scream tore through her throat. It was a sound born in hurt frustration, and it’s volume grew and stretched with ire’s fuel. With a worthless gesture, she hurled random collections of nanoparticles from her suit that took shape to something of pointy mass to no avail. The speeder was efficient with its distancing and she had never been sure if she wanted any of her strikes to make purchase or not.

Thunder clapped behind her breastbone and she dropped to her knees in a helpless lump. That furious scream tapered off to a shaking sob. Her free, trembling hand stretched into the earth’s dust, clenching it against her skin. The grains were coarse and fine. Loske could feel the little bumps as she rolled her fingers against the heel of her hand, grinding the dirt angrily. It felt like the crumbles of duracrete she’d inherited from Maynard’s sensation on Muunilinst. The parallel to her senses dragged her down into a shadowy world of self vexation and pain.

This didn’t just feel like dirt. This planet dust. It was worse. Familiar. It felt like futility. Ryv had been harmed and she was supposed to be covering him. Allyson had lost herself and she was supposed to be an anchor. Maynard had almost died when she was supposed to be at his side. If only she could bury herself beneath all this grime. Crawl under the crust.

Hot tears lined her eyes, staining her face with grief. She screamed again, anguish atomizing in the air as she crunched forward on her knees, forehead to the ground and lacing her fingers against the back of her head. Her face contorted.

The imprints in her mind were swirling and burgeoning, and Loske was losing her emotions to all the others in her head. Her feelings drowned in the sea of others, being swept away in the current of heartache. That was the undertow.

Allyson, swamped in confusion and loss. Gone.
Rae, inundated with duty, love and protectiveness. Victorious.
Maynard, concentrated and devastated. Evocative.
Ryv, broken. Pain. Blackness. Purity. Exhausted.

Where was she among all of them?

Loske, vacant. Empty. Vexed. Pained. Protective. Befuddled. Broken. Everything they felt intensified its pressure on her, the seams starting to crack. She sorted through everything that typhooned in her head.

Anger triumphed, and she pushed herself to stand as the skies above darkened. Her foes were gone, zipped away to safety. Her friends were left. They hadn’t gone yet. In everything else that was going on, the need from the two in the ship’s hull was louder than anything else. She couldn’t leave Maynard with the responsibility of someone’s life alone again. She couldn’t do that to him. She’d trusted him to come running to help and he did. His hands had been stained with lifeblood too much to feel isolated in the momentous task to drag Ryv back from the brink.

Quickly, she accelerated and sprung upward — scaling the skeleton of the factory and leaping from its rooftop to cling to the low hanging landing gear of the New Imperial shuttle. With grunts and scraping gestures, she clawed herself into the vessel itself while it sealed behind her.

Her heart was drenched in wretchedness. Taking a moment to steal an appraisal of Maynard and Ryv, the desperation and necessity of her Knight rolled off him in waves. She could feel it. The hyper-connectivity demanded her attention without escape. Every ounce of his need poured into the bloody, battered, one-handed Kiffar. It wasn’t an unfamiliar scene. She knew this was the second time Maynard had to cradle someone he loved while they clung to life after a battle. It broke her heart to see it again, and she wordlessly moved to help. She needed to focus first, and push the afflicted murmurs of other’s emotions to the corners of her mind.

Loske inhaled, held the breath, and let it out.

While the ship climbed in altitude, she dipped to the other side of Ryv to help share the burden to sustain him. She still didn’t speak. Maynard could feel her intentions as she made contact with the Sword. While her lover strained and hyperextended himself, Loske delved into the molecular levels of Ryv’s anatomy. Flares of danger pulsed and throbbed here; his body reacting with fear of loss. Connections that should have been were frayed and severed. She started with the wrecked hand. This was much more strenuous than remedying a bruise. Maynard’s injuries had been painful contusions, but muscles hadn’t been destroyed. She’d only had to flex, bend, and soothe things back to a closer state of normal. This was much more troublesome, and beyond her scope of influence. They’d need a true healer. Maynard could sustain him, and Loske could try and clean up some of the edges. But his life would be suspended in a balance of uncertainty until more qualified technicians were involved.

They needed no words in this moment. Both their minds and hearts were with Ryv, no matter what his fate would be.

​

CORUSCANT // REHABILITATION CENTRE​

Fresh off the front of Dubrillion, barely showered, Maynard and Loske cut through the crowds of Coruscant. If it hadn’t been for the demand of duty, they probably wouldn’t have left The Sword’s side. She knew what it was like to be in a hospital, being a self champion to get back to full strength. Maynard and Ryv had both been on the battlefront at that time too. She hadn’t been completely alone though, she’d had Allyson and Auteme — but still. Missing her better half had been a struggle.

On that parallel, Ryv wouldn’t get any visits from his beloved. If Allyson did a drop by during visitation hours she’d likely be brutally escorted out.

As it was, it was pretty easy to acknowledge both she and Maynard were useless in their friend’s recovery process. He’d see nothing but concern on their faces as he tried to adhere to the doctor’s instructions. Focus on rehabilitation and getting back up to snuff. They were more useful in the skies. Give him time with his thoughts. There were probably too many to manage.

It was the first stop the pair had made on their return to Coruscant. Bypassing much protocol in favour of friendship, only to be stopped by an attractive green Twi’lek with a clipboard who said they had to wait for the surgery to finish. There was no sense in negotiating against reason.

They’d hurried up just to wait. They’d barely had time to catch their breath since the devastation on Borosk. then off to Dubrillion. Then..something else, probably. And now, when they had time to fill their lungs, it was stale air. Worse than being in the cockpit of an X-Wing for over twelve hours. Recycled over and over from worried and anxious lungs.

Her hands ran over her face as an exhibit of her miffedness. It was a wonder no biting words slipped through. The pilot was obviously tired. Worn.

"You're correct, the Force is in all living things, and I can see the minds of most beings. That being said, I went into yours because you're akin to a beacon. I envision the force as a vast endless ocean full of possibility and purpose. In that ocean, I see people as various things: islands, storms, whatever suits who they are. You're one of those islands, and I a see a hurricane hovering above you. That's why I picked you out over anyone else - why I assumed you might have been a Jedi."

"It's crazy how optimistic you are, Loske. Not bad crazy, or anything, just crazy.”

“Such a bright star. It doesn’t matter who came before or what lay after, never doubt that you are a true Saint of the force. Never let anyone crush that spirit, that cheer, and that strength you possess.”

Her lucent self was dimming.

A nervous tick manifested, thumb wedging between her teeth and she bit for a few seconds. She hugged herself, standing at the window of the office where Ryv had been sent to get his new hand. Her arms did little good, and she moved from her spot to force her body to nestle against Maynard’s and seek the comfort of his hold instead. This option was worth fighting for. Beyond anything to have him safe and preserved. She couldn’t imagine betraying him the way Allyson had gutted Ryv metaphorically and… Instead Loske was blessed with solace in the mutual understanding of how the other was feeling — and right now they were delicately treading the precipice of loss.

If not the loss of Ryv, it was certainly the loss of the normalcy and friendship the four of them had known.

Loss was the catalyst to change.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

O U T R I D E R
L O N E L Y _ D A Y

Coruscant // Rehabilitation Center

Ever the fools. They'd agreed Muunilinst would be the first and last they'd pushed themselves that close to the brink. The precipice of death and undoing. And now Brentaal, Borosk, Dubrillion. Suppose they'd lied to themselves over it or simply let the obligation and duty weigh more than their selfishness. For better or far far worse. They might've cursed each other for letting themselves delve so deeply into the fire again but there was no point in sounding it out. They both knew they'd roll themselves into the same parabola, between fighting for themselves and everyone else close to them.

As they sat in wait it was difficult to maintain a clear consciousness as his mind sought to bury itself in the realm of sleep. His eyes were weary, tired, more so than they'd ever been before. He'd worked harder for longer before but the constant mental strain of war compounded with the emotional strain of what came with it was a dogged struggle. One he could only anticipate a hopeful, ideal end to.

But that end wasn't anywhere in sight. As much as victory seemed to feasible attainable against the battered Sith Empire, the home front was faltering with each delve into the breach. Allyson was compromised, abandoned the Galactic Alliance and the New Jedi Order for? Maynard still didn't understand it but, none of that mattered now. She'd hurt Ryv and she'd have to pay the price eventually. All the same, seeing his friend through back to health was a much more pertinent objective for the Concordian. Pressing the base of his palms into tired eyes as he leaned forward in his seat in a momentarily triumphant attempt to retain consciousness he leaned back into the seat to feel Loske's embrace around him. That alone was enough to jostle him from the feedback of pained memories far too recent to forsake or push away and re align to acknowledge what he still had.

So long as they had eachother, they'd figure it out, they'd be okay. They'd have something to keep up the fight for.

"Apologies for the wait -- patient Ryv Karis is open for visitation now." The Twi'lek said to the two, Maynard's eyes lighting from their weariness before he rose to his feet, offering a hand for the Kiffar to take before they'd make way.

Eventually, the door in front of them to Ryv's room hissed open to reveal the pair, entering with a careful step he offered Ryv a smile of reassurance before he spoke.

"Hey- how're you feeling, brother?" He spoke up in the hopes of establishing at the very least, physically, he was alright. At least in a hopeful deep contrast to the last he saw of him on Borosk where he hopelessly clutched at his dying body.

Loske Treicolt | Ryv

 

[Ryv]

Tension laid claim to the Jedi Knight's rigid form. He stared forward, silently watching the wall across from him as if it were his favorite show. A bunched up blanket hung over the edge of the bed, resting over his leg while simultaneously caressing the cold vinyl flooring. Ryv sat unmovingly, his right arm propped up by a male nurse's gloved hand while he wrapped a sphygmomanometer around the Kiffar's right bicep. The nurse took a step back and gently clamped a pulse oximeter to Ryv's index finger. Looking back and forth between the device projecting his patient's vitals, and the patient himself, the nurse hastily typed away at a handheld datapad. As the cuff around Ryv's arm began to deflate, a short beep sounded from the machine, prompting the caregiver to unwrap the cuff.

"Well, Ryv, your vitals are fine. One hundred and twelve over fifty-six is decent, maybe a little high for one of your physical stature, but I imagine stress has a lot to do with that. Your resting heartbeat is fifty beats per minute, which is good. Likely from that Jedi training of yours," clipping the datapad to his belt, he moved to the door. "I'll be sending in the cybernetic we have prepared for you. Familiarize yourself with it, and I'll return to attach it in a few hours. Ring the desk if you need anything," he offered a broad smile as he left the room. The door clicking shut behind him.

Ryv couldn't bring himself to return the smile, let alone look at the nurse. His eyes remained locked on the stark white wall, devoid of decoration, or design. An hour could've gone by before Ryv's eyes finally shut, his mind closed away from the world around him. He shut out his senses, accepting only the Force into his being. It flowed around him, taking his shape as it fell over the Jedi Knight like a blanket. Warmth spread over his body, starting from his head, it slowly cascaded down his form, falling over each inch of him. He relaxed back against the bed and took a deep breath. The sound of a speeder veering too close to the towering hospital shook him from his reprieve, stealing his attention from what sense of peace he claimed. Ryv looked to the window, eyes squinting to peer past beams of piercing sunlight.

Coruscant bristled with life. From the hundreds of speeders stretching out across the horizon, to the swaying towers reaching as high as the clouds. Peoples from all different walks of life gathered on the ecumenopolis. Some arrived for work, others to carve out a new life, one away from the dangers of genocidal Sith Lords or marauding aliens. They all breathed life into the planet of steel and concrete, creating a jewel, like no other in the galaxy. The Galactic Alliance's capital and home to the New Jedi Order inspired others to push forward regardless of the danger. To never give up, no matter the odds. There was nowhere else in the galaxy light Coruscant, and nothing could compare to the heart of the galaxy.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, Ryv pulled the curtains to a close. Tears took shape in the corners of his empty gaze, threatening to spill over in the wake of something that once meant so much to him.

"Excuse me, patient Karis."

Ryv blinked, the world taking shape around him as he dragged his attention to a medical droid beside his bed. The Jedi hadn't heard the door open, nor did he hear the clunky droid's approach.

"I have brought the recently acquired prosthetic, as requested by Dr. Vodds," the droid held out a rectangular box, the exterior a sleek silvery color. "Do you require anything while I am present, patient Karis? I am programmed to provide any and all functions expected of both a doctor or nurse."

One hand reached out and grabbed hold of the box, fingers momentarily brushing across the cold metallic surface. Ryv took hold of it and set it in his lap. Without another word, the Kiffar looked back to the gray, dusty drapes, his interest reclaimed by the lackluster furniture. When the door closed once again, he felt a sullen weight fall over his chest, his breathing coming in shaky gasps. Had there been a mirror before the amputee, he'd of seen the layer of cold sweat as it formed on his sun-kissed flesh. Instead, he could only feel the effects of the icy hospital air as it settled over his body. He dipped his head as his body trembled, tears crashing to the thin white sheets beneath him. Ryv sobbed without any attempt at concealing his battered psyche, his chest heaving with each forced breath, the world a blur through tear-stricken eyes.

He raised his remaining hand, fingers flexed into a fist before slamming it down against his thigh. A dull thud told him of the brief impact, yet he felt nothing of it. No ache or pain assailed him, as if the passing of his fist was ethereal in nature. He did it again. And again. And again.

Ryv silently beat his fist into the bed, teeth grinding together as grief rocked his body. He couldn't tell what hurt most, but the emotional flood that was Allyson's betrayal, his defeat, and the failure at Borosk didn't care. It slammed into the already faulty man, squeezing his heart as if to force what little bit of himself he had left, away. The machine began to beep wildly, the sudden spike in his heart rate caught by the machinery. A green line racing across the screen shot up to a point, falling just as rapidly, only to flash back up in an instant. He said nothing, even as the medical officials raced into the room and forced him back down, one of the nurses doing her best to soothe the raging Jedi Knight. He could only scream, wailing like a cursed banshee, the sound an eerily long howl, one full of rage, pain, and heartbreak.

Fissures stretched across the ceiling, each a thin line that led from one side of the room to the other. Ryv tilted his head to the side, momentarily confused. He couldn't recall them being there when last he awoke, or when the doctors forcefully sedated him to calm him down. Slowly, he pushed himself up to a seated position, the movements strenuous on his sluggish body. As his right hand gave out, unable to support his weight, he instinctively reached out with his left hand, only for the wrapped nub that remained to find no purchase. Ryv's chest caught the side of the bed and bounced off, the Jedi Knight falling head over heels from atop the inflatable mattress to the ground. A thud marked his jarring landing, followed by a groan of pain and frustration.

He pushed himself back to his feet, eyes wandering around the room. Not much had changed since he last looked. A nurse had straightened things up since his breakdown, carefully setting the cybernetic limb atop the bedside table. Beside it, the Blade of Ruusan rested, the ordinarily warm weapon cold and distant. Ryv studied the lightsaber hilt for only an instant before stepping up to the window. He took hold of the drapes and tugged them aside, revealing the city and all its glory. The sun had set, replaced by the typical smog that blocked out the starry night sky. Neon lights lit up the distant city, welcoming the nightlife in shades of minty green, and electric blue. Excitement buzzed through the Force, rolling off the lively city in waves, crashing against a wall of defeat. The hospital reeked with pain, hundreds, if not thousands of people struggling in their own battles, each akin to, but glaringly different from Ryv's.

The Jedi Knight rested his head against the glass. "It be easy, you know?" Ryv looked back at the lightsaber hilt. "I could shatter this with a thought. I've jumped from higher, too. Echuta, it probably be instantaneous," the sheer face of the skyscraper might've reached another dozen floors upward, with maybe two dozen between Ryv and the cold hard asphalt below. "Wouldn't have to deal with this or anything else again. No more pain," he closed his eyes, a hand rising to press against the glass.

"No, my son, you'd only feel it from a different perspective."

Ryv whipped around at the voice and searched the otherwise empty room. "No?" he asked, taking a step back towards the bed. "No?! Who are you to tell me what I should or shouldn't do?" the Kiffar felt his body tighten, teeth locked in place. "Huh?! Who?!" he stumbled forward as he yelled, poised to strike out at whoever revealed themselves, only for his foot to catch the corner of the bed. He tumbled to the ground. His hand shot out and found a fistful of bedding as his knees connected with the vinyl he'd grown accustomed to in recent days. Tension still gripped his body, spilling out in the form of shaking across his body. "I hate you," he whispered out, sobs laying claim to him as his face fell into his remaining hand. His body collapsed against the bed, exhaustion evident in the dark spots beneath his eyes.

Maybe an hour later, Ryv tugged the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his battered form.

"Ryv, you have visitors in the lobby," a Bothan nurse stuck her head in, smiling brightly. "Can I send them in?"

Looking up from the datapad in his lap, Ryv nodded. "Sure."

"Okay!" she hurried off, her sing-song voice notifying others in the hallway to go collect Maynard and Loske from the waiting room.

Ryv returned his attention to the datapad, his thumb clicking at the screen to turn the page of whatever book he'd downloaded. The story was bland, detailing a forced romance that had little build-up, seemingly hamfisted as if to offer the tragic hero a brief reprieve from the dangers he faced. It wasn't a great read, though what made a good read he couldn't be sure. He just knew the story left a bad taste in his mouth, so he set the device down on the bedside table, beside the cybernetic hand, and the Blade of Ruusan. Offering the weapon only a brief glance, he turned his attention to the door at the sounds of approaching footsteps. It didn't take much to place the heavy footfalls of Maynard, or the near-silent padding of Loske as they moved down the hallway. Ryv took a deep breath, fitting a smile across his face shortly before they crossed the threshold into his room.

"Hey guys," Ryv waved his good hand. "I'm all good. Tired, mostly. They wake me up every few hours to take blood, run the tests, you know, usual hospital shit. How are you guys?"

It didn't take a genius to spot the wear on the Jedi Knight. Dark spots beneath the eyes and disheveled, unkempt hair gave away the truth of his mental state.

Loske Treicolt | Maynard Treicolt ​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

The Twi’lek’s return brought welcome, and Loske unfolded from him to rise alongside her Knight. His hand wrapped around hers, and she gave it a squeeze of reassurance that was equal parts for him and her. Seeing their friend again after a handful of weeks would have an affect on them one way or the other.

When the door hissed open to reveal the situation on the other side, Maynard was the first to speak.

Letting go of Maynard’s hand, she closed the distance and clutched at Ryv, wrapping him in a hug that was suffused with relief. The last time they’d seen him, he’d been a reminder of life’s fragility. Now, up and talking, he was a reminder of nature’s tenacity.

“We missed you.” With a final exchange of strength in a squeeze, she stepped back, taking the time to look him over for the first time, dropping a hand to his shoulder to keep it there for reassurance’s sake. “Have they said when you’re out of here?”

His tired self was lit by the room’s lights and their yellow-blue clearness that mimicked early morning. The fatigue etched on his face matched that similar early morning vibe. The bags under his eyes packed with things he left unsaid. Hopefully he’d let the pair of pilots help him unpack. It hurt to look at him, but she tried not to let her countenance betray her dismay. He was alive, and he was talking.

The usual hospital routines. She cracked a wan smile, familiar with the processes. It was partly why she hated being in here. Conception on Kiffu aside, it was far too reminiscent of the days spent recovering after Muunilinst.

“We’re okay.” She admitted, trying to feign optimism but her voice was thin. She forced herself not to avert her gaze to Maynard. Not to seek reassurance. How normal should she make this conversation when she still harboured some guilt for his state of being? “Dubrillion went..well. The Imperials took it.”

Wrapping her hands on the small bar that was supposed to keep him contained in the bed, she leaned away from it for a moment, gaze perusing about the room. As if expecting some sort of décor to be set up. There was nothing particularly homey about the place, which was dismaying given how long he’d apparently been in here. The ceiling had some telling marks, and her cheeks felt heavy when she looked up. Then to the bedside.

Letting go of the rail, with little regard for personal space, she traced a finger alongside the outlines of the prosthetic ones. She was quiet for a handful of seconds. The medley of objects on the tabletop were a strange assortment and reflection of the current state of things.

Responsibility. The blade.

"The Blade of Ruusan can only be wielded by those it chooses. If it worked for you, then you were worthy. Are worthy. Perhaps worthy enough to take care of it for me when I no longer need it."

Retribution. The prosthetic.

Instead, her blade took aim towards his arm and blade to deflect his attack from the Sith. Following the attack, the force swelled around her, its source changing as she focused the invisible energy towards the man.

Remission. The datapad.

"Playing games until two o'clock in the morning,"

The objects lined up side by side invoked a tremble, and she put her hand over her mouth to dissuade a mopey gasp from choking out.

Selfishly, she wanted him to know how bad she felt. She’d tried to reason with herself before coming in here that she’d react exactly how he reacted to them, and as peppy as he might have been, the deep lines in his face suggested otherwise. “I know you probably don’t want to do this, but I have to. I’m sorry. Ryv, I’m so sorry you’re here.” She wanted to stop talking, but she couldn’t. To her horror, more words slipped through before she could snap her teeth shut and stop them. " I’m sorry for not being fast enough and that...” she shuddered out a heavy exhale.

“That all this happened.” She closed her eyes, stealing a moment to reflect on their discourse above Brentaal. They’d been worried about Allyson then. Before she unfurled her betrayal. Who had she ultimately betrayed? Herself? Ryv? The Galactic Alliance?

It was more than breaking up a relationship. Loske had felt Allyson’s confusion, the clouds in her heart. Relationships severed for another wasn’t something she felt right scolding; that would be hypocritical. But to do it to her brother? And then almost kill him for the sake of another?

He’d been here in this room alone for a stretch of time. Isolated and ruminating on that betrayal.

“I wouldn’t be all good.” She murmured, pulling her hand away from the replica one. “I don’t think you are.” Not to say were the same person..but everything had been such a mess on Borosk, walking away from that unscathed was impossible.

"You aren't all it takes to save the Galaxy, Ryv. We're all here for you, brother. Allyson...I'm sure what's going on with her but man, you need the rest."

This wasn’t the rest they’d had in mind.

"How can we help? I have to make it up to you."

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

It didn't take more than an instant after they entered Ryv's room for Loske to break the contact and rush to the side of their injured friend. Were he not dogged by the strain of the recent campaign over Dubrillion, a battle which had barely ended over a day ago he might've sported a similar enthusiasm. All in all, he was just glad Ryv was alive. The rest, he knew the Kiffar would be strong enough to brave through all that. The rehabilitation, getting used to the prosthetic and the rest of it.

He was silent. Initially, at least. There wasn't much to say that Loske didn't happily serve as the vessel on their behalf. They operated as a single unit by this point, he'd doubted the reality of her speaking so much out of turn that he might have to pipe up on his own.

"I'm all good. Tired, mostly. They wake me up every few hours to take blood, run the tests, you know, usual hospital shit. How are you guys?"

He didn't like that sentiment from Ryv but he knew what he mean't. It was less a candid portrayal of the reality within and more a verbal patch over a gaping wound. He'd rolled out the same trick many times before. Were it up to Maynard, he might've tried to distract Ryv, at least while the wound was so fresh. There was anything else to talk about that might've been better than the happenings on Borosk, an aching bitter defeat. It seemed to be a pact drawn between the two since Concord Dawn where Ryv uncovered the nature of Maynard's past and kept it a silent understanding between the two of them.

Loske was different, not maliciously so but she sought to prod and pick. He'd certainly been assailed by that after he'd returned to the Core after Muunilinst and she wouldn't dare let him conceal the gruesome origins of his wounds. It maybe wasn't how Maynard would console his friends, those he cared about but it was certainly the stratagem Loske employed. But she did so out of compassion, care, love. But she also did everything along the same lines.

While he initially stood with arms crossed, peering between the two as Loske unfurled her apologies to Ryv he'd nod once before speaking himself. It might've been the first time she'd annoyed him, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

"Hey-." He said, offering up a strained word as he placed a hand on Loske's arm. This wasn't the time, at least not that Maynard thought. It wasn't the time to air out all the strife between them, they knew well the source of the ailing struggles and betrayal and it was a fight due to come. Just not now. Ryv didn't need to feel bad, he didn't need those wounds splayed open again. He needed to be reminded that he was alright, and that he still had people he could trust looking out for him.

Of course he wasn't all good, all it took was him saying that to determine it.

"You don't need to apologize, it wasn't any of your fault just-." He couldn't really force out his sentiment, not at the risk of stirring anything he really shouldn't.

"Just glad you're alright, Ryv. That's it, that's all that matters. But yeah, when's it looking like you're gonna be able to get outta here? What's the move once you're out? I don't want you rushing back into anything, get your mind off all that." Maynard suggests.

Loske Treicolt | Ryv

 

[Ryv]

Stepping in past Maynard, ever straightforward, Loske cleared the distance between her and Ryv in an instant. She threw her arms around the bedridden knight and tugged him into a great big hug. He stiffened. his frame tense and reserved, the foreign touch sending a wave of panic through his body. Having only shared the company of doctors, nurses, or medical droids in recent weeks, even the presence of those he'd trusted put him off-kilter. His eyes met Maynard's, a sense of understanding passing between both of them in that brief instant. The Kiffar felt himself release a breath he'd subconsciously held, his muscles relaxing as the moment of tension melted away. He lifted his right arm and wrapped it around her, once more burying his face into her shoulder.

This wasn't the first time Ryv found shelter in her presence. Loske understood his deeper fears better than anyone. She knew the truth of his upbringing, the years spent in isolation on Nar Shaddaa, and the weight pressed firmly on his shoulders by their former master. He hadn't spoken a word of it to her, she witnessed it, experiencing his life in real-time through a vision of his most significant emotions. His hope, passed onto him by his father, left in the wake of Ryv's first and most painful loss. Shame, gained through years dedicated to crime, and hedonism, the likes of which only the Hutts could provide. And the ever-present fear of failure that drove him to the most extreme lengths. Cedric left Ryv his convictions, Wyatt left Ryv his dreams, and Vyrin Karis left Ryv his legacy. Only she saw where each wound struck true, carving through the once-impervious armor crafted from the dreams of those before him.

Her mention of Dubrillion earned a nod from Ryv. He expected to be on the beaches, storming the Sith-Imperial position beside the joint Imperial and Alliance forces. Those expectations were dashed against the jagged rock of Borosk, alongside the belief he held in his former lover.

"That's great to hear," Ryv whispered. "Dubrillion opens up the path to Bastion. We now have an all-access pass to shattering the remnants of the Sith Empire's hold on that region," he watched as Loske turned her attention from him to the table, his eyes tracking her gaze to what occupied the space. "Sorry I couldn't clean up," his hand went up, scratching at the back of his head. "Probably should've put all that away, give you guys some real seat-," he found himself cut short, his words interrupted by the sudden jolt of sorrow passing through her. Unable to beat her to the punch, Ryv could only silence himself and listen as she took responsibility for his failings.

"Loske," Ryv choked out, his eyes flickering between her and the wrapped nub of his arm.

Maynard spoke up first, his words a reminder of what made Ryv and his friendship so strong. They understood one another, their struggles nearly identical, though the Concordian never made any attempt at pressing for that story. He'd pieced together enough of Ryv's history through their continued encounters to understand him. Still, the amputee couldn't share his sentiment in this instant. He felt what made Loske hurt, the cold grasp of failure to protect those you love, to watch them bloodied and broken, left discarded by the universe. Whenever that weight pulled him down, threatening to break whatever resolve he had left, both Loske and Maynard had shouldered his burdens, bearing it while sharing their strength.

"Nah, it's okay," Ryv said, his attention shifting to Maynard. "We're the same way, right? We both blame ourselves for shit outside of our control, so," he looked back at Loske. "I can't blame you for feeling some kinda guilt, Loske, but you shouldn't. Sounds rich coming from me, but I could've stopped her if I wanted to. Allyson isn't great with a lightsaber, considering she's put so much time and training elsewhere. I could see that exact instant where I should've lifted my weapon and turned away her attack, but," he stopped, slowly moving to stand up as he searched his thoughts for the right words to say. "I promised her I wouldn't hurt her. And I promised her I wouldn't leave her," stepping towards the small restroom, he stopped in front of the sink. His head hung low, low enough neither of them could see his reflection.

A hand turned the faucet, a steady flow of crystal-clear water beginning to fall. Ryv leaned down, cupping his good hand to collect it before splashing it up into his face. Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks, her betrayal still fresh and still festering within him. Allowing it to dominate the conversation would do no good. So, he struggled through the process, washing away what remained of that pain. He turned the knob once more and turned back to them.

"I, uh- well, I could've stopped her. I just didn't have the strength. What kind of person would I be to raise a weapon against someone I love?" Ryv leaned against the doorframe, his arms awkwardly crossed over his chest, left arm tucked away, hidden from both of them.

Loske Treicolt | Maynard Treicolt ​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Maynard’s interjection caught her off guard and she bristled. She blinked once at his touch as if it were meant to bring her back from the pit of despair and keep things on a lighter note. A role she usually tried to play. More full of reassuring confidence.

If she couldn’t tell by his words, the echinated layer on their bond would communicate the sentiment in lieu.

The whole scene suddenly took on a vaguely dreamlike feel. Ryv, sitting in the bed, wrapped in blankets, suddenly seemed very far away. Like what she’d said had put distance between them. And Maynard was a gate. The room felt bigger than it was, or else Loske has shrunk.

She knew she was supposed to be optimistic. Lucent. Full of meliorism. But the reality was too overbearing, and any practice of this interaction in her head and the truth of seeing him, that arm.. her compartmentalization was shit. It had been a selfish outburst, but she wanted to let Ryv know this wasn’t his fault. If she’d been better, not distracted by trying to sort through who her friends were and weren’t, he wouldn’t even be in this room. That responsibility to failure was not his, it was hers. Or at least it was shared. And if she could say that out loud –– to him –– then maybe the residual pained voice of his in her head would finally quiet. Her heart bore for everyone to see. As usual.

Maybe more conversation or forced humour about the hospital food would have been more appropriate. Back and forthing about the lighting, or the eavesdropping on personnel’s conversations. Or just the one question, like Maynard’s, focused on the next steps. Not rehashing through mistakes of the past, and not bringing up Allyson, the quisling. But she didn’t want Ryv to know they weren’t taking it seriously. Someone he’d invested care into had betrayed him, and Loske couldn’t fathom that. A whirl of regret culminated at the fore of her mind, picking up speed and remnant explanations for her behaviour and justifying her selfishness. She clicked her teeth shut, lest she feel more ashamed than already apologizing for apologizing.

Ryv joined in, saying it wasn’t her fault. He reassured Maynard and her in a single breath, and she fought the urge to send a shooting glare Maynard’s way. They were like this all the time, and when she started going through it, she wasn’t allowed? Nope - stop. Don’t go down this path. This was not about her. This was about Ryv: He’d taken the hit because he couldn’t hurt the woman he loved. He saw when he should have acted and instead met it with inaction. Paralyzed by a promise.

Shuffling slightly to get out of his path, Loske swallowed, trying to force the lump that had gathered in her throat with a mouthful of saliva and looked down at her feet. Avoiding making eye contact with both of them.

The question of what was to come next was lost, drowned instead in waves of guilt and responsibility. A fault of her steering the conversation. And while Ryv stole a moment of privacy, she couldn’t look anywhere else. Nurturing the subject would just expose the pain of everything further, but she wanted to. She wanted to talk through how confusing this was. It had all been in her head for too long and she wanted it out. She’d tried with Maynard, and he’d been kind about it. The way Ryv spoke — he still loved her. Why couldn’t Allyson feel that enough to stay? Express herself in a way that was conducive rather than harmful? And why was Loske seeking a more hostile approach? And then when one presented itself, that burn notice, she’d almost lunged at the director herself. Except she’d been a hologram and that would have been as fruitless as chasing after the wind.

Maybe it would be forever inexplicable, wherein she was seeking an explanation. Even Allyson couldn’t give it to her.

Awkwardly, she nodded slowly and leaned a hip against the bedside for support. It was abundantly clear they should pivot from this conversation. She wedged her thumb and index finger against the railing, picking aimlessly at the head of a screw that intersected two long strips of bar at the bend.

“Probably took more strength to not stop her..” She admitted wearily. An acknowledgment to the training endured at the hands of battlemasters.

He was probably sleepless over it. Loske had loved Allyson. Loske had hurt Allyson, and the feeling of puncturing through the Corellian's flesh was as sticky as the plea for help in her mind.

There were several other topics to pursue. Had he tried his new hand? What was it like? Why wasn’t he wearing it now? Had he many visitors? She couldn’t bring herself to talk about that though, without it seeming forced.

“Sorry, that was..a distracting uhh,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, sorting through what she wanted to say before it was out loud “..looking forward.” gesturing loosely in Maynard’s direction, to emphasize the origin of the question had come from him, not her.

---

Maynard Treicolt // Ryv

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

Maybe all it took was Ryv’s audible admission of his actions for Maynard to realize his, at least in his jolt to pull Loske back from spiraling down that pit of selfish forlorn. What was he ever supposed to do if he was expected to strike Loske down in anger? He couldn’t fathom the possibility, the distorted and warped reality where he might lay a finger on her in malicious intent.

He knew well that were the circumstances altered and it was Loske moving to swipe her golden blade down through his hand or even lunge it through his heart he wouldn’t be able to manage any semblance of resistance or avoidance.

Akin to the pact the Corellian and Kiffar likely drew between the two of them, Maynard would never hurt her. There was next to nothing he could imagine compromising her over and thus to look into her eyes be they in sorrow or anger as she might strike him down. So be it.

But he didn’t have to tangle or deliberate too much on that reality when the timeline taking its course now was equally as grim. He only had the respite of not being the entity of its malice, for now. He’d taken his licks well enough prior.

He almost wanted to utter an apology to Loske after each wordless signal revealed a bout of pain. But they’d reconcile later, it wasn’t anything that they hadn’t preserved to this point and if Loske could handle the fallout of Maynard’s strife on Muunilinst then he would patiently weather the storm of whatever came after from her all the same if it came to it.

What mattered in the moment was Ryv, now. Maybe if Loske wasn’t present he’d speak more down to relate to Ryv in trying to imagine a similar struggle, but now wasn’t the time. He could see Ryv pressing into his own head as if trying to barrel down that road of self pity and forlorn, Maynard had done it enough to recognize it and thus the sights had to be set elsewhere, if only to get him thinking about what was in his control and not what had already passed.

“Yeah...” Maynard said aloud, voice strained from overuse.

“I can’t explain or justify what she did to you, I can’t, but we’ll find out in due time. What you did...I get it, I do. We’ll put all the pieces together soon enough, I promise." The Concordian iterated. It was really the only thing he could say that might reconcile his thoughts. He'd already been through the motions of trying to justify or at the very least explain her actions and emerged fruitless.

“You can't go out on your own and figure it all out. Especially not...as you are, right now. You gotten any fresh air? How long have they had you up in here?" Maynard asked outright.

Loske Treicolt | Ryv

 

[Ryv]

Those were questions Ryv hadn't put much thought into. How long had the hospital's officials kept him locked up in his room? He wanted to say only a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. Borosk might as well have happened years ago. It all seemed so distant, memories of the events surrounding Allyson's betrayal no more than a blur in his tired mind. Ryv's eyes flickered between Loske and Maynard, searching for an answer to the question, hoping something might queue him in. If he looked hard enough, maybe he'd notice a bit of stubble peeking through Maynard's tanned flesh. Perhaps, Loske's hair might be just a tad longer, enough he could wager a proper guess. Unfortunately, nothing stuck out.

"I dunno, if I'm honest," Ryv answered truthfully. "I want to say a few weeks, but does that mean two? Or five? Maybe ten? Couldn't tell you," he pushed himself off the wall. "Feels like a goddamn lifetime. One minute I'm up, maybe watching something on the holo net, the next I'm waking up, my eyes hurt like I haven't used them in days. Not much in the room to track time," he looked about, searching for a clock or calendar. His thoughtful gaze was met with stark white walls, devoid of decoration. He could only shrug. He'd gotten used to the simple gesture. How could he not? Most of the Jedi Knight's questions were met by nonanswers, making it particularly challenging to stay informed.

Maynard's questions, followed by his thoughts on his injured companion's next steps, settled on the room. Ryv couldn't fault him for his curiosity, nor could he blame the Concordian for his protective nature.

"I know I need help. I've always needed help, but I think this runs deeper than stressing an Order," Ryv paused, running his right hand through his hair, forcing back loose strands that threatened to fall into his face. "Things feel wrong now. The Force seems distant, like its constantly just out of my reach. I think my connection is damaged by what happened to me, but I'm not sure what to make of it. I need a healer, someone who can specialize in piecing together what's left up here," he tapped his head, wincing as his finger prodded tender flesh. "And here," his hand dropped, all five fingers splayed outward as he pressed them against his chest. "After that, I think I need to find answers. Her mind is just, I don't know, screwed up. She can't separate what's real, from what's a lie. Need to get her back home, get her some healing, and let her go about her business, I s'ppose."

He made no attempt to hide a clear cut separation between the Corellian and himself. Ryv already gave her everything, and it wasn't enough.

"I don't think I'm right for her. Hell, probably never was, but that's okay. People like Allyson need help, and that's what Jedi do. We help others," Ryv spoke more to himself than the others, but he allowed his thoughts to be heard. "My old man always told me healing took place in three places—mind, body, and spirit. Most people end up needing help on more than one front, Allyson being one of them. She's fine physically, takes care of herself, soldier lifestyle. It's her mind and spirit that needs attention. Living so many lies for so many years has warped her ability to perceive what's actually happening," he began to pace from left to right, seemingly following an invisible line from one side of the room to the other. "She lost her parents to the last war as I did. It fucked with me real bad. I could barely use the Force, left me feeling alone, like everyone else up and left the galaxy."

He turned his attention to Maynard. "Remember what it felt like when you had to bury them?" Ryv posed the question with a tilt of his head. "She had to dig em up from the rubble of their home. That does a lot of hurt to someone, especially someone so young," he reached across his body with his remaining hand, scratching at the wrapped nub. "That'll leave damage people won't be able to see, damage only she'll feel," he continued scratching at his forearm, almost erratically. Before the Kiffar knew it, the bandage fell away, revealing the terrible scarring of his dismemberment and surgery.

"I probably won't get to that for a while," he concluded. "I need to figure me out first," he turned about, pressed his back against the wall, and looked heavenward.

Loske Treicolt | Maynard Treicolt ​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

He explained the concept of time, and it occurred to her that while she and Maynard hadn’t stopped going alongside the Imperial’s soldiers..she didn’t have a strong enough grip on the concept of weeks, days, or hours either. It was information they could probably stitch together but...She bit her lip. A physical reminder not to get too overwhelmed by the possibilities of the past.

The main takeaways in his sentiment didn’t need the concept of time to point out their desperation. Solitude. Penance. Reflection.

Ryv could use some fresh air.

Even in the handful of minutes they’d been in this tight space she could use some. Her throat was tight with emotion when he spoke, striking the beats of conversations recent and long past.

"I don't know either. I'm not its something anyone but her really knows about. I've been who I've been my entire life, hasn't changed at all, I can't imagine living how she has...like that. I-...I wish I could give you the answer on it, pave that quick and ready path to pull her and us out of this but...I can't.

Allyson was a mess. They could all feel some level of responsibility for that if they tried hard enough. Loske was supposed to have been her friend, and maybe she had been and proven a distraction in difficult times. For whatever was happening in Allyson’s head.

Any other time the tightness behind her breastbone would have concerned her. With the conversation they were engaged in, it was obvious what kept the fist around her heart. And that tightness grew harder with each admittance of defeat from her brother. Soft tears threatened but she looked away, purposely at the window. She didn’t focus on anything out there, the whirring vehicles outside turned into streaks and she shifted her weight uncomfortably.

Ryv hit notes that were more rooted in compassion, even if there was faint indifference now. He didn’t hate the Corellian. He wasn’t so blindly furious that he disregarded her humanity as Loske had immediately following Borosk, and bleeding into Dubrillion.

It's just- I think the best we can hope for is to get her back, maybe try and take her to someone who might know more about this than us. Because I'm just not sure the two of us, Ryv or really anyone else can really help her as it is unfortunately."

He knew she needed to come back, get help. Maynard had too. Come back to a world that...that would be willing to help her. Not just use her. Even though Allyson was lost now, she was still at the mercy of enemy lines. Rae Cooke would be abandoned. Loske knew that would happen after Borosk, and that strange mental rendezvous with Allyson confirmed it.

"Loske, if I break all my bonds - you guys will be out of danger. If the SIS catches up to me and kills me, you won't have to worry about anything. I know about the burn notice and that I'm meant to be terminated."

Scratching her temple, Loske closed her eyes to reflect on that interaction. How painful it had been. There was nothing but pain anymore. A deep, swelling, pulsing suffering that was alive and purveying.

Aimlessly, she glazed over the mechanical fingers that had been created to supplant Ryv’s natural digits. A constant, physical reminder that would be with him beyond the scars on his psyche and heart from the damage dealt from a failed relationship.

I knew what the Force needed from me. Now...I have no idea,"

"I'm going to take the Barash Vow. It's an ancient Jedi rite. One sequesters himself where he is needed most, and focuses solely on the Force in order to cleanse the mind and find new purpose."

For a moment she hated herself for the disappointment she felt in Ryv. And how much he reminded her of Cedric in that sentence. That wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t control how much this impacted him. And she was imprudent for expecting anything else, if she were in his shoes she’d be worse off than he. Far less realistic about everything. Pragmatism would be a distant option. For her to want to come into this room, talk about things past, and then treat it as if everyone was fine, and getting back on the steed once more into the fray was her problem.

The sense of loss was vast and oceanic. And it was worse because the loss wasn’t happening right now. It had happened every day since Borosk. Every day Ryv had been confined to this space instead of on the battlefield, or next to Allyson. It only felt so much larger right now because there were witnesses to what all those days summed to and feeling the tragedy of it.

She lost her parents to the last war as I did. It fucked with me real bad. I could barely use the Force, left me feeling alone, like everyone else up and left the galaxy."

"Remember what it felt like when you had to bury them?"

She winced, looking over at Maynard to watch for his reaction with a sympathetic frown. At that moment she wanted to wrap both of them up in her arms, console the hurt that they’d never fully be able to forget. Or forgive. Her flinch was also born out of the uncomfortable knowledge that she was the wealthiest person in the room. Beyond having Maynard as a constant companion, who she couldn’t fathom turning on her, and vice versa in her own self-expectations, she as far as she could tell to this minute, had her parents. Both alive; despite their differences in opinion on her creation, they were still around. She hadn’t felt that pit of loss until..well. Now. With Allyson. And as it turned out she was wretched at handling it.

Trying not to react to the falling bandage, Loske reached over to the window to redirect her reaction to the whirr of vehicles outside, slipping her fingers between the edge of the sill and prying it open slightly. Giving an explanatory shrug of “Needed some air in here..”

"I probably won't get to that for a while,"
"I need to figure me out first."

Maybe it really was beyond them. Something none of them could help –– all three of them had just always been so totally, completely, unapologetically themselves. Pretenses, cautionaries, secrets, they’d never existed for the vanguards of the New Jedi Order. Trying to help someone they couldn’t understand would turn cyclical. Ryv was right: They weren’t enough. She released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and felt herself deflate in that knowledge.

"It makes me feel like shit that I just- I can't help, aside from trying to force her to come back to us...if that would even do anything. It makes me feel- makes me feel weak, like I'm not protecting your or Ryv or Allyson like I should be able to when you all need me..."

Maybe they weren’t enough to Allyson, but this trio could keep trying to be enough for one another. They’d been goading Ryv into a vacation, or some time for himself. If not now, when? And they weren’t too weak to step up, to fill the gap and protect that time he needed.

“Do that. Please do that.” She jumped at the opportunity to try and be encouraging again, and shed the dismal skin she’d been sporting. “Take time to reconnect with you. Who you are now. Who you want to be and how. You’re not going to get the space to do that jumping back into the fray of things again. Please, Ryv.” If their pleas had been too subtle before, it was strikingly apparent now. Her face seemed to tighten with the supplication to her kin. “Maynard and I, we can..” she gestured between the two of them, as if running her fingers through an invisible rope that tie them together “-We can step up. The others too, probably. Do more of whatever needs to keep your plate clean and fresh. Protect that space you need now.”

The back of her mind flared, as if it were gnashing invisible teeth that were angry at her. It was always a war. Microbattles between duty and desire that never saw a true victor. She’d compartmentalized her availability to the Order based on selfish want to step away, and have the opportunity to feel less guilt when facing that picturesque goal on the horizon line...but her family needed her. So she didn’t stutter.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

It was a well and truly tragic predicament. Allyson, Ryv, all of it. And he had very little in answers to give either of them. Not that he ever postured himself to be a man with all the solutions unless it was a well and truly tangible and direct problem. Then the deliberation didn't matter anyway. He could tell it was welling up in Loske, each moment spent talking about this. He couldn't blame her, he wanted to try and pull her into his arms to offer some errant attempt at comfort but all the same, it wasn't the time.

Ryv was the sole object of his worry, here and now. Allyson was a problem for another day, Loske he knew the two of them would find reconciliation, everything else be damned.

"She lost her parents to the last war as I did. It fucked with me real bad. I could barely use the Force, left me feeling alone, like everyone else up and left the galaxy."
"Remember what it felt like when you had to bury them?"

He didn't answer, at least not audibly. He couldn't even relinquish a nod of acknowledgement all the same. Ryv knew, Ryv saw it with his own eyes what Maynard endured on Concord Down. He just had to remember that he did just that, endure. Beyond whatever delusions of doubt and inadequacy, he endured through it all. Dubrillion was the last death knell of his delusions of saving everyone else around him, he felt it when he heard the last breath of one his squadron subordinates through the crackle of comms before their coup de grace came in the form of a hail of laser fire. It wasn't in his control, none of it was really.

His reaction to Ryv's question in Maynard's physical embodiment, amounted to nothing all the same.

He stood silently as the two spoke further, less concerned with the deliberation over the journey and far more with the destination. He just wanted the two of them to make it out. If he did all the same? Great. But he could only keep rolling the dice all the same that he'd keep enduring as he had.

Looking over Ryv, closely after the bandage was strewn away from the scarred and stitched flesh, he could only feel the same for him. That he'd endure, compulsion to sacrifice and the crushing weight of obligation be damned.

"I probably won't get to that for a while,"
"I need to figure me out first,"

“Do that. Please do that.”
“Take time to reconnect with you. Who you are now. Who you want to be and how. You’re not going to get the space to do that jumping back into the fray of things again. Please, Ryv.”
Maynard and I, we can..”
“-We can step up. The others too, probably. Do more of whatever needs to keep your plate clean and fresh. Protect that space you need now.”

There was no moment in triumph of the Kiffar finally realizing the rhetoric Maynard had been trying to fixate on with him. Even if he'd been vindicated in the end with Ryv's begrudging realization.

"Yeah..." Was all Maynard could muster in reply to the two.

"I wanna see you make it, Ryv. Whatever you have to do...for yourself, just do it. I love you, you're my brother. I want to see you happy, healthy, all of it. So yeah whatever it takes, just do it." Maynard states out right, his arms crossing over his chest as he peers to Ryv nigh pleading his expression before his gaze shifts to Loske for the faintest of moments.

Loske Treicolt | Ryv