We were conquers.
The silence was a rarity, it filled every corridor to the very cracks of the walls of the highrise. Though there was still the faint ring in her ears, at least it lacked the echo of bombardment, the screaming-Lyra inhaled deeply, forced from the reveries by her harsh breath. The last skirmish still clung to her like the dust of the fall out. The ice broke within the glass she held and acting on muscle memory her servo rolled gently to swirl the drink. The holo map projected a set of coordinates but she had lost interest in the tablet and the reports within seconds. The woman had already broken the unspoken rules and dipped in to her work but her mind had begun to wander, she expected to be caught red handed eitherway.
Lyra stood before the expanse of windows of the penthouse, distracted by circuit board and shining horizon. Torn between staring at the city’s neon glow and her own reflection as she spied herself. Her hair stumbled down her back and she seemingly had finally settled in to the foreign space. She had gone as far as to free herself from the confines of dress uniform and armor. The civilian clothes clung to her softer then any wools or blast plate but it only fueled her restlessness.
It wasn’t vanity per say but she knew under each eye was the tell tale sign of bruising. The irritation mute, this was suppose to nice. Lyra raised her hand to gently comb back her hair before she took a long drawl of the amber libation. It wouldn't last and the fact was etched across her face as she frowned. The system’s sun hung low, burning with the last hour of light. She ought to open the reports and see what headway had been made but the pills she had swallowed had induced a sloth likeness upon her person. Warm beams poured in the spacious room and bathed it’s spartan setting in the orange hues and she felt the faintest inkling of warmth.
She was an observer, outside the hustle of the workings of the luxury world. The pleasantness of the escape did not take away from the stiffness in her shoulders yet but she sighed in relief then, somewhere caught in the lag from hyperspace and the field. She had searched endlessly for reason why, an invitation to Ord Cantrell. What purpose it might serve but in the end she couldn't care. If it was an olive branch, or simply her diminishing anger that had accepted.
Or hope that Irveric had reached his plateau, desired normalcy and that he would heal. Lyra trusted her command, but the timing had been auspicious..and to leave the boys in the arms of strangers. If they had not been family oriented legendary murderous warriors..Lyra scoffed to herself, the overs implication of the Mandalorian. Irveric had a solution to her every argument and she was simply dumbfounded by it, no reason to refuse.
In all their years, this was the first retreat she had shared with the man and not the leader after the harrowing road that had lead them here. Lyra was glad for it but it was seasoned with regret. He had tried, he was trying. This was an echo of what she had imagined under the likes of the Sith, somewhere far away. There was a stocked minibar and she had trimmed her use of the cheap cigarettes' back enough she didn't feel the need to break one open. It still didn't seem like his taste but leading a country, a second scoff bubbled from her. She didn't know what to expect from him now and her chest tightened painfully.
One of the protocol droids interrupted her the train of thought. The droid passed through clinking softly and Lyra turned her head only to acknowledge the dinner announcement with a hum. It's distraction fleeting. Theses were questions the Officer in her asked every night, the mistrust that was bred by darker expectation. The woman shook her head if only to herself as she shifted, abandoning the half drained glass beside the projector as she circled the cerulean display.
She didn't want to offer any more credence to Sybila or the Imperator, they had marred their identities enough.
It was a bright world, one that wasn't plagued by storms, one they didn't need to drop boots upon the ground. A place she frankly would of joked did not exist. Lyra wondered if she just didn't know what to do with herself in theses moments, raising a hand she dragged it down her face as if that'd wipe away the turmoil. She was turning in to her father, she had forgotten or misunderstood what it meant to put duty aside. She recalled scolding Irveric about theses habits, the hypocrisy wasn't lost on her. It didn't begin to mend the political mess either..A star system floated faintly above the table, flickering as aurbesh detailed locations a live feed from the logistics team. It wasn't right and she made a mental note, the nagging sensation still dogged her steps and her mind in the night.
Perhaps, she questioned herself silently, roving further through the projection manually-dragging her hand across the map. There was a scent of something savory, it permeated through the room and she remembered dinner. Perhaps, she had missed the space he filled and this pit in her stomach was nerves.
The tether he made and the meaning they had built with brick and mortar to survive the flood of horror, the Braxat Run, every damned thing between them. Both stranger and familiar in eachother's presence. Reaching over, Lyra's digits brushed over the projector cutting the feed as she turned her back on the table. Her bare feet made little noise as she crossed the marble that decorated living room, in search of the man himself. It wasn't a crime if they enjoyed themselves, if they tried.
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