soft epilogue
Elrood
Radall Central
20:03
It’s like she stepped into a chamber where she was at one end of the room, and Cedric was at the other. But the room was very long and cavernous. She could hear him, and when he confirmed he was in pain she could feel it. She concentrated on that, pinpointing his existence across the void and attempted to triangulate it. As if he were in her targeting computer’s crosshairs for a lock. She didn’t exist in this room, she couldn’t look down at her hands or anything - she couldn’t look at anything. Just darkness and blots of technicolours, the same sort of vision you’d see when rubbing your eyes too hard. She tried to imagine herself in this vast world of nothingness. Disembodied voices joined, echoing what [member="Cedric Grayson"] had said to make it harder to hear him. Equally eerie voices repeated fragmented portions of the sentence she’d spoken earlier. She’d never spent this much time in the metaphysical realm, she’d never touched it like this, and it was stretching out to touch back. To speak to her.
n̷̡̧̡͙̺̰̘̦͚̄̑́̎̔̆͆͛̈́̏͗͝͝ͅg̵̻͖̤͉͓̖̈̊̽̽̋͒͐̈́͠͝ ̴̥̟͙̼̝͖̖̭̖̈́͂̈́̔̂̕͠͝t̴͉̘̩̻͆͒̓̇̔̐̌̓͒͒̔̐͗̈͘ͅơ̵͙̪͎̲̻̱̱̗̖̣͖͕̓̅̾̌̏̄̽̌͠ȯ̶̜͎̳̦̒̂̈́̅̚̕͝͝ ̶̺̌͛͂̂͌͂͑̾͊̽͋̚͝ẘ̶̛͉̺̘̥̳̣̠͓͒͒͠e̵͈̦̮̣͉͋͂l̷̢̡̨̪͖̘̖̦͉̲̳͙̫͓̍̐̃͒̇͑̇ͅl̸̨̢̢̤̳̠̗͇̹͖̳͇͔̈́͋̀͑̊̓͋̉̑͐ͅͅ ̶͈̲̗̮͗̒̆͛̉̃̃́̒̆̐̀͝͝͠m̸̖͖̼͖͈̦̖͌͋͂͗̅̽̀̏̽̈́̕͘͝y̵̗̘̹̣̝̭͑̏́̋̓š̸̮͈̹̤̰͖̘̺͓̝̓̏̾͜͝e̴̛͈͂̿́̋͂̂̎̋̋̈́͝͝ļ̶̗̜̀͑̄̓̉̑̈́͋̚̕͝f̶̛͙̻̓͒̃̔͆̒͆͑̏̕.̴̺̉͗̈́̚
New voices joined, some dark, some lighter. Their words were jumbled, the names misconstrued and meaningless. It was all noise. Just a lot of noise.
w̷̢͓̠͚̫̫̬͌e̶͖͖̜̹͖͆̎͋̄̍͆̔̿̔̚͠n̷̢͖̰͚̻̳̗͎̻̣͆̌̀̎̀͘̕͝͠ͅť̵̛̹̖͎͓͉̯̣̻̣̩̙̓͊̾̽̀̌̌̓ ̵̳͉͉̣̹̦͇͕͙́̉̐̔͐̎̽̇̚͘͝ͅą̷̻͎̣͓̳̐̓͋n̸̜̙͉͍̻̿̏̾̈̆̎͐̉̿͂͌̕̚͘͝d̷̛̞͈͈̟̅͑̔͛̓͜ ̷̳͎̆̐̒̕̚͘f̴̧̧̛̣̬̞͍͎͍̳͚̹̐̈́̌͒̑́͘͝͝o̷̝̜͔̟̠̻̻̖̙̖͎̟͌̏̊̉̾̈́̈́͋͘͜͝͝ȕ̸̧̪̖̮͇̙͔̯͙̮͙̖̜́͌͛̈́̂͌̾́͌͂̉̓͘ń̸̤͍̭̀̓d̸͖͇͖̫̝̣̱̦̦͉̗̞̟̠́̏̍̚ ̷̨̞̣͔̋͛͜͜o̷̮̺̗͓̜̣̯̗̤̙̦͓̭̰̅̏̀́̑͗̍̀ú̸͓̹̼̗͕͒̒͊̈́̾̔̍͝͝ͅr̴̢̛͇̥͈̫̹͔̝̞̲̓́͐̏̈́͘ ̷̡̖̟̖͕̞̬̙̜͙͓̗̘̗̓̈́͛S̵̘̟̓͗į̸̡̯͇͕̣͚̥͉͓̖͚̈t̴̺̺̔̍͋̊́̓̿̆̃̐͝͠ḥ̷̡̯͔̬̹̦̽̏ ̶̨̛̰̺̙͔̺̹̩̝͍̯̟́͋̅́̊̂̒͂͘̕͠͝L̶̢̆̏̈́̀͂́̓͐̅̃̇̚̚o̵̡̭̲̪̩̭͉̝͆͐̒͐̉̓́̓̽̔͝r̸̛̗̹̮̦̳̙͍͔͚͚̮̅͊̈́̏̆̈́̚͘d̵͙̜̓͌̂͋̍̈̓̌͊̋́̍́̂͘.̵̮̝͇̗͇̠̏̌̑̌̒.̵̨̢̧͇̪̱̦̩͉̠̫̋̂̀͠.̵̨̠̯̞̦̞̙͕̿̎̍͜͜ ̶̛̮͖̀̈́̐̏̆̀̒͂̇̈́̓͘ḣ̵̘̠̮̠̘̖̬̥̭̟̹̤̈̐e̴͉͚͓̊͋̓̈́͛̄̂̎̂'̷̥̲̰̪̤̞̜̳̩̬̤̩̝̹̰̇̊̏̅̈̍́̇̓̑́͝͠ś̶̢͔̯̲̠̪͉̯͓̙̙̃̂͊̈́͊̍͜ ̷̘̘̙̼͖̆̓̑̽́̍̀̌̔̀̂̚̚͝d̸̗͍̯̜̗͌͒͒̀͑̎ę̸̛͎͉̞̗̝̗̰̥͍̫̌͋̈́͂͌̿̾̓̈̈́͒̕͜a̴̢̡̩̠͍̰̩͖͔͔̳̗̯̦͇̍́͊̌̅͐͗̑̕͝l̸̛̛̬̮̠̠͍̺͔̱͓̠̟͎̙͇͐̃̓͐̊̇́̌̏̕͠t̸̯͎͉̱̥͉̹̍͐ͅ ̷̞͇͌̄̈͠ͅw̶̢̨̹͕̼̝͍̭͖͔͔̹̼̲̒̋͑͊ͅi̶̺̥͕͙̝̱̟͙͔̜̗̘̘̩̟̒̌̕t̷̢̛̛̟̹͎̲͎̳̹̘̭̣͐̌̎̑͌͛̀̉̚̕͝ͅḩ̴̞̯̥́͂̓͌̈́ ̴͔̙̙̥̦̹̬͚͙̝͗f̸̗̰͈͇̝͓̦̫̾̔̈̽͊̿͌͒̿̉̐̒͛͛͝ǭ̷͝͝r̷̳͖͔͕̗͇̲͕͙̩̍̊͋͗̀͂̚͜ ̷͕̝̠̑͒̀̐̽̾̒̚n̵̢̢̠͚̩̬͚͉͙̘̹̲͍̟͋̀̋̈̂̋͘͜o̷̽̈́̊͗̓̚͜͝͝w̸̢̧͕̻͈͚̺̟̗̲͙̭̰̃͆͝,̵̨̮̩͈̺̩̥̗̻̳̟͈͂̈͘͘ ̶̘̞̝̥͙̟͍̮̼̇̃̈̿̌̎̑̋̓̂͝b̸̨͓̣̞͎̭͍̮͇̩͖̰̘̗̾͑͗̀̀̓͋͠u̸͉̦̇̓͂̾͊̈́͊́͂̀͗̈́̎͠t̸̡̛̳͕̞̩̜͔̃͂̽̄͆͌̌̍̇͊͗͜͝ ̸̡͈̺̬̙̫̉́͘Ĩ̴̥͇̺̞̺̼̪̳͚͙̦̥͙͋͑'̶̞̺̣̱̣̈́͗̈́̐̀̐͘͝͝m̸̳̱̂͒ ̵̮̫̎̌̽̊̿̓̋̇͋̓̂ņ̸̛̩͇̹̺̪̿ȏ̵̪̮̤̥͎̲͚̠͕͖̽̀͆̊́t̴͉͙͓̠̺̫̤́̃̔͗̋͛̅̆͂͆̋͝͠ ̸̡̢̯̖̪͎̭̗̥̦͈̱͇͍͙̒̐̃ḋ̸̢̛͖͔̱̗̖͎̯̋̎̍͜͠ọ̵̞̞̆͛̋̎̕ĭ̷̛̛̱͙̘͇͍͍̟̮̹͐̈̀́̍͆̊͋̒̓̓͝
The word h̸̦̩́̎̀͊̈́̀o̶͍̱̮̦̅͂̀́̋̔̈͒̄̕͝͠t̷̗̔̋̌̔͂̽̕͘ḧ̵̪͎͈̪̦͉̱̘̙́̄̀ echoed, and reached into embedded memories that were not her own, but still a part of her conscience. She imagined her hands, white knuckled beneath gloves and clambering to the top of a cliff only to feel the crushing impact of a weighted boot against her face and spiral backward. Droids, spitting and firing plasma at a robed figure - her view point observational. The intent to kill but the hesitation to act buried in her stomach. But she wasn’t really feeling this, it was memories.
She recoiled on the mattress, yanking herself out of the conversation and clutched her chest. Overwhelmed, her heart racing, Loske patted the blanket to remind herself of which reality she was in.
“He’s on Hoth. He’s talking to me all the way from Hoth. In the Anoat sector. That’s a completely different sector than us.”
Frank said nothing. That information was impressive for someone who typically had the responsibility of boosting transmission signals so they could make it from one sector to another across the galaxy.
The leggy pilot moved to stand, holding onto the wall and her stomach. She didn’t replenish any liquid after her last misfortune, she hoped her stomach wouldn’t revolt her Force actions once more. “Can you get me a reading on Hoth’s conditions right now?”
It’s freezing.
“Cedric said he found the Sith Lord that he was hunting, that guy brought down a civilization last time. There’s probably something traceable there, and we’ll want to know before we get going.”
We’re going somewhere?
“To Hoth.”
Why?
Loske gestured her frustration, as if she was speaking to a broken record - and realized that most of the conversation that had lead to the mobilization of her bleeding heart had been in her head. “Cedric’s in some sort of trouble, sounds stranded and I’m really good at driving.”
I hate this. I hate this plan.
“Please let’s just check if are any detectable abnormalities about Hoth. Maybe we don’t have to do the plan if your readings trace no issues.”
Fine.
