LadyKF Writes

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Mild spoiler warning for CH3 of the Bounty Hunter storyline in SWTOR. That said, also strongly mixed with how I headcanon the event for Seran-vin and therefore not exactly the same.

---

Seran figured, if you asked most people who knew him, they’d say he was an easy going guy. Because he was. Sometimes his temper kicked up, but you usually had to provoke it. And any grudges he held were earned, like the mess with Blood early on.

Or this thing Jun Seros was pulling. He was damn lucky Seran wasn’t the sort to generalize, because he really could turn a man completely against the Jedi with this. There were good ones out there, ones who weren’t hypocrites, ones he respected, though. And that was why he had his comm out while Torian and Mako were plotting the path through the war zone that was Corellia, placing a call.

“Gen-ji’al.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Ji’al reminded him. There was no sounds of battle, so it was probably a decent enough time to call. “What do you want, hunter?”

“Jun Seros is hiding in your people’s enclave on Corellia.” There was no point mincing words. “I’m coming for him. Get the kids out of the way.”

“Frakking– are you kidding me?” There were some impressive snatches of Huttese as he was away from his comm for a moment. “You’re serious. He’s… nevermind. How much time do I have?”

“Mako, eta?” Seran prompted.

“At least fifteen minutes, no more than twenty,” she reported. “If we move now.”

“Good. You hear her?” Seran asked.

“I did. Just… frakking hells, Seran, I could have used more warning!” Ji’al protested.

“Any more time an’ your council could hold you responsible for not stoppin’ me,” Seran pointed out, smiling at the sharp breath on the other end. “Seems I gotta look out for all of you kids. Didn’t think of that, didja?”

“I’d do it anyway,” Ji’al insisted. “But… thank you. I’ll talk to my father, see what we can do. Be careful, he’s a battlemaster.”

“He’s a dead man walking, Carmine.” Seran smiled grimly. “Just doesn’t know it yet. And he knows I’m coming, I’m sure. He’s a liar an’ an coward, but he doesn’t seem like a complete idiot.”

“I’m pretty sure I should be offended or something,” the Jedi muttered. “Look, just… I’ll do it. Just be safe. I have a feeling if something happens to you, your ‘kids’ won’t be near so kind.”

Seran laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, they wouldn’t. But they’ve got their own problems. Just me an’ my crew this time.”

“More than enough, with your record.” Ji’al was silent a long moment. “From what I’ve heard, he’s earned this. Force be with you, Seran-vin. I’ll handle things here and be long gone by the time you arrive.”

Seran snorted, but didn’t refuse the words. “Thanks, kid.”

It was time to finish it.

[Tumblr post] Minor spoilers for the end of the Imperial Agent Storyline, if you squint.

---

“We are designed to be disposable.” Lathi’s voice was heard even before the holo image fully turned on, flicking between the blues of the projector image, a bare six inches for a man who was well over six feet tall in real life. “Our names are supposed to be taken, our identities whatever the Empire assigned us, no ties that don’t string us back to our creators.”

He’d first appeared in that same uniform he’d worn when they first met. But the helmet was coming off, set aside as he worked on removing the rest, slowly dropping the Imperial accent. “The thing is, Blakk, we are people. And we have names, and we have identities, and we have ties to people beyond our handlers.”

There was no telling what color his clothes were, but he recognized the style of the jacket as a deliberate reference to one of Seran’s, a necklace with a crystal pendant going around his neck before he settled. “If you’ve received this, I’ve put Cipher Seven in retirement, before I could be retired, and if they haven’t come for Cipher Nine, they will. Fortunately, Cipher’s are designed to be disposable. You have the skills to be anyone you want, anywhere you want.”

The image fuzzed a moment, a low buzz of static before the light went out, only one more line of audio playing Lathi’s deep echo of Seran’s drawl.  

“I look forward to meeting you again dzzzzzzz -akk.”

There was static eating the end of it, but if someone had been there to comment, he’d have said that it was him holding it so tight that caused the unfortunate distortion. There was no reason for any other reaction, after all.

This was a little piece reflecting on something I want to write eventually detailing my Bounty Hunter's backstory. [Post here]

---

“What did you do before all this?”

Seran opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get out of his doze before looking over to find Mako. He was still getting used to having her always there, a strange concept but not entirely unwelcome. “Before what all?”

“Before Braden dragged you into the Great Hunt,” she said, making a vaguely encompassing gesture. “You’re not exactly a kid, you had to have done things before. And I don’t think for one minute all that gear was a gift from your parents.”

“The blades are Ma’s work, but I do take credit for the blasters,” he admitted, sitting up properly. Conversation was better than trying to sleep the whole flight to the Imperial capital anyway. “I did some work for her, mostly helpin’ my brother - Lathi has a mind for numbers, woulda made a damn fine merchant. He’d get her materials, sell goods an’ all. But I’ve been callin’ Tatooine home for… stars, maybe a good five years now? I’ve done a lot of work as an armed guard for people goin’ through the outer rim, got a lot of travel in with that.”

“That’s how you could pay to get them shipped off, isn’t it?” Mako bit her lip, clearly not having meant to blurt that out, but went through with it when he didn’t say anything. “It had to have cost a lot of credits, just to ship Jory and Braden off Hutta. But… you did, and you could, I was just….”

“Wonderin’ what kinda money I had, huh?” Seran chuckled softly, waving a hand as if he could shoo off her embarrassment. “It’s fine. I’m not big on having things so I keep funds for when I need ‘em. Seein’ that they got a proper burial, that was important. Just sorry we’ll miss it.”

“Yeah… but we’re doing the right thing. I mean, this was Braden’s dream.” Mako sighed, fiddling with her shuttle pass. “When you agreed to do this, he was so happy. He said you were Great Hunt material, that you really stood a chance to win this, and… this is what he’d want, more than anything. To see you do this.”

“Us,” he corrected. “We’re a team now, right kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” she huffed, kicking at his ankle.

“Sure you’re not.” Seran grinned at her, catching her hand when she went to shove at him and holding it gently. “Look at that tiny hand.”

“Seran-vin!”

“Okay, okay.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “But we are a team. I’m not just gonna drop you off t’ fend for yourself.”

Mako gave him a small smile for that, nodding. “Okay. Thanks, Seran. Really.”

This was a little snippet I did for the Empire AU, with some spoilers for CH2 of the Bounty Hunter and Jedi Knight storyline. I figure at this point, most people are aware of what went down so I'm not cutting it. [Original post]

---

“Not that I’ve ever minded being kept off the radar of your scarier kids, because trust me, I have never minded that, but have you ever considered backup?” Gault held up his hands immediately at Seran’s glare, offering his classic no-harm-meant grin. “Seriously, though. Taking on the whole Republic is probably not your greatest idea ever.”

“They brought the fight to my door, Gault.” Seran flinched a little from the size of the kolto injection Mako had prepped, though he didn’t move his arm. Exhaling with it, he let his eyes wander over to the workbench where Torian was prodding his armor. “Well?”

“Gonna need a defter touch than mine, sorry.” The Mandalorian shrugged. “The blaster scores I could manage, but those heavier weapons did damage I don’t want to work on. You’re lucky the two of you didn’t get hit worse, honestly.”

“I know that.” The holoterminal flickered to life above them, casting a blue light over the rail, and Seran sighed. “Tiny, who’s calling?”

T9-E’s servos whirred softly overhead as the droid went to check, making surprised sounds after. “Unknown signal = inside Imperial space // Identification provided = Ji’al Carmine.”

“Carmine?” Torian’s brows knit together in a frown. “Isn’t that the name of the Sith Lord’s clan?”

“Oh no.” Gault groaned, shaking his head and pointing when Seran made himself get up. “No no no, talking to a Jedi is a bad idea. Did you forget the part where we just walked into a massacre their battlemaster set up? This is a very bad idea. Seran, are you listening to me? Seran-vin – for the love of… somebody do something!”

“Ji’al has only called a couple times, and never from Imperial space,” Mako pointed out. “It’s probably important. He’s not a regular Jedi, anyway.”

“Corellians always seem a little different,” Torian said, following Seran up and leaning against the wall to watch. “You gonna answer?”

“Yeah… patch him through, T9.” Seran grabbed a shirt, shrugging it on with gritted teeth to hide the worst of his injuries.

Then the holo image sprung to life and the hunter forgot about the burns and scrapes, feeling his mouth go dry as he stared at the young man - Jedi knight, last he’d checked but… those clothes… that style was distinctly Sith. And in the background there was more than the girl he travelled with. The looming, powerful figure was instantly recognizable as a pureblood Sith, and that was definitely a lightsaber at his waist.

“The hell did you get yourself into, kid?”

There had been a haunted, guarded look in the knight’s eyes at first, but his smile was genuine even if there was bone deep exhaustion too. “That’s a long story. Listen, I’m sure you have Mako tracing this call… I have to ask a favor. I absolutely have to get out of this system, I need back to the Core. Untracked.”

Seran nodded, already piecing it together. “Get me the coordinates for a rendezvous. You gonna need to ditch your ship?”

“Ditch it, and wreck it so anyone who can find it will assume we were killed fleeing,” he confirmed.

“We have the gun power for that?” Seran asked, glancing back at the others.

“Blizz boost boss’ guns, make big boom on Jedi ship!” Blizz assured him eagerly.

“Alright. We can do that, then.” Seran frowned, looking back to the Jedi and his silent companions. “Who’re you running from?”

Ji’al offered a tight smile. “The Emperor."

This post was a part of a chain between myself and askshivanulegacy that I wanted to keep, but I'll note which section was by who; I am Carmine, they're Shi'vanu. [Original post]

---

~ CARMINE:

Looking at her, sometimes Seran remembered the little initiate he’d met, scared but defiant. Refusing to be owned by the Sith, fighting back the one way she could.

He wondered, sometimes, if she remembered them talking back then. What he’d told her, what she’d vowed. She’d stuck to it, though, whether she remembered it or not. They didn’t break her. She was a little twisted, all those years under the Sith had to take a toll, and then being forced into their ranks…. Yeah, it took a toll. But it didn’t break her.

Saare was still there, still that defiant little thing, even if she was now a defiant little thing who could electrocute you with a flick of her wrist. Seemed in her own way, she managed to get her last laugh after all.

~ SHI'VANU:

Sometimes Blakk watched her, when he thought she wasn’t looking, and remembered her mention of having been kidnapped. He wondered if it was true, what the point of it was if it wasn’t. He wondered what it was like, what had happened when she’d been taken all those years ago … what it must have been like for her to be a Jedi … what she must have looked like in the nondescript brown robes the Order wore.

He found he couldn’t picture it. To him, Saare would always have those yellow eyes, that white hair, pale skin and striking dark purple highlights. She’d always be dressed in some kind of Sith robe to make a statement - whether night black and bloody crimson or something vibrant, something that said that she was a Sith, she was there, and you’d better know it, she was not fading into the crowd. He wondered if her choices were the result of rebelling against the anonymous, trampled dirt-life of a slave.

No, if there was a young girl child in her past, running around carefree in plain, simple robes, with plain hair, plain eyes, and a twin brother of the same face to match … he couldn’t see it. There was no childish, happy laughter from Saare-ha.

She would always be Sith to him.

~ CARMINE:

He calls me Saare.

It’s short for him, convenient - easier than the full three syllables of Saare-ha I’m sure. It’s nothing significant, not to him. He doesn’t know - couldn’t know - what it means to me. I’ve told him I was enslaved, yes, but he never knew me that way. To him, there is no difference to be defined. I am Sith.

I never wanted to be Sith. I did, once upon a time when my eyes were blue and my hair a reddish brown, long to be Jedi. It was a long tradition in our family, for several members many generations back in the House of Carmine. The crimson green…. legends, in their own ways. But that was not to be.

I was a slave, and then I was Sith - another kind of slavery, more subtle, more insidious.

In the Empire, there always has to be a label. You have to fall into a category, so they can rank you and run you through their rules. If you don't fit, you make them uneasy, and they’ll try to make you into something.

He does that without meaning to.

Oh, he tries to get a rise from me. Calls me Sith with such venom, slave with disdain. Those mean nothing. I refuse to be owned by the labels of Imperial Society. I do not belong to the Sith and I am not a slave.

But then he calls me Saare, unthinkingly, and it means nothing to him. It’s just a name.

But it’s MY name.

He calls me by my name, looking me in the eyes, and part of me that was dead comes alive. He says it without thought, without hesitation - it’s a simple truth, nothing of consequence to him.

But it's my NAME.

He may never know what it means to me, for there to be someone who looks and just sees Saare, whatever that means at the time. But I will never forget.

He calls me Saare.

This is a quote from the Imperial Agent, in SWTOR, which fit how I played mine to a T. Check out the Tumblr post here for the audio.

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Out of all the vocations the young Zabrak could have once imagined himself pursuing, Lathi had honestly never once considered taking a position as any sort of Imperial. The thought of being drafted into Intelligence was laughable - oh certainly, he was extremely intelligent and skilled. He was also very obviously not human. And in the Empire, unless you were a pureblooded Sith, being an alien wasn’t considered a career advantage. Quite the opposite, in fact.

But then he had met Cipher Seven, their paths crossing while the agent was in the midst of an infiltration on Nar Shadaa. Being ‘drafted’ into his services was unexpected, taking increasingly more time away from Lathi’s own business procuring materials for his mother’s weapon making, but even had he been inclined to resist there was compensation offered that would allow him to bring some extra cortosis back for her as well - hardly a chance to pass up.

Despite some initial struggles to find a rhythm, the pair ended up working well together. Between Lathi’s skills with machines and general technology, he was able to pick up the needed skills with a little direction from the Imperial, and a carefully practiced Imperial accent to cover his own combined with a quickly purchased helmet allowed for him to slip around officers who they didn’t have time to argue with. After a while, respect turned to admiration and something of a friendly relationship with the cipher agent and they parted on good terms.

Their second - and last - meeting was nearly a month later. There had been betrayal within the ranks, and without time to figure out who was behind it, the dying agent made a desperate gamble on a young, clever alien who had been the only one whose loyalty he didn’t doubt.

Loyalty had been bred into Lathi by his parents growing up, and those he deemed worthy of it were elevated nearly to clan. Beyond that, he saw the value of the mission; while aliens were looked down upon in the Empire, the Zabrak saw the government as something he could get behind.

He finished the mission, and reported politely to a bewildered Keeper in the murdered agent’s honor. Looking back, he supposed it was little surprise Keeper kept him, racial biases of their government be damned. Lathi was intelligent, efficient, and loyal. Keeper too earned such over the years, even though they didn’t always see eye-to-eye. While it was not a replacement, the Zabrak would consider Intelligence a secondary clan that he held as a priority. The Empire grew to be dear to him, something he wanted to see succeed. He did all he could to support this, and began to be less and less pleased with those who worked against it - particularly the ones who should have been doing their utmost to preserve and advance their government.

Namely, Sith.

Imperial Intelligence was clan, and the Empire a second home to be cherished and protected. The self-important Force users and their petty, destructive politics however… they wore on him over time. He toed the line as a good agent - he’d taken on the mantle of Cipher Seven, himself, largely to honor the man who had unwittingly brought him into the fold - but he would be the last to regret if the dark overlords of the Empire were to all vanish.

In fact, off the record, he’d be quite happy to help.

This is AU to the canon timelines of what went down with my main rp verses for the Carmine Legacy, but it was an interesting premise to look at, what it would take to push Seran that far. [Tumblr post]

---

It had been a year.

One long, painful year since his brother had called him with the news. Mako had hacked the feeds, and part of him died watching.

Thanaton….

He’d killed them. Saare for having been Zash’s apprentice. Blakk for trying to save her. He’d killed them and it hadn’t been quick or painless. They’d died in pain and fear. There weren’t even bodies to bury, just a grave he’d dug with his hands in the dirt on Iridonia, outside his parent’s place where he’d always wanted to take them. Show them what it was like to have a family.

He’d never get the chance now.

A gloved hand tightened around his comm, gold eyes hard as he grit his teeth.

It had been a year, and in that year he’d dropped off the bounty hunting scene to prepare for the biggest hit of his life - and likely his last; taking down a member of the Dark Council would be risky even for a Sith, and here he was, some alien hunter. Yeah, he was gonna die for this. But when he took Thanaton down, he’d have no regrets.

And Thanaton would die. He’d spent a year making sure of that. A year planning and planning and calling in every favor and resource he had to make sure he got this right. In the end, Thanaton had played into his hands, sick of chasing around the last of Saare’s ‘followers’ even though Seran would have been the first to point out that they were no threat. But if the Sith wanted to hire him… he was fine with that.

---

He saw the disdain plain as day on the Sith’s features when he came in, but the man was polite anyway. Might’ve been bearable, even, if he didn’t have such a burning desire to see him die. And maybe if he wasn’t wearing a casual green tunic and a long black coat that had once been likened to a bath robe he’d be taken a little more seriously.

Not that he cared.

Seran listened to the specifics of it all, of the bounty details and Thanaton’s suggested methods - not bad, and actually rather smart if he’d really been dealing with some slouch of a hunter.

Only he wasn’t.

Hands deep in his pockets, Seran pressed the button on his comm, silently sending out a message while he talked the ‘plan’ through with the Darth, tossing back and forth ideas, seeking information… and then there was that priceless moment where he saw the old man stiffen, orange eyes widening in dismay. Seran didn’t feel a thing, but Saare had always said he had the Force sensitivity of a brick. “Disturbance in the Force, old man?”

“Quiet, hunter,” the Sith commanded, looking around warily as if he could see what was causing said disturbance.

“Scarier people than you have been more convincing than that,” he noted mildly, pushing off the wall to walk around the room. “You got a problem I should know about?”

“Nothing you would understand -”

“Force abandoned ya?” He smiled with dark satisfaction at the sharp look, the sudden suspicion. “Bet that’s a weight like a hundred ysalamiri on your doorstep.”

Darth Thanaton narrowed his eyes at him. “What foolishness have you wrought, hunter? You can’t think there is any scenario where you can raise a hand against me and win.”

“All I have t’ do to win is make sure you lose, Thanaton.” He didn’t reach for his blaster, pressing the button on his comm again and watching the Sith calmly. “You’re already dead; you just haven’t dropped yet.”

“Don’t be foolish, you can’t possibly -”

“There’s a good handful of Jedi waiting for whatever’s left of you when I’m done,” he cut him off, voice calm and quiet. “I didn’t want t’ let 'em down by saying there won’t be much. You’re a big shot, I know - I did my research. But you’re also human, and you’re not going to live through what a dozen thermal detonators are going to do to this building. You’re sure as hell not going to live through the bunker buster that’ll be dropped on the rubble, but just in case I have someone who is going to put everything on lockdown in the next ten seconds.”

He arched a brow, hearing the locks to the very room engage and chuckling at the look of dawning understanding, the Sith realizing he was serious. “She’s good. I’ve got some real good people working on this, actually. Real good. An’ a Hutt or two in my debt that really won’t give a damn you’re gone - pity you didn’t stay in the capital, huh? Would’ve made it harder on me.”

“So, what? You’ll throw your life away to kill me?” Thanaton gave him a disgusted look. “Who paid you to do this? This is suicide, even if you win.”

“Paid me? Thanaton, I’m paying you back.” A final press of keys on his comm, sending out a last message to his friends and family. Gods, but he hated to leave Mako alone like this, but she was an adult now. And she understood. Lathi… Lathi would get it. And he had a feeling neither he nor the rest of Intelligence would look too hard into this.

He shook his head, smiling grimly. “A Jedi told me once 'there’s no death, there’s the Force’ - and I hope they’re right. Whatever comes next, I hope Saare’s waiting there to kick your ass.”

The Darth gave him an incredulous look. “You’re killing me over those children?”

“Their names were Saare and Blakk, and you should have left them alone.” Seran-vin snarled softly, shifting his stance to stay upright as the first explosion rocked the building. “They were worth a thousand of your Councils, and your death can never make up for their loss; but I’m not letting you live after that.”

Another explosion stumbled them both, and from the way the Sith stretched a hand, then fumbled for his lightsaber, the fuzzy little lizards were still interfering with his ability to use the Force. No lightning today.

Not that he expected the 'fight’ to last long, but Seran took grim satisfaction in shooting the flustered darth in the shoulder before he had his blade out and readied. Time was ticking away, and there were more explosions drawing nearer - the whole compound was going to come down, there was no stopping it now.

“Time t’ meet the Maker.”

This was based off something that the Smuggler says when you're playing. If you want to hear the voice clip, the Tumblr post is here.

---

Once upon a time, had you asked the little initiate she’d been, the young Corellian would have never been able to imagine a life without the Force as her constant companion.

But then came Czerka, and it didn’t matter if the branch that kidnapped her was officially sanctioned in their experiments to isolate the ability to use the Force - in the end, they took it away from her. Those short months were an eternity to little Saare, filled with fear and pain any time the drugs wore off enough to feel at all. The things they did… in the end, she supposed she was glad she couldn’t remember. Reading it in the files was horrible enough, and she always saw raw anger in her brother’s eyes when he thought of it.

They took her back to Corellia, to recover with the aid of the healers at the enclave, and they did their best. But she came out changed - how could she not? They’d been in her brain, and she developed a habit of touching the implant they’d had to put in on her forehead whenever she thought about it. She could still feel the Force - a miracle, she understood that much - but it was bittersweet because she couldn’t touch it. It was just out of reach, and the only time she used it was when she was pushed to lashing out.

The Council on Coruscant considered ways to place her, to serve the order still, but she declined. She’d never even made it to being a padawan, and without the ability to use the Force they could hardly protest. She went back to Corellia, back to her family, the people who had never given up on her, who had done what they could on their own and supported her brother, who had found her in the end.

She wasn’t the same, she knew that. There wasn’t any thought of a possibility to become a Jedi, but she didn’t know what to do with herself. She learned how to fight out of necessity, but she didn’t want to join CorSec. In the end, it was the return of her one companion in captivity that helped her find a direction.

HK-51 was an assassin droid, and compassion was not in his coding. Loyalty, however, was, and he tracked her down. Sahare, he called her at first, a reminder of when she could barely pronounce her own name… and she decided she’d keep it. Saare was gone with the Force, but Sahare… she could be Sahare.

Sahare ended up being good with a blaster, an adept field medic, a fantastic mechanic and above all, an ace pilot. She worked at the family shipyard and began saving for a ship of her own. When she finally managed enough funds to buy her own XS Freighter, it needed extensive work and she spent years pouring time and credits into its restoration and customizing.

It paid off, and she threw one hell of a party, ready to christen her new vessel the Turhaya, her shining star. If it was a reference to her father calling her the same thing once, no one called her on it. For all that she’d lost, Sahare Carmine finally carved out a life for herself, and the galaxy was hers to travel.

PROMPT: My character has been kidnapped because they are friends with yours. When found, they’re still alive, but with a three word message carved into their skin for yours. What does the message say and what does your muse do about it?
 

---

Here’s your prince

At first, all Saare could think was thank the Force that Blakk was alive. When he’d up and vanished, she’d feared the worst. Finding he was kidnapped by an unknown party didn’t help, and she was a mess of anger and fear by the time they received an anonymous tip that he would be returned.

Blakk was alive, if badly beaten. And understandably, at first all she could focus on was his recovery, which Seran was extremely helpful with. But once he was cleared for recovery, once she knew he’d be alright… she noticed some of the burns were from a lightsaber.

Here’s your prince

For a long moment she stared at the bandaging that covered the crudely carved words, where it was likely to heal with only the faintest scarring, if any.

But she had scars of her own. Matching ones, where a single word was branded into her mind.

Princess.

No.

No.

He wouldn’t…

Oh yes he would. If he found out how you feel, how much Blakk means to you, he would in a heart beat.

Saare swallowed against the burn of bile, sickness slowly transforming to rage. How dare he.

How dare he.

Robed in black and red, she stalked from her ship with a note left for Seran when he came back; he would shortly, but the man had the Force sensitivity of a brick and wouldn’t sense the fury that was pouring off her. She imagined with dark pleasure that she would appear as a blaze of red to someone who only saw the Force, a column of rage. He wanted her angry? Well, he’d succeeded.

But she was no one’s princess, no little acolyte to be scared off by the twisted attentions of a darth. She’d killed darths, and he was overdue to join the list.

I am not your princess, Darth Varr, and you will regret touching what is mine for the short remainder of your life.

PROMPT: Looking at her was like looking for stars in the night sky; the longer you looked, the more you saw.

I absolutely ship Corso with my lady smuggler, and this made me think of something he might say.

---

You know, on the surface, she seemed pretty simple. Not like stupid simple or shallow or anything like that, just… she’d breezed into Ord Mantell like it was nothing even though she was diving into a war zone. There was a bounce in her step, a smirk on her lips, and when Skavak screwed us over she was just mad about her ship.

Of course, after a while I realized she was Corellian, and flying was in her blood; that ship was so much more to the captain - it was home, it was independence, it was freedom. She’d paid the whole thing off, done the custom work by hand or overseen the jobs too big for just one little lady. Over time, I picked up more about her - there were a lot of things Sahare talked about real easy, and it was impressive. She was younger than me, you know, but she’d done so much more. For a while, I was pretty convinced all she could possibly see looking at me was just this farmboy playing mercenary. Good kid, smart enough and good with a blaster but she was leagues above me when it came to just living.

Some of that she didn’t talk about, but I picked things up slowly from watching her. I watched her a lot, actually, especially in the beginning. Not like a stalker or nothin’ but just because it hit me after a while that I had absolutely no clue what I’d really committed myself to. The things we went through together, things she barely bat a lash at, threw me for a loop more often than not.

So yeah, I watched her. To learn from her, and later to learn about her. The crazy assasin droid that travelled with her - us, since I came along - was actually more of a help than I’d realized. He was casually cruel and bloodthirsty, bitingly sarcastic and it took a long time before I could look into those green optics and not feel like he was calculating my death. I’m still not too sure he doesn’t some times, but I’m pretty sure if he does, it’s just something he does because it’s written straight into his code. It’s been a while, and I’m still alive, so that says somethin’ right?

I still watch her, though she lets on that she notices these days. Asks me what I see, sometimes, and sometimes I tell her whatever new bit I’ve figured out. Sometimes I just remind her how amazing she is. And she is. Amazing, I mean. I watch her do all sorts of mundane things, and even just those… it’s amazing, but the longer I watch her, the more I find I didn’t know yet. That I want to know. She burns with the light of the stars and the depth of space, and I want to explore it all.

Heh, she’d laugh if I told her that, though.