Wild Mountain Thyme [Cira]

[Sarge Potteiger]

Eriadu
Governor's Estate

There was a low, ragged cheer from the soldiers manning the battlements behind him. From behind sandbags and in windows, soldiers stood and watched the Sith retreat to presumably fight another day. None, Sarge included, believed this was the end of things.

But a victory today was still a victory, even if it brought with it the promise of future conflict. He would take what respite he could get, set as the galaxy was on heading towards the course of all out war between... well, everyone. Tapping the comm stud on the side of his helmet, he comm'd for a sitrep from the Fortunate Son which hung in low orbit, away from the fleet battle.

Apparently the Fringe were retreating, having suffered stupendous losses up in the void. Good old Ayden hadn't changed, it seemed. Smirking, he turned towards the Lieutenant in charge of the group of Pyre men in charge of protecting the estate. "Bring the Governor back. The battle is over. It was an honor to fight alongside you." Clasping his hands together in front of him, he bent at the waist in a shallow bow before turning to begin walking off.

A tone in his ear told him he was being contacted again, and he gave a faint frown. "Master, the Lady Protector is at Tarkin Memoria-", HK's droid brain had been programmed into the ship to monitor for information like this, but the ancient droid didn't get to speak the whole sentence.

"-that's not possible."

"It is, Master." He'd been expecting the usual qualifier to start the sentence, but had forgot he'd purposefully removed that to keep him guessing as to what the droid meant. Exhaling slowly, the slow walk he'd been doing before turned into a quick jog back towards the estate while HK sent video of the conference down to his HUD.

A speeder bike was set out front for scouts use. "I'll give it back, promise!" The Jedi shouts, hopping on and immediately roaring off towards Tarkin Memorial. Thankfully, the Center was only a scant few minutes from the Governors private estate.

Leaving the speeder to hover outside the front door, he moved passed the guards without nary a word. It was then, however, as he stepped through the doors, that he found himself stopping.

Did he really want to do this? Did he really want to go back down this road.

Truthfully, he didn't.

But he felt compelled to, and with a shake of his head he headed upstairs, stopping for several minutes to grab a cup of black Starcaf just out of habit.

[member="Cira"]

 

[Cira]

"Lady Protector Cira!"
"Where have you've been all this time?"

"Lady Protector..." ​

"What does this mean for Lord Protector Cater?"
"Are you returning to office?"
Lady Protector...
"Are we at war with the Lords of the Fringe?"
Lady Protector...
"What does this mean for Eriadu? The government? For those who aligned with the Lords?"
"Where did you disappear off too?"
Lady Protector...
"Was this all due to the assassination attempt in the past?"
"Why now?"

Lady Protector. LADY PROTECTOR. Lady Protector.
Lady Protector Cira
Lady...
Cira.

Cira.

The flashing of lights made Cira blink briefly for a moment, the Holonews media starting to crowd around the titan mane woman who'd once ruled over the Omega Protectorate.

Another flash took a holopicture to her right. While on her left a camera was shoved near her face to take a holo-recording.

" Eta pon Barnes Drarkstar sko GNN sana a' ri sko tak Tarkin Memorial Bulv vii Eriadu, srd tak midst dom sha ay uklan an invasion dom tak Vilka dom tak Fringe srdi Protectorate territory. Ler ta kss'tep vonya, sudta eta pon nei tak newsbreaking jecj. Tak Lady N'enk'ri Cira chast uklan srd tak midst dom eta invasion a' yip tak Vilka 's diplomatic party." «This is Barnes Drarkstar from GNN coming to you from the Tarkin Memorial Center at Eriadu, in the midst of what would appear an invasion of the Lords of the Fringe into Protectorate territory. They are retreating now, but this isn't the newsbreaking story. The Lady Protector Cira has appeared in the midst of this invasion to counter the Lord's diplomatic party.». >>

"Bu Bengahena Chahsonh Cira gee koupocha uen kae wata ree Doheou..." «The Lady Protector Cira has revealed herself here at Eriadu...»

A fake smile was plastered against Cira's face as microphone after microphone was shoved near her face. Small holographic remote droids began to swarm her, each wanting to get the first recordings of what the former Lady Protector would say.

More flashes came, and she blinked. Almost instinctively, she took a step back. There were too many people in such a small room. For a normally extraordinarily private person, this... this was a bit too much. Previous news briefings were done in Cira's terms, in wide expansive rooms that let her breathe. Not something like this.

Her breathing would start to pick up as the sense of claustrophobia began to trickle it's way through her.

Omega Protectorate guards came in to encourage the media to take a step back, but even this was not easing the anxiety Cira was starting to feel. She hated feeling locked in place, with so many eyes upon her. She couldn't just disappear, couldn't leave.

Her eyes made a darting glance at the exit.

She had to get out of here. Now.

A knot went growing at the back of her throat as she widened her faint smile, her otherwise cool expression attempting to sooth over the media.

"Our focus is on the welfare of Eriadu and her people. We must push our attentions at aiding the wounded and ensuring that no remnant of the Lords of the Fringe remains. That is all for now."

She took a step back, but one rather ambitious Bothan newscaster cut that distance, pushing past the guard to shove a small holorecorder to her face, trapping her before she could take a step to the side.

"Where have you've been Lady Protector all this time? Why did you disappear? Did you abandon the Protectorate in their hour of need?!"


That panic flared higher the gold of her eyes narrowing to a thing golden circlet. How she really hated the paparazzi.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Halfway through gathering the cup of coffee, he could hear the thudding feet of a group of encumbered individuals racing passed the room he was in. Raising his head - and a brow - at the noise, he stepped into the hall to find a vertiable scrum of holoreporters shoving phones around at agitated guards.

Guards he'd helped train, once upon a time.

Making a quiet noise at the back of his throat, the Jedi looked back inside for a moment and hurriedly went back to grab the cup of Starcaf he'd been making before stepping back out. As he approached the crowd, a familiar pit opened at the bottom of his stomach, followed by a faint dryness in his mouth offset by a thick knot in his throat. He wasn't aware that Cira felt the same in a crowd.

But if they had one thing in common, it's that they both appeared strong despite the anxiety. "Move." The Jedi says in a firm, quiet voice modulated by the vocabulator of his helmet. He cut an interesting figure on the news, he was sure, with his deep maroon beskar and deep brown Jedi robes.

It was a Mandalorian Jedi, apparently, and he was holding a cup of coffee in one crushgaunt covered hand. How curious he must look to many of them. A few of the reporters shot him dirty looks, but they moved nonetheless. While he was hardly known outside the Jedi, few wanted to openly tell off a Mandalorian. Their reputation still did precede them.

Using his broad shoulders to clear a path around the group of paparazzi so that he was behind Cira and between her and the exit, a rough hand pulled the Bothan away even as he spoke words in the reporters native tongue. "These are questions that require immediate answer, I'm sure... but perhaps another time." The Jedi offers in a firm voice, even as a reassuring paw of a hand settled on the former Lady Protector's shoulder.

"We should probably go." The Jedi offers, extending a palm towards the door even as his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper... and the other extends a cup of black Starcaf.

[member="Cira"]

 

[Cira]

Breathe. Just breathe.

That was the internal mantra that Cira told herself as she seemingly kept her cool, a cordial expression turning towards that of the Bothan newsreportor.

When a not so shining Jedi Knight in Mandalorian armor took it upon himself to pull the Bothan away. Relief gave way momentarily, only to be confused by the next thought, The Order was here? That didn't make any --

He was deft in his movements. Quick. Before she knew it he was behind her, his large broad shoulders and form towering over her in a strange sensation of deja'vu. The primitive rear of her brain wanted to duck away and avoid. His force signature was a flare of churning steely gray, a paradox of familiarity and strange.

"These are questions that require immediate answer, I'm sure... but perhaps another time."

A large gauntlet covered hand weighed heavy upon Cira's shoulder and she took an immediate sharp intake of breath. It was the scent of black StarCaf that prevented her from reacting --- her body froze. Gold turned towards the masked Mandalorian Jedi. Shock and surprise went flashing within their depths. Time slowed.

No...

"We should probably go."

That voice. Despite the voice modulated by the vocabulator of his helmet, she knew. Not matter how much of a ridiculous notion it was. Time sped up. Her hands took the steaming cup. Before she knew it, the flash of the holocameras and holorecords were left behind along with the roar of the media.

Long legs encased in her typical Protectorate attire had her weaving through the crowd and through the exit, Protectorate soldiers keeping the rowdy crowd back.

Salutes were rendered wherever Cira passed, murmurs of the one loved Lady Protector in confusion, pleasure, shock at her return. A faint nod and response to the greeting was standard and automatic for Cira. That was what she was doing, going on automatic.

Standard procedure would have a Panther Class transport nearby. The question would be if she would even be on it.

From under her breath, a single statement would be heard for his ears alone. "You're not supposed to be here."

If one heard off chance, one would wonder if she meant the Jedi Order.

He would not.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

It was a simple matter to usher the Lady out of the building and towards the war-torn streets of the city that civilians had long been evacuated from. The steaming caf seemed to help her steel herself, even as he read the confusion in her eyes; confusion but realization.

Sarge was back. He was here... and somehow still managing to do his job.

"Neither are you, Lady." He replies calmly, eyes alighting on the transport nestled in an intersection that had been turned into a defensive command center for the local sector. He wondered, briefly, if any of the soldiers had a sense of déjà vu; the Lady Protector, cup of caf in hand, and a large soldier just behind her right shoulder, watching and scanning the surroundings for any troubles.

But he doubted it. Too much was different; the least of which was Sarge presumably being dead. He didn't know how widespread that information had been, and he'd not cared to look.

Stepping into the transport, holding onto the piston that kept the ramp lowered, he turned his helmeted head towards her. "But it would seem that when we're needed, we are where we need to be."

His head turned towards the nearby soldiers. "If it is alright, I will escort the Lady where she needs to go."

[member="Cira"]

 

[Cira]

Black Starcaf soon made her way to her lips as she crossed the threshold into the transport, the familiar taste of the bitter brew an elixir of steely nerves she needed. It was a familiar setting, one set up in practice day in and day out what seemed to be a lifetime ago.

But that is what it was. A lifetime ago.

The soldiers gave a questioning look over to Cira's direction. It was clear that the leading Lieutenant was not of the mind to let the Jedi Master fly with the Lady Protector. Call it a bit of a precaution, but when the woman who'd led them to the height of their power disappeared and then suddenly reappeared before their very eyes, it was a hard pressed decision to let them out of their sight.

Only Cira's nod of approval gave the young Lieutenant some measure of assurance, but even then, the desire to protect the woman was strong.

"Thank you Lieutenant Myserek," came Cira's grateful reply, the image of the full figure of the woman highlighted along the transports entrance. Her red hair went flying in crimson tendrils as a gust of the Panther's engines increased in torque, her golden eyes staring into the ones of the men who had at one time sworn to protect her and the Protectorate.

That she would know his name would not be too surprising, for his surname would be imprinted upon the Omega Defense Force uniform he wore. However, it was in the respectful and grateful tone of voice that would deliver the most impact, the soldier snapping his hand up in a farewell salute.

"Lady Protector." he would say, granting a nod before motioning for the rest of the squad to return to their posts. He turned back to Cira, and simply said the following, his voice yelling slightly higher over the whine of the engines.

"It is good to have you back."

For Cira, it was an odd sensation and she was conflicted. A faint smile would curl at the edge of her mouth, and a nod in acknowledgement would be granted in kind.

Without further ado, Cira would turn her body towards the bowels of the transport, her long legs taking her towards the secured seats that would be her shelter for the remainder of their destination.

She sat down next to a glasteel viewport, the cup of starcaf in her hand. Here she would be alone. A deep breath soon wooshed out of her in a faint sigh.

She was back at it. There was no going back now.

"To the Starfall." came her request through the intercom, as her golden eyes would pan up towards the Mandalorian Jedi she was sure would have followed her.

There was no question about it.

He always did.

Funny how she missed that.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Waiting for her to get into the shuttle, he smacked a fist against the button on the wall just to the inside of the ramp and smiled faintly as the hydraulics groaned to lift it back into position. She was already taking a seat as he cast a last look outside to the gaggles of reporters leaving the Memorial only to run into a roadblock of armed soldiers.

Soldiers who weren't about to allow them onto a makeshift command center.

"I'm sure he'll be... quite happy to see you." The man jokes quietly, moving to take a seat next to her. It was clearly sarcasm, as they both knew that Ayden had two settings - angry and less angry. Likely had something to do with the stimms, come to think of it.

Reaching up to break the seal on his helmet, the familiar tangle of dark hair across Sarge's jaw came into view as the helmet was set on the seat next to him. Eyes, black as the void, shifted to regard her for a moment as a warm smile curled one side of his lips up. Faintly black veins lined his neck, disappearing under the environmental suit he wore beneath the beskar plating.

"Unless he already knows you're around. In which case... well, he'll probably just tell you to stop surprising people like that." The Jedi shrugged, letting his head lay against the headrest as the adrenaline finally began wearing off. There was a brief moment as they crossed out of the atmosphere where he could feel gravity fall off, only to be replaced by the artificial gravity of the shuttle.

He didn't know where the Starfall was, but getting out of the atmosphere was the short part of the trip. This was the long part, heading through the empty black of space to a tiny speck in the distance. "But how was the trip?" He asks quietly, eyes closing.

[member="Cira"]

 

[Cira]

As the panther transport rose, the white knuckle grip she held on the cup of Starcaf began to relax.

Finally. She could breathe.

The anxious sensation of claustrophobia and of media reporters crowding her slowly became a distant memory. However, therein left the man that sat before her.

He mentioned Ayden. A silent nod would admit that the new Lord Protector would know of her existence -- well continuing existence. Her long fingers went flexing around the cup and her lids lowered a bit. She had taken a moment to let her gaze sweep over him. He was the same as much as he was different. The black void of his eyes was a startling revelation. Along with the blaring force signature being one key aspect that she had first come across back on Elrood.

But he wouldn't know that...

Or so she thought.

The cup of steaming black caf would come to her lips, no words between them yet as she took another deep drink of the dark liquid courage she'd come to enjoy. Long hard months had passed with her unable to drink the brew, so it was a pleasent silver lining in the storm she was sure would soon come.

He asked a particular question -- but she knew he really meant another.

Her face went panning over towards the viewport again, silence a pregnant tension between them. She finally spoke, but it was not to answer his question. Instead she asked another.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

The reports before her disappearance had been clear on the MIA status of the once Sergeant Major of the Omega Protectorate. She could recall vividly the exact moment she'd read the debriefing missive.

The irony of the question would not be far from her mind.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He was puzzled, as he ever was, finding his eyes opening to drift towards her as she turned her head away. A part of him wanted to reach out, touch her, offer consolation when she appeared almost hurt. But another part of him simply told him it was an idea he'd potentially regret.

Or, at the very least, get wrong. Maybe she wasn't upset. His gut had rarely been wrong, however, and so he reached a hand out to settle it on her leg, giving it a faint squeeze for a moment. A moment of emotion from a typically emotionally reserved individual. A glimpse inside the mind of the distant man.

The question was a bit puzzling however, because it was the first thing she'd asked him.

Wasn't he supposed to be dead.

...wasn't she?

His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment or two as he gave a shrug of a shoulder. "I could say the same for you." He whispers after another pregnant pause, the gulf of silence that habitually existed between them in moments like this seeming too vast to cross.

There was another lengthy pause before he finally sighed. "I missed you. Probably more than I should have." It was a confession he'd not anticipated making, but it was what it was.

 

[Cira]

For a woman who valued her privacy, few were ever allowed to get so close to her, much the less touch her. Her fingers tightened upon the dwindling cup of StarCaf as the warmth of his armored hand lay heavy upon her thigh, offering comfort from a man that the majority of the Galaxy would have a hard time believing he was even capable of.

More so because there was a standard unspoken agreement between the two. It was the status quo. Neither would cross the line. It was just the way things were.

But Sarge had long since managed to break into the thick wall of her defenses much in the same manner he'd done repeatedly to her office on Fondor.

It still annoyed her. But she'd missed the void of his presence anyways.

So what came next, well.. was a doozy of an experience she had not been expecting.

Sarge and Cira had a unique way of communicating. It was a standard. They had these little nonverbal conversations between pregnant pauses of silence, where they would say all those things they don't say with their mouths with their eyes and body movements instead, and they'd understand each other perfectly.

He didn't say, weren't you?

And she didn't say, It's complicated.

Another pause and she would study the large paw that gave a squeeze in reassurance, her eyes rising to meet his heavily bearded face. Up close, she could see the black veins that ran down his neck, the curious strange coloration of his eyes. Funny, even with that change he was still simply Sarge to her. Another deep breath filled her lungs.

She didn't say, I missed you.

And he didn't say, I missed you. Probably more than I should have.

But he did. Intrinsic to their wordless free-for-alls was a tacit agreement never to elevate those conversations to a verbal level. It was the only reason Cira was willing to participate.

Shock normally hidden away in her expression was apparent as her avoidant gaze locked upon the black void of his eyes.

"What did you say?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

There was a line he'd crossed the moment he'd opened his mouth, but it was a line that hurt more to avoid than not. And frankly, given they were both supposed to be dead... well, he'd rather say it and have her avoid him for it than never say it and never know the response.

She'd seemingly stiffened with shock at his touch, and it brought him back to the parting kiss he'd placed upon her head before he'd left her office for the last time. It wasn't a day or two later before he was Missing, Presumed Dead on Dagobah, trying to save HK and his men and succeeding in only saving HK itself.

The rest... well, they had perished. Their bodies hadn't been recovered, but the one's he'd put down after their resurrection... well, he'd taken their dog tags and delivered them to the families. They'd appreciated it, but some refused to listen. After all, traveling the galaxy wasn't an instantaneous process. It was months before he got the tags to some families, and he'd interrupted their healing process.

But he would rather interrupt than not give them the keepsake.

His black eyes rested upon hers, a sad curve to his lips. "You heard me." He says firmly, if quietly, even as his eyes searched her face, registering the shock she displayed for once. He'd not only found the chink in her armor, but pierced it completely.

You'd think he'd feel proud, but instead he felt almost dirty, as if crossing the threshold of her emotion was sacrilege.

 

[Cira]

There was a hike in her breath, and once again, her fingers pressed a white-knuckle grip upon the cup of caf she held. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she struggled with what to do next save stare at him, wordless.

As the transport flew over the city, light glanced off the sharp planes and shadowed the angles of his face. He was looking directly at her, and it was with that thousand-yard stare. He meant it. It was there in the sad curve of his lips, in the expression behind those deep set eyes.

Ayden had been the same, his reaction similar in relief that she was alive. But with Sarge. Well.. Sarge had always been that thorn in her side.

Only he just finally managed to draw metaphorical blood.

Her lips parted, but then closed, as if realizing just what she was about to say. No she couldn't.

Her eyes became avoidant again. Funny, that the former Lady Protector of the Omega Protectorate, the one who had fought Bando Gora Reavers, warlords, pirates and had set her terms with the Republic and that of the Confederacy would react so. The effect was more poignant when taken into account it was just him and her in this section of the transport; the sound proof walls preventing any from overhearing their conversation.

If her fingers could become any tighter around the mug of caf, they would have broken the container. She sat there, a stumped at just how to react.

But at the very least, she didn't pull away.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

She was retreating into her shell again, confused and disturbed by this particular turn of events. The only good that came of this is that she didn't pull away entirely, allowing him to mostly do as he pleased although she couldn't bring herself to look. They were alike, perhaps more so than he cared to admit, especially in regards to their emotion.

The major difference was he could express his when alone. She seemed incapable.

"Cira." He says in a careful whisper, trying to coax some of the tension from her intense grip on her caf. She'd been about to say something; perhaps that she missed him, perhaps that he should just shut up.

But she'd stopped. He'd stumped her. Completely.

Somehow, in some way, he'd laid her low. "It's ok." He says with a faint squeeze of her thigh, turning his gaze away to look at the back of the seat in front of him. He could push all day, but he knew when she'd been pushed a little too far.

It was painfully obvious in her mannerisms, all of which screamed of a desire to get away. But, still, as he'd noted before... she wasn't trying to get away.

She'd speak when she was ready; if she was ever ready

 

[Cira]

The time whizzed by, the air inside the speeding transport pregnant with all the things Cira wasn't saying.

Cira...

There it was again. His voice all gravel and rasp. She took another deep breath, her shoulders and chest rising as she did so, the faint squeeze on her thigh was the last proverbial straw that broke the bantha's back.

Being touched by [member="Sarge Potteiger"] with kindness makes one feel like you must be the most special person in the galaxy. It’s like walking up to the biggest, most savage Bha'lir in the jungle, lying down, placing your head it its mouth and, rather than taking your life, it licks you and purrs.

That knot at the back of her throat grew bigger, her attention focusing at the cup of caf at her lap. Her fingers then gave a flex, relieving some of the tension in the slender digits.

Long moments passed before she then gave a slow exhale. Finally her heart shaped face rose towards him anew, revealing a series of emotions in her golden eyes that he'd never been graced with before. It was a medley of emotions. Worry and concern. Wounded pride and an uncomfortable realization of just how much the once pain in her ass had grown on her. It disturbed her, how much that had changed since she first Force choked him and threatened to toss him out of her office window in her ire.

That even here, within the profound silence that they shared, gave her a measure of comfort.

A measure of vexation soon joined in, as he sat there in his Mandalorian armor under the colors of the Jedi Order. The Jedi Order of all things. After putting in his resignation with the Protectorate because he felt he didn't belong. Yet here he was, a member of their Order?

Where was the sense in that? After all the hypocrisy that Order had done.

Her jaw grew tense, a nerve flexing under her honey skin. This was Cira baring her emotions, muted to a degree as she sat there a bit stiffly, but showing far more than her normal steely stoic expression.

"Why did you leave?"

An odd question, considering the conversation they had when he'd turned in his resignation. But there was more to the question than just the obvious. No, in it held the other unspoken questions. Why the Jedi Order? Why them after all you said about not feeling as if you belonged? Why are you here? Why now?

I missed you. Probably more than I should have.

Why did you say those words aloud?

Why did you leave?

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

There it was again, that gulf of repressed emotion that rolled and broke in great waves beneath the solid surface of the masks the two wore. Except Sarge had let his fade, and Cira had finally decided to join in with him.

Everything she'd so often kept inside was laid out before him, in the set of her lips, the haunted shadows of her eyes. Eyes of a color she shared with someone else important in his life. But it was her question that drew his attention.

His hand moved from her leg, clasping his own as he wrung them together in thought. His eyes dropped, searching the back of the seat in front of him for answers that weren't there. Answers he'd not had to face yet.

"Why..." he repeats.

There was a long pause before he gave a nod of his head, and when he spoke he didn't look at her. "I knew you'd never be mine if I stayed." He admitted quietly. She could never have gotten where she was by sleeping with the help, and having to see and work with her every day but being unable to have her had gotten a little too much to bear.

Sure there was the new blood he'd felt had been pushing him out, that much was true too, but one didn't hand in a resignation with a 'B Mine' sticker on top.

He'd needed space to think. To consider. Not once realizing what his absence could potentially mean to her because everything had felt so one sided.

"Why?" He repeats again, practically tasting the word.

"Why did you?"

 

[Cira]

I knew you’d never be mine if I stayed.

Cira blinked.

That white-knuckled grip on her caf cup returned. The heat of the dark brew went seeping through the porcelain material and into her fingertips, but she did not register the sensation. No, her full attention was on the bearded man with the black eyes sitting before her, now avoiding her gaze. Their roles reversed.

Her lips began to purse into a straight line, nostrils flaring at his confession. It wasn’t in anger, no. Not even surprise. It was that he’d said it aloud. Only Cira would get her feathers ruffled at hearing an answer to a question she’d asked; granted it wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

Oh, she was well aware that he was the sort to speak his mind if he wanted to, without care at who the audience was or the ramifications. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was with precision.

And hearing him say that aloud only made her more aware of what she didn’t want to acknowledge.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t aware of the intimate interest various other sentients had of her that dealt more than just that of the role of the Lady Protector. It came along with the territory of someone in power -- it didn’t have to be specifically towards the current form she chose to utilize. In this specific instance, that of ‘Cira’.

Sentients were either interested in bedding the woman or the Lady Protector, sometimes both. She was not so innocent to turn a blind eye to it and she simply reacted to it like she did everything; ignore it. Business is business. It only takes one moment to ruin an image or a perception. Control. It was all about control. She would have never made it this far if the sentients she interacted with didn’t take her seriously.

It just rattled her that Sarge admitted this.

Awkward was putting it lightly. Or perhaps that was the wrong word. Cira long sinced had gleaned the reputation of a very private and perhaps cold blooded woman, holding an aloof and cool air about her when it came to conducting Protectorate business. It was the image she’d carefully molded for the protection of those who were under her care as well as for her own sake. However, that didn’t mean she wasn’t without certain passions.
She just kept those to herself.

All too often history has shown itself that the bedroom is a sanctuary often a chink in the armor that could very well destroy governments by a mere slip of the tongue.

She could not afford that. Not as Cira. No matter how often at the end of the day saw her coming home to an apartment under another name and another face.

Perhaps, she’d just grown too cynical and paranoid at the galaxy. But she could live with that. She had to.. .right?

More than six months stuck in a Sith Oubliette certainly brought into perspective just how the mind would wander when left to her own defenses. It was a different experience compared to when she’d been frozen in time for nearly four hundred years.

Far too much time to think about subject matters she had been avoiding for some time.

A deep intake of breath lifted her shoulders, the long length of her auburn bangs falling forward to brush the right side of her cheek as she once again, dropped her gaze onto the black liquid in her cup.

I knew you’d never be mine if I stayed.

It was complicated as it was simple. More questions ran through her mind, those along the lines of her true nature and the comparison to the alias she allowed others to see and the Talia she did not. That he did not know. There were others of course, rooted on the rather bizarre relationship they seemed to have developed from what originally began as a volatile minefield.

Some of them revealing answers she wasn’t quite ready to hear -- or more importantly that would bring an even more startling awareness to that which she’d been attempting to keep out of sight and out of mind -- and he’d just managed to sight in on it with the sniper like quality.

It annoyed her.

Things just worked so much easier when it was simply business and work. Streams of data, statistics, facts and history were her pleasures in life. Subjectivity was not.

And it certainly didn’t help matters that regardless of her position, she was distinctly reminded that beyond that Quadanium steel armor, she was after all, a woman -- With those wretched emotions that came along with it.

Why did you?

Thank the Force that he followed up with that question. This… this she could deal with. That she could handle. She already had to answer them with Ayden, in this she was prepared.

It made a wonderful tangent to reply to.

“ It wasn’t by choice. ” she said simply and tersely, bringing the cup of caf up to take another sip. She hadn’t, of course. Not on purpose. It had been a situation that had slipped out of control from her hands. What would have normally been a typical archaeological outing for the Professor Talia turned into something far different than what she expected.

Throwing herself into her first passion is what helped the Shi’ido hybrid relieve stress, much in the same manner that the burly man before her did the same. She’d done it for years without repercussion.

One could only assume that bad luck finally cashed in its ticket.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

It wasn't by choice.

It never was, and yet it aways seemed to be. With a sigh, one corner of his lips downturned. She was so startlingly human right now, a veritable showcase of emotion and indecision. All because of him. Strange to think that it was a lowly Jedi like him who had finally broken down the wall.

Perhaps being stubborn could pay off; it rarely didn't, provided you were intelligent about the limits of your endeavors.

But his attention drifted towards her, even as hers dropped to the swirling blackness of the caf he'd made her. Funny how a simple cup of caf was all that had been needed to confirm his identity to her. Reaching out carefully, he brushed some strands of auburn hair from her face, putting her bangs back in place with a touch that tried to be gentle but was just a little too rough to succeed.

The story of his life; being unintentionally hard on things.

"Never is." He says in a mournful voice, hand dropping away to return to his lap. It almost pained him, seeing her like this. It was what he had wanted, but she seemed so afraid, uncertain. She reminded him of a child taking their first steps.

Confident only in the fact that they'd be caught when they fell, but entirely uncertain as to how to accurately and competently proceed.

"Never is...", he repeats, unable to find more words to express the strange conglomeration of emotion that swirled within him. There were just some things you couldn't fix, and things you'd never understand no matter how much you tried.

Cira seemed to be one of them.

 

[Cira]

Cira felt the hard brush of warm fingers against her cheek as Sarge not so delicately tucked the length of red hair behind her ear. The action brought another sharp intake of breath and her immediate attention, her lashes rising as gold locked upon black.

He did it again. And there it was. Awareness.

It vexed her.

In that moment, she seemingly believed that if given the choice between the subtle attempts at comfort and between his choice gruff vernacular as he called her a schutta, she’d pick the latter.

She could handle his anger and his obnoxious desire to stir her ire. His attempts to comfort her… another matter entirely.

It only brought back the night that he’d given her his resignation and left her in her office with the lingering sensation of his kiss at her temple.

Awareness. She didn’t like it.

Providence came in the manner that Cira excelled at. Diverting.

“I didn’t know the Order had a mandatory ocular cosmetic line.” she said plainly, making a reference to his eyes, her gaze drifting from those deep set shadows over the scruffy tangle of his beard to the faint dark veins that were stark against his skin

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"They don't." The man rumbles quietly, shaking his head as he rests himself back in his seat, all too aware of all the lines he'd been crossing the past few minutes of their shuttle ride. At the very least, she could take solace in the fact that no one was any the wiser about what was going on in the cabin.

She'd probably blow a gasket or seven if anyone knew how close Sarge was to her in those moments. Just like that, her aloof persona would be thrown out the window. It wouldn't matter that she wasn't returning anything, it would only matter that she was letting it happen.

And that was the important part to Sarge, she was letting it happen. She could retract. She could tell him off. But she wasn't. It puzzled him, in a way. The obvious answer would be she was OK with it, and wanted it. But what if she wasn't but did? This was why social interactions were something he didn't exactly look forward to. "Dagobah did." He explains finally, shying away from that particular conversation.

Killing your friends was something Sarge was... perhaps more familiar with than he'd like. But that planet had taken it to a whole new level. The only silver lining was the armor he'd found in a discarded storage container out in the swamps. The unspoken statement was -

It's because I was protecting your assets that this happened.

But he didn't say that. There was no point, and frankly he'd do it again if it came down to it. Watching her eyes drop to his neck, he tilted his head quizzically to the side for a moment before letting her do as she willed.

 

[Cira]

He didn’t have to say more than that. Considering that was his last sighting before he went MIA, it made sense.

Question was just how exactly did it affect him? There was more to the chemistry, and she could read between the lines.

Her sight fell to her nearly empty glass of caf as they began to break atmo; a slight rumbling coursing through the transport, making tiny waves scatter across the surface of her caf.

The white-knuckle grip was gone for the moment, but her fingers ever did trace the porcelain edge in her internal musings.

There were sacrifices to be made in their line of work. Sacrifices and risks that all who served the Omega Protectorate knew well. It was reinforced with every single somber ceremony at the Fondor memorial, that great vast basin where a single light among hundreds of thousands signified a life lost in protecting those who they had sworn to protect.

It was the very same risk she also endured when she fought undercover with those she employed. Though she was sure if Ayden and Sarge had ever found out -- the scene would have been similar to the one that ended up with her body in a bacta tank for days.

After Sarge had shot her.

There was the slightest of upward curves at the corner of her mouth. Subtle. In hindsight, there was a measure of humor in it. However, she doubted Sarge or Ayden still saw it that way.

With a small sigh she brought the cup of caf to her lips and took one more sip. All she had left would be enough to finish it off, and once she did in that would be the unspoken signal. Once she did that, this conversation would be over. The Starfall wouldn’t be too far off now, not with the intense fleet activity that Ayden had been sure to personally oversee.

Her gaze went panning over to the viewport, the glow of the Panther’s hull as it exited Eriadu’s atmosphere gave Cira’s face a distinct pale amber glow. Soon the black void of space would replace scattered clouds and starry skies.

“So now you are a Jedi.” she stated plainly, her forefinger starting to tap against the mug.

The blaring Force signature was not hard to miss.