Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private The Parched Earth Bleeds


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THE HUNTER-KNIGHT
CORUSCANT
PRIVATE APARTMENT OF VIZION TROZKY
Briana Sal-Soren Briana Sal-Soren
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When he’d gotten wind of the memorial in advance of its occurrence, Vizion Trozky had wrestled with the thought of attending. He recalled the events that necessitated that occasion of remembrance - he recalled vividly; he had been there, but it wasn’t the pain of the familial losses suffered that day which made him hesitate, and in the end, decline to make the trip. That had all faded to fond remembrance of when they had lived.

No, it was Naboo itself and its inextricable ties to her. Her and how that singular catastrophic event had been the genesis of decay in his bond - forged in the hazy, bright years of childhood - with the woman that was Briana Sal-Soren. The start of a series of unavoidable and avoidable decisions and events that caused what had been a cherished friendship (and dare he admit it now, a cautious, frightened love) to slip through his fingers like sand. A thing that he might have been holding onto far too tightly. That was the one true inheritance from his father.

To move on from it all, from her, was one of the hardest undertakings in his still-short life, but more than two years on she no longer dwelled in his thoughts as she once had, and the brunt of his days were filled with the responsibilities, hardships, and different bonds that encompassed the life of a Jedi Knight. He had even gotten to a point that he could be cordial with her, work with her, even be happy for her and maintain his professionalism and distance, but then… the galaxy still saw fit to nauseate him; remind him that he wasn’t as far on as he believed, and urge him to realise that he had to make that distance greater.

She was still his weakness, one he had toiled and still toiled to mitigate, if not cut himself off from, even now… and lay to rest what he had for years thought would come to pass: that she would be his, when the right time arrived. Such that, when the news came out about the harrowing events that transpired during that solemn gathering of remembrance, Vizion was near-frozen in conflict with himself.

The stark silence of the sparse apartment where he laid his head at times became at once claustrophobic as he read the news, the datapad shaking in his hands as he sat in boxer shorts and a sleeveless top at the foot of his bed in the late evening, running a fever of misgivings, futile anger, and helpless anxieties, knowing then and there that day’s promise of sleep had fled. Soon enough, the ‘pad issued a moderate creak in his tight grasp, dragging him to the surface of awareness, just enough to pull in a rattling and sharp gasp, and let the device slip onto the soft, empty expanse on which he sat… only to fill his hands with his face and the sting of moisture rimming his eyes, as he shook in what felt like airless, deep breaths.

After some scant minutes of this seeming futility, the Brentaalan rose sharply and went to the shoulder-level window to shove it open forcefully until it stopped its slide with a dull tunk, so that he might gulp down the cool, fresh night air, and try to come to his senses, regret, sharp rage, and futile self-blame raging in his mind, as his blood thundered in his ears. It was all he could do to attempt to scrub away the thoughts that he should hunt down, and murder every last fucking person responsible.

He was better than that, he had been… so sure of it, that he was, “Fuck!” he rasped, slamming a fist on the windowsill. Some minutes later, after his forehead too had come to rest on that slim surface and tears were running freely, Vizion tore himself away from the window, whereupon he started to slowly pace. This wasn’t right.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He wasn’t about to throw away everything else that gave his life meaning, but then, what could he do? It was this that would plague Vizion for the ensuing night hours wherein he, at some point, threw on some sweats, shoes, and a light jacket and went out into the night, as if the greater open air would give space for the tight roil of thoughts in his head to unfurl. Then, when the sun rose and chased him back to his sparse abode, he got on the comm, and placed a call.

When there was no answer, and the message system clicked on, Vizion hung up and stared at his comm device for several minutes, as a low, tired panic swelled, begging him to try again, and again, for however long it would take to connect with a real voice, without knowing what he would actually say. Once those minutes passed and he was calm enough, he tried again, and when the message system activated this time, he left some unsure, gravelly, tired words:

< Hey. Ah… shit. Uh… It’s Viz. I heard what happened. I'm... more sorry than you could know. > Egregious understatement. < I know I’ve got to be the last person you want to hear from, but… I… need to know you’re okay. > And if there was anything he could do, words left unsaid, out of caution. To not become a suffocation. < Give me a ring when you get this, let me know you’re safe. That’s all I ask. >

A moment of consideration put a pause in his message, his thoughts swimming with all the things he fought the urge to say. He knew she was capable of taking care of herself, and he wasn't going to ask shouldn't ask to see her. He had drawn that line himself. For his own sake.

< Please, Bri. For... for an old friend. >

Vizion hung up for the second time, pocketed the device, and went back out into the morning to hunt down what he could hunt without severe consequence: a cup of caf.

It was going to be a long day.

 
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Wearing: XoXo
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location: Naboo
Tag: Vizion Trozky Vizion Trozky
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Briana sat in the darkness of her dimly lit quarters, her gaze lost to the shadows trying to swallow her whole. The last moments of her parents lives played on a torturous loop that she could find no escape from. And despite every effort to save them, despite the balanced approach she'd tried to take— to be the Jedi she was trained to be, she'd still been rewarded with loss.

Slowly, her body slid the remainder of the way down to the cold, welcoming floor, eyes closing as a feverish brew of sadness and rage welled behind them, wetting the lashes that lay like tortured wings over her sun-kissed cheeks.

For most in the Galaxy, mourning a lost loved one encompassed a form of celebration for the life they once lived— but for Briana, finding any kind of solace seemed like an unattainable endeavor. How could she even begin to commemorate a man who had strayed so far off course that he constructed the very organization that sought to destroy everything she stood for? How could she reconcile with the passing of a man whose beliefs contradicted everything she knew to be true and just? How could she honor the memory of someone whom she had once placed on a pedestal above all others?

Then there was her mother, the memory of her adding an additional layer of strain to her thoughts. She'd not been born with her mother's seemingly inherent grace, their relationship so often fraught with conflict as a result of Briana's more bullheaded nature coming up against her mothers demure composure. Now, time had marched to its final conclusion, leaving Briana to grapple with the moments she'd squandered on what seemed like petty disputes, longing for some form of absolution and knowing it'd never come — as soon her mother would be nothing more than ashes in the wind.

Her gaze fell on the holoimage of her family across the room — a moment capturing happier days— as her eyes settled on Brandyn, feeling blame suffusing it's way through every thought that followed. The dangerous world of what-ifs. If he and Cybelle had told her the truth and not left her in the dark, then the three of them could have tried to make a more concentrated effort to mitigate the chaos that'd eruppted, could have covered one another as they'd done before.

If they'd told her, maybe her parents would still be breathing.

Assigning blame to them based on potential scenarios wasn't fair, but the need to hold someone responsible made the descent into complete frustration and despair take a backseat in her thoughts. Allowed her to remain in the confines of her own body, and not some place far off.

Or at least present enough that when her communicator shrilly blinked to life, she was keenly aware of it— and subsequently ignored it. Yet with each subsequent attempt, the insistent blinking and its merciless noise gnawed away at the fringes of her resolve until she finally gave in, begrudgingly turning her attention towards it.

A tired voice greeted her as she flipped on the comm, instantly recognizing it as Vizion's gravelly tone, < Hey. Ah... shit. Uh... It's Viz. I heard what happened... >

Sniffling, Briana ran a hand over the side of her face to draw away the tears she hadn't been able to contain before tapping out a response.

<Hey Viz. I'm... alive, if that counts for anything right now.> She paused, considering how much she should divulge. In another time and place, she never would have thought twice before laying her soul bare at his feet, but the bond they'd once shared had been frayed by numerous missteps through the years. Too much laid in the time and distance between them now, partly constructed by his actions and her own choices. Sometimes that barrier bent, but it never broke completely. <Just dealing with everything as best I can. I appreciate you reaching out — it means a lot. Take care of yourself.>

She hit send before she had the chance to second-guess herself.

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