Private The Witch and Her Familiar [Shiraine]

[Fury of Aerðs]

"Am I imagining things? The voices in my head keep saying..."​

Morrigan had never seen any planet other than her homeworld Islimore, and after reading up on the different unique planets in the Confederacy’s protection, had decided to stretch her legs and explore the ones that stuck out to her the most in her readings.

Naboo was one such place, and in some aspects attracted her eye because of the similarities between it and Islimore. Unlike where she had come from, Naboo had managed to find peace between the two species that inhabited its world. The Fayth would never suffer an alien species to live among them. Her own father knew that truth, maiming her tail to hide the shame of a daughter mixed with the blood of a beast, in the end it cost him his life for that lie.

In some ways it still felt strange, frightening, even, to be able to walk in daylight without the need to hide, especially when that voice whispered in the back of her mind.

So much fear…
Imagine what you could do if you would let me help you control it.​

She tried her best to ignore it, pretend it didn’t exist, but every day it grew louder. That unbearable ringing in her ears. The large crowds made it easier, quieted the sound, and the congested city was the perfect distraction.

Molten gold eyes glanced over the stands and stalls of Theeds open market, passing slowly by, casually perusing the displays. Pausing at one of the stands, Morrigan reached out and lifted a peculiar object, turning it over in her hands. It was impossible to tell by her stone-cold features what she thought of it.

Her still gaze lifted up at the vendor, her voice even and flat in its inquiry, “How much for this?”


Shiraine Bennet

 

[Shiraine Bennet]

Being in an unfamiliar place had been hard at first, and she still fell apart, here and there, but life out from under the searing gaze of the Fayth, away from the strife of Islimore was a reprieve. Not that she herself was at as much risk as others, but being found out as carrying power without the knowledge of the Fayth carried its own concerns. It was no matter, she was far and away from that place, and yet... many of her thoughts wandered to those she had been made to leave behind for her safety, ruining her composure when she was alone. Thoughts especially for the one who sent her away, for her own good - her dearest, most beloved friend. The climate of Naboo was good for her body, good for her overall state of mind, even if the distance made her heart ache terribly. It was pure chance that the Ee'everwests had taken her in, from amongst the refugees, upon discovering who she was. Who her father was.

She had been feeling well enough, secure enough in recent weeks to be taking the occasional stroll on her own. Perusing the markets was a somewhat idle use of time, but she had little to do that wasn't idle, and getting to know this world and this culture helped to take her mind off why she was even here, at least for a time. What she didn't expect, was for Islimore to come to her.

She can't be...

Shiraine stopped in her tracks, a frisson of unsure ambivalence running like a shock through her, at the sight of the dark-haired one at the tent of metaphysical wares. She looked so familiar, but the shock of her presence made Shiri's mind go blank, as to a name. It was as if much of the energy dissipated from the fire-maned witchling, and the cane she steadied herself with would have creaked if it wasn't so well made, and if she wasn't so thin - despite being well-fed, she still had a long way to go. Finally, she managed to regain her composure, taking some calming breaths, and mouthing a modest plea of protection. Nobody was going to leave Islimore to come three-quarters of the way across the galaxy for her. She was sure of it.

"It's a talisman," she spoke, before the vendor could, her offworld accent ringing clear as a bell, "but you're not likely to find a genuine one," she gave the vendor a cheeky glance, "out here in public."

Fury of Aerðs ​

 

[Fury of Aerðs]

"Am I imagining things? The voices in my head keep saying..."

_________________________________

An Islimorian accent was not easy to misplace and she turned slowly to the sound of the voice. For half a heartbeat, Morrigan was taken by surprise and starred in disbelief. Her day had just become that much more interesting…

“I see,” she said, her lips assuming a flat line, her eyes narrowing slightly at the slight woman, the disgust evident on her face.

Seemed that charlatans existed everywhere in this Galaxy.

Her own life had been built on a lie, one after another, after another, until it was so grand in scale that it all collapsed around her like a house of cards. Then, when all failed, they took. Took until they couldn't take anymore.

“Is this true?” she inquired,still clutching the trinket in her hand, but letting her gaze settle on the shopkeep.

He wiped his hands up and down the front of his apron repeatedly and twisted the end of it between his sweaty palms until wrinkles formed in the fabric. “O-of course not!” he stumblingly insisted, “Why, I g’t happy customers every day! T-that one there promises ta’protect against foul spirits! Just gotta know how to activate it.”

Morrigan stared at the man, the voice inside her head calling for bloodshed. It taunted her, pressed her. The palpitations of her heart rate increased, silently trying to coax it back to the silent recesses of her mind.

After a few moments, she took a staggered breath and laid the gimmicky jewelry back down with the rest of the trinkets, trying to gain some semblance of control over the impulses.

Then, all at once, it slipped away...and the chaos quieted again.

Turning to the woman who’d just saved her fifty credits, Morrigan proffered her hand.

Although she had her hesitations, it was necessary to learn if this woman happened upon her by coincidence or not. The fact that she looked frail, meant nothing. If there was ever one lesson she’d learned from the priests, it was that nothing ever happened by chance, and to never trust what only your eyes could see.

“I’m Morrigan Vale,” she saw no reason to hide. If they’d come looking for her, then they’d already know who she was. If not? Then the two of them most likely shared something in common, in that they’d both ran from the hell that made up the lives of the majority of their planet’s civilization. “Would you mind walking with me? I don’t know my way very well around these parts, I’d be much obliged.”


Shiraine Bennet

 

[Shiraine Bennet]

She felt a faint unease coinciding with the pregnant pause of the other woman's stillness, but she didn't know that it wasn't caused by her own discomfort or apprehension. She couldn't sense it for what it was; she had been taught to heal by her 'au pair', and little else; there was little that was applicable to care for her body and stave off pain from a frail skeletal structure as she grew. She was tired so much of the time, in those years, in just learning to cope. Small blessing it was that she grew out of the worst of it, but she was still learning to slough off the overt cautiousness instilled in her by it all, the worry over her own well-being.

When the hand was offered, she looked at it, then at Morrigan's face. No-one had ever offered their hand to her in such a way... but they did to her father, and with much trepidation, Shiraine gingerly hooked the cane to her elbow, and took the hand in both of her own - long, thin, pale fingers wrapping delicately around. Receiving the name set wheels turning in her mind, calling back to years prior, to common knowledge of the ranks of the Fayth.

Where did you go that you popped up here?

Just one of a few wonderings that popped up in her mind. It was probably none of her business, but there were only so many reasons a member of the Fayth vanished. Particularly one so lauded. She had to trust that they were in a similar position. And besides, no one had ever been wise to her own genetics straying from the acceptable norm - brittle bone disease was just as possible in stock humanity.

"Shiraine Bennet," she replied, releasing the hand and nesting hers against her narrow-waisted middle; a faintly warm, careful smile tugged at her lips when Morrigan asked her next question, "I'm not terribly well versed in the layout of the city, yet," she was electing to leave the obvious subject of what brought them both here in her metaphorical pocket, for now, "but company for my walk would be welcome."

Fury of Aerðs ​