Title: Marshala
Time Period: Post Corellian Trilogy, Pre-Specter of the Past. EU not AU.
Summary: A little story about Mara, a murder and memories of a time long past. If I gave you anymore you wouldn't have to read the story!
Characters: Karrde, Ghent, Faughn, Mara, and of course Luke.
Notes: Thanks to BigFatty for being my beta.
Oh, and feedback is much appreciated. This story started out being about one thing, and ended up giving me a plot bunny for my next ficlet. I'm not totally satisfied with the way this came out, but instead of shelving it away for no one to see I figured you all might find it interesting. It takes place in an awkward period for Luke and Mara, where I figure some of that odd tension between them in Specter of the Past is growing.
Anyways, Thanks for Reading and enjoy!
Marshala
Marshala: in the literal, bitter love. More often used as an endearment meaning eternal love for a child or a lover.
Silent in the corridor, a lone figure stared at the wall before him. Nervously his eyes flicked across the top of the ceiling, watching the decorative beveled edge until it blended in further down the hallway. With deliberation, he flicked back a strand of blue hair and frowned before counting out the number of tiles running on the bottom edge of that very same wall.
Knowing what he was about to do would probably cost him his life, the boy--no man--risked another glance at the door before him, straining his ears to see if stillness had resumed across his way.
The only sound was a curious ping of the engines as the elegant vessel cruised through hyperspace.
He sighed, glared down at the short message before him, and hit the send key. Blinking, he made his way back to his own quarters—collapsing quickly into his bed.
No one will ever figure out that I sent it.
He slept soundly.
xxx
Talon Karrde remained worried. Despite assurances, despite the disappearance of the dark circles under his second-in-command's eyes...something remained out of place.
His reputation depended on instinct—and Karrde rarely made a move unless it was in his better interest. As her boss, he felt bound to order her to take a rest, but he knew that another scowl, another angry look would be the answer.
Something was obviously bothering Mara Jade—and when something bothered her, its name was usually Luke Skywalker. But once again, instinct—that primal, unconscious assertion that guided his path-- said that for once Skywalker had not managed to push Mara's buttons. In fact, Karrde was sure that neither had seen the other in a very long time.
Maybe that was the problem. But for the moment, stuck in hyperspace on the fringes of the Corporate Sector, there was nothing he could do about it.
Swiveling his chair away from the glasteel pane that overlooked the bridge, his fingers flipped through the schedule for the day, his prior distraction fading away temporarily. When a slight tap came at the door, he allowed them in, without glancing up from his work.
"Karrde."
It was Mara—he wasn't surprised by it--rather, anyone so gifted in the Force as she was, always aware yet always so tightly wound, would know when she was being scrutinized.
He glanced up, and casually leaned back, away from her accusing glare. "Mara, how can I help you?"
She hesitated, then straightened imperceptibly. "I would like to request a day off."
Now he was surprised. His lips twitched before answering. "When?"
Mara looked down at the datapad in her hand and while she contemplated the answer, Karrde surveyed his second-in command. It had been almost eight months after her return from the Corellian Sector, following the crisis with the Saccorian Triad. Dressed in a signature pantsuit--onyx with dark green piping--her red hair was pulled back severely, the skin around her eyes tight with some unknown tension. Now that he had a moment for closer examination, he could tell that it was not the normal amount of wariness, rather something specific that was bothering her.
She sighed, "When we arrive at Nintali Station. I need to go meet someone."
He raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" Then, without waiting for an answer he shrugged. "After the delivery, sure. I had planned for some quick maintenance on the Wilde Karrde. Go ahead." It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she wanted back up, but he knew better than to ask. The last time had been a fluke and former Emperor's Hand was more than capable of taking care of herself.
Nodding, Mara began to make her way to the door before pausing. She turned around, and it was clear that she hadn't meant to say anything more—"It's not Skywalker."
Karrde, struggled to keep a grin off his face, "Alright. It's not Skywalker."
She scowled, "I'm only telling you that so you won't think I'm talking to the New Republic."
Again, he raised an eyebrow. "When would I ever suspect you of willingly talking to the New Republic?" He coughed lightly into his hand, "In fact, you and Master Skywalker are friends, I see no reason why two friends shouldn't get together from time to time." Immediately he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Her gaze frosty, Mara tilted her head and practically marched out the room.
"Mara, Shada—"
She snapped around. "What did you just say?"
Karrde nearly shivered, her voice a degree colder than her expression. "I said, Shada D'ukal may come by with some information. While you're gone, I may draw up a contract that I'll need you to review."
Visibly shaken, the red head nodded, and then took her leave. She obviously had thought he had said something else.
Talon watched her leave, than frowned at his desk, ignoring the lack of buzzing in the back of his head. He knew that some of the crew had been worried about the redhead, and had quietly reported her frequent nightmares—but short of asking her to seek help there was nothing he could do.
Besides, his instincts were silent now.
Sometimes, a single word can trigger a memory. Sometimes, we conjure up memories from a single word based on what we want to remember. What is the truth, and what is fiction—often it is hard to tell the difference.
Nintali Station: Eighteen Weeks Earlier
"Stupid, Son of Sith. How dare he—" Ignoring the concerned looks from her crew, Mara half dragged the last crate off the hovercart and then gestured for the loading crew to lift it into the hold of the Jade's Fire.
"Thinks he can tell me what to do? I'll tell him what to do with his kriffin' lightsaber...What!" The hand on her shoulder jerked back, and she found a concerned looking Faughn staring back.
Mara sighed, took a deep breath and tried to expel the remains of her agitation into the Force.
She failed.
Not bothering to hide her concern, Faughn lowered her voice, "Mara—the shipment is missing a crate. I've tried to get a hold of Mesrs, Karrde's contact here on Nintali, but no one is responding. I'm fairly sure we left it in the warehouse. "
Mara groaned inwardly, "Shavit, and we are already behind schedule due that bantha brained Jedi Master..." Trailing off she looked at the crew waiting by the second of Karrde's smaller transport ships. "Go ahead, Faughn. I'll find out what's going on and then get them to load the crate up onto the Fire."
Faughn hesitated, as if she wanted to counter Mara's orders—but seemed to change her mind, choosing to wave the others onto the transport.
Right before firing up the engines Faughn caught a glimpse of her boss, still muttering to herself, sealing up the Fire. Waving, Faughn realized the red haired trader seemed to be continuing her tirade against the blue-eyed Jedi.
Aves slid into the seat next to her and let out a low whistle. "Never thought I'd see the day when Mara Jade had a temper tantrum." He reached forward and urged the ship up out of the docking bay, sending a quick message to Karrde who was stationed in orbit on the Wild Karrde.
His pretty companion raised an eyebrow, "Wouldn't you if the reason you were held at base was to get a message from someone that ended up containing only words of caution and his usual rapprochement for her not training with him?"
Aves grunted, "How do you know what the message said?"
Faughn grimaced, "Oh I was pretty close to her when she yelled at him to stay out of her head. She railed into him pretty well—and the funny thing is Aves, I'm pretty sure she was holding back."
He snorted, "Jade wouldn't hold back, if she did I don't envy Skywalker when they finally meet face to face."
Faughn's eyes were still trained on where the Fire had been in the transparisteel window. "Neither do I, neither do I."
xxx
Mara knew they were talking about her, she could practically hear their conversation, and it made her all the more infuriated with the damned Jedi Master. Still fuming, she quickly re-braided her hair, closed up her ship, and hailed a speeder to the address for Karrde's contact. The nerve Skywalker had to warn her of danger—she was a smuggler, it was an imminent condition. How could he not think that her danger sense wouldn't warn her long before his did.
Focus Jade. Feeling the speeder slowing she hopped out in the middle of a small marketplace that hours before—in the early morning din when the initial pickup had been completed—had been deserted.
Now, she shoved her way through the lunchtime crowds bartering with the artisans and food vendors for the best price. Colorful swatches of fabric drifting in the soft breeze blew through the space station's artificial corridors making the industrial heat somewhat bearable.
Mara ducked into the warehouse, eyeing the wayward crate next to the entryway with the remnants of her annoyance. Normally Faughn or Aves would have come back and picked up the crate, but the entire schedule had been thrown on its head because of her and she would dig up the Emperor's bones herself before refusing to take responsibility for any mistakes clearly of her own negligence. Shaking her head at the stupidity, she took the stairs to the main office at a leisurely pace, well aware of the two cameras that had to be tracking her movement.
At the top of the climb stood a weathered door, its cracked wood ready to give way at the slightest strain. Regardless, the trader knocked firmly on the frame, taking an unbidden step back when the door slowly creaked open of its own accord.
What... The thought trailed off as her danger sense pricked at the edge of her awareness. All other thoughts bled away as the former assassin slid to the side, removing herself as a target. Shrugging her blaster out of its holster she peered into the room, a smallish office, with a window overlooking the warehouse floor. The blinds were closed, but it was possible that someone had watched her arrival and taken refuge in one of the inner rooms. Reaching out with the Force, she felt a spark of life, a mind fading quickly—and briskly she slid into the reception area, moving lightly and swinging her blaster in a broad arc in case someone started shooting.
A foot stuck out from behind the desk and she inched closer, her nose twitching at the bitter smell of blood.
Karrde's contact was dead, or soon would be if his quickly fading presence signaled anything to her.
A whisper of her earlier conversation with Luke resurfaced, and Mara had to grudgingly admit that perhaps the Jedi Master had been right to warn her—he had prevented them from returning to this spot by an hour, and by the looks of it had saved her from what appeared to be a ruthless murder.
But had he really saved her? It was a soft whisper, but loud enough for Mara to realize that the murderer was still in the room—that the murder had not occurred a few hours earlier, but rather mere minutes. Why didn't I sense her?
The body on the floor groaned, and she saw that his eyes were wide open staring behind her—full of terror and fear of death. His mouth formed silent words, but he broadcasted his thoughts unknowingly-runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun
And then he whispered, "Save yourself, marshala, save yourself."
A memory—a strong memory translated the word—freezing her into place. The vision—no not a vision—a remembrance of longing and despair seemed paralyzing, and Mara Jade knew it was too late—nothing could save her now.
Her danger sense warned her—and had she been thinking clearly the former assassin would have had no trouble dispatching her assailant. But the term of endearment that had just been bestowed upon her had shocked the trader to the core, depriving her of the moments she needed to defend herself.
She felt a dull pain—and nothing more.
xxx
Creak.
"No, Sir. She's not awake yet."
Creak.
Whsh. Whsh. Whsh.
Creak.
"Have you slept at all Ghent?."
Shh
Creak.
The last whisper of noise, the sound of the medward door opening and closing forced Mara to wrench open her eyes to blinding overhead lights. For a moment she struggled against closing her eyes again, sucking in some much needed air.
Medward Exhaling suddenly she sat up and found herself hit by a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness, and automatically closed her eyes again. Reaching out with the Force she took a catalogue of her injuries, realizing quickly that the only part of her body that hurt—besides her pride—was a low thrumming at the base of her skull.
Mara?
She groaned. Of course he would be the first to be aware of her situation. Luckily it appeared, he was not anywhere nearby. Mara Jade was free of any Skywalker gloating for the time being. Silent, her eyes still closed, she sent out an annoyed wave of reassurance, then gingerly steadied herself before reaching to feel the bandaging covering her head.
The room she lay in was empty---yet she recognized it as being an auxiliary room in the medward on the Wilde Karrde. Luckily she was still dressed in one of her jumpsuits of choice, and slowly swung her legs around, testing first one foot then the other to see if they would hold her weight. It took a moment to ascertain that they would, and another second to disconnect herself from the IV. Taking very small steps she slowly made her way to the door to the room and slapped the control.
Creak.
There was a brief moment of déjà vu when she saw Ghent sitting in the hallway in a similar position to how he had been after another head injury found Mara on Coruscant in the Imperial Palace's medward. It felt like eons ago—but in that instance it was almost like no time at all had passed.
Marshala She started suddenly, and the loud exhalation-–not to say that the loud opening of the door brought the computer slicer, forever doomed to keep watch on patients, out of his reverie.
"Mara!"
"Ghent—What..." A rustle to her right, paused Mara's question.
"You're awake." Faughn rose from a cot on the side of the room—and before she stood she clicked on her comm—"Boss--she's up."
Still disoriented, Mara frowned, trying to maintain a façade of control. "Will someone please tell me what is going on?"
Ghent and Faughn exchanged glances, the younger woman taking a step forward to urge Mara to sit down. "The captain said he'd be down in a minute to explain."
Marshala Startled again, Mara jerked her elbow away, gracelessly falling into the chair provided. Her breath hitched for a moment and she reached out to steady her nerves.
Moments later, Karrde strode into the center a cautious expression on his face. Smoothing his goatee, he pulled another chair over to face his second-in-command. He glanced at the others. "Faughn, I need you to go supervise the work in the auxiliary bay—take Ghent with you."
Mara didn't even wait for the door to slide shut, she didn't say anything just narrowed her green eyes expectantly.
"Someone hit you over the head." His lips twitched into a wry smile that belied none of the anger that exuded from his posture. Karrde never liked it when one of his crew got injured. He valued them too much.
"I could figure that out on my own. I remember seeing the crate, walking up to the office and seeing a dead—almost dead body. Next thing I know I'm flat on my back on your ship." A fleeting thought hit Mara—recognizing that the Wilde Karrde was in hyperspace—"If we've jumped to lightspeed...where's"
Talon interrupted her gently, "The Fire's fine. We had to leave Nintali Station, so I had to let Faughn pilot her up. There's not a scratch."
Mara kept her face expressionless, but some of the tension in her shoulders disappeared. "So? What happened?"
Karrde grimaced, "Skywalker happened. After you left, he commed back—to make sure you weren't left alone. By the time we had Faughn and Ghent turn around and go back to the warehouse..." He shrugged his shoulders, "They found you in the office, on the floor, no sign of a struggle—just you and a dead man." His eyes shifted a moment before he continued, "Now If I were you I wouldn't get angry with Master Skywalker—you were bleeding out and if we hadn't shown up right after the attack..." He stopped as he saw the expression on her face, and leaned back in his chair expectantly.
Shavit. Farmboy. Mara banished the semi-pleasant feeling in her chest, changing the subject. "The security forces don't think that I..."
"Nope, they have the assailant, a woman, on camera. It's obvious that you just were in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Mara nodded, "So what now?"
Karrde chuckled softly, "You rest. We're headed back to the Core—or at the very least on to the Errant Venture where you can get your injury more properly looked after. Then we'll resume our schedule—and you'll resume your duties whenever the doctor clears you. I've been told by our medic that you should have a full recovery. Everything should be back to normal in no time at all."
Mara looked down at her hands, lying limply in her lap. "Alright. I do need to talk to you about the next leg anyway. We seem to be having trouble with..." She heard herself talking, heard Karrde order her back into bed, in fact he practically dragged her back, and as she drifted off to sleep the whisper, a feeling of frightened and heady cold washed over her.
Marshala
Marshala: in the literal, bitter love, often used as an endearment meaning eternal love for a child or a lover
They would be landing at Nintali Station again. Eighteen weeks had passed since Mara's accident, and for Ghent it had been about ten weeks since he had slept all the way through the night.
He had volunteered actually, Karrde wouldn't notice if he spent most of the wee hours of the morning awake, but if Faughn, Aves, or Dankin hovered around he would surely notice.
Besides Mara had often said that Ghent had a presence that remained unobtrusive.
They knew their boss had nightmares. Aves remembered overhearing once that they were of her past, when she worked for the Empire. For a long time though she seemed to have moved away from them—or else covered her restlessness enough that no one noticed.
After Nintali Station though, Faughn who had traveled on the Fire on the next few missions claimed that they clearly had returned. Refusing to give details, she drafted the other three to keep an eye out on their boss—and recently it seemed, the worst had past.
Until last night.
Ghent had been patrolling by, when he heard the scream. Echoing down the corridor, it wasn't loud enough to awaken the others on the hall—what with the noise of the hyperdrive, but it was enough to frighten the quiet slicer into action.
She wouldn't listen to him, or Faughn, or Aves, or Karrde—she especially would ignore anything that seemed to be an order, so he decided to compose a holomessage.
To Luke Skywalker.
It seemed like the right thing to do, and with numerous crypts awaiting him—he figured Skywalker would be able to help—he always seemed to be able to help. Ghent found himself frowning into the datapad, and in the end merely said that Mara seemed to be having trouble sleeping, and that maybe the Jedi Master could help.
He didn't sign his name, just doubled the encryption before sending it out. He realized, having been on the butt end of Mara Jade's tongue lashings that she would probably kill him for this, but at the moment he had more important things to worry about—like fixing the back end coding on that modulator so Karrde could tap into the Ministry of Kurakar's supply list.
No one will figure out it was me. He had covered his tracks well.
Sometimes the memory is something else entirely. In finding the truth, even though it is not the truth expected, a part of you shall always be forever changed.
Nintali Station: Present Day
Faces. Faces. Faces.
Faces.Faces.Faces. Whipping past, the same three—never clearly, always remaining uncertain and indistinguishable. The all whispered for her to save herself, but called her Marshala, not Mara. She would squint trying to figure out who these people were, but before she could a gilded room would coalesce, a room whose adornment's morphed from burning fire to a tattered blue, rotting away from lack of care. And in the blue, always--always, in the blue she saw the white clonetroopers fire.
Each time she felt a burst of pain, a whisper of her name—
And she awoke.
The day back on Nintali Station had gone quickly, and Mara had visited the security cordon where the woman being held for the murder of Zendian Mesrs was being held. Mara hadn't spoken to her, merely recanted her statement for the security forces, read the murderess's confession (in the end, a cheap robbery by a glitbiter) for signs of recognition before taking a stroll to her evening appointment.
Mesrs had left behind a wife, about sixty in age, but with sparkling hazel eyes that seemed speculative and warming. A kind woman, she welcomed Mara into her home, revealing none of the curiosity that she had to be feeling.
The visit was a futile visit, and the Mara Jade--the straightforward, blunt, take-no-punches Mara--recognized that. But the other Mara, the one that had slowly been growing since she cut down that clone on Wayland almost ten years earlier, wanted to believe that answers could be found.
To some extent this was the same Mara that felt guilty for never calling Luke after he managed to save her life, again, and the same Mara who once again wondered about her parentage.
Where had she come from?
So she sat with the Widow Mesrs, and asked the questions she knew could not be answered.
Do you know why your husband would call me Marshala? What language is that from? What planet? What does it mean?
From the widow's replies revealing her husbands story, Mara knew then that the nightmares could be banished. Now she was left with other questions-- the questions Mara now could never ask, knowing that only disappointment would come. Do I look familiar to you? Do I look like someone you once knew? Do I have my mothers eyes, my fathers chin?
Who am I?
She knew that's what the nightmares were really about. Somehow she had wanted to relive her past, the moment when she had been taken, and the words she had constructed as her parents last words. Some part of her wanted to believe that Mesrs word to her, Marshala had somehow keyed a memory, one so distant and buried that even she had been shocked when it had surfaced out of nowhere.
It all seemed so real--
--but also so wrong...as if she had made it all up.
And so she found herself, sitting in small garden in the docking facilities on the space station. How a station designed as a smugglers haven and Outer Rim trading post had acquired a horticulturalist was beyond her, but for now it was a space of peace, a place where she could think.
She looked down at her hands, and for a moment thought about all the blood that she had spilt—killing for Palpatine, but killing nonetheless. What would my family think, if they knew what I had become?
She choked back the lump in her throat. Mara Jade did not cry—especially over things that he had reconciled herself to a very long time ago.
"They would be proud of you, you know."
xx
The minute the words flew out of his mouth, Luke knew he had made a mistake. He had meant to wait by the Jade's Fire but had spotted the garden and had somehow known that she would be there.
The holomessage he had received had been...odd, and while he had an inkling of who had written it, it didn't matter so much as the urgency of the message.
Master Skywalker,
Mara Jade isn't sleeping very well, something is troubling her---and it only gets worse. We can't help—maybe you can.
A Friend
He had contacted Corran and pulled in a favor from Booster who managed to get him the schedule for the Wilde Karrde. He arrived in time to meet with Karrde, who mentioned, casually, that Mara was taking a day off.
Luke merely raised his eyebrows, and then settled in for a long wait. Then he had seen the garden.
He felt bad—he didn't mean to spy, but sometimes, for all her mental shields Mara's thoughts bled over as easily as water on Mon Calamari. It did not take long for him to understand the gist of what bothered her.
What would my family think if they knew what I had become?
And it just slipped out--"They would be proud of you, you know."
Slowly, ever so slowly, the trader turned to face him. He took in the tautness of her features and could tell that the Mara he saw was one who had not had a complete night of rest in a very long time.
For some reason, she seemed almost deflated.
Her lips twisted up into a tired, unsurprised, smile. "Hello Skywalker."
Taking careful steps he moved so he faced her, "Hello Jade."
"Checking up on potential students are we?" He couldn't help but smile at that, at least her sarcastic edge remained.
"No—checking in on a friend." Taking a seat next to her on the bench he studied her profile. "I hear you've been having trouble sleeping."
"Son of a Sith, Farmboy—" The spark of anger was back, but settled down as he passed over the datapad. "Oh."
"It seems a number of your crew is worried about you. They said that it's been since the accident here on Nintali."
She glanced at him, and the transparent pain clouded her normally clear emerald eyes. "Sometimes, I wonder who my parents were," she sighed, "I know you don't know anything about your mother—but at least you know something about your parentage. Mine, until that smack on the head, had seemed to be a featureless blank."
"And now?"
"I kept seeing images, haunting images, and I thought that I amalgamated what I thought was my parents death with—"
"One of the senseless acts that you committed under Palaptine?"
She turned away from him, and gave a quick, tight nod.
There was something strange about this conversation. Luke and Mara had not met in person since the battle for Corellia, and in that time something between them had become unsettled. The tongue lashing he had received from her four months ago had been enough for him to recede to the background, but he made sure to check in quietly, through Corran or Karrde on her health.
Now, Luke found himself taking care to not get to close—to not break through her personal barriers, to not push. He also made conscious effort to not clasp her hand in his—Mara Jade was a private person, and when she wanted a confidant, he would be there.
For now though, he would listen.
"Tell me about the nightmares?"
She was terse, and her voice was emotionless as she described the dream—the color shifting room, the clonetroopers—
"How do you know they were clonetroopers and not stormtroopers...?"
She shrugged, unresponsive, then sighed. "Look, Skywalker. I'll be ok...I...talked to Mesrs's widow today, and I know what happened."
Luke tilted his head, waiting.
"She said that her husband, when he was young, was shot in the stomach—much the same injury as he sustained before he died. He..." Now Mara hesitated, not because it would hurt her, but because of the innocent, open look on her friend's face. "He...worked in the sublevels near the Jedi Temple on Coruscant—and he was at work that day...the day that..." She hesitated letting her other questions run through her mind again. How had Vader felt when it was all over? Had Luke and Leia's mother known what he had done before she died? Is that what had killed her?
"Oh...Mara." Now he understood. "He was there when Darth Vader marched into the temple that day...and he saw the Jedi die."
Mara nodded, sadly, not for what had been, but at the expression on Luke Skywalker's face. An expression of sadness, of obligation, the weight of the galaxy settling on his shoulders. "It seems that in his last moments, he relived that day, and when I walked in he saw his best friend shot by clone troopers...you see--it wasn't my memory Luke. It was his." Some level of me wishes that it was mine, so that some connection to my past remained.
Luke shook his head, sandy blond hair seeming darker than usual. "And Marshala?"
A wistful smile, "An endearment, of eternal love. She was his best friend, but apparently much more."
For an uncomfortable moment her expression froze, and then breaking the silence first, he stood.
"Do you think you'll be alright now?"
Mara nodded, then shrugged. "I think so—I can't see his memory haunting me now, I've enough of those to last me a lifetime." It was her turn to peer at him curiously, "Are you alright?"
Luke nodded, "I know what he was, what he did. I choose to cherish Anakin, not Darth Vader--for he was my father, not the slayer of Jedi. My father was a flawed being cursed with the title 'The Hero with no Fear,' and it is that fear, whatever it was for, that ate him alive." Taking a deep breath he stood, straightening out the Jedi Robes that engulfed him, and then leaned over to give her hand a small squeeze before making his way to the exit.
"Luke."
He turned, wondering why it always felt good to hear his first name on her lips. "Mara?"
"Thank You."
"I'm always here for you. No matter what you hope to learn about your past, you do have a family—that message is a testament to how much they care."
Nodding mutely, she glanced down at her hand, shaking her head wonderingly at the faint tingle traveling up her arm. A strange warmth flooded her heart, and she smiled freely before straightening and taking one last look at the datapad that Luke had left behind.
She walked to the opening of the garden and watched her crew loading the shipment onto the transports. Setting herself, she flicked her braid over her shoulder and took a deep breath of recycled air.
I know.
Fin.