Maybe I'm Waking Up Today

[Rory Naasade]

She'd taken the reveal of his appearance in stride, tilting her head with only a small hint of surprise- for some reason she'd expected him to be older- before the waitress had commandeered her attention.

What he'd pick up was a combination of curious surprise and pleasant bemusement from the young woman. She'd followed along behind him, behind the waitress, a little perplexed when he'd pulled out her chair, looking all around unselfconsciously as if she intended to pick up every detail and file it away to look at more closely another time. The experience, while vaguely baffling perhaps, clearly delighted her.

She blinked, drawing back slightly the first time the chef lit something on fire, but otherwise seemed perfectly content to watch and absorb it all. She might have spent most of the meal like that, with an almost childlike fascination, had he not broken in with his question.

For a heartbeat, she misunderstood. Almost opened her mouth to explain that, no, she did not often dream of redemption. That she dreamt of sulfur yellow eyes. Of a red mountain. Of pain.

But then she realized what he was actually asking her and she swallowed her response. Not even sure why she would have been so easily open with him, but oddly unbothered by the fact. It seemed natural. Normal. He was easy to talk to, when she could get past her own hesitance to be a bother.

"I.... haven't really thought about it," she admitted, drawing her hands into her lap.

When she wasn't thinking about it, when she wasn't actively conscious of herself, she was like a different person. Shy, perhaps, but smiling, curious, engaged. But it only took a moment to turn that into a deep insecurity, unspoken fears lurking just beneath.

"I don't know what, well.... it doesn't really matter," she pushed forward quickly, thinking, trying to decide what, if the Alliance didn't put her to death for her crimes (something in her heart of hearts she knew would be the right course of action for them but dreading every step toward that), she would.... possibly.... want?

"I want to know where I came from, I think," she said, hesitantly. As if just saying that were somehow wrong. She knew where she had come from, what she had been..... Sith..... Murderer..... so she shouldn't want to know more. And yet....

"Someone out there.... someone knows me," she said, very quiet as she looked down at her lap. "So I think... if I had the chance? I'd try to find out. I feel like maybe.... if I knew who I was. I'd be better able to figure out... who I want to be. And what that means."

"I want.... I feel like there's... something hollow. Something missing. Maybe if I can figure that out, I can figure out what I can do to not...." she trailed off, looking up sheepishly. "To not feel that way anymore. It's... it's silly I know."

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

As she spoke, The Slave watched her with undivided enthusiasm; yet it hurt more and more with every syllable. He knew the question was loaded, deep down he knew this would be her answer, but the guilt he felt was overbearing. There was nothing in her dreams that he couldn’t help with, but he chose not to out of fear. Once again, he was simply the coward holding her back.

He tried to speak, but his throat caught him first.

In one fluid act, as if to show his sudden interest in the chef, he simply watched him flip a piece of some alien egg into his hat with a laugh. He smiled, scratching at his temple before hiding what pain his face showed. Although he fought it, his eyes began to water; making desperate attempts at recomposing himself while fighting the urge to heave. Fighting his battle, he was silent for a few seconds before glancing back to her.

“If there's anything I can help with, just tell me.”, he said with as apathetic a tone he could muster.

All he could think of however was how he could be so weak.

[member="Liya"]

 

[Rory Naasade]

It was silly. The stock response, so casual- the expression of his apathy confirming for her that indeed, it was a ridiculous thing to want. It didn't change that want, but she pulled it back inside of her, not sure if it deserved protection or to be drown in something more worthy. For a moment, she'd thought maybe.... that there was a flash of something, but then it was gone and his face was blank again. There was too much self doubt in her to second guess the face he deliberately gave her, not for a flicker that would be too easy to misinterpret. As it was, his continued interest mostly baffled her, and pressing too deeply seemed....

Something told her not to. She didn't know what it was, but instead of pushing, somehow she knew that it was by far better to accept what was offered than to look for more.

"Thank you," she said, more out of politeness, of not knowing what else to say.

The completion of their orders came in a timely matter, and it allowed them both to refocus on something safe and, as Liya discovered, something good.

After a little initial trouble, trying to work the unfamiliar Mon Cal utensils and eventually managing after some small frown and consternation to actually get the food into her mouth, Liya's eyes slowly widened as she chewed. She blinked in surprise. The Mon Cal chef chuckled at her reaction, offering the Slave a certain sort of knowing glance, clearly pleased.

"You like?"

She nodded, her mouth full and eyes still like saucers. He laughed, but it was companionable rather than mocking.

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

His heart hurt. His eyes head pounded. He wasn’t alright; but he had to be, for her.

As much as he could put on an act, every action she made seemed to drive him a little bit deeper into his memories, a little bit farther into sadness. Despite all the joy he felt to be reunited with her, he couldn’t help but feel he was everything wrong with her even still; likely a result from the guilt he felt attacking Irajah and losing himself to the Darkstaff prior. Mixed in of course with his initial abandonment of her, only to be kidnapped and tortured for far too long.

His fork slid across his plate as he had eaten less than a quarter of his food; so a soft sigh from his lips and he watched the chef move to help another table with their meal. It was a nice show for everyone in the restaurant, and they did it very well. The Slave however, couldn’t be distracted, not where he was mentally right now. Every time he tried to think of something to say, his throat would lock up and he’d remain quiet. Everything up to this point seemed so trivial, and as much as he fought the truth, the truth fought harder.

Eventually, he stood up and glanced to her; simply offering a weak smile and two words;

“I’m sorry.”

Setting down what was left of the emergency credit chip for the meal and for her, he turned and donned his hood once more; hoping to leave the restaurant faster than she would react. Faster than she could follow. The Slave could feel the coward in him winning, but he felt too weak to face her any longer.

[member="Liya"]

 

[Rory Naasade]

She looked up at him, surprised. She swallowed, opening her mouth to ask with a certain incredulity why- and then he was moving, pushing away from the table, his barely touched meal. She blinked, looked at the credit chit, entirely still for a heart beat.

Had she said something that offended him? Done something? Was there something she had been supposed to say that she had not? It was just like with Gideon.... she never seemed to know what she might do, what she might say, that would bring anger or disappointment into his gaze.

But then..... why had he apologized?

She was up in another breath, moving like a breeze through the restaurant to just barely catch him before he slipped out the door. She didn't hesitate, but reached out, her fingers catching his sleeve, surprisingly firm and insistent. She didn't try to make him turn around. Didn't try to get him to face her, that was not the implication.

"Please," she said, voice tight, a little lost. "Wait. You don't.... don't have to say anything. Just. Please. Listen."

Breathing in deeply, she continued, speaking to the back of his head.

"I don't think that any words resembling 'thank you' could be enough," she said quietly. "But.... thank you. You.... treated me like a person.... worth knowing. And... it was.... it was nice. I... I'm sorry.... for whatever I did, and I won't try to change your mind about going. But. I wanted you to know that I.... that I appreciate everything you did for me today."

Slowly, her hand fell from the fold of his sleeve and she stepped back.

"I wish I knew your name," she said quietly. "But it's alright. You don't have to tell me. Thank you.... for taking the time to learn mine."

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Slave stayed quiet as she let go of his sleeve, never turning to face her. Between the crowd in front of him, and the rain above; it was nearly impossible to tell that he was crying. Soft tears that mixed with rain across his cheeks; the first time in years he’d even let himself do such a thing. It was a painful cry, for more things than just what he’d felt guilt over her for; but his life as a whole.

Every little thing seemed to wash over him in a wave, the repressed emotions finally bubbling to the surface in an agonizing wail that fought to come out; his knees just barely strong enough to hold his weight. His thoughts, once sharp and focused, had fallen foggy and emotional in ways he’d never let them; and in every sense of the word he had reverted to the child that he was deep inside. The boy that never had the chance to grow up.

She finished her spiel, kindred words from a kindred spirit, but they did nothing but make him feel worse. Was he truly upsetting her, simply because she didn’t know what truths he held from her? The thoughts were torturous, and every second that passed seemed to be a fight for the next breath, yet a two front war as he held onto what little composure he had. He couldn’t show her he was heaving, he couldn’t let anyone see weakness; no matter how soft his stance grew. No matter how much his balance swayed.

He’d lost so much of his darkness, yet gained so much. He had bitten out throats, beaten men to death, made an entire city disappear under an emotional upheavel, but coming clean with a singular person was too much for him? What was he? Who was he? Every thought he could imagine seemed to race past his focus, from memories to ‘what-ifs’, to what he would do now. On some piece of his being, he wanted to turn around; hug her and fall weak in her arms. It’d be all he could hope for, it’d be the most comforting option he had, but did he deserve it? His alternative was to run, do exactly what he was afraid of doing but what he actually felt he deserved; to be distance and emotionally forsaken because of his crimes, yet the harder of the two choices.

Something deep inside him seemed to tense under the emotional pressure before offering a proverbial snap.

Instead of either choice, he simply fell to his knees and cringed. His heart was tight, his chest heavy, and his face contorted in pain. What felt like death was all his emotions falling from him in droves; and his body couldn’t hold it up as his forehead began to hold itself tight to the dirty ground beneath him. He didn’t wail, nor become verbal, but the pain he was in was obvious.

It seemed The Slave had finally broken. All the stress that had been kept inside of him had come out in the streets of some unknown planet, with someone who didn’t even know him.

More than ever, he felt alone.

[member="Liya"]