Dominion Strength in Unity | GA Dominion of Bilbringi

[Vel'alari]

Vel'alari gently nodded her head at Aerarii's proposal. "More than acceptable for an arrangement. I assure you my people are quite well versed in the running of these shipyards. Production will not slow during this transitional process, I assure you. Bilbringi's shipyards rival Kuat in their production capabilities for Star Destroyer-sized vessels. The navy will not be disappointed with what we're able to produce, I assure you.", she said confidently.

"And I quite happily accept the senatorial position for Bilbringi. I look forward to giving our world a voice in the senate. It'll be a nice change of pace, for the most part.", she said with a soft chuckle. "I'm glad these talks could proceed so smoothly. I'm looking forward to being part of the Alliance. I'll likely be raising concerns about our northern security given the threat of the Brotherhood to the senate, when I get the opportunity. Bilbringi's defense forces are mighty, but I suspect when the Brotherhood arrive to cause us trouble, they'll hit HARD. I'd would very much like to be ready for that eventuality. I trust the fleet of Star Destroyers I'm donating to the Alliance Navy will be of use to you in that respect."

Aerarii Tithe

 

[Dagon Kaze]

Auteme​

"Do you know why she loved you?"​

The question took him back to that same, endlessly repetitive memory he could never lock away into his subconscious - Coruscant, sunset, the sprawling cityscape over the horizon, and her head nestled against him. Her chest rising and falling in a tranquil rhythm of affection, her eyes rich and abundant in love. Peace. Fulfillment. Rapture. The memory was carved upon his soul for eternity.

I love you, she had whispered then for the first time. It was the same words with which they had parted forever on Ossus. A devil's irony. Ever since then, Dagon was unable to brave going back to that spot above the Coruscanti clouds. It was their spot. Their sacred place. Sanctified ground. He believed his sinful presence would desecrate it.

His father was right. Dagon's fate was and forever would be mired with the blood of those he loved.

the crimson king

"For who I am--" he replied doubtfully. He had opened up to Ayana completely, fully, like to no one else, other than his brother. And she had still given him his love, even he carried a burden as heavy as the galaxy. Yet, in the end he had failed her. Was he truly the same person she loved or was he an imposter? " --but I'm not sure I'm that person."

"How could I be, if I'm also the one who.."

" ..who killed her."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

G H O S T
OBJECTIVE III - TRIBUTE PAID
CORUSCANT | FEDERAL DISTRICT
Maynard Treicolt | Aaran Tafo | CLOSED
HAVEN’T I GIVEN ENOUGH?

​

In the end, they were all ghosts. Some hadn’t reached that point yet –– but eventuality would catch up with them. Spectral forces moving in and out of routine, trying to change the tides of time until time caught up with them and sabotaged corporeal to ethereal.

They were standing all around Loske and Maynard, their comrades and their sacrifices. Not tangibly, but they were there. Present in the miasmic mourning of the event. Even in death, Loske felt a level of expectancy from the ever-loyal Wolfpack. Wondering what became of the hearts they gave.

She could feel them, the responsibility for them –– the purpose of their last crusade. It was heavy around her chest and shoulders, and her head dropped in respects.

“He did it.” She murmured, almost mutely, to satisfy the perceived curiosity of the loyal fallen. It wasn’t for either of their ears, but for those no longer with them.

It was for those lost souls, those sacrifices, that drew the renegade couple back from the Outer Rim. Shadows amidst the living, careful and delicate with their interactions and not to leave a trace.

How different a Unity Day it was. The former had been the reclamation of Coruscant, where they’d both been bright-eyed and nascent, fresh in their relationship and unscathed by the woes of war. In contrast, they were now bound in permanence, shrouded by the costs paid by them and others in the tribulations of conflict. The confetti and fanfare didn’t reach the streets of the Federal District, the party was contained elsewhere. Any lushes that overdrank here hadn’t done it out of joviality, they’d done it to drown their sorrows. To subdue the memories, the voices, the pain.

From their vantage point, Loske and Maynard were little more than unrecognizable silhouettes in spacer garb. No medals, no uniforms, no coruscantily clad dresses. Nothing expected, but everything given. They’d gone to some measure to conceal their identities, nothing too extreme, but necessarily given her want to disappear -– especially since some posters around the city still flashed her face. And some hand terminals.

But now, new faces spoke, and Loske hummed thoughtfully from their secluded space of observation at the conclusion of Captain Giraan’s address. The Alliance’s face was multifaceted, growing hard from the hurt. It was new though, with new features and people to represent it. They’d come a long way in their years of service; it was reaching a place where they weren’t depended on to carry the fight. There were others to do it.

“Do you want to say anything?” Loske asked, brushing her hand against her husband’s and looking from the outlines of the crowds to him, speculating his reaction.

​

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

T H E _ W O L F
GALACTIC CITY | CORUSCANT
TRIBUTE PAID
Loske Treicolt | Aaran Tafo ​

---

---

---

MASTERS OF WAR​

Since the dawning of the Alliance, Unity Day had been celebrated on Coruscant in varying scales of joyful revelry since it was reclaimed by the Galactic Alliance. But as the toll of war continued to add up with more wrapped flags, more dead sons and daughters, fathers and mothers...and for General Treicolt, more letters to write to next of kin telling them that their loved one had been killed in combat. Nothing else was so tolling about the war, the wounds he could overcome, the mistakes he made he could fix again in the next mission. It was those messages he had to write that bared the greatest cost on his mental state through all of it. It made the mistakes have a true cost, the wounds which he pushed through to live only to realize how close he was to joining them.

He watched, his appearance concealed as best as he could manage. Where previous Unity Days might have had propaganda demands see him at the forefront of celebration, imagery, alongside his more picturesque spouse who'd long served as the endearing face of the GADF since its inception...and before Shursia. He stood in silence as others spoke before him, content to be one with the crowd around him. He eventually lifted into his gaze, a patch. It was grey, dark blue and white, depicting the wolfshead of his own unit. Below, the following was written - '104th Marine Raider Battalion, 'Wolfpack' the unit's name and its motto - 'The Strength of The Wolf is The Pack', though it should've in truth been accompanied with the opposite of the expression as well 'The Strength of The Pack is The Wolf' . Regardless, they were his own. But they were unit with a nebulous fate following both engagements at Ziost, Generis, what began as the lightning rod, the caliber of excellence of the Galactic Marine Corps had soon been widdled down to a legacy of failure.

Each battle left more in the dirt with the recruits able to go through the extensive training that it took to be inducted into the few and proud to begin with compounded with the qualifications required to be a Raider and thus, a Wolf found straying farther from desiring to be under Treicolt's command. His leadership spelled that they'd not only be due for some of the toughest fighting on the warfront but that they weren't likely to make it home. That was his reputation. He couldn't imagine one more putrid. Loske toiled night after night to scrub the nonexistent blood from her hands in introspective meditation but in truth, Maynard's hands were drenched with all but the muddied water to try and reveal the bare skin beneath again. Fruitless.

When she asked if he had words, he shook his head.

"No one wants to hear what I have to say." Not like he had anything to say at all. Nothing that would bring back the fallen, flip defeats into victories or turn the tides of mortal struggle, only futile apologies translating into empty words.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

OBJECTIVE III - TRIBUTE PAID
Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt
​

He was never fond of bittersweet things. Events like this held such a foul taste in mouth. He had never attended a Unity Day before. Such celebrations were something he always avoided. He never wanted to get entangled into things like nations or politics. Yet here is where he found himself, at the behest of those he cared for. Dragged into a war that the previous generation started but refused to finish.

Shackled with the chains of responsibility despite his yearning to escape it all and return to his proper place exploring the stars and helping out those in need where he could. Forced to offer condolences to the families of the lost. Forced to feel their pain, loss and sorrow. As well as their anger towards him, a Jedi who was unable to properly deal with his ancient enemy. Accusations remained unsaid behind their lips. Blaming him for dragging their loved ones into a millennia old conflict. Myopic enough to believe that if the Jedi were no more, the Sith would simply vanish.

He felt like he was drowning. And with his lack of sight. It seemed to him that he was surrounded on all sides by an unending wave of negativity. But it was nothing compared to the crushing pit in his stomach. The quiet, internal admission that he agreed with them. That he had not done enough, that he had not fought hard enough. That he had not given enough.

A twisting knot of self-loathing that forced him away from the formal proceedings. Donning more inconspicuous garb to avoid being seen, a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes in lieu of his bandages or formal veil.

It was only when a pair of familiar presences brushed against the edge of his senses that the knot untwisted ever so slightly. He had read the reports, heard whispers through the grapevine. But never had anything confirmed with his own 'eyes' so to speak. That Loske had managed to be saved from Shursia's grasp thanks to Maynard's help.

A slow sigh of relief escaped him. At least something good came from this entire mess. One of his lost friends made it back safely. Scarred, but still whole.

Slowly, he would approach from behind, moving to the other side of Loske. To an outside observer, he was simply another spacer here to observe the festivities. But his presence in the Force would be unmistakable for her.

"Hey." His voice was soft, gentle. Barely audible over the din of the crowd. But the undercurrent of relief was almost palpable as he announced himself.

"How...." He began, words dying on his lips as he tried to properly formulate his question. Something as plain as 'How are you doing?' felt so underwhelming to encapsulate everything she'd been through. But he was never a social butterfly. Especially in matters like this.

"How are you holding up?"

 

[Loske Treicolt]

G H O S T
OBJECTIVE III - TRIBUTE PAID
CORUSCANT | FEDERAL DISTRICT
Maynard Treicolt | Aaran Tafo | CLOSED
HAVEN’T I GIVEN ENOUGH?

​

“That’s not true.” Loske was quick to scold, and that brush against his hand tightened, clasping his metallic fingers.

“If anything,” she offered in an attempt at morbid levity, “They’re tired of hearing it.”

A heavy exhale segued to her next point, and she leaned against him as the crowds continued to move about, making way for another soldier to take the platform and translate their respects. As much of catharsis as the visit was supposed to be for the Treicolts, so too was it an intended therapeutic session for those of varying activity within the Defense Force. From rookie to retiree–– ranks were nullified here. Everyone was equal in loss.

Whatever she was going to say next was paused –– feeling disrespectful for talking through the stories someone felt compelled to share with strangers. Death in its many forms was an intimate thing, despite it being so entirely unavoidable for so many species. The happenstances and reactions to it were utterly personal. Nobody was equipped for it, and everyone that was left...was left wanting.

The soldier, a member of the 76th Pathfinder’s division, took to the stage. Their face was heavy, laden with fatigue and strife –– but their words, their words were hopeful. Full of what they believed was light, and ending with a humourless laugh after listing through a handful of names from their unit that had been lost to the war. Pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb –– they curled into their palm twice over as they drew to their conclusion: “And what can heal us more than hope? And she used to say, The only truly dead are those who have been forgotten. So..I guess..” the ranger shuffled for a moment, getting lost in the movement. They might have been a little tipsy, but nobody in the crowd blamed them. The Pathfinders were renowned for their toughness –– nobody could say they didn’t deserve a little drink to soothe the demons. Somehow, they found composure before being completely washed away by their emotions. “We’ll never forget, and they’ll always live on as more than just names. They’ll be the reasons we’re victorious. The reasons we have hope and the reason we achieve peace.”

Soft, muted claps, uncomfortable but full of agreement, rippled through the sea of people. The stage was emptied, ready for the next tragedy to be shared. In the distance, a photographer eternalized the memory; discarding the safety in ephemerality for credits.

“You ready to go, then? Anything or anyone else you wanted to see while we’re here?”

And it wasn’t Maynard that answered her. Or at least, not who she heard.

Instead, it was a spike of familiarity that pierced through her chest and she involuntarily turned to stone. Fossilized in shock. It wasn’t that the presence itself was hostile, in fact, it seemed to try to be anything but. It was her own mutated interpretation that muddled the reception of it, murking up generous relief with...something else.

A stark contrast to any other method of salutations the Loske of yore might have embodied. In a scenario that almost mirrored this one, it had been Aaran who was a spectre of the past, and Loske thwarted his apprehensions with a jovial, unquestioning, embrace.

Now, she couldn’t move. Paralyzed with the reality of who was talking to her. If anything, she only felt the need to shrink away instead of forcing them to be together, be large, be so present and unignorable.

It seemed none of them were particularly concealed –– donning civilian fatigues and casualwear wasn’t enough to di––the train of thought went cold. A memory undulated across him like a wretched mirage. Where his hands had drawn up to conceal his bloodied face, there was now a new accessory. What was distant and painful for her, had left a permanent affliction on someone she cared deeply for.

Shame blossomed at the back of her throat, making her croaking response phlegmy and tight –– little more than a quick-drawn gasp that took the shape of her friend’s name. “Aaran.”

The hand that held Maynard’s slackened and shook with the responsibility she associated with his face, everytime she tried to internalize Shursia. "Y-your eyes."

​

 

[Auteme]

Dagon Kaze ​

"You're also the one who's crippled by grief over her death," she said. "We all... make mistakes, even ones that seem insurmountable; seem unforgivable. I'm not saying it wasn't serious. I mean, you know what I think when anyone kills someone."

She placed a hand on his back, trying to transfer a bit of the calm she found in such a chaotic and grief-filled galaxy. "Just- for me, there's no stop to the work. You don't stop trying to be better, to learn from your mistakes. Even when you slip and fall, you have to get back up, keep walking, even if there's no destination."

So many viewed the ideal Jedi as an infallible peacekeeper, a warrior who had no need for war, a mediator without fail. It was impossible. But nonetheless those on the path of a Jedi had to keep trying to achieve that ideal -- or whatever ideal they so chose.

"She might be gone, but don't you think she'd want you to keep being the man she loved?"

Her gaze was tender, supportive as ever. She took a half step closer and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "I know it's hard, so don't be afraid to take your time. But- don't cut yourself off, either. I'm here for you, whenever you need it."

 

[Aaran Tafo]

OBJECTIVE III - TRIBUTE PAID
Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt
​

The strangled choking of his name should have been something he expected. After everything that had happened, the trauma she'd been through, it was not like she was going to just bounce back. Time was the best salve when it came to the healing that Loske needed to bring herself back. Him appearing like this simply reopened a wound.

Her reaction simply caused that knot in his stomach to tighten once again. Internally cursing his own selfishness. Looking for short term emotional validation from his friend instead of giving her the time and space she needed to heal. His entire body stiffened at her reaction. His poor social graces causing him to once again blunder and cause harm where he did not mean to.

His jaw tensed for a moment. An awkward silence passing between them. Shifting slight on his heels. At no point did he ever consider blaming Loske for what happened to him. If anyone was to blame it was Shursia. But the parasite was long dead now. Unable to hurt Loske or anyone else. But that did not undo the damage it inflicted on her. The terrible things it made her do.

"I....." He began, his mouth suddenly dry as he shifted from one foot to the next, hands moving into the pockets of his jackets. Not looking to reach out with some form of comforting physical gesture. Worried that such a display might just make the situation even worse.

"I just wanted to see how you were holding up." He admitted, giving the slightest of shrugs. "If this is too awkward, I'll leave."

 

[Dracken Pryce]

Two pairs of hands flew up in response to Ava's question, though Dracken wasn't sure to which question the twins were reacting to. Pryce Sr. spoke up as well.

"I could go for an ale," he said.

"I've got to agree with the old man. Besides, my shoulders need a break. I can't play rancor all night. This womp rat on my shoulders is getting heavy!" On cue he reached up and lowered his son to the ground, much to the child's disdain. "Maybe we can catch the rest of the Unity Day parade from a cantina."

Ava Cartwright-Pryce

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

T H E _ W O L F
GALACTIC CITY | CORUSCANT
TRIBUTE PAID
Loske Treicolt | Aaran Tafo ​

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---

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MASTERS OF WAR​

Maynard continued to watch in silence, the respect of the solemn void of sound his only means of mourning the fallen, now. His recent record showed he certainly couldn't redeem them by his own will alone. Only end up with more in coffins wrapped with the Golden Starbird on a field of blue.

"If they're tired of hearing it, I won't bother. There's a few of the Pack still around, I'll contact 'em on my own time, make sure they're holding up alright." Maynard admitted. He could at least, try and do best by those fortunate enough to return from the fray, the fury of Galactic fire that enveloped them.

He watched through the next speech, his gaze breaking from anything in particular, focusing on nothing at all as he stood idly. Already - we wanted to be well far and away from Coruscant, these circumstances, much of anything to do with the Alliance. Which was once the source of a feeling of pride, freedom for the Wolf General, now, couldn't be more the contrary. A darkened mark of shame, judgement.

Aaran caught his attention with his approach, his blinded gaze a horrid sight, one Loske shouldn't be seeing as she struggled with the guilt of the actions of Shursia, but it wouldn't take long for her to piece together the context, the damage was already done, he shifted his gaze away for a moment in a silent curse to himself to let her be in this position.

Just after he asked if he should leave at all, Maynard sought to soften the interaction.

"You holdin' up alright, Tafo?" He asked outright.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

G H O S T
OBJECTIVE III - TRIBUTE PAID
CORUSCANT | FEDERAL DISTRICT
Maynard Treicolt | Aaran Tafo | CLOSED

CRUEL WORLD

​

“N-no, you’re..” she sucked in her cheeks and bit down.

There was a desperation in her voice, high and thin as a bow against a string. Tears sheeted against her eyes, clung to her skin and that shame flowered further, shifting from the past to the present. She’d felt shame for hurting him then, and she could feel the warning apprehension from him now and she felt embarrassed for projecting all of her trepidation now. And she was stuck. She didn’t know how to make it better.

“Unexpected, I..” she forced herself to try and move. It had worked with Maynard, so far the method on bridging the gaps between old and new skin was through physical touch. It was a healing trait of the Loske of yore, one she didn’t mind carrying through to this rebirth.

But when she tried to lift her hands to reach out, her arms remained numb. The muscles limp.

“It’s..”

Maynard interjected smoothly, inviting Aaran to stay with a reciprocating question to his well-being. Her emotions rested at the juncture between gratitude and residual embarrassment with her cheeks flushed, but with the seconds her husband bought she processed more than the horrible flash of blood, skin and agony she’d felt reverberating through Shursia’s shell.

"Because I still see you."
"That's the wonderful thing about being alive Loske. We heal from our wounds and become stronger for it. But you don’t have to be alone to do so. But you have to let it heal."

He’d forgiven her almost instantly, she remembered. Inside the husk of a beast, the prisoner had been powerless –– but he’d still tried. He’d made that initial divide that Maynard had been able to tear apart and further separate. And now, she had the chance to heal. And not be alone.

“Don’t go.”

The pain at the back of her throat shifted to nestle behind her ribcage. It didn’t make breathing any easier, but she was pushing through it.

“I wanted to see you.” She admitted. “I just..didn’t know how, or when, or what to expect and –––” she gave him the space to respond to Maynard’s question, only adding in this fumbling attempt to socialize when there was occasion in the exchange.

Finally, her limbs responded. Where Aaran’s hands here in his pockets, she didn’t seek to dig them out, nor alarm him with anything more abrasive (not that she could muster it), just a gentle, resting touch to the nook of his slackened arm. “I’m so sorry, Aaran. You..really tried. And you helped.” She sucked in a breath, hard, through her teeth. “Thank you.”

​

 

[Jared Ovmar]

BYOO - BILBRINGI YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE
BILBRINGI SHIPYARDS || IRON CROWN ENTERPRISE OFFICES

Brama Tagge

Eyebrows rose at that clear-cut admission.

It seemed not everyone within the Galactic Alliance was as willing to lay in bed with the Imperials. That was heartening. It had surprised Ovmar how eager the Alliance was to throw all caution to the wind. Pragmatism was one thing, but discarding all their own values to cut deals with every person coming around was something else.

That discussion had no place here with Ovmar, but it was acknowledged nevertheless and she let a twitch of opinion slip through her teeth: "I'd prefer to outgun them all."

"Well, if it is guns you need, Iron Crown Enterprises has those plenty." The man responded calmly with a smile. Right before he could continue a beep interrupted them both.

Brows furrowed as Ovmar studied the missive coming in.

Only after reading it himself did he flick his fingers so it would arrive on Tagge's commlink as well. "It seems our common pain has become even more bold, Senator Tagge." On the missive was a security report. Mouse-droids scurrying through airvents they had no business being in. Sending reports to a different point of origin.

"This is the issue when you ally with Warlords and Imperials, Tagge. Give them a finger and they will try and take your arm, torso and bill you for it. This is true for the Sularens of this world, but the Vel'alaris are no different." Shaking his head there, before he tapped a button to start preparing for a new course of action.

"The Alliance will have Iron Crown Enterprises' support in their expansion to Bilbringi. We have been here for decades and will be here long after the current generation's Grand Moffs and Lord-Imperators are done playing their little games. All I require is the Alliance's support against these vermin. Reasonable, no?"

 

[Aaran Tafo]

OBJECTIVE III - TRIBUTE PAID

Loske Treicolt Maynard Treicolt

​

It was Maynard's voice that brought him out of the pit of self-loathing he seemed intent on burying himself in. The straight-shooting Concordian's question was enough to snap him back into reality. Lids blinking over empty sockets as he realised he was being asked a question. "Oh I... I'm doing fine." he said, making a gesture to himself. Hand passing over the sunglasses. "Mirlukan blood in me. Makes it second nature to see. So, there's nothing really to worry about."


With that out in the open, he looked down to Loske. An audible sigh of relief leaving him. His presence was merely unexpected, not harmful. If nothing else he simply made things only slightly uncomfortable. Not irreparable.

He was glad to see her. Still walking around, still mostly intact. Taking some time alone with the person she cared for most in this world would do wonders for her recovery. "There's nothing to apologise for. That wasn’t you." He told her, his tone softening as he attempted to assuage some of her worries. At no point did he ever consider blaming Loske for what had happened.

Sure, his lack of sight sometimes frustrated him. Occasionally waking up in a blind panic, attempting to find a light switch only to remember that the issue lay with his lost vision and not faulty electrics. Never once would he consider Loske responsible for his condition. That lay with Shursia, Raaf and himself.

As she reached out for the crook of his arm. He responded by reaching out of his own accord. Physical contact with others was something he had certainly gotten more comfortable with since his return. But he only ever willingly reached out to those who mattered to him. And so now it was his turn to reach out. Both arms moving to wrap around his oldest friend in a hug. Pulling her close.

"I was so damn worried." He muttered under his breath, voice lowering slightly.

"You've got no idea how glad I am to know you're alright." He was just sorry he could not do more. Instead, his failure to exorcise Shursia on Ninn meant that his friend was subjected to ever more time at the hands of Raaf and whatever depraved experiments the Lady of Secrets may have been performing on his friend.

But there was no point in dwelling over what happened or what could have happened. What mattered now was that his friend was here, she was safe.

Finally he would break away. Not before giving one last reassuring squeeze before backing up from the husband and wife slightly. A low sigh of relief escaped him.

"So." He began. "What's on the agenda for you two now? Taking a well-deserved break, I imagine?"

He made a point of giving Maynard a slight look. He was aware of the other members of the order putting pressure on him to take up the Barash vow. It was something that he remained distant from. All the allegations that had be layed at the General's feet sprung up before he rejoined the order. He lacked the context to properly weigh in on the matter. But no matter how he looked at it. Any result would leave a bad taste in his mouth.

For now, he was simply gauging Maynard's own reaction and stance on the matter.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

G H O S T
OBJECTIVE III - TRIBUTE PAID
CORUSCANT | FEDERAL DISTRICT
Maynard Treicolt | Aaran Tafo | CLOSED

CRUEL WORLD

​

Aaran’s response to Maynard assuaged a portion of her worries. He was blind, down a sense, but a part of him was prepared for it –– his bloodline built for compensation. She felt herself releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Like Maynard, Aaran heard her apology and refuted it; claiming it wasn’t her that needed to apologize. It hadn’t been her that had hurt them. Within, she felt something harden. An emotion she couldn’t articulate, but it ached behind her breastbone. It might not have been her to lash out and harm, but it had been her who hadn’t the strength to prevent it. Not before, and certainly not during. If she’d been stronger, she wouldn’t have intercepted Eldaah’s execution. She wouldn’t have been infected. Wouldn’t have been a prisoner in a shell of Shurisa.

She sucked in her cheeks and bit down on them, withholding her denial and accepting the generosity he offered; even if it misaligned terribly with her own conceptions.

Suddenly, he wrapped her up in a hug that felt as much like forgiveness as it did entirely foreign. Involuntarily, her body tensed and turned rigid at his kind, grateful embrace. Her hands at her sides, and her face shoved against his shoulder. He kept her close long enough for his body’s warmth to melt against hers, and she felt herself easing when he whispered his relief, finding herself in a place of reciprocation less hesitation.

"I was so damn worried."
"You've got no idea how glad I am to know you're alright."

“Thank you,” she managed, and slipped her arms around his torso to rest easy in that safe, unquestioning hold. More than anything now, those arms felt like absolution. Loke he understood that when she felt like a shell, it was more like a used up bullet casing. The aftermath of something lethal, an echo of inflicted evil.

Hearing him be so readily forgiving, defining the differences between who she was, and who Shursia had been, was necessary. Important. Knowing he was alive, and knowing that others perceived them as entirely two separate entities made her introspective untangling of memory exercises seem a little less futile.

“Getting there.” Managing expectations, mostly for herself, was important. The tears that had sheeted her eyes managed to dribble down her cheeks in a single stream, and finalized when she closed her eyes to fully absorb all he was offering to her. As unexpected as seeing Aaran might have been, his readiness to be her friend and less some sort of hideous reminder was...incomprehensibly helpful. Maynard’s constant reassurance was one thing, to have it extend beyond was…..as unanticipated as it was needed.

Loske would never be able to surmount an equal reciprocation of everything she felt right now. She was completely undeserving.

He gave one final squeeze, and she felt reluctant when he pulled away –– her hands immediately folding over her arms to fill the empty space. She dwelled on it, selfishly, a little longer while he easily transitioned to the next frame of their interaction. So quickly they skipped over the past, acknowledged the present, and moved on to the future.

"What's on the agenda for you two now? Taking a well-deserved break, I imagine?"

Still reeling from exoneration, the blonde was silent for a few beats, parsing through the question. They were here, concealing for the most part who they were, because they weren't wanted. For all their sacrifice, she and Maynard had reached the conclusion (and it had largely been forced on him) that The Galactic Alliance no longer wanted their service, nor did the New Jedi Order. Their fate was their own now, and for the first time in their entirety of being together, they could take the forward steps to actualizing their dream of building both a home and a family.

​

It almost felt too unreal to speak out loud, for fear that the opportunity was too delicate, too ephemeral, and saying it out loud might shatter it.

At first, she narrowed her eyes at hime, unsure where he was in awareness of Maynard's exile and dismissal –– but above that, trusted he wouldn't turn her over for examinations or any sort of...trials. At least, not yet. Not now. She nodded, and left a majority of the response to Maynard –– only offering enough for Aaran to understand that she was not Shurisa, and if he had any resources to offer, she was open. "Trying to continue separating my memories and perceptions from Shursia's." She exhaled. "I'm so glad you're alright, too." And bit her lip to prevent herself from going down apology lane once more. "It's going to make the process a bit less...or rather.. a bit more informed."

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

LOCATION: 500 Republica, Coruscant
OBJECTIVE: BYOO
ALLIES: Grand Moff Vel'alari

The negations concluded, with even Tithe surprised how smoothly everything had gone. The Alliance now had full control over the Bilbringi shipyards, and would quickly look to cut ties to nations and corporations which didn’t align to their values. It had come at the cost of leaving an Imperialist Warlord in power, though the Grand Moff was far from the most despotic ruler within the Alliance’s borders.

“Well, I must say, it has been a pleasure to do business,” the Vice Chancellor replied. “I, ah, I’ll see you in the Assembly, Senator Vel’alari.” The Star Destroyers the Chiss had gifted would be useful to buying favours with the regional Planetary Defence Forces, who were always on the hunt for the biggest and baddest ships to defend against enemies abroad and neighbouring.

The hololink terminated as Tithe retrieved his datapad and tapped out a quick message to his colleague Brama Tagge , who was already putting in place contracts with friendly corporations to operate out of the Alliance’s new shipyard.

Equity secured.

The Aargauun leaned back in his hoverchair and slowly spun around so he was looking out over the bustling Coruscant ecumenopolis. Another deal done and dusted.

But there was no rest for the wicked. His holoterminal chimed to signal that his next call was coming through, a fundraising chat with some wealthy Fregans looking to find out how much extra protection they could buy for their planet in return for a sizeable campaign donation. Taking one last look out over the cityscape, Tithe spun back round in his chair to take the call.

 

[Brama Tagge]

BYOO - BILBRINGI YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE
BILBRINGI SHIPYARDS || IRON CROWN ENTERPRISE OFFICES
Jared Ovmar || CLOSED
DEEP POCKETS

Suddenly, Brama's datapad was very alive with transmissions. Both from Ovmar and Tithe –– all those messages went straight to the eyeballs of her dutiful aide, Dash, in the corner. All her technology fell into his care in scenarios like this, given she couldn't figure out how to subtly read it while having a conversation with someone else. Ovmar's message made him frown, and the Vice-Chancellor's made him grin. In a couple of paces, he crossed over to the senator, bowed at the waist to reach her ear, and whispered the correspondence to bring Tagge up to speed.

She nodded in confirmation, and took a sip of her Appletini. One in celebration, the other to feel the very distant bite of alcohol in the emerald liquor.

"Oh, I intend to keep giving them the finger." The elder Tagge mused, her thin lips crinkling into a knowing simper. Tithe might have given another Imperial a seat in the Senate, but that meant that it was on their overarching terms.

"The Alliance is just as interested in Iron Crown's longevity as it is its own. And if that means supporting your claims to these shipyards...well. I'd like to see our mutual interests outgrow the peskiness of imperials."