Ty'nea's Journal

The comm rested silently, cradled in the woman’s palm as she stared at it blankly.  The familiar voice on the other end had been so choked with pain and tears it had taken a few tries for the message to be fully understood. 

Master Ihlrath is dead?  That’s…

Ty’nea blinked back tears, moving the comm back and forth between her hands.  She didn’t want to believe it.  He had been the first force user she’d trusted after they’d saved her. From all accounts, he had played a big part in her rescue.  He had reached out and made sure she was okay on more than one occasion afterward, as well, taking her out to lunch and just sitting and talking with her, telling her stories about growing up on Tython and going bar hopping with Vyen’a and Jerhal.  Making her feel like there wasn’t something wrong with her.  

Helping her feel like she belonged.

Just last month, she’d been surprised to see him at her hearing.  Even though he’d pulled strings to get it sped up, the fight he’d had with Jerhal had caused a rift that had never fully recovered.  And still, Ihlrath had appeared in the hearing chambers, standing and arguing that she deserved the happiness she’d found, that her actions while under contract with Sith were just that: under contract.  They weren’t her.  And afterward, the warm smile and the words she’d longed to hear.  ”Welcome home,” he’d said.

And she was.

And now he was gone.  She’d left him a message on his comm frequency, telling him about the wedding and inviting him for dinner, but she’d never heard back.  Vyen’a had told her all the Marran were off doing Jedi things and he’d get back to her when he could; he may have not even had time to check the non-vital messages.  Ty’nea could understand that.  She’d had stretches of time where she’d done the same thing.

But now…

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed, looking toward the ‘fresher room’s closed door.  She had to tell Jerhal, before he heard in some report.  They’d both been walking around on clouds, it seemed, since the wedding.

This was just a harsh slap of reality across everyone’s face.

She woke up fully before her eyes opened.

Instead of following routine - roll out of bed, get a pot of caf going, wake up Jerhal - Tynea lay perfectly still, eyes closed, listening to the muffled sounds outside.  The hotel room was decadent, but Vyen’a had insisted on paying for it, pressing the cred chit into her hand with the wide, teasing grin Tynea’d come to appreciate.

She stretched her toes, her fingers, feeling the soft fabric of the blanket brush their tips.  The heavy weight of Jerhal sleeping soundly next to her radiated warmth, and for a moment, Tynea thought about curling back up and sleeping some more.  Any other morning, she would have.  But today….

Today was different.

She mentally pictured the room around her.  Plush bed, picture window overlooking Senate Plaza, its heavy drapes pulled, and the carefully wrought, fragile-looking table pushed against the wall.  On the table, the piece of flimsi.  The one with the signature that made it all true.

The look on the face of the Senator at the hearing the afternoon before had sunk her heart into her shoes.  He had made up his mind before even seeing her; Tynea could tell that just by the look in his eyes.  But something made him change his thoughts.  Whether it was Jerhal’s complete removal of her as a partner, instead breaking down her assets on a military basis, or Master Ihlrath’s reminder that the Republic had the responsibility to provide all sentient beings sanctuary, or Master Moirianna’s recollection of the fear she’d sensed.  

It didn’t matter what it was.  Something changed his mind.  And in the end, it came down to a handshake, a signature on a piece of flimsi, and a few appointments in the future.

She was safe.  

They weren’t sending her back.  Or to Belsavis.  Or anywhere but wherever she wanted to go.  She could focus on getting better, without the fear of SIS snatching her from in front of whatever little cafe she was sitting at, without the fear of no one coming to help should a Sith or an Agent working for the Empire decide to try and make trouble.

She would take the oath.  She would become a citizen of the Republic.

And nothing would stand in her way again.

A small smile crept across her face, and she opened her eyes.

It was time to greet the dawn.

WARNING: AUDIO ONLY! NO TEXT READOUT!

CONTINUE? Y/N

*The low, familiar hum of machinery echoes through the recording, followed by the settling of leatheris against metal and the gentle swoosh of fabric.  And then, a soft, happy laugh.*

I’ve got my ship again.  

I…

*Another laugh, the sound of disbelieving joy.*

Everything is all of a sudden working out.

I have a new friend.  Master Moirianna and I have been chatting a bit since she walked me home from the cantina.  She’s lovely and it’s just so nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t expect me to do anything or fall apart at any given time.  Jerhal doesn’t, of course, and Vyen’a doesn’t either, but everyone else who knows me seems to treat me like I’m made of eggshell.

And even if I didn’t have a new friend, it wouldn’t matter.  I have my ship.  My ship!  Vyen’a got in touch with Ludwik - since she’s engaged to Lieutenant Teral, and Ludwik’s his cousin, it makes sense.  But she got in touch with him.  And found out where my ship was.  He hadn’t sold it, even though I told him to.  I owe him huge for that.

Vyen’a had it stripped down to the studs and rebuilt.  She put in an art studio in a third of the cargo hold.  She just… she made it perfect for me, but left a lot of what made the ship mine.  The scarring on the left side of the hull from the run-in with that really angry Mando a few years back.  The dent on the left engine casing from the Jawa drinking party.

*A pause, then another soft laugh.*

Even the paint job she did was perfect.  Just touch ups, for the most part.  But on the tail end… it’s magnificent.  I would love to know how she got that drawing; it was based on one of my sketches.  A field of blue, with a red and gold and yellow bird flying up from a floor the color of ashes.  And in the same red and gold beneath, the name.

“Phoenix Rising.”

And Jerhal…

*Another pause, this one with an absolutely audible smile.*

He knew.  He knew and he didn’t tell me.  Vyen’a gave him the access codes and they teamed up and gave me my ship back - my home for so many years, back - on my birthday.  My birthday.  

And it was the first birthday I actually remember doing anything for.  Before it was usually work.  Or fight.  Or drink.  Last year I think I just sat on my ship and drew. And the year before that.  This year, Vyen’a and Jerhal teamed for my ship, and Jerhal took me out to dinner and just catered to me all day and…

*Another laugh*

And I have a hearing date. It’s in a few weeks.  Master Ihlrath… I don’t know what he did, but he must have pulled strings because I know people can go years without even getting a preliminary meeting.  I’m just terrified that I’ll go in with Jerhal with wedding plans for afterward and leave in cuffs.  I’m still so scared everything will come crashing down.  That I won’t get the same clearance for my past others have because I’m not force sensitive, or anyone important.

*A few beats of silence, the rumblings of an engine purring through the feed.*

But Jerhal promised he’d fight for me.  And I know he will.

I’m actually flying to pick him up now.  

We have a whole lot ahead of us.  But he’s worth it.

I’m beginning to believe again that I’m worth it, too.

AUDIO FEED ENDED!  DELETE FILE? Y/N

Ty’nea sat in her comfortable chair, blanket wrapped securely around her shoulders, and stared out the window into the vast nothingness of space. For an hour she had sat perfectly still, the cup of tea in her hands growing cold, her mind racing in circles around the night’s events.

It wasn’t the crowd that got to her. It wasn’t that Jerhal had walked away to speak with someone. It was the voice. The woman’s voice, dripping with the elite crispness found nowhere else in the galaxy but Dromund Kaas. She could steel herself to hear it on Nar Shaddaa, maybe even Coruscant. But she had her guard down. She was unprepared to hear the tone cutting through the air on Carrick Station.  The harsh yet melodic Imperial accent that spoke of Sith and the terror buried deep in her heart took her out right at the knees; the blood drained from her face and her arms went tingly and she was in a panic before the voice mingled into the sound of the cantina.

She was amazed she had held it together as long as she had. She had watched Jerhal walk away with the woman with the voice. Everything went sideways then; the sounds of the cantina blending together in a roar of cacophony against her ears. But she had managed to stay standing. To finish her wine. It was only when her hand began to shake so hard that the graphite she had been idly using to sketch a bottle of brandy cracked between her fingers that she knew she couldn’t hold it together any more.

Master Moirianna had walked her home; the Miraluka woman didn’t know her from anyone else other than as Jerhal’s fiancee and yet she didn’t flinch as Ty’nea’s resolve broke and she sobbed herself into sickness, didn’t cringe when the vomit hit her boots.  Instead, the woman had merely held her until she calmed down with no questions, had helped her and Jerhal clean up, and had quietly took her leave afterward.

It was the afterward that worried her the most.  The hour was late, but it was even darker than usual; Ty’nea had never seen that look on Jerhal’s face before - the absolute abject terror he usually held in check had bubbled up to the surface and into his eyes as he saw her.  

And now, in the dark hours afterward, she sat in her chair quietly, tea gone cold in her hands.  Jerhal slept soundly in the other room; so exhausted from the absolute emotional dump of a talk they had both had that he didn’t even stir when she left their bed.  And like when she sat in the office at Coruscant, waiting for them to call her name, the what ifs began to creep around the corners of consciousness.

What if he decides I’m not worth it?

What if he finds someone else?

She looked toward the dark room beyond the doorway, listening to the even sound of sleep beyond, and took a shaky breath, looking down at the cup cradled in her hands.

Then you fight, you stupid bitch.  You fight.

You should never have stopped fighting in the first place.

She set the cup on the table, looking out the window again.  The stars twinkled against the black velvet that stretched out to infinity, darker than any other night she could remember.

But she knew then.  She remembered the old saying.

The darkest hours are just before the light shines through.

She stood, looking toward the door again.  Master Ihlrath had offered to talk to the immigration officials for her; to see if her could prod her paperwork into the fast track.  He had offered her use of an extra ship the Marran had in their growing armada.   She would comm him during the next day to accept both offers.  But first she would curl up with Jerhal until morning.

And his love would help her start to shine.

It was time for her to find her light.

FULL NAME: TY’NEA SARAI KORBIN

SEX: FEMALE

PARENTS: [intentionally left blank]

DATE OF BIRTH (STANDARD GALACTIC): 30 DECEMBER, 14 YEARS BEFORE CORUSCANT FALL

PLACE OF BIRTH: NAR SHADDAA

HEIGHT: 5’7”

WEIGHT: 145LB

HAIR COLOR: RED

EYE COLOR: BROWN

SPECIES: HUMAN

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: THREE SMALL TATTOOS ON FACE, TWO ON FOREHEAD, ONE ON CHIN.  SCAR CROSSING RIGHT CHEEK FROM EYE TO JAW.

PLEASE LIST THE PRIMARY REASONS FOR REQUESTING ASYLUM (USE FORM 122-A.2 IF MORE ROOM IS REQUIRED):

Sith torture

Political asylum

I’m in love

They’ll kill me if I go back

…

***

Ty’nea sat still, staring down at the form in front of her.  How?  How could she put to words why she wanted to become a Republic citizen?  There were so many.  Jerhal’s love. Escaping the hell the Sith had put her through.  Finding herself, her true self, for the first time.

She looked out the small window in the intake room, wishing someone was there with her.  Jerhal.  Vyen’a.  Even Rythe’s disdainful laughter would be comforting; something to focus on other than the buzz of the lights overhead and the forms in front of her.  This was the appointment she’d waited for, the one she’d hoped to finally have.  And now that it was here, with pen in hand and form after form in front of her, she was terrified.

Worse than stepping into the ring against an opponent over twice her size.

Worse than going up against a bounty that could kill her.

Worse than when Jerhal left and she knew she’d have to face the Sith alone.

Worse than when Book dove into her head, to find out what had been done.

At least there, she thought, she knew what would happen.  She knew that it would be one of two possible outcomes.  Here there were unknown variables.  Jail.  Exile. Execution.  Getting lost in a paperwork maze.  Never hearing.  Never knowing.

She took a breath and looked at the paper again, muttering to herself.

“How do I answer a question that effects the rest of my life?”

Ty’nea rubbed the space between her eyes, willing away the headache that was creeping around the edges, and looked out the window again.  The view, at least, was magnificent; she could see the ships landing and taking off from the spaceport.  It made her long for her own; the battered D5-Mantis that she never got around to naming and was now scrapped, most likely, at the bottom of Nar Shaddaa’s docks.  The only place she had of her own, before the apartment on Carrick.

Her home for so long, stripped and gone by dock rats.  She hadn’t been able to get a hold of Ludwik to find out what happened to it, and didn’t feel right asking Lieutenant Teral to call him over something so trivial.

And even though she loved her apartment, she missed flying.  She missed sitting in her captain’s chair, counting the stars, completely in control of her own destiny.

She hoped she’d have that again someday.

The pen rolled between her fingers, and she looked back down at the paper, staring at the question field.

PLEASE LIST THE PRIMARY REASONS FOR REQUESTING ASYLUM (USE FORM 122-A.2 IF MORE ROOM IS REQUIRED):

tick.

tick.

tick.

Ty’nea smoothed a wrinkle from the simple skirt she wore, looking up at the chrono on the wall.  For hours she’d sat, listening to the steady tick of the wall heater outside the small waiting room door, marking each second as it passed her by.  The file she carried with her sat forgotten in the empty chair next to her, sketchbook resting on top.  Today, she hoped, would be the day they called her number, shuffling her into a little room to look at her paper, her face, to hear her words and decide the next step in her future.

She twisted the golden band around her ring finger nervously, focusing on steadying her breath.  You killed people in cold blood without batting an eyelash, you idiot, she thought disdainfully.  Why are you so scared for a stupid meeting?  Even as she thought the words, though, she knew the answer.

Because this means more to you than they ever did.

She took a deep breath, letting the air out in a rush through her nose as she thought of the events of the last week.  She had been nervous, almost scared, to let the Sith-turned-Jedi attempt to fix the mess in her head.  And for good reason.   Even with Jerhal there, standing and holding her hand as Book prodded her mind to search out the damage the Sith had inflicted as a final cruel trick, the pain that shot through her head was almost unbearable.  Book said afterwards that whatever the Sith had done was complex and absolutely, invariably dark.  But Book had put up wards of some sort, and Ty’nea’s nightmares had lessened slightly.

She glanced at the chrono again, taking a small sip of water from the bottle she had brought with her.  The first week she came she learned to bring food, water, and something to keep the time at bay.  Coruscant was all politics, and like all houses of politics, things moved as slow as a baby nerf in Alderaan’s first snowfall. Every week Ty’nea had come, sitting in the impossibly uncomfortable chairs and watching the seconds tick by.  Every week she hoped that they would call her, look at her paperwork, and grant her asylum no questions asked.

But that won’t happen.

She sighed, taking another deep breath as she set the water down and picked up her sketchbook.  The what-if’s were the worst, and around hour five they began to creep in.

What if they refuse my request?

What if they send me back to Imperial space?

What if they arrest me?

What if they punish him because of me?

What if they execute me for what I’ve done?

Each question was asked and filed away to think of at another time, graphite anxiously pulling across the flimsi.  This week was no different, as the time ticked away with each click of sound from the hallway.

What if what if what if…

“Ty’nea Korbin?”

Ty’nea looked up, graphite skidding across the page. A bored looking bureaucrat stood in the doorway.  ”Y— yes?”  The man nodded.  

“You’re up.”

She stood quickly, gathering her papers and bottle and taking a deep breath.  The heater clicked in the hallway, marking the seconds in time with the click of her heels, then fading as the door slid shut behind her.

The acrid smoke hung heavy in the treetops, the smell of burning wood and scorched metal mingling with the coppery taste of blood against the back of her throat.  She shook her head, clearing the stars that danced behind her closed eyes.  How far had the explosion thrown her?  She stood carefully, back against a tree, and did a quick mental once over. 

No broken bones, blasters on hand.  Clear.

She glanced to the right at the buzzing clash of saber against saber, the blue against the red blurring together in a flash of golden sparks through the haze.  At the sight she bolted, dodging blaster rounds and falling bodies.   Her target, she knew, was near.  She had tracked him here and now, in the thick of battle, was enough to ensure a clean kill.

There.  Blue.

The smoke pulled closer, burning against her throat.  She scrambled up a tree, silently stalking the heavily armored figure slumped against a rock, cursing as his weapon lay around him pieces.  His voice was muffled as he spoke, expertly repairing the rifle as the battle raged in the distance, words adding one more layer of camouflage for any sound she might make.  She was close, so close.  

One more step.

She leaned forward, drawing her blaster with her strong hand as she clung to the tree’s branch and taking careful aim.  This bounty had been hard to come by, harder to trace.  In the end, however, the man would die like the rest of them.  She sniffed derisively and her finger twitched, the blaster bolt finding its mark and the man falling forward, blood seeping out around the edge of his helmet.

We all die in the end.

She hopped down from the branch, landing silently on the loamy forest floor, and crossed the distance to the body.  Crouching, she took her helmet off, taking a deep breath as she looked around.  The man would have friends.  They would be by soon.  All she needed was the verification.  Her fingers slid along the blood-slicked helmet on the body in front of her, smiling grimly at the familiar click-hiss of its release, and tossed the still-smoking durasteel away.  All she needed were the man’s dog tags and datascan.  

Gun and go.

She looked down as the helmet released and froze.

No.  No.  NO NO NO NONONONONONONONO

The scream echoed against the trees as she pulled Jerhal’s lifeless body against her chest, begging him to wake up, all while knowing her shot had been true, any words she gasped out, futile.  Hot tears streaked her cheeks as her hands pulled free of their gauntlets, pressing her mouth against the dead man’s in a desperate attempt to find herself in the holotales they told children, having him wake up in her arms.  The smoke crept closer, burning her eyes along with the tears, and she knew.  

The still-warm barrel of the durasteel pressed against her temple as she looked up through the haze of grief.  Even through the smoke of battle, the sky was blue.  

Her finger twitched.

***

Ty’nea sat bolt upright in bed, scream choked into silence in the back of her throat as the sound of the blaster firing faded away into her subconscious.  Red hair lay plastered against her forehead and cheeks with sweat as tears rolled up and overflowed her eyes.  She gasped out a strangled cry and pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her face against them as she sobbed.

Her fingers searched out the small horizontal scars on her temples, pressing against them as the headache throbbed white-hot behind her eyes with each gasping breath.  Distantly, she heard her name called, felt the warm embrace of the arm around her bare back and the hand softly petting down her hair as the concerned tone of words murmured against her ear, helping her sobs to subside.

“Whoa, shit, whoa whoa, shhhhh Nea.  Calm down, Baby, you’re okay.”

She pressed her face against his chest, shaking, and turned her head, desperate to hear his heart thumping against his ribs.  The song of life that her subconscious mind thought funny to rip away from her in the most painful way possible.

The sound was there.  She took a deep, shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut.  The image from the dream was still there, though fading behind a smokescreen of time.  A deep breath found it’s way to her lungs, her words coming out shakily, but true.

“I… I need to find out what they did to me.”

The slender woman pressed her forehead against the window, thick glass reflecting the utter chill of the emptiness of space beyond.  The ship had long since blinked into hyperspace, but her eyes remained locked on the spot where it had disappeared.

Come home to me.

The words blew a puff of warm air against the thick window, hazing the view before evaporating in the artificial heat of Carrick Station.  Ty’nea wished that she was with them; going with the Seventh to fight this unknown enemy that had called up so many to take arms with it.  To stand shoulder to shoulder with the men and women who had saved her.  To return the favor.

But they had said no.   Vyen’a, Lieutenant Teral.  They both had said no; she needed to stay here.  It was too risky.  Vyen’a was worried she would have a panic attack if she saw the red of the Sith sabers.  Lieutenant Teral gave no reason.

She never asked the man who shared her bed.  Holden Jerhal. The one she ran for, the one she gave up everything for.  Early that morning, in the tiniest hours, she had woke, resting her cheek on his chest and listening to his heart beat as she had almost every night since his return.

Come home to me.

She whispered the words then, and again when she kissed him goodbye.  His cocksure grin told her he would, but she could see the tinge of worry behind his eyes.  She hadn’t called Vyen’a; she knew the woman was too busy holding herself together by threads any more.

She pushed a piece of red hair out of her face, resting her forehead against the thick window again, listening to her heart pound in her chest as her eyes closed.  Such fragile things, bodies.  Behind her lids she saw her past, watched body after body crumple and fall from her well placed shots.  She wondered if a few different circumstances would have put her on the opposite line, going blaster to blaster with the Seventh. With the man who now so carefully held her heart.  She certainly had every reason to hate force users and Sith in particular; it wasn’t that much of a stretch to see her fighting toward their eradication.

Another deep, shaky breath pulled her from her memories, eyes opening to stare out at the empty expanse of space, and she began to count the stars. One, two, a dozen dozen tiny pinpoints of light, the same repetition she’d done for years.  First from her ship’s tiny captain’s chair, then perched on a ledge in Vyen’a’s small control room, then finally, finally, curled with her love in a comfy, overstuffed chair.  Every night together, they’d count the stars.

Her heart pounded in her chest, breath tight in her throat, as she counted.

Twenty-two.

He’ll live.  He’ll be okay.

Twenty-three.

Just let it be.  Let it be.

Twenty-four…

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she blinked them back before looking down to her hand, fingers twisting the gold band around her ring finger nervously before looking back out to space.

Come home to me.

The stars blinked back quietly, daring her tears to fall.  She blinked again, took another shaky breath, and stood up a bit straighter.

One…

Two…

The golden light of Voss filters through the trees as the pair walks down the pathway, hand in hand.  They turn off the road, ducking behind a small building, place familiar to both of them.  They settle into the long grass, looking out over the perpetually autumnal landscape.

“I would have dreams of this place when I was living on Vyen’a’s ship.  I knew I was above the planet, but I just couldn’t come down here alone.  I was so scared they would find me.”  Ty’nea smiles, nestling her head onto Jerhal’s shoulder.  He chuckles quietly.   “You’ll be safe as long as you’re with me, I promise.”

Ty’nea curls tighter against him.  ”I know.”  Jerhal looks at her with a soft smile.  ”You remember why we first came here right?”  Ty’nea snorts.  ”Yeah.  I was in tears, practically, over Saeren being an asshole.”

Jerhal’s smile grows.  ”And we talked and we talked and you cried and…”

“And you kissed me.”

“And I kissed you.”  He chuckles.  ”I think it’s fitting that this is the place I make things official.”  Ty’nea’s head tilts. “Hm?”

Jerhal pulls away to kneel in front of her and takes a small box from his pocket, grinning.  ”Ty’nea, will you marry me?”

Ty’nea’s eyes widen, filling with tears, as a hand covers her mouth.  ”Are you insane?  Yes, yes, oh, Maker, Holden, yes!”  

***

Ty’nea’s eyes flick open, staring at the durasteel ceiling of her small flat.  She rolls to her side, tucking around the man’s sleeping body and stretching her legs out against his.  She wraps her arms around his shoulders as he sleeps, the light catching on the red stone, nestled in gold on her finger.  Her eyes settle on the stone, a smile curling her mouth into a soft giggle.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was real.

And it was all hers.

he’s back.  jerhal is back.

vyen’a told me last night that they - she and lieutenant teral - had known for a week.  but they wanted me to be surprised.  and i was.  i was.

and it was the best surprise ever.

even though i was moved into my flat, vyen’a told me to come with her to corellia.  she said she’d need some help with this shipment she was picking up.  which was strange, but sometimes things get sticky so i didn’t bother asking.  and she left me to set up the cargo bay like she needed and went to organize the paperwork, and then she commed me and asked for me to go to the hangar to make sure everything was starting to move.  and that made sense, because the last few shipments she’s taken have just dragged and dragged.  so i downloaded the manifest from her display and went to the hangar but i couldn’t find it, and when i looked to doublecheck…

jerhal came up behind me. and put his arms around me.  and it was perfect.  it was wonderful.  he’s home.  he came back.  he’s alive and in one piece and and and…

lieutenant teral gave him a few days rest before putting him back on the line.  he’s so nice.  vyen’a and he are good together.  but since jerhal had a few days off, he climbed right back on a transport and we went back to carrick and he got to see my flat.  and we curled on my chair with my blanket and counted the stars again.

and just the bliss of being there, with him?

it was perfect.  

he wants to marry me.  he wants to have a family with me.  and that’s perfect.  it really is.  my headaches are still there, and he’s going to help me find out what’s wrong, why they’re still so bad.

and my drawings aren’t as shaky as they were.  and i might… 

i’ve been thinking about it for a while.  i might go to one of the fight nights that viper and vysht organizes; if jerhal will go with me.  no one will know me, probably.  and i won’t fight.  just watch.

i haven’t really wanted to go back since that night.  but i feel stronger now.  stronger than i have in a really, really long time.

i feel like me.

i’m living alone again.

vyen’a was making runs to corellia.  super dangerous, considering all the fighting there.  so she and i searched out a little flat for me on carrick.

it’s tiny.  it’s quiet.  it’s near a security station and she paid to set up a few extra security measures, just so i could feel safer.  vyen’a paid for the whole thing.  i told her i’d pay her back and do work on her ship and slicing for her and she laughed it off and waved her hand and said no, that her brother loved me and that it was worth it.

and then she gave me a huge stack of really good quality sketchpads and brand new graphites and some lovely smeary color sticks and a secure comm that i could use, it goes right to her ship and will alert her if anything happens so she can call security and make sure i’m okay.

and it’s terrifying.  but i do feel safer.  and this is my space.  all mine.

i didn’t think i would have that again.

the nightmares are still there most nights, but they’re not as bad as they were.  and some nights i don’t even dream now.  that’s nice.

it’s like when jerhal called, everything was made better.  the haze that had sort of been hanging over me since i was yanked out of the sith’s grasp has started to lift.  

i’ve been drawing more.  good things, not my nightmares.  the pond on carrick, the people i see.  i’m working on a piece for both master ihlrath and lieutenant teral, as thank yous.  i can go for walks without my heart feeling like it’s going to leap out of my chest; without looking over my shoulder every ten steps for someone coming after me.

i keep taking all these tiny steps forward.  and for once, finally, it feels like they’re moving me in the right direction.

maybe i will be okay after all.

((Trying something a bit different, since I’m not actively RPing Ty’nea right now.  Have some memories!))

***

“’Ey! We got a live one!”

Her eyes blinked open. Smoke and ash and burning, screaming, the sound of fire raging somewhere. A small explosion. Wetness in her eyes, on her cheeks. The smell of blood, hot and coppery and wrong.

A man. Frowning down at her.

“Force. Poor kid. Hey, I need a medic here, now!”

Her eyes closed.

***

The steady hum of a kolto tank somewhere near. Electronically-based droid voices.

“…uch blood lost, so no…”

“…ance of survival, an…”

“…ides of orbital sockets crus…”

“…she probably won’t see ag…”

Her eyes won’t open. Why won’t they open? She struggles, but can’t sit up. Breath catches in her throat.

“Mom? Daddy?”

A cool hand on her forehead.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Rest. It’s okay. You need to calm down.”

The voice soothes her. A prick of a needle in her neck.

Darkness again.

***

Voices whisper nearby. Quiet. Hushed. Worried.

“She lived. Everyone on those transports was supposed to die.”

“We can’t kill the poor kid. Look at her. It’s a miracle she’s even breathing”

“So what do we do? They’ll be coming for her.”

“Give her their family name. Just some cousin from some backwater planet. No one important.”

“And the first name?”

“Weird coincidence, right?”

“…I guess.”

***

“Are you ready to see?”

A nervous breath, then a nod.

“I’m… it’s not horrible, right?”

A chuckle. Fatherly. Strong hand giving a supporting squeeze on her shoulder.

“I did the best I could. You’ll have some scarring, but the implants will keep your eye sockets from collapsing. The support beam crushed you right across your eyes. We’re still not sure how you survived.”

She nods again.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Bandages are unwound, hazy light growing brighter as the gauze falls away. She blinks at her reflection in the mirror. The bruises will fade in time. The nose was reset expertly. The only sign of what happened are the tiny lines across her temples from the cybernetic structure holding her skull together on each side.

And the scar. The angry, jagged scar, ripping from the bottom of her left eye down to nearly her jawline. Her fingers brush against it tentatively, a small frown on her face.

“I guess if I can survive this, I can survive anything. Right?”

The man laughed.

“That’s the spirit. You’re a fighter. Rest up, now.”

***

She cradles the graphites in her hand, rolling the sticks between her thumb and forefinger as she looks at the page of flimsiplast skeptically.

“Try it.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then you’ll have a new hobby.”

“But I want to remember.”

“I know you do, Ty’nea. I know you do.”

A deep breath.

And the first line is drawn.

i’m getting better.

the more days that pass, the better i feel.  i’ve been taking walks alone around carrick station; the big republic fleet actually lets me feel safer.  i know no one can get me here, and i know if something happens i’ll be safe.  i’ll just have to scream and i’ll be okay.

i ran into master ihlrath the other day on a walk.  he was one of the jedi who rescued me.  he was the one who slipped me his comm information the day before everything goes fuzzy in my brain.  he was the one that got my information to zentoyo for jerhal’s party.

i never knew he and jerhal were such good friends, or that he held vyen’a and lieutenant teral in such high regards. or… anything, really.  he told me stories about jerhal, too.  it was good, so good, to hear about him from someone who knows and isn’t afraid to tell me things.  

it was a good day that day.

tonight was even better.

vyen’a came in to tell me that she was going to go get smokes and by the way someone on her comm wanted to talk to me.  so i picked it up and said hello and…

i’m still smiling.

it was jerhal.  the regiment he’s with hijacked an imperial holo-buoy and they rewired it and everyone was able to make calls.  and we talked and talked for hours and hours and i told him what happened - what i could remember, anyway - and he let me know he was okay and he said he loved me and still wanted forever. and he called me his fiancee.  so i guess i didn’t dream it when he said he was going to marry me when he gets back.

we talked until the comm died.  and the last thing i heard him say before that dead air silence was he was coming back safe to me and that he loved me.

and i’m still smiling.

i’m going to get better now.  i have to get better now.  i need to stand up tall when he walks off the transport in five weeks.  thirty-five days.  and i know i have people on my side.  master ihlrath.  lieutenant teral.  vyen’a.

and when he gets back, jerhal.

i can find my strength in numbers until i can stand on my own again.

i can do it.

((so awesome thing: jerhal’s player was online for a bit today; he’s finished with basic, yeah!  he’s got five weeks left - AIT is next - and then the RPz will (in theory) start again.  WE’RE PROUD OF YOU, HON.))

I sort of like it here on Vyen’a’s ship.  I miss my own, but here is nice.  It’s mostly quiet.  She just sort of lets me do my own thing.  She took someone else in, too,  but she didn’t talk much; just went out and came back and cried.  I guess her boyfriend got taken captive by Sith during a battle or a skirmish or a run in or something on Voss. 

I know what that’s like.  

I didn’t tell her.

They got him back, though.  And I haven’t seen much of her since then.  I guess she’s staying with him.  That makes sense.  I would, in her place.

But then I guess Vyen’a got grabbed on Nar Shaddaa.  That was scary.  Lieutenant Teral… I could hear him crying one night, while they were trying to find her.  Just sobbing like his heart was breaking.  I guess they got into a fight right before she got grabbed; I heard Vyen’a talking about it with that big Zabrak that doesn’t like me.  Or didn’t.  Or something.  

They got her back too.  He - the Zabrak - was part of the group that brought her home.  And when he left the next day after he was sure she was okay, he ran into me on the way out and apologized for being a jerk.  He’s pretty nice, actually.  A full foot taller than me, which is a bit disconcerting, but nice.  And I guess Vyen’a and the Lieutenant aren’t doing too good now, after what happened.  I don’t want to push for details, though.

Vyen’a brought me some really lovely sketching graphites from Corellia when she and the Lieutenant went there.  Ludwik found my ship - security worked really well - and brought me all of my sketch books.  He said my ship looked too clean, like someone had snooped around and picked up after themselves too well.  But I have my books, and my holos.  And Jerhal’s letter that he wrote me before he left.

It was that last part I wanted the most.

I’ve mostly been sketching.  And sleeping.  and singing.  For being a corner of a cargo bay, my little room has really good acoustics.  I’ve also been working on slicing for Vyen’a and doing some rewiring of a huge ship the 7th’s gotten a hold of.  It gets me out, sort of, and people can see that I’m not going back on my word.  I had a nice talk with the Jedi attachment from the 7th - Master Jovh, I think? - and he’s really nice.  Was interested in what happened with the Sith, but I still don’t remember much of anything about it.  He didn’t press too hard; I guess he could tell I wasn’t lying.

My headaches are still really bad.  I don’t know why they’ve started acting up again, and they’re in this new spot, right under the little scars from the implants.  I’ve never had pain there before everything happened.

But overall, I’m keeping okay.  I want to write Rythe, even though I know he’ll just throw everything away unread.  I want to go visit Tybel and play with Valo and even be creeped on by Watcher 13 (well, maybe not that last one), but I know that’d be a death sentence the moment I stepped on Alderaan.

So I’ll stay here.  Safe.

Only two more months, I think.

((Different translations of Ty’nea.  I love them all more than words could possibly say.  From the top: Rhibai kill squad (Nea is second from left on top row) by Evanlysis, Ty’nea solo (also by Evanlysis), Ty’nea being a sexy fuckin’ huntress by Kida, and Ty’nea relaxing and safe (for now) by Silvis.

I’m touched and honored that you would all draw Nea.  Thank you. <3 ))