Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Nov 2, 2014 21:24:12 GMT -8
YT-1930, The Vasiliki - CockpitListening to Forcias list his best memories, Lucy is too content to note that his smile becomes somewhat strained when he begins by stating that departing from Kiffex is on his list; though the absence of any additional detail as to the reasons why leaving his homeworld naturally makes her wonder what the reasons may have been. Not wanting to rush the process of learning more about one another, or to risk spoiling the mood, Lucy decides not to press for additional details, preferring that Forcias chooses what to tell her and when. Smiling when he concludes by listing finding her as one of his best memories, Lucy tilts her head up to kiss his chin tenderly and then wraps her arms around his neck and says, "Sounds like we both owe Horsea a thank you. We'll invite her to dinner or something when we get back to Umgul," Lucy says as she sits up a bit straighter, thinking that she would like to get to know the woman better given how important she is to Forcias.
Resting her forehead against Forcias', Lucy purrs, "As much as I'd like to stay here like this for the next few hours, I really have to pee, and grins as she shrugs while standing up, Sorry. Be right back."
Upon returning to the cockpit, Lucy decides she can relax her usual policy and, after convincing Forcias that he will survive breaking his promise that she would not have to leave the cockpit, suggests that they head aft to the galley to grab something to eat since she is feeling peckish. The conversation between them flows easily, the activity something that is a new enough development in their relationship that it has the capacity to surprise her, and Lucy is equally surprised - happily so - at how satisfying it is to open up to Forcias, to let her guard down and let him in where she keeps most others at a distance, and at how much she enjoys learning more about Forcias himself. The hours pass in an odd but pleasant commingling of fleeting and timelessness - moments seeming to stretch out and linger, suspended in a bubble outside of time, while it feels, when they reach the point where they will exit hyperspace, as though the time flew by.
Dropping into the pilot's seat and rolling her neck and shoulders, Lucy reaches forward to push the hyperdrive controls forward and glances up from her instruments to watch the swirling blue of hyperspace give way to realspace as they arrive at their destination . . .
|
|
Preacher
Member
One step closer.
Posts: 318 
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Preacher on Nov 11, 2014 18:29:35 GMT -8
...aboard the Wayfarer-class transport 'Midnight Shadow,' medlab.
Preacher held on for dear life, clinging to every ounce of his Power as he fought a dizzying battle of wills with the being known as Adrien Draykon. This was not where Preacher's strength lay. Healing was more the realm of the sisters of Mercy back on Kilia, and he had seen some of their works, even spoken to one of the older sisters about their skills with the Strength a few times... but his was a killing art. Yet here he was, doing his best that this man might be saved from some truly awful injuries. Yet Draykon fought him, every step of the way. His will spoke volumes.
Adrien, I'm trying to help you.
GET OUT!! AAAARGH!!! GET OUT! OUT. OUT! OUT OF MY HEAD.
The sheer force and thunderous white noise of the intensity of Draykon's vehemence was staggering. Every act was met with the same anger, confusion, outrage. Though Preacher was keeping the man alive, it seemed almost certain he would rather be dead than have Preacher's art practiced on him. Everything the outlander did was to preserve, heal, prolong, calm. But this man was stubborn to a fault, and fought his actions as if they were an assault.
Thus, though the time certainly moved slowly for Erly, doing her best in the medlab to heal using science, to Preacher it seemed that weeks passed. He was exhausted, drained, spent. But if he released Adrien now, he would surely die. So he held on, and hoped they reached their destination soon.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2014 19:43:12 GMT -8
**A time later, Ellie exited the 'fresher, dressed in combat boots, brown cargo pants and a black tank-top. She had a red sash wrapped around her waist along with the lightsaber she took from the Sith. Adjusting the new bandages around her hand and arm, she slowly made her way back to the cockpit, her body feeling stiff. In her left hand was her helmet, its black and red paint was scratched and slightly faded. She sat down next to her sister, setting her helmet in her help, and began to pull her half dried hair into a ponytail.* "So, what do you think their going to do when we get back. I mean, with us." *Ellie was slightly nervous about this, she had a lot of questions to ask them and she knew they had questions for her. She picked up the helmet and gazed into the T-shaped visor, her mind was wondering over the many questions wandering in her mind. Her gaze never left the visor when she spoke almost quietly.* "Vod. Can I tell you something?"
Her thoughts are interrupted when her sister returns, and Kaiya opens her eyes and swivels in her seat to face her twin. Frowning pensively when asked what she thinks might happen when they arrive at the enclave, Kaiya sighs and lifts her hands to rub the back of her neck as she says, "Given what you've told me, I don't imagine they'll be inclined to come down harshly on us. If anything, she muses, you'll probably be found to have passed a Trial or two. Having seen her twin's eyes, the new maturity and the heavy burden of her experiences, Kaiya suspects that her twin has been through far more than the death of her Master, and thinks it is clear she has faced trials that will leave their mark whether or not the Masters on Endor recognize them as Trials of Jedi Knighthood or not. Ellie has always held onto their Mandalorian heritage more strongly than she herself has, Kaiya reflects as she watches her twin stare into the visor of her buy'ce; Kaiya having set aside many of their customs and beliefs as those the Jedi taught her to embrace became more and more important to her. Troch, vod,* Kaiya says in a concerned tone when her twin asks if she can tell her something, assuring her, Ni sushi."** *Of course, sister
** I'm listening |
|
Ellie Ordo
Member
Posts: 704 
Affiliation: Jedi Order
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Ellie Ordo on Dec 7, 2014 20:30:17 GMT -8
*Ellie gave a faint grin at her sisters answer for what the council might do to them. The smile faded as Ellie stared at the helmet, rubbing her thumb just across the visor, she spoke.* "When I was on Ryloth, fighting the slavers for the first time. I killed some of them out of fear, some out of anger. That anger got the best of me and I let them escape with you." *She paused for a moment and stared out the cockpit window into the swirling blue colors.* "On Felucia that anger got a hold of me again. Only this time...I let it fuel me and my desire to kill their leader." *She turned her eyes to her sister.* "Vod, I almost fell to the darkside. I...it..was terrible. Kind of hard to describe. There was fear, hate, and yet some kind of burning power that tried to draw you in." *She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a weight rising from her chest. Opening her eyes, she looked back out the window.* "It was not a pleasnet feeling. Makes me feel old, almost hollow on the inside. I guess that's expected to feel that way, at least for a while anyway." *She turned her gaze back to her twin.* "Please just don't tell anyone. At least not yet."
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 8, 2014 15:21:29 GMT -8
Kaiya listens to her sister without interruption, a commingling of concern for her twin and guilt for not having been there to help her through all that she had endured on her face. The Night Jedi have a different philosophy where aggression and the dark side are concerned than traditional Jedi; believing, not unlike some Gray Jedi, that the dark side can be employed at times by those disciplined enough to resist its allure in the service of the Light, but Kaiya knows that Ellie is speaking of something else entirely, that her twin had come perilously close to stepping over some invisible line that divides making use of the dark side and being used by it. Kaiya also knows that that temptation is something Ellie will not be free from simply because the situation that made her turn to the darkside for strength has passed; that it will be some time before her twin might no longer be at risk for unknowingly stepping over that thin, invisible line. Ellie's request that Kaiya tells no one of her struggle is not a small one, and she does not answer immediately, weighing her loyalty to and trust in her twin against the danger keeping silent might place her sister in.
After a moment, Kaiya leans forward, placing her hands on Ellie's shoulders and resting her forehead against her twin's as she says, "I won't tell anyone vod. Lifting her forehead, Kaiya looks into her sister's eyes as she says with both conviction and a hint of pleading in her tone, You have to promise me that if you ever think you can't face it alone any more; that you'll go to the Masters, or come to me. Tayli'bac?"*
*Understand?
|
|
Ellie Ordo
Member
Posts: 704
Affiliation: Jedi Order
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Ellie Ordo on Dec 8, 2014 19:07:00 GMT -8
*Ellie bit her lip nervously as she waited for her twin to answer. She almost became worried that Kaiya wouldn't agree to keep it a secret, what then? When her sister placed her forehead against hers and promised not to tell, Ellie gave a sigh of relief.* "Ni Tayli'bac."* *She held her sisters gaze and gave her promise.* "I wont become a dar'jetii."** *Ellie closed her eyes for a moment before leaning back in her seat. She could feel sleep beginning to take hold of her.* "Well...lets get home, and see what happens. I'm sure Kateri and Honon are wondering where we're at. We'll have quite the story for them."
*I understand
**Sith
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 9, 2014 17:57:36 GMT -8
"Gar serim*, Kaiya tells her twin emphatically when she says she will not become a dar'jetti, unable the entirely suppress the faint shudder that even considering that possibility causes her. Not wanting to continue thinking of the subject they have been discussing, Kaiya is more than happy when Ellie appears to move on from it, speaking of their Korun friends from the enclave and the fact that they will have the tale of their ill-fated adventure to share with them. Managing a smile, the thought of home and seeing their friends enough for now to make the weight of all that they have been through somewhat more bearable, Kaiya tells Ellie quietly, That we will vod, that we will. Her smile becoming more genuine as she watches her sister struggle to stay awake, Kaiya says, Unless you want to sleep in that seat, I suggest you go and find a bunk to crash in. I can keep an eye on things here for a while yet, and I'll get you when we reach Endor. Crinkling her nose, Kaiya admits, I'm not even sure I could land this thing in one piece."
As the twins speak, the AIAT/i continues to hurtle through hyperspace, moving ever nearer to it's destination . . .
*Yes, you're right
|
|
Cuyan Skirata
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 109
Affiliation: Kara'yaim
|
Post by Cuyan Skirata on May 15, 2015 23:28:06 GMT -8
Cuyan was sitting in the lounge of the Kyr'galaar, his armor and weapons spread out on the large table. He was smoking and drinking ale, some music playing in the background while he meticulously cleaned the gauntlet mounts for his flamethrower, wrist laser, and rockets. He found a sort of meditation in maintaining his gear. As he finished the mounts he put the cigarette out entirely, pouring a tiny bit of ale into the ashtray to ensure it was out before dismantling the flamethrower assembly itself to clean the hose and emitter.
He wondered what Lilith was doing.
|
|
Lilith
Member
Posts: 35
Affiliation: None
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Lilith on May 19, 2015 11:01:32 GMT -8
*Lil had gone right to her room when they'd boarded the ship. Cuy had launched them back into space - he had somewhere to be - and she'd hidden her newest trinket in her things. She felt a little guilty about swiping the ring - she didn't imagine the hutt would've been appreciative and her and Cuy could've gotten in trouble - but it was so damned pretty, she couldn't help herself. She stretched out on her small bed, and must have dosed off. When she opened her eyes, she was a little disoriented. How much time had passed?
She checked her stash, smiling at the way the jewels shined, then left her room and went wandering to the lounge in search of food. Instead of food, she found Cuy. And what appeared to be every single weapon he owned.*
"Shouldn't you be locked away in the cabin?"
|
|
Cuyan Skirata
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 109
Affiliation: Kara'yaim
|
Post by Cuyan Skirata on May 19, 2015 12:13:48 GMT -8
Cuy had finished working on his flamethrower unit and had lit another cigarette, when Lilith walked into the lounge. He began disassembling his blasters and looked up at her when she spoke.
"No table big enough there. It's important to maintain your equipment, oh haarchak!"
Cuy had noticed the heter valve and actuating modules were fried on both. It happened sometimes, when improperly refined tibanna was processed for ammunition. A few powerful shots and the guts get ruined. Faulty ammunition, he growled at himself, though he knew it was pointless, without full diagnostics he could never have known the gas was bad.
"I'll need to buy new ones."
He threw them into the garbage compactor and began to sharpen his tomahawk.
"Good of you to rejoin the waking, ge'tal."
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 4, 2015 16:58:01 GMT -8
Geir sat upon the pilot's rustic chair on the bridge bridge of the ship, his eyes closed, reminiscing of days long past. It had been but a few months ago, now, but the image was still crystal clear. They's been smuggling some contraband from the Imperial capital of Kuat and headed for the Outer Rim world of Tattooine. A small, routine operation. Just another day on the job. It was going to be quick an easy. Pick the supplies up from a source by the name of "Badger" in the underground of Kuat City, then be bound for Tattoine. It'd gone so smoothly to that point. It was good . . . a green light operation, but the last operation he'd ever run with that crew. Step one, meet "Badger" . . . check. Step two, gather the goods . . . check. Step three, get off world without drawing unnecessary attention . . . check. Step three, make the jump to Tattooine . . . fail. Fail. Fail.
Everything had just gone so far wrong at that junction. Yes, the Mandalorian escapade against the Force had been a long time coming, but all intelligence he had pointed toward the attacks and the Holy War as a whole not starting for another two or three weeks. Damn it! What had gone so terribly wrong? Why did he and his crew have to get caught in the middle of an assault? Why did he have to be the only one to survive? Why did they halt their attack on his small freighter? His eyes shut tighter for a moment and he ran a hand through his auburn red hair. For some reason the vessel had stopped firing upon them, instead leaving them spinning out of control and tumbling to the surface of the planet below. If it hadn't been for his skill in survival, he probably wouldn't have perished himself; most of his crew had died on impact and the one who hadn't, died a few hours later due to the gruesome burning all over his body.
Geir's hand came to his face and he brushed a tear, that had escaped his eye, from his cheek. His whole life had been aboard that ship. His crew had been his family . . . an awkward and dysfunctional family, but a a family all the same and he loved each and every one of them as either a brother or a sister. But . . . but now it was time to move own. He'd spent a large chunk of his pocketbook to have the Renegade repaired professionally and now it was time to assemble his new crew.
A chiming sound erupted from the Renegade's comm computer as the YX-1980 Space Transport hurled the open space toward Concord Dawn.
It hadn't been too long ago that this ship's Captain had been contacted by a former acquaintance, a person he owed a favor to for the history the two had shared just a few months before. However,the last request had come as a surprise to him, asking for something not for himself, but rather for someone he knew back on his home planet. Whatever it was that drove the man to ask this favor of him instead of something more suitable for himself in the end, Geir would never know. But, here he was, his ship speeding toward Concord Dawn. Soon his debt would be repaid and the score would be even.
The chime dissipated as Geir's hand moved over a control on the computer's control panel. A holographic projection jutted upward, displaying a the limited biography of the Mandalorian girl he was coming to pick up. Farine Deshra. She was young and, if the man had spoken truthfully of her talents, a hell of a mechanic. She was a promising prospect, but credentials only looked good on paper; the ability to truly display it was another matter. This ship would certainly need a decent mechanic to keep her happy and in the air and, hopefully, this Farine Deshra would be able to do just that. With a flicker of movement, Geir's hand brushed by another control on the panel and the projection faded from site. Concord Dawn was coming into range now.
|
|
Lilith
Member
Posts: 35
Affiliation: None
Traffic Light: Green
|
Post by Lilith on Jun 12, 2015 10:10:02 GMT -8
Cuy had finished working on his flamethrower unit and had lit another cigarette, when Lilith walked into the lounge. He began disassembling his blasters and looked up at her when she spoke."No table big enough there. It's important to maintain your equipment, oh haarchak!" Cuy had noticed the heter valve and actuating modules were fried on both. It happened sometimes, when improperly refined tibanna was processed for ammunition. A few powerful shots and the guts get ruined. Faulty ammunition, he growled at himself, though he knew it was pointless, without full diagnostics he could never have known the gas was bad. "I'll need to buy new ones." He threw them into the garbage compactor and began to sharpen his tomahawk."Good of you to rejoin the waking, ge'tal." "Right. Maintenance. Looks... fun." *She laughed with his remark and raised a teasing eyebrow.*"Nothing wrong with an afternoon nap. Thats the way I like to work anyway; grab a nice haul so I can relax somewhere quiet until it runs out. You seem like the go, go, go type to me though." |
|
Cuyan Skirata
The Vegemite Enclave
Posts: 109
Affiliation: Kara'yaim
|
Post by Cuyan Skirata on Jun 12, 2015 20:29:36 GMT -8
He smirked, had a swig of ale drained a glass of narcolethe, and took a drag from his cigarette. He resumed running a stone along the edge of his tomahawk and looked at her."It's more fun than you might think. Meditative, almost. Treat your gear well, and it will save your life." He finished his tomahawk and replaced it, moving on to his kal, a traditional beskar dagger. "Are you worried about this next job? It's a different sort of work. Not like what you're used to doing."
|
|
Vyra Silara
Member
A bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing.
Posts: 30
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Vyra Silara on Jan 31, 2016 23:36:25 GMT -8
From the cockpit, Vyra watched the swirling blue of hyperspace pull and twist towards her for as long as she could, and then she averted her gaze, dizzy. She picked up the suitcase she'd set down, smoothed her cloak, and looked expectantly at the back of the Captain's head, who was seated in the pilot's chair.
She hadn't seen much of the Frosty Mynock yet, but the little she had, she could tell this man loved his ship. Grey and basic as its hallways and bulkheads were, he'd made many personal touches; there were modifications everywhere, in every system and every control panel. The ship had a 'lived-in' feel, certainly not strange for a spacer vessel, and if the galley was anything to go by, it could use a good cleaning. Of course, all the interior technical bits of the Mynock seemed to be very clean and well taken care of. If nothing, it showed what he cared most about, which the consort found intriguing.
"I'm not sure I caught your name, Captain." Vyra offered a small, polite little smile. "If you'll be staying at my retreat for a month, I'll have to call you by something, and I'm afraid 'captain' won't do."
|
|
|
|
Post by Rik Vane on Feb 1, 2016 22:50:21 GMT -8
"Nah..." He spun his chair to face her, then stood. "You know for a fact I never told you my name and you're trying to coax it out of me with politeness." He'd gotten the feeling that she was used to people playing along, and for some reason the idea of just acquiescing to her rubbed him the wrong way. Sure, he could have played along himself and just told her what she wanted to know, but right now he felt like being difficult. "Same as I know you never told me yours either." He strode past her and out of the cockpit, beckoning her forward with a stray hand. "Guest cabins are this way."
I applaud your attempts to undermine her calm. They are most amusing. Well, kriff. Now he had a choice to make. Keep antagonizing the pretty new passenger or stop giving his unwelcome guest the satisfaction? Life is so unfair. "So just why exactly will Captain not do? Quite a few people have called me captain over the years, and it's suited them just fine."
|
|
Vyra Silara
Member
A bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing.
Posts: 30
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Vyra Silara on Feb 1, 2016 23:54:03 GMT -8
"It's a general term of identification, usually followed by something that identifies you as YOU, not just a 'captain' of a vessel," Vyra said matter-of-factually. The consort gave the man's broad-shouldered back a knowing look as she followed him, tucking a stray lock back under the fine silver netting holding her hair in place; his decidedly cheerful obstinacy and his blunt refusal to play ball with her was something she'd seen many times. She could give in and offer her own name, ending the playful power struggle, but she was curious how far he'd take it.
And so, the little word game continued. "You strike me as a man proud of who he is, and certainly not someone who would favor being called something so ordinary as 'captain'. Or maybe I—" Something clattered on the floor, skidding as her foot knocked into it. Startled, Vyra put her suitcase down and bent, plucking the small piece of machinery from the ground and turning it around between her fingers for inspection. Inspection produced no results; whatever it was, it looked complex. Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of contraption is this..?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Rik Vane on Feb 4, 2016 21:47:59 GMT -8
He spun halfway around when she stopped, then annoyance painted his features when she bent to pick up the mysterious item. He turned the rest of the way and stalked back to her, snatching the item out of her hands. "Stop touching stuff that isn't yours." He definitely wasn't going to tell her what it was though. That would have been the polite thing to do. "And Captain suits me fine. It's not like you're gonna find another one on this ship." He was now heading back the way he'd been going, mystery item stuffed under his arm as he walked. "Besides, it's not like you've made an especially valorous effort to be civil, now have you, miss...?" He turned back as they arrived at the door to her quarters, eyebrows raised and left ear tilted forward to emphasize the question.
|
|
Vyra Silara
Member
A bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing.
Posts: 30
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Vyra Silara on Feb 5, 2016 22:50:23 GMT -8
"Vyra." Her smile didn't reach her eyes, but she redirected her gaze to the guest quarters before it became apparent. "My name is Vyra." The Captain's insistence on being difficult was not an issue; Vyra was used to dealing with all kinds of reactions, and she understood that not everyone saw or interpreted things the same way. Sometimes her charm rubbed individuals the wrong way; people unaccustomed to her world would see her as false or misleading. But while she retained the practiced poise of her business outside her job, whether out of habit or preference, she was always genuine in her interactions.
She did have a duty to uphold the courtesan 'status' and be mindful of perception, as she always was. Her ability to adapt to others and change tactics based on what they responded to the best had always been a reliable guide, allowing her access to even the most stone-cold, stubborn, cantankerous of people. The women of the consort Hetaira and the roles they played were well-respected in high society, for their knowledge and other talents as well as their more carnal gifts. Even the most perceptive, who knew what she was and why she was there and how it all worked, recognized their status and their value, and when she encountered someone who did not understand it, she did her best to help them comprehend.
Of course, the Captain had no idea what her job was, and he was still uncomfortable with her outward attitude. She was not working, this Captain was not a client, and it was clear to her that he did not appreciate her current demeanor. He was right, in a sense, though he'd used the wrong word, 'civil', to describe it. She had been very civil, from the start. What she hadn't been was reserved or modest in attitude. Setting foot on his ship without permission was, perhaps, what had set him off, now that she'd seen how much he cared for his vessel. After realizing her mistake (even if it was not a mistake and simply the client's perception), a concerned consort would apologize for this, whether it was required or not, though the action in question was necessary at the time. Many didn't realize there was more to a consort's job than just oils and tea and sex and gowns. It meant swallowing your pride with a smile and having the grace to concede and submit, even when you didn't believe you were in the wrong.
It's what she should have done, long before now. But she'd have bet every shoe she owned that the Captain would find it equally distasteful, whether it was sincere or not, and Vyra always had been a stubborn thing at the core. Perhaps she'd broach the subject later, once she'd decompressed a bit.
She eyed the tidy double bed and the sleek desk built into the bulkhead. There was a small dresser, and a closet as well as a small seating area in the corner. Blue-white patterns swirled mesmerizingly over the bedspread as hyperspace whirled past the wide, thin window above the bed's headboard. She even had her own refresher.
Vyra nodded, stepping into the quarters. Everything was clean, which was more than she could have asked for, and all she really needed. Vyra set her suitcase down. "This will do just fine, thank you." She pivoted, facing him in the doorway, and her expression warmed a bit. "You have quite a ship, Captain, I can see why you love her." The brunette tilted her head a bit in questioning. "How long until we reach Naboo?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Rik Vane on Feb 5, 2016 23:12:10 GMT -8
"Vyra. Pretty name. You can call me Rik." So she does have a bit of give to her after all. He'd met others similar to her, people who dressed in fancy clothes and had enough credits to buy a small planet. Politicians and businessmen that didn't have a yielding bone in their body. Either you agreed with them and their superiority, or you were wrong. At least this one was willing to concede a point. Far be it from Rik to counter that with stubborn obstinance. Oh please, you're the most stubborn, obstinate bastard this side of me. You just think she's hot. If you don't shut up I'm going to go watch romantic holodramas for a week straight. You wouldn't dare. Yeah? Try me.
Strangely, the voice had no response to that. "Anyway, we should be arriving on Naboo in a day or two. There's a map of the ship in the datapad on the desk." A nod indicated the direction of the desk. "Dinner's in the galley in an hour, though I can't promise anything beyond edible. Need anything else before I go?"
|
|
Vyra Silara
Member
A bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing.
Posts: 30
Traffic Light: Orange
|
Post by Vyra Silara on Feb 6, 2016 23:27:53 GMT -8
"No, thank you…Captain Rik." She smiled pleasantly, hand hovering over the control panel by the door. "I'll settle in and see you at dinner, then?" Tapping the controls, the door to her quarters swished shut as he nodded and headed back into his ship.
Before long, her travel cloak and dress were off and folded neatly, and the painful pins of the intricate silver spider web holding back her hair had been plucked from her locks and tossed unceremoniously on the dresser. She had a short but thorough scrub in the shower, lukewarm as it was. In truth, she'd have been happy to skip dinner and just enjoy the peace and quiet of her room; after so long traveling without her own space, the silence around her was appreciated, but she couldn't be rude.
An hour flew by too quickly. By the time she'd finished drying her hair, hanging her four gowns and laying out her incense for later, Vyra was on the clock. Dabbing perfumed oil on her neck and wrists, the consort slid into an easy seafoam green gown, simple in design, adding a white beaded shawl for warmth and casual slippers. She'd left her hair alone to fall naturally down her back, and her face was clear of the meticulously applied makeup she usually featured, as was common of courtesans.
It was a conscious choice, of course. All of it was. Once she reached Naboo, there'd be little time for her to be anything but a consort, always on display, always poised, ever attentive. Why waste this opportunity to relax a bit? She could still be graceful without the elaborate trappings of her occupation, still be herself while upholding the consort standards.
Vyra rustled through her bag, retrieving a few tiny jars full of spices, and placed them in a pocket in the folds of her gown.
The woman left her room feeling a little freer than usual, the subtle scent of vanilla, clary sage, and sweet citrus floating after her.
It wasn't hard to find the galley. She'd studied the map of the ship Rik had directed her towards and followed the hallways confidently. Sounds issued forth from the kitchen. "I hope I'm not late," she said, rounding the corner.
|
|
