Private You Aren't Who You Were

[Mallory Bash]

Location: Palace of the Jedi, NJO Temple, Coruscant

There was a time when Mal could not imagine having such a noble destination, not in fact, until most recently. She tried to shake the feeling of misplacement, the notion that she didn't belong there, dropping from the traffic lane on her approach to the Temple. That nagging sensation of homelessness, of purposelessness, had haunted her since the days in the Outer Rim. They had followed her wherever she had gone. Rebellion, Verge Flotilla, no place felt like home. She had even returned to Dunari’s Station where she had grown up, where her mother still lived and worked. Not even there did the half-Nagai spacer find home.

Desperate in her soul, Mal had set course for the inner systems, to the light that seemed to glow brightest there, the Galactic Alliance. She had chafed at the idea of such a place, only in that it's claimed virtues and noble cause made the shadows of her sordid past appear even more sullied. But, perhaps that was just what she needed, a place where the stain of her shadowy business, of her indiscretions, could be countered with the embrace of a larger cause.

Mal's intent wasn't just to find legitimate work for herself and her freighter. The had woman sought something more...significant. She wanted to work for the Alliance. Recruited by the Navy, Mal was given the generous commission as Commander in Logistic Support. The Stellar Kart, with minor modifications, was also commissioned as a light freighter, allowing Mal to retain it. This run, one of her first tasks, had not been with the fleet at all, but a planetside run to the Jedi Temple itself. The cargo was unnamed, but marked high priority, explaining the out-of-cycle special delivery by military transport.

The Courier-Class transport lighted gently upon the decking of the Temple's hanger bay, kissing the ground under hands intimately familiar with the ship's controls. Cycling down the craft's systems, Mal touched the comm. "Ship secured, prepare to unload." Her voice announced with an authority still unfamiliar to her ears. Back in the cargo bay, she knew the two ensigns crewing the ship that day were releasing the container's restraints and lifting it to the repulsor cart.

While the cargo was being unloaded, Mal lowered the ramp and strode down to meet the deck officer. Mal wore a work uniform, her jet black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She carried a sidearm, a habit she could not shake from her days in less savory business. As always, her father's Tehk'lka Blade was also concealed on her person, though she had no reason to think she would need either on Coruscant, let alone in the Jedi hanger.

"Commander." The Zabrak deck officer acknowledged Mal, a bit surprised to see an officer accompanying the cargo. She glanced down at her datapad. "Shipment 0241B." The deck officer stated, rather than asked.

Mal nodded. "Correct." Mal replied, turning to watch the ensigns guiding the container down the ramp, where a team of deckhands waited to receive the shipment. "Easy boys, we want to make a good impression." She stated, more tongue in cheek than sincere. She was sure the young men were nervous enough being in the Jedi Temple.

The deck officer turned her datapad towards Mal. "Mark, please." Mal pressed her thumb to the small screen. "You may visit the lounge, over there." She gestured with a delicate finger to a door at the far side of the hanger. "Please do not enter the Temple unaccompanied." Which was a nice way to say, 'don't enter the Temple.'

Glancing over her shoulder, Mal could see the container being moved by both the ensigns and the deck hands to the hanger's cart. Then, she strode towards the lounge. She hoped the planetary air coming in from the open bays made their way into the lounge. The unfiltered breeze felt nice.

Tag: Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

It hadn't really been planned.

Damsy had just found herself with about an half hour of precious downtime and, while figuring out just what to do with herself, she came to realize that she hadn't watched starships takeoff for a long time. She had, of course, been in many hangar bays scattered through GA space over the last year or so, all necessitated by the various missions she had taken on, but she had never once stopped to smell the roses. Or people watch, as it was more practical than proverbial.

Upon sitting down at a bar seat looking out from the pilot's lounge into the hangar, and nursing a thermos of caf--lid completely screwed off and set nearby to allow the contents to more rapidly cool--a reminiscent pit opened at the nadir of her heart. She fell into the sinkhole. Bittersweet stung at her skin like freshwater, drying and tingling. Sighing, she took one hand off her vessel to stretch out each finger, not to chase off the feelings tugging at her, but rather to allow herself to settle more comfortably into the sensation.

Though she didn't want to slide into the Confed's DMs again, much less agree to return to military service, she found it easy to treasure the memories that the faction had fostered for her. Namely, hers with Omega Squad, and specifically, with Typhan. They had not had much time to themselves either--none of them--a combination of the CIS gobbling up most of their waking hours (and Damsy was technically awake 24/7) and Omega commandos tending to sacrifice what little was left to the service. But every once in a while, they did choose, or were forced, to take proper R&R. Other than that, though, every Omega greenhorn learned quickly to enjoy the little things.

Like watching starships and people in a hangar bay while on layover awaiting new assignment.

Sometimes making gentlemen's bets about the docking order.

Fighters often took off just when Damsy thought they would, but she never could figure out the schedule of freighters. There were too many moving parts there; once scrambled, damn near nothing kept fighter pilots on the ground.

She was wearing her street clothes sans sunglasses. Her eye color had recovered completely from Korriban now, the deep ocean blue flooding out the last flecks of red-gold Sith corruption.



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

Location: Hangar Bay, Palace of the Jedi, NJO Temple, Coruscant

Mal strolled into the small lounge area. It was clearly intended for non-Jedi visitors, those who's business did not extend beyond the hanger, a small area sufficient for visitors to rest long enough for cargo to be loaded or unloaded, or for a vessel to take on fuel. It possessed a single 'fresher, several comfortable chairs facing the wall of windows looking out over the hanger bay, and a short bar manned by a server droid. While basic refreshments were served, none were alcoholic.

The lounge was empty, aside from the droid and a woman seated at the bar. Her clothing caught her attention first, styled, attractive and most certainly not Jedi. But Mal didn't expect that Jedi patronized the small area, saw little reason they would. Perhaps the woman was from one of the other small freighters in the bay, or perhaps...

Mal was surprised she didn't see it at first glance, but perhaps the lack of uniform had distracted her. The deep blue eyes, hair as raven black as her own, and skin of soft mocha. The half-Nagai's pale skin took on an even lighter hue. Even without the CIS uniform, the woman sat with quiet, easy authority and statuesque grace, just as she had the last time Mal saw her. No There was no doubt who sat upon that stool.

Major Damsy Callat.

"Grease my teats with fire jelly..." Mal murmured, the old smuggler colloquialism slipping across her tongue. It had been more than a year previously that Mal had picked up a single passenger, a mysterious woman who hired her for passage deep into Sith space. That woman was the famed Major Damsy Callat of the CIS, The Siren of Kamino, a military hero, or at least had been, until her unit was all but disgraced. While the two women became acquainted, Mal was never privy to Damsy's business in Sith space. Now, that woman sat not five meters away in the Temple of the New Jedi Order. She was the last person Mal would have expected to run into in the small lounge.

"Damsy, Damsy Callat." Mal spoke, overcoming the shock and speaking with the confidence fitting the Commander insignia on her uniform. "I... I am frankly surprised to see you ... here."


Tag: Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

Mal would be surprised to find out how Jedi dressed in the Core nowadays, but not the longer she served the Alliance and ran into some of Damsy's peers. Spacer fashion was the New Jedi Order's fast and loose dress code. When Damsy had figured that out, she hadn't complained. After years upon years of battle armor to beskar, when the joy of her day was letting her body breathe in her blacks, of course she wasn't looking forward to layers of another kind but just as impermeable.

Damsy heard her name, twice, mid-sip of caf. Face half hidden by the lip of her thermos, she turned towards the voice, bar stool seat swiveling smoothly under her torso. When a pale face framed neatly in black met her gaze, the corners of her own mouth upturned into an easy smile--easy because recognition came in slow waves. The first, now, hit immediately: she knew that identity. The second was still a ways out to sea, rolling with unspoken insinuation. The terms they had parted on, and what they might mean here, didn't come to her mind at all.

Focused on reunion instead, Damsy set her drink back down on the counter. "Goddamn! Mal!!" she returned the hybrid's greeting with lively enthusiasm. She had almost immediately liked the freighter captain, though Damsy had played her literal and metaphorical pazaak hands close to her chest for most of the haul from Scarif to the Yavin system, except for that little shifting accident in the galley. Completely oblivious of the even larger enigma she was fast becoming to the other woman, Damsy crossed over the few meters separating them and offered a hearty hug.



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

The woman's face turned towards Mal, at first hidden by the brim of the thermos. Then it lowered. She saw recognition immediately in the azure gaze, Mal finding a small pleasure in that. It was certain then that Damsy recognized the half-breed, but what would the reception be?

Only a moment passed until the former freighter pilot breathed a sigh of relief. The Kaminoan answered with enthusiasm, setting aside the thermos to close the small distance between them, long arms open for an embrace. Mal found herself taking the last step towards the taller woman, arms wrapping around Damsy's waist. It was strange but not uncomfortable, given the friendly but arm's-length relationship they shared aboard the Stellar Kart. Mal had admired the attractive, authoritative Damsy in the short time they shared company. It was a spot of intrigue and pleasure in a life that had been solitary and mundane.

After a brief hug, Mal released Damsy and took a step back, looking at the woman. Damsy's civilian clothes stripped away the bit of formality that the uniform she used to where contributed to the otherwise casual former Major. They fit her figure snugly, compimenting her quite well. Damsy looked well and happy, void of the ominous cloud that seemed to hang over her on the trip to Yavin.

"It is good to see you, I always wondered what happened to you, though I am not much of a holonet watcher, I am sure you have made news somewhere along the line. What are you doing here, of all places?" She asked, tugging on her uniform. She was still not quite used to the GA jump suit uniform.


Tag: Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

"News? Me?"

Nah.

Not anymore, not for half a decade or more, and hopefully not for a few more years at least. Well, ideally, never again, but something was bound to give, break her streak. Plus, if the Sithspawn Sanctorium was to grow beyond its sparse numbers, maybe media attention would prove to be the boost it needed. Not now though, and surely not for some time.

The two rhetorical questions were asked playfully. With any luck, they would make her out to be a woman shied away from an overtly public life—which she for the most part was, but there she went hiding the whole truth from Mal all over again. Regardless, her explanation was entirely honest:

"Series of bad decisions, really." It felt good to finally say that to someone, even padded by a laugh, like she had shed about fifty stone by shifting from shark to human. The catharsis after so much bodily pain, which time with the Jedi actually was for a Sithspawn. "Retirement wasn't in my cards, basically." Then it hit her: memories of entering a star system, feeling a primordial draw to planetary object #8, and then, being alone. Getting hungry and deciding to see what the planet had to offer in the way of edible fauna. Meeting Synann Young on her hunt, almost getting hunted herself. Living with the Melodie for an extended period of time. They were like her, in almost all ways. Who would have imagined, on nearly another side of the galaxy? The most striking difference: there was no Kaminoan ingenuity here, though, just Sith alchemy.

That was why it had been so had to leave.

But Dathomir had called so strongly.

And the ghosts of her men and woman lost on Rodia still haunted her. Jorgen, most of all, seeped into her squaloid sleep's dreams.

She wanted so badly to see him again.

If she had just resisted, sworn to herself from the first few moments on Mal's Stellar Kart—not gone back to her former country for anything—she could have been happy. This one, relatively simply desire to close a wound not even the chilled Yavin moon water could close set off a domino effect that likewise sent her tumbling back into Confederate space.

From there, the mess really began. Now, it was still unfolding. She doubted it would ever end.

But there was no need to spill her guts to a woman she, in all honestly, barely knew.

Damsy glanced around the lounge. Finding it empty besides current company and a barkeeping droid, she produced a credit from her pocket and leaned over to slide it to the droid. A bribe? She didn't think of it like that. Just business making her request worth its while. "Give us a minute or two, buddy?"

: || Certainly, || : the droid affirmed before slurping the metal bar into its receptacle and whirring off towards the back area.

Damsy had been here long enough to know that Jedi security was tight in the Temple. They reviewed everything, even the transcripts off a server droid in the small hangar bay lounge. So she ought start thinking up a good excuse as to why she sent it away. When it was out of mechanic earshot, she added, "Look, Mal, I get it. It's funny seeing a lady havin' had business in Sith space dancing with the New Jedi Order. So much's happened to me since then and...I'm not about to talk your ear off about it," more for her own sanity rather than Mal's, "but I can promise ya—honest to Ashla, hand on heart, glory to Chancellor Chandra—I'm not Sith."



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

Mal measured the features of the woman before her, still close after the embrace. The former smugger realized that, during the trip to Yavin, she had never had such a close look at the former CIS officer. Meeting Damsy's blue gaze, Mal noticed that they were nearly the same height, the woman maybe even a bit shorter than Mal. Damsy had always seemed taller. It was funny how one's perception of a person could shape an image of them in the mind.

Damsy's response was casual, off the cuff, the words almost dismissive of the change Mal saw over the length of a year. Mal had no sense of the Force, or skills in observation above that which one had to learn to survive shipping in the Rim, but the half-Nagai could see a drifting in Damsy's sharp cerulean gaze, as if for a moment she considered those confessed bad decisions, before clarity returned to the intelligent eyes set in caramel-colored features.

With fluid ease the Kaminoan slipped a credit to the droid. Mal thought it strange to bribe a droid, but she supposed they had expenses like everyone else. What the Commander found more curious was that Damsy found it necessary to dismiss the droid, to ensure the two women were alone in the lounge.

A resolute, firm, convincing look set in the woman's face, her words spoken with the slang-like language with which they were both familiar, making the now private conversation more intimate. Mal suddenly realized how important it was to Damsy to exonerate herself, if Mal was or remained suspicious of that trip to Sith space. And Mal believed Damsy, without knowing exactly why.

The pale-skinned woman sniffed, her head nodding ever so slightly to the left, her raven ponytail dancing slightly behind her head. "Its true, when you put it like that, it's not quite what I expected walking in here to get a cup of caf." She admitted, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But I meant what I said back then. Your business was just that, your business, as long as I got paid. Granted, my philosophy has changed a bit since then..." She added, standing a bit straighter, gesturing to the uniform she wore. "But really, Damsy, even then, something in my gut told me you weren't Sith..like that." She said, leaving the common perception of the Sith unspoken.

Mal looked Damsy over again, the woman looked great. And yes, Mal looked for a lightsaber danging from her somewhere. "So... you are... a Jedi?" Mal asked, her voice lowering a bit, again, she didn't know why.


Tag: Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

Damsy looked down at herself as Mal checked for weapons. There was no lightsaber dangling anywhere, but the handle of her electrotrident could be found at her left hip, collapsed to half-a-meter-long stick with its prongs pointed down at the floor for safety.

It was a little ridiculous that she didn't have one of the iconic glowsticks for her very own yet. She knew it too. And so did her peers. They wondered a little about why a padawan among them fought more like a magna-guard droid than a proper Jedi. At the end of they day though, they forgot about it; it was her business, not theirs. As long as she fought.

The main reason she was fairly certain Master Orsk, one of only NJO Jedi to know of her dark side heritage, wouldn't want her to have one. 'Syreni can cause enough damage when she wants, if she wants,' he would say, 'with that...thing. We don't need her to have a lightsaber too.' Or else, it would probably be something to that effect. Damsy hadn't been able to step foot into his quarters or even keep the Bothan's company for longer than a few minutes since first coming to the Temple, so she hadn't be able to actually ask him. His crystal cleansing ritual did a number on her body back when, and was still wreaking havoc on her mind now.

Trauma was a funny thing in a not so funny kind of way.

Still, she made a mental note: she needed to get her retracted talons on a saber one of these days. Without one, her struggle to become like the Jedi might never truly finish.

Damsy glanced back at Mal. A slight smirk had graced her own lips, a shrug her shoulders. "Not a real good one yet."



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

The weapon hanging from Damsy's belt was not a light saber. Not that Mal had seen many, or any, in person. But the basic weapon of the Jedi through the millennia was pretty familiar to anyone in the galaxy. Instead, Mal found a pronged weapon resting against the jedi's hip, seams in the shaft suggested it was a collapsed haft. Even as a jedi, Damsy was something out of the ordinary.

Mal's hand drifted idly to the butt of the blaster holstered at her side, not a GA issued weapon, but the same blaster she wore when Damsy had boarded the Stellar Kart. just as the same Tehk'lka knife was now tucked into her uniform unseen. Mal supposed both of them stuck with what they knew best.

Mal's grin widened at Damsy's modest reply. She wasn't sure what made a good Jedi, but the Commander was certain Damsy had a skillset most valuable to the order. Mal waved a finger before Damsy, her smile turning wry. "...Yet." She repeated the key word in the Jedi's answer.

Mal looked around the lounge. While the architecture matched that of the Temple, much more appealing than most spacer lounges, it was spartan and obviously intended for the most temporary visits. "What brings a Jedi down here to drink her caf? Have time to sit and finish it" Mal carried the conversation on, not willing to part company with Damsy. To be honest with herself, she had been lonely for a long time, even after joining the GA Navy. The familiar face and conversation was like a balm.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

Her own smile faltered.

'Few reasons, she thought involuntarily, though none of them she cared to share.

As always, humour rose to fill the uncomfortable void. She shrugged bigger, smirk creeping back. "Maybe I'm getting good at this premonition thing." Nothing about her tone or posture suggested seriousness. She hadn't even ever tried to look into the future, though she had very many reasons to want to know how what would work out.

"You want one?" As if on cue, the bar droid wandered back in. "On me. Don't you dare say no."



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

As always, mystery shrouded Damsy Calet. Not mystery of the mystical or cryptic variety, it was just that there always seemed to be more going on than it appeared when it came to the woman. Her response to the simple question about her presence in the lounge hinted at a deeper motivation. But Mal was in no place to pry, nor had reason or desire to do so.

It was a sad truth, that meeting Damsy added one more to the list of people who Mal could in some stretch of the imagination term as a friend. That list now consisted of...one person. Not that Mal didn't have fun, or conversations. But the truth was that this curious woman, whom she had not seen in a year, and only spent a short time with then, knew her more intimately than any of her superiors, peers or subordinates in the Navy.

"Yeah, I'd like that." Mal accepted the offer with a genuine smile. "And who am I to argue with a Jedi who is willing to part with credit?" She added with a wry chuckle. What Mal found she really desired, was to know what Damsy always seemed to hold back. The half-Nagai would not dare ask Damsy to revisit that which brought her to Mal's ship a year ago. But since then, there certainly must have been quite a string of stories that lead to the Jedi. Perhaps in time, she would hear those tales.

"Now, are you a padwan, or a knight?" Mal's understanding of the Jedi ranks was woefully poor, though her sudden fascination with the order since finding Damsy among them had spiked.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

The Shifter put a hand between Mal's shoulder blades, easily guiding her into a seat at the bar. She then held up a finger to the droid. "Caf, please," she ordered before glancing at Mal. "Cream, sugar? Black?" Injected directly in your veins?, seemed like it would be an somewhat inappropriate addition, so she didn't make it. However she took her caffeine, Damsy would go along, repeating the answer to confirm it in her voice to the server. Then came time for her own answer:

"Padawan. Like I said, not a good Jedi." She hid a smiling face behind the brim of her thermos again. "Yet," she added predictably before taking a sip. "I'm real nontraditional," she said as the bar bot remained at the other end of the counter, busy preparing a mug of caf. "My past doesn't mean much of anything here." She hoped that insinuation would land, but also that Mal would leave it be that for now. Even though the GA was allied with the Confederacy, Damsy didn't want the former to know of her previous ranks held with the latter.

Because that thread would led to her relation to the former Vicelord. And that one would call into question her Force alignment. He was a Sith Lord after all, whether he put that aside for the greater good or not.

Damsy had reached a conclusion during her time here that these Jedi were 0 or 100 people. There was no such thing as a benign Sith in their minds, let alone an emphatically good one. If they admitted that, she swore they'd explode. They sure acted as if they would.

"That's a'ight, though. Climbing ladders' what I do best." Mal received her drink and Damsy paused to pay the droid. "'Nough about me. Whatcha doin' here? I mean, I can guess, but..." The uniform and all.



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

Mal allowed Damsy to guide her to the counter, where she took a stool next to the Jedi.

"Black." Mal replied, settling in her seat as the orders were conveyed to the droid.

Damsy explained her rank as Padawan, Mal's limited Jedi lore knowledge suggested that was a learner. She assumed Damsy had a mentor, a position she sure proved interesting for whomever held it. A laugh blurted out at Damsy's confession of non-conventionality, covering her mouth too late. Mal had no doubt Damsy was seen as far from traditional. But the Kaminoan made a point to note that her history had little to do with where she was now, something Mal discerned was very intentional. She would take that as a hint. This was a starting over, a leaving behind.Mal wondered if she could do the same.

Then the momentary sincerity gave way to more casual things, and Damsy turned the table on Mal, it was her turn to give some explanation.

Mal chuckled again, leaning back a bit to look down at her uniform. It still gave her a little shock every time she caught herself in a reflective surface. She was in the uniform of a Commander. "Well..." She began, her shoulders shrugging a bit. "It's a pain in the ass trying to carve out a living hauling stuff and folks on that little ship. And, well, not much purpose to it when you think about it."

Mal placed her elbows on the bar, hands clasping, leaning forward a bit. "I tried to find someplace to, well, belong. Nothing stuck. Wherever I went, I was just a shady captain of a little transport. And..." She sighed and looked over to Damsy, "I've left a few debts unpaid in my past, which seemed to always come up at the worst time, ya know?"

"I guess desperation drove me to come here. I didn't know what the crik I could do for them. Hell, I would have taken anything. But they were real nice, said I would be good in logistics, I guess since I have been moving cargo since I was in a training bra." Mal was being modest. She worked hard to impress the brass, was on her best behavior, and used some of that smuggler knowledge to tweak processes and procedures. "Anyway, they gave me a promotion and, well, here I am. And they let me keep that piece of crap." She added with a laugh, gesturing towards the wall of windows, beyond which the Stellar Kart squatted in the bay. The craft had been painted in official fleet colors and given naval markings.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

It seemed like the color of Damsy's eyes lighten momentarily, as if rays of the most intense sunlight were breaking the surface of abyssal ocean to raise its shade to an ever-so-lighter one. "I'm glad to hear that, Mal," she commented after the story was done. If there was a hand of hers on the countertop, she'd stretch over and pat it. "Real glad." A comforting squeeze followed behind, then she sat back. "Who knows, maybe we'll get to break a blockade or something together someday. Wouldn't that be something?" The thermos again went up to her lips, but this time she threw a knowing wink Mal's way before taking the long swig of a military veteran on leave. Damsy had of course broken blockades before, and though she had been in a starfighter each time, she still had some tricks to teach Mal if the time came.

With the Brotherhood of the Maw continuing their prow, it wasn't pure playfulness to suggest it either. There was more the practicality.

She set down her bottle and with it most of her joviality. "Debts, y'say, though? Need any help there?"



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

Mal was pleasantly surprised at Damsy's authentic joy for her. She could see it in the Jedi's cerulean gaze. The commander grinned almost sheepishly at the commendation and the gesture of a hand placed upon hers, a small squeeze to emphasize the sentiment. It meant a lot to Mal, coming from the woman she had admired.

Another chuckled followed the suggestion of some future operation together. "Yeah, that would be something." She agreed, glancing down for a moment, then looking up when Damsy openly offered help when it came to Mal's old debts. She wasn't sure what sort of help Damsy intended. She could have assumed it was cash help, but with the woman's history, she wondered if it also included removing the debt-owner. Either way, Mal was again moved by Damsy's offer.

Mal reached out to rest a hand on the Jedi's shoulder for just a moment. "I appreciate that, but they are pretty small time, and I don't see them reaching this far into the core. Besides, I have a navy behind me now. I may or may not pay them back sometime." She shrugged with a lopsided smile.

Mal took up the cup of hot caf that the droid had set before her. She sipped at it. It was a hell of a lot better than most of the spaceport lounges she had frequented. Her hands wrapped around the mug, Mal watched the steam rise from the dark liquid. She didn't want this unexpected encounter to be just that, an encounter. Mal liked Damsy, and it would've been a shame if it was another year before they met up again. "You know, I think we need to have a little fun." She said, a grin creeping across her face. "To celebrate, for both of us." She said, looking over at Damsy, "What are Jedi allowed to do for fun?"

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

The simple, slightly misleading answer was none.

The longer and more accurate one was none worth having.

The Jedi themselves weren't that restrictive though, not directly. One could go find random hookups, gamble away their credits, spend a night dancing away at a nightclub, et cetera; but neither padawans nor knights had the means to indulge in any of those luxuries. Damsy sure didn't. In space devoid of her infamy as a CIS VIP, her financial connections to her father's rich coffers, and idle time, the choice to not do her work was not hers to make. Working with the Jedi, though she didn't do much specific unless Dag was in town or the entire Temple was gearing up for some op, was somehow busier than her life as either a commando officer or a Mandalorian warmistress.

But, then again, in neither case had she been leading a double-life (triple-, depending on how you looked at it, which she did a little differently from day to day). Between the Temple and The Reef, Damsy found herself as someone who didn't have to sleep completely and utterly tired. If Syreni was not in many ways keeping her going, she was sure someone would someday find her in an amorphous pile on the floor somewhere, not even able to be scraped up.

"I've forgotten what fun is," Damsy said rather truthfully. "What did you have in mind?"



**
Mallory Bash

 

[Mallory Bash]

Mal had always been curious about what she didn't know about Damsy, there were so many things. But she also respected the woman enough not to inquire of them. The Kaminoan's past, her business, no longer preoccupied Mal. She was more interested in the woman herself, in the present, as a friend.

"Forgotten?" Mal exclaimed with feigned amazement. "Well, looks like its time to remind you, my friend." She imitated Damsy's gesture, placing her hand on the Jedi's, pale flesh contrasting mocha. The hand, still warm from clutching the caf cup, patted the other, then withdrew. Mal took another sip of the caf.

"You bought the caf, I'll buy the drinks. A night on the town should jog your memory on what fun is. Off duty, of course." The half-Nagai's grin was mischievous as she eyed her statuesque companion.

"What do you say?" She asked, looking at Damsy and raising her eyebrows quizzically.

Damsy Callat

 

[Damsy Callat]

Damsy straight giggled. "Damn, okay," she agreed wholeheartedly despite her words. When Mal had taken her hand off Damsy's, the latter woman rose her arms as she rose. They came down soon after so Damsy could glance at her left wrist gauntlet; a few taps on the holographic display brought up the chronometer widget. She sighed, wrapping her hand around her thermos and screwing on the lid with the other. "I've gotta squeeze in a spar, or a certain 'nother padawan is gonna strangle me, and not in the nice way." Scerra really didn't like her to begin with, when they had been assigned either other as training partners, and the dynamic had only gotten worse that time that Damsy had rolled up late to an Art of Movement practice.

"Gimme your frequency? I'll ping you when finished."



**
Mallory Bash