Private Pity the Living

[Qellene Tyliame]

Gods… She hated pirates..

Qellene tugged angrily at the mesh of bandages that encased her right hand. The chief medic had slapped it on her with no pity in his eyes, wearing an unimpressed scowl, and producing that same old grumble that quickly began to drive her insane. Supposedly, he hated her guts. A lot of the crew did, apparently.

Of course, Madds wasn’t the whole source of her current misfortune. Braimarcke’s most recent venture from the deep core had placed Revenant Squadron directly in the path of a particularly bold group of pirates. One thing led to another, and she wound up being dragged from a smoking interceptor with ten distinct pieces of shrapnel embedded in her hand. No amount of bacta therapy seemed to quell the pain, sickbay soon chalking her continued suffering up to sheer stubbornness. They’d given up and turned the rest of the work over to Doctor “Get Some Rest, Qellene.”

It wasn’t as if she could blame any of the doctors. Compassion was hard to find in the wake of the Second Hyperspace War, especially not amongst those who were made to undo its consequences. Maybe that was why she wasn’t in the brig for assaulting another officer.

The doors slid open, producing a long, sustained hiss.

Qellene clawed again at the rigid white shell, then lifted herself from her bed, briefly locking eyes with the Rodian who’d entered– one of the other squadrons’ pilots. Floo, or something along those lines. Her bunkmate. They hadn’t talked very much since Revenant Squadron was loaded onto the Braimarcke; no matter how much either pilot would have liked to. It didn’t seem worthwhile in the end, anyway. Revenant Squadron had less than a week to go before they were transferred to some other ship in some other sector.

“I don’t want to disturb you.”

“I’m heading out anyway. It’s fine.” Before Floo could answer, Qellene was already out the door, heading down the corridors.

A right. Left. A right. Another… She quickly set her eyes on the Pilots’ Ready Room. With no apparent combat objective looming over the crew's heads, it was bound to be empty, desolate. She could be as alone as she needed… wanted…

The pilot plopped into a seat, chuckling silently to herself as a faint hiss closed the ready room door.

She went dead silent as another hiss marked the door's opening.

After a second, she managed to wrangle control of her throat. "Hey..."

---

Leon Gallo

 

[Leon Gallo]

He heard their whispers. The other crew didn’t see Leon as one of them, just like the rest of the Revenants. But He’d seen how the crew looked at and talked about the other Revenants. He could feel what they thought of him. Rumors swirled that he was a Jedi, and what that meant. That he was a dark wizard, that he controlled things-and people-with his mind. Some said he was different from most Jedi, that he’d fallen in the constant fighting ever since he joined the GADF. He’d even heard a few claim he’d been dismissed from the order.

Frankly, Leon didn’t know what was true anymore. ​

The most recent fight against pirates hadn’t gone well. All foes were eliminated, of course, but one pilot had gone down. He’d been halfway across the battlefield, consumed in the river of spirits that always seemed to follow him. It’d only been a moment, but he’d blacked out, missing the chance to bring down the main enemy craft. Back aboard the Braimarcke, things hadn’t gone well either. Commander Char’s debriefing was filled with him picking out every detail, every mistake, as usual. Qellene hadn’t been there. Leon had no idea how injured she’d been in her crash.

Hours after the action was over, Leon still couldn’t get any rest. Each time he closed his eyes, everything came back to him. The visions, the river of the dead, Ziost, Brentaal, Korriban, Csilla. Every moment his eyes were open, the dark ceiling seemed to twist into clouds of evil mist, threatening to choke his light.

He needed to go somewhere else. Do something else. ​

With a frustrated sigh, the pilot sat up. Nothing seemed worth doing. Back in the temples, he’d go out and spar when he got like this. Or he’d paint, or find Master Auteme or Varobaldr to talk to. On campaign, he’d be able to do his repairs on his own, or at least find some sort of a distraction. But on small vessels like the Braimarcke, there was nothing. Nothing but wandering.

The door to the Pilot’s Ready Room slid open. Leon’d been expecting to be able to sit in the brightly-lit room and at least find it less oppressive than the darkness of his bunk. To his surprise, however, someone was already in there.

“Hey,” The pilot spoke as he sat down. “How are doing?”

The question was genuine, Leon had come to care for the other Revenants. Even if Char was a hardass and Kaul was an idiot, they were the closest thing he had to friends.

Qellene Tyliame

 

[Qellene Tyliame]

Leon? She recognized her Revenant Squadron colleague's voice almost immediately. Letting her gaze pull her head to the door, Qellene was able to confirm Gallo's identity, even in the relative darkness that hung over the room.

"I'm fine... just..." she said with a faint sigh, pivoting her body again and slowly collapsing into the cushions of a chair, "Tired... I guess." Qellene's eyes tracked idly along the ready room's stage-like platform-- drifting from the podium at its center, upward to a set of golden wings mounted on the top-most edge of the wall. The overall layout of the ready room wasn't unlike those on the other ships Revenant Squadron had be assigned to, perhaps a tad bit smaller, crowded with a few more banners and glistening plaques than most.

Braimarcke's crew was a proud one; perhaps they were too proud for their own good.

She realized her mind was wandering, and turned suddenly to face Leon. "I take it you're not here because the Commander told you to get me..." He'd have said something if he were... Was he in the ready room for the same reason she was?

Qellene recalled a few of the whispers she'd managed to catch among the rest of the crew. It didn't seem unlikely that Leon wanted to escape from that as well.

She tried for a friendly grin, but she could only manage somewhat of a soft smile. "...Penny for your thoughts?"

---

Leon Gallo