Wild Mountain Thyme [Cira]

[Sarge Potteiger]

"And you're amused." He says with the barest hints of a smirk appearing upon his lips. He'd caught that faint smile she'd displayed, thinking of something from her past that brought her some measure of happiness. What it was, he wasn't sure, but it was good to see her remembering something happy instead of being so stoic.

Tilting his head a little, he eyed the void of space that seemed to engulf their transport, eyes moving to debris and the faintly flickering flames of destroyed ships. "What were you thinking of?" He asks, his voice that of a friend hoping to coax some sort of memory from their partner.

What had amused her? Why was she smiling? It was such a rare occurrence for her; an actual, true smile. Just as seeing his face had become something of a rarity for most, so too did seeing her like this fall into that category. But most didn't even realize the game that was being played.

Because if one was never told the rules, nor that the game had started... how were you to know you were playing?

"I was there when the Sith fell. Finally. And yet they hang about like a cancer, and new warlords rise in their place all over, hoping to continue their ways - the Mandalorians among them. I heard rumor on the ground that a Mandalorian was involved in the fight up here... fighting for the Fringe.

And there's rumblings they're none too happy with the Republic having taken Korriban to watch over." He shrugged faintly, fingers falling to the saber at his waist. She, too, was Force sensitive, and he imagined she could count on one hand the number of people who knew.

And funnily enough, he'd found out the first time he'd ever met her.

That memory... well, that was enough to put a smile on his face; the warm, tired smile of a man looking into his past and seeing nothing but fond memories.

 

[Cira]

Her smile faded as he pointed out her amusement, raising her lids to look at him again. In there she caught sight of the faintest smirk dancing across his face. Now that was an odd thing.

Funny how the simplest things had them both a bit stumped to see in the other. She too was curious what amused him so, but she wouldn't ask it aloud.

Too much had already rattled her nerves.

What were you thinking of?

A few moments passed while she considered answering. Her head lowered a bit, as did her eyes down to her caf cup again.

"You won't be amused by it." she finally said, her fingers lightly tapping the cup. She considered asking more about the Order, her frustration rising again. That was a thought, but there were other thoughts attached to that thought that she hadn't thought through yet.

So instead of a question she merely made a statement.

"After everything. A Jedi." she stated in the silence with a low casual hush. But there was nothing casual about it. She took a deep breath. A slight dull ache began to grow at the bridge of her nose. Two fingers rose to pinch it, her eyes fluttering shut as she began to slowly revert back into the mask.

One last sip of her caf and they would be done.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

How would she know if he'd be amused or not?

Shaking his head a little, he have a bit of a sigh. "And you'd know, how?" He asks quietly, coarse voice a cross between hurt and chiding. She'd know he wasn't about to pry however, and that would likely be the end of that.

Watching her, he could practically feel the frustration building off her. "It makes sense. All I did was protect others in my time in the Pyre, often only drawing a weapon when your life was in danger. I sorely needed the discipline the Jedi helped provide, however, and they've gotten it so my anger is no longer so volatile.

I'll certainly take that over being on a hair trigger." He admits somewhat sheepishly.

"But is that really what's bothering you, Cira? Or is it something else?" Again he was probing, reading into things as he so often did.

Perhaps there was something she was keeping back he didn't know about. Not that he expected her to admit to anything.

 

[Cira]

Golden eyes went peering at him through the lattice of her fingers, giving her an almost feline appearance under the amber glow through the viewport. In the past he’d would ask probing questions and she would simply do what she did best and divert to a new subject.

To him it might be a game. To her, it was merely the automated response into holding onto her privacy. She gave only as much information as one needed at that specific time if it was relevant to conducting Protectorate business. Her personal life was another story.

For the longest time, she’d often thought that Sarge merely did it just to get a rise out of her. It vexed her that he was making it difficult to determine just what his intentions were. Granted, there were a multitude of reasons why he vexed her.

But if he wanted to play this game…

“Because you weren’t so amused back at the medbay.” she wouldn’t have to say anything more than that. There was only one time he’d been in her presence in a med-bay; that she knew of at least. If he’d been at her side after Denon, she would have no recollection of it.

Then he went on to speak about the Jedi teaching him discipline. Her eyes gave a subtle widening as her hand fell from her face. Sarge and discipline said in the same sentence was a rather ironic statement. The years spent working together certainly was filled with various volatile situations that had a tendency to … escalate quickly.

But is that really what’s bothering you, Cira? Or is it something else?

Why did he have to do that? she mused with a measure of frustration. She shifted on her seat, turning her gaze away as she swung one long left leg over her right.

She took a deep breath, almost as if to steady herself.


“Why does it concern you?” she said in an attempt to wrangling in some modicum of control to the conversation. Answer a question with another question. Attempting to go back to the normal routine of things where she diverted his question by making him answer another.
His open concern only made her more aware of what had changed and what had not; in her and as well as him. It made her uncomfortable. Didn’t meld well with her current confusion at just where her position was in the Protectorate, where she belonged. What she was to do. There were other far more important things for her to be concerned about than the burly man with eyes of a dark void in front of her and the emotions he was evoking.

It irked her.

It was then that Cira came to the realization that she’d asked the wrong question to divert the conversation. She had not thought it through. By Dyspeth’s moon! came her mental curse. Asking him that would be inviting him to actually say aloud why he was concerned.

And she really didn’t want to go down that path.

So she quickly followed up with, “ It must be uncomfortable to be out in the open with a Force Signature… after being so used to having none. The necessity of hiding your presence in the Force and unable to do it presently must be a frustrating ordeal.”

She didn’t say, I normally wouldn’t be doing this for you. But in the back of her mind, that was a lie in itself. She would have. For him.

“ Ever heard of Quey’tek Meditation?”

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Time has a habit of making the worst of our past look better than it was at the time." He responds carefully, knowing full well how that worked for him. Not for Ayden though. All of his pain was just as raw as it had ever been.

Not that Cira would know why.

Sarge was the only person with that information, so far as he knew.

"Because your welfare has always concerned me." He admits, giving her a stern look. Ever since she'd threatened to throw him from a window, he'd never been too far from her side. At first it was mostly by happenstance, but eventually it became clear there was none in the Pyre better equipped to protect her than him.

And he'd hardly left her side since, baring her disappearance. Technically his resignation had lasted all of a day before he was dead, so that didn't count for much.

Just like that, she was back to avoiding and deflecting. She had realized that what she'd asked was going to get answers she didn't want to hear. She was hiding again. "No, I haven't. But you're avoiding the personal questions again, Cira. You can't do it forever. Force knows I couldn't."

 

[Cira]

Just like that, she had enough.

Ironically enough, the cabin of this transport suddenly became as claustrophobic as Tarkin’s Memorial Conference center, media and all.

She uncrossed her legs, straightening in her chair. Gone were any lingering remnants of the muted emotions she’d unconsciously allowed him to see. In it’s place was the Lady Protector, formor or not, that mask was there.

Cooly, Cira brought that cup of caf to her lips. In one fell swoop, she drank it all.

She didn’t have to say it aloud.

We are done with this conversation.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Mm." The Jedi says, watching her go as rigid as a rock. He'd found the line, crossed it, and this is what he got. He had expected this. But the emptying of the cup at the same time... that irked him.

That irked him something fierce.

Inhaling audibly through his nose, he looked up at her and spoke in a genial tone that stood in stark contrast to his words.

"Here I thought I was worth more to you than a simple cup of caf."

Yeah. That hurt.

It had cut deep.

 

[Cira]

Yeah, she was starting to feel suffocated. More so after his last.

A subtle jerk went through her body at that lash, the genial tone sharpening the lance of his words.

She had expected anger, not this.

It aggravated her and she didn’t know how to handle that.

Her cup was set on a small place holder to her right, and she rose to her feet abruptly. Her body was thrumming with growing anger, and like a Nexu wanting to lick its wounds, she retreated, but not before he’d see the flash of gold in her eyes.

She didn’t say, Don’t do this. But it was there, in her rigid stance and in the sudden crossing of her arms across her chest as she shot her attention towards the farthest viewport across the cabin.

Beyond the glasteel would be the scattered remains of enemy and friendly ships alike, the Omega Defense Force fleets from Sullust and Vandelhelm slowly working through standard procedures as they claimed the dead and processed the living prisoners of the Fringe.

Beyond that lay Ayden’s fleet, the Starfall’s scarlet outline reflecting Eriadu’s sunlight over it’s dark hull.

Don’t.

She didn’t want to go down this path. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to mull over various reasons of why it vexed her that he’d say that.

When time had made clear that he was.

As much as she hated to admit it.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Say it, Cira." He says, clearly meaning whatever was on her mind.

"The sooner you say it the sooner the room stops shrinking."

 

[Cira]

"You are an ass.". Came her terse reply, anger flaring in her eyes to turn them into a bright vibrant gold as she snapped her head to look at him.

Her Force signature suddenly flared into existence before she extinguished it, her emotions riding the release of the Quey'tek meditation just like the day he'd broken into her office the very first time they met.

That was the second time she'd ever done that in years.

Blast it him all to the Corellian Hells and back!

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"I've gotta keep up with yours somehow." He responds snidely, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. He'd cut deep with that last one, he knew, but getting her to say something like that...?

He couldn't stop the deep rumbling from his chest that was a hearty, amused chuckle.

And it was about that time he felt her light in the Force, although he could hardly reach out to her mind at all. His own may as well have been a black hole. "You'll have to teach me that sometime." He adds quietly.

He was fairly certain he was the only person to draw her out of hiding multiple times. That was something he could be proud of.

 

[Cira]

His chortling was liquid fuel to her growing ire.

"You just don't know when to shut up!" she uttered under her breath, jerking her face away to bore her dagger like gaze at the approaching fleet.

The Starfall grew larger as their transport flew near.

It couldn't be fast enough.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The man reached out, settling a hand on her shoulder. "Cira." He whispers, hoping to soothe the rage she was clearly barely restraining. She was more like him than he'd realized.

 

[Cira]

The Starfall loomed before them as the Panther Transport slowly began to guide its way into the vast hangar. They would be docking soon.

Not soon enough.

This had to be some kind of twisted nightmare.

Had there been someone at the Memorial Conference room who had been smoking deathsticks? Did she inhale any second hand smoke and in turn, some of the ixetal cilona into her system?

The drug had a higher adverse affect on the woman than in other sentients, with the hallucinogenic side effects more vivid and wilder than normal.

That had to be it right. Clearly, this had to be some twisted hallucination.

One that took it upon himself to set his hand on her shoulder, the raspy whisper of her name at her back. The warmth of his hand and the presence of his Force Signature making it very clear this was no illusion or mirage.

Something twisted at the pit of her stomach at the bizarre twist of faith at having Sarge of all sentients attempting to calm her down. It only irked her more.

It irked her something fierce.

She turned her head away and began to try to shrug his shoulder off, saying the following curtly in a low hush.

“You have an Order to look after.” she told him, attempting to push him back by referencing his own words back at him. Only that the next were said with a slight twist; in Anselmian.

“Už nie som tvoja starosť..”

<< I am no longer your concern>>

Was she intending to lash out as he had with her? Perhaps.

But his presence was becoming more disconcerting than she was willing to admit.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

When her shoulder shrugged... most would have flinched away, intent on not offending the Lady Protector. Not Sarge. He'd broken into her office too many times to count, the first of which had nearly culminated with being thrown from a sky scraper by a woman he'd never met - the woman standing in front of him.

No. He latched on tighter, the grip as sure and firm as his broad shouldered presence behind her.

What pissed him off, though, was her constant retreating into her shell whenever forced to confront the fact that she was a person. It wasn't him making her angry, not anymore. It was what he was making her face; that she had emotion, wants, needs... all things she had long since put to the sideline for her role as the Lady Protector.

In helping others, she'd seemingly forgotten how to help herself. And that only enraged him further; but the moment his temper flared, Force Signature following suite... it was gone, quelled like a just-struck match by the wind.

He was calm.

Unlike her.

"I do not have an Order to look after." He says quietly. "It can look after itself."

Inhaling slowly, he spoke without thinking, regretting the words almost the moment they left his mouth. "Unlike you." He'd gone there.

"And you're my concern until you remember you're a person, not a title nor a figure."

 

[Cira]

His fingers bit into her shoulder, and when he didn’t let her go her head went whipping towards him.

“ Says the man who almost killed me himself!?” she lashed back, regretting it as soon as she did it. But it was too late.

A hand shot up, palm coming flat against the Mandalorian armor plates over his broad chest, and she shoved back, hard.

Her hair went flying forward in the action, flanking her face as she pushed. Her chest was heaving, eyes furious as she jutted her chin out at him. Tall as she was, he still was taller, but that didn’t mean Cira didn’t know how to make a man feel smaller than her with a single frigid glance.

She didn't want to continue hearing him say that. That he cared. And she didn't want to think of what that meant.

It was unfamiliar to her. So she fell back to what was.


“I’ve lived a long life without you prior to the blasted merger that had you walk across the threshold of the Omega Towers. I survived just fine,” came the biting words, used as mortar and brick for the wall she so desperately wanted to bring back up between them.

“And after you left, I did just fine --” her chin lifted and her head tilted to to the right, eyes narrowing in her glory, ‘ See, still alive. And I’ll do just as well after you’re gone from Protectorate Space again..”

Her nostrils flared as she gave a sharp inhale.

“You are not my security escort, you are not under my payroll, and you most certainly are neither father nor lover to make it his business about my life.” her body was practically thrumming with energy, eyes bright, face flushed. A beatific sight.

“Perhaps you are taking your Jedi whims a bit too seriously. Reconsider that.”

The gloves were off.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"I only nearly killed you because you were too stupid to think, to even remember that I prefer slugthrowers." The man says, voice low but far from harsh. It was strained, no longer jovial, but hardly enraged. Perhaps this was a different man than she remembered, in more ways than one.

But just as she shoved, so too did his legs lock into place to keep him from budging. It was easy with short, tree trunk legs like his own to simply plant and remain immovable; that didn't mean he didn't slide back an inch or two, but it did mean he clearly wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

For once, he was thankful that this room was soundproof.

And he was thankful, too, that she was letting out some emotion.

But for all her bluster... he felt his glistening black eyes narrow. The vague outline of his iris's caught in the light as he peered at her in all her anger and pride. He'd been like that once, but this wasn't the anger of someone anger at another. This was the anger of one trying to avoid something within themselves.

That was an anger he was intimately familiar with.

"Or, perhaps, you're afraid of facing yourself." He says finally, voice serious as he surprised even himself and planted a kiss upon her lips. An absolutely terrible idea, one done on instinct. One that was likely about to get him hit.

Hard.

 

[Cira]

The transport gave a shudder as it began to taxi into its designated station and Cira's temper flared white hot as he barely shifted mere inches at her push.

Blast him!

Or, perhaps, you're afraid of facing yourself.

Sparks flew from her eyes, the angles of her face straining in her ire.

"You don't know what hell you are talking about!" she snarled out at him, chin lifting in defiance when he did the unbelievable. He ground his mouth against hers.

She exploded.

Cira shoved at him, arms pistoning and planting down against his chest, attempting to dislodge him her lips. Deny him. But in the primitive rear of her mind came the question if she was merely denying herself.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The primitive part of his wanted to keep their lips locked together, but his mind allowed itself to understand where she was. What was going on. Shaking his head a bit, he took a step back from her and folded his arms across his chest. She was every bit as angered as before, cheeks alight with the warmth that rage so often brought.

"Don't I?" He asks with another shake of his head. "I don't think you do." Her anger was simply selling this for him. While most would see this at face value... he'd worked with her long enough to know what this meant by virtue of it never happening before. This was wholly different than when he'd barged into her office and she'd threatened to kill him.

That was a surprised anger. An anger at an intrusion.

This was an outward lashing at inward confusion, much like when he would get angry when others criticized him - not because he didn't want to hear it, but because he was already criticizing himself.

And perhaps that was it for her. She knew it, but she just didn't want to hear it. You couldn't make someone listen.

But that didn't stop him from unfolding his arms, taking a step forward and locking his curiously glistening gaze on hers. The positioning of his body was clear; don't leave yet.

"Why are you angry Cira. Be honest. No one is here but us..." and you know how well I can keep secrets, just ask Ayden.

 

[Cira]

Her chest heaved in her brilliant anger, great breaths of air whooshing into her lungs as she glared fiery daggers at his direction.

She had enough. He could just feth off.

There came another shudder throughout the transport as skids began to uncurl from under its belly, gracefully touching down upon the hanger deck. Outside, the whine of the engines began to slow and die down.

They were at the Starfall.

And that meant she could just leave. Perfect.

With a death glare at the Jedi, Cira began to shove and make her way from the area he'd managed to corner her in. She was done with this conversation. She was done with it ten blasted minutes ago.

"Get out." she shot out under her breath, whipping her head straight forward towards the direction of the exit. Just beyond that a couple of meters lay the gangway and the airlock.

At that moment, she was glad he was a blasted Jedi.

It meant he would be as far away from Protectorate Space as possible.

And that she could kick him out of the blasted ship.