"Kae-- Revan?"
The former General, being formerly a General, had drawn up several scenarios on the reception the Ebon Hawk and crew might expect from Telos -- more particularly the Republic flagship orbiting Telos, more particularly the commander in command of said starship. They were quite sensible projections (even if she said so herself), based on what few records Bao-Dur could hack up and what fewer personal encounters Mandalore would cough up.
Naturally, the one thing Reni would have ranked up/down together with Admiral Onasi shooting her on sight (personally -- the Hawk being flagged hostile didn't count), had she thought of it (which she most definitely had not), was the one to actually take place.
Next thing she knew, strong arms literally swept her off feet, twirling her tall, angular form about as if it were the insubstantial weight of a Morganian.
Despite/because of both vocations, physical contact in non-combat situations were ascetically few and far between. The occasional pat on the arm, grasp on the shoulder, mostly instigated, was as far as experience had ever taken Reni since her first toddle.
Full-body contact with an unknown and distinctly male, well, male, thieved the Exile of coherent thought for several minutes.
"Unhand her, Republic," intoned Mandalore from where he had taken up immutable vigilance since Malachor V, one that, curiously enough, not even their spat had deterred. "Before you make even more painful a fool of yourself."
The man followed instructions to the extent of arms remaining possessively around her waist. Brown eyes stared soulfully from beneath wisps that were rich chocolate up to where temples revealed the slightest streaking of silver. If life were a holovid, he would be at a prelude to, perhaps, well, perhaps quite possibly, kissing her.
Surreal panic thrummed through Reni's veins.
Her captor seemed to sense that, for his hold relaxed minutely. "Kaelynn?" was the soft query. "Wha- what's the matter?"
She gabbled without achieving decibel one. Fortunately, her companions -- make that companion, singular -- did not suffer the same folly. She was not above appreciating assistance from the unexpected quarter. One silver glove clamped firmly (and from the wince, painfully) on one orange-clad shoulder.
"She's not Revan, Onasi. Or Kaelynn. So leave the girl be before her entourage start taking potshots at you," Mandalore spoke inflectionlessly.
True, he was the only one with reason not to be bemused. The General cursed herself with belated frenzy for not having factored in a fact she had only been trying to escape all of her life.
The hold slackened with some remnant reluctance, the just-named Admiral Onasi finally stepping back to a less suffocating distance to really look. Reni flushed in furious mortification, unable to meet the man's eyes, much less those near-physically querying her back.
Bad timing. Exquisitely bad timing. Hers, the blame for not having been upfront, for having abused her friends' trusts.
"You're, you're not R-R-Revan." Astonishing to hear an Admiral stutter, yet there was a boyish aura to the man technically her elder that made it feel completely in-character. "I'm so sorry for the mistake, miss. You, well, you just reminded me of someone I... knew. I really didn't mean to embarrass you like that. Uh, are you, I didn't, are you alright, miss...?"
"Admiral Onasi, this is Jedi Master General Renani. You may know her as the former Exile. We, her companions, are pleased to make your acquaintance." The Disciple, Force bless his diplomatic aplomb.
A rude, helmet-filtered snort was the only dissent.
"Of, of course. I, uh, you looked, uh, different in the holovids."
"The General has plans she would like to discuss with the Fleet and remaining Jedi," Bao-Dur smoothly picked up. As one might burrow under a blanket, she latched onto the calm he wore.
"Plans, huh?" The Republic soldier frowned slightly, hands folding over his chest.
"Admiral Onasi," Reni acknowledge with a tip of head, glad to find tongue restored to working order -- and, as importantly, sans more-than-half-feared squeak. "I owe you an explanation, if not several. But first, there are things I must discuss with my friends. Things I have put off for far too long, to my shame."
Another round of curiosity, a hint of something darker from Atton.
"I see." The Admiral laughed a trifle nervously, then flashed a charming grin that took decades and lines of pain off his face. "Here I am, forgetting everything they tried to drill into my head on protocol and diplomacy. You must excuse an old soldier. Here, let me escort you to the quarters that have been prepared. Least I could do for uh, manhandling you like that, General Renani."
"Reni," she corrected reflexively, answering smile creeping in. It would be easy to like this man, inauspicious beginnings notwithstanding. "We" -- mock-glares for Bao-Dur, Mical, Visas -- "are not much for titles around here."
The mood lightened gratifyingly. The Ebon Hawk had only broken down twice between near-Outer-Rim and Telos. No targets had been (successfully) painted on them either by remnant Sith, mutated HK's, miscellaneous enemies, or (rather more worryingly) Republic forces.
On the people front, nobody had rubbed anybody else into a Sith Rage, a not-to-be underappreciated feat for seven "meatbags" plus two droids in close confinement throughout weeks-long hyperspace stints. Since said meatbags consisted of five newly-minted Jedi and their grudgingly-back-in-grace Master, it was a miracle nearly worth taking up religion to praise. Sparring sessions had distributed bruises in creative but Heal-able places. Paza'ak and Sabacc and dejarik had redistributed wealth to the already-wealthy, but no starvations had occurred thanks to rations being distributed on a socialist policy.
Atton had not killed or been killed by or threatened to kill anybody. Well, for the latter, not really.
All in all, so the Exile thought, not a bad resume for one broken Jedi.
"Then you must call me Carth. It's always 'Admiral this', 'Admiral that', nowadays I'm forever looking over my shoulder for my father."
"See the sparking circuit, Bao?"
"Yes, General."
interlude
"Well? Speak."
"What eloquence would you have of me? Go to Telos, don't go to Telos. Crawl after Revan's trail if that is your wish."
"You expect me to take blindly, and others with me, the word of a man wh--"
"Do not insult me twice and expect me to ignore it! Think, girl. If I had wanted you dead, you have certainly done nothing but bare your throat."
"It is not death I fear from your hands, Mandalore."
An unspoken Treachery is left no breathing space between the two principals arrayed in battle-stance across the small room. Armies of panels flickered behind them, busy isolating the Ebon Hawk's security room from potential eavesdroppers.
"I have told you that our goals are the same. I have provided you with the means to do the job."
"You have told me exactly as little as you can get by with. You have told me nothing of what you will do after Revan is found, nothing of the price and consequences of this supposed 'help'. You have told me, in so many words, that you are an 'ally' only so far as it benefits you."
The ensuing silence was stretched by tense breaths.
"If that is how you see it, then perhaps we should part ways."
A second pause, no more or less fraught than the first.
"Give me one reason to trust a man who, even after everything, reciprocates not so much trust as to show his face."
The third was longest, not the least to the principals' minds.
"You want to be seen as more than a copy of your sister. Perhaps I want to be seen as more than a man who once followed her."
A fourth silence married shock from one party and consternation from the other.
"Who is the one playing games, now? I traveled with Revan. I have a pair of eyes in my head. Identical twins aren't that hard to pick out."
"We all have secrets," the one continued when the other did not. "Trust is earned by deeds. If you cannot see for all that I have stood by your side, then you are as blind as bruwose to your allies, and stupid to jump at every imagined slight."
Measures were taken during the fifth verbal lull.
"Allies do not withhold important information from each other. It seems that avoiding the subject of Revan has had its usual effects. So speak, Mandalore. I will attempt to curb my stupidity."
end interlude
"Onasi."
"Canderous Ordo."
The former traveling companions each eyed the other, four-odd years evidently having diluted antagonism and unstated rivalry as much as water did oil. Rivalry that Carth admitted, if only to himself, he could not let go... because when the end came she -- Revan -- had taken the Mandalorian with her and left him -- who loved her -- behind. For all her assurances that it was "just business", the fact had hurt for a very long time.
Still hurt, actually. But he tried not to think about it these days. "Tried" being the operative word.
"That name no longer holds meaning."
Dogged idealism notwithstanding, Carth Onasi was no fool (other than perhaps concerning a certain pair of soul-consuming eyes). Canderous rarely bothered with subtlety, at any rate; there was no mistaking the warning against revelations to be made to the oddly exalted company the mercenary was once again insinuated in.
Suspicion narrowed Carth's eyes. "I have heard that you've been recruiting your kind. That you claim to be Mandalore now."
The helmet issued a rude sound. "There is no 'claim' to it, Republic. Mandalore is whomever holds the might. And this." One armored fingertip thunked the metallic headpiece.
"You had better not be planning more 'conquests', or I swear I'l--"
"Don't be stupid. The galaxy has more to worry about right now than about another Mandalore attack. Besides, there's no fun beating a sniveling opponent."
Hands fisted, but head sternly reminded them that Canderous was doing what Canderous considered fine entertainment -- baiting one Carth Onasi. "So," -- the unwilling player struggled to not clench teeth -- "what reason could a woman as ethical and capable as Reni seems to be have to keep you around?"
One plus of the full-body armor was that Carth need no longer suffer the Mandalorian's smirk. Unfortunately, time had not dulled the memory of that ugly expression either.
"Maybe female Jedi-types like having me around."
Implying that... vision sunsetted red. "You sithspawned so--"
"Relax, Onasi. You're too easy."
"You may call yourself 'Mandalore' and hide permanently in that shiny suit now, but don't forget that you are on a Republic ship, Mandalorian."
"I'm not the one looking for a fight."
"That'll be a first."
One minus of the full-body armor was that it seemed to bounce off glares much like blaster bolts. Carth persisted for a couple of minutes anyway, then abruptly deflated. He finger-combed back the stubborn locks trailing his forehead, felt every one of forty-odd years compress his spine. The only consolation was that Canderous had to be experiencing his substantially larger number as well, yet even that satisfaction was a washed-out one.
In fact, the anger the Mandalorian unfailingly managed to provoke was the most emotion the jaded Admiral had felt for some time. Despite the rebuilding of Telos, despite the tentative reconciliation with his son, life had meandered into a purposelessness akin to the years after his wife Morgana's death.
"What do you want, 'Mandalore'?" Carth sighed tiredly. "Just cut the pointless posturing and get to the point, so that I can get back to important things."
"Don't bowl me over with your enthusiasm for your job, Republic."
"I'm not going to trade any more petty insults with you, Mandalorian."
The latter made a clearly disbelieving sound, but acquiesced to putting "fun and games" on hold. "Just thought I'd 'hang out' with an 'old friend'. And issue a friendly warning."
"Spare me the bantha fodder. If I ever think your people to be a threat, nothing will stop me from taking... appropriate action. Our 'history' sure isn't going to pull any weight."
A negligent wave dismissed the threat. "The Mandalore have no quarrel with the Republic. For now. My warning is more of an individual nature, Onasi. I know you're still mooning over Revan. The whole Republic Fleet probably knows you're still mooning over Revan. That's your farkled business, so long as you keep it that way."
A spasm in his jaw alerted Carth to again-grinding teeth. "My relationship with Revan has nothing to do with anything, and certainly not with you, Canderous!"
"Revan is gone, Onasi. I don't care if you can't reconcile yourself to that. But when you start projecting 'feelings' onto people I work with, it becomes my business."
"What schutta of your acquaintance could I possibly have any interest in?"
"Careful who you insult, Republic. But I will spell it out for you. Stay away from the Exile. She is not Revan. Never was, never will be, and doesn't need you to start ogling her like she is."
"Reni?" Carth tried to sound properly outraged, but it was hard to do with a seed of guilt worming in his guts. Onasi complexion was a curse. "She, they have a lot in common, but of, of course I don't see her as being Revan!"
"Whatever helps you sleep. But keep your paws to yourself, Republic, or you won't like the consequences."
"You-- who do you think yo-- just, just why do you care anyway? Marking territory, Mandalorian?"
If he had hoped to provoke a defensive reaction, Carth was sorely disappointed. The churl merely laughed, as if the notion of being with a beautiful, incredibly talented, brill-- he caught himself and snapped off that train of thought -- was the most ridiculous notion to pass a person's mind. Just as well, the soldier thought darkly. Sure, Reni can take care of herself, but she does have that, that... innocence about her. Much like...
He had to shake himself out from yet another sojourn down a familiar path.
"I'm 'hiding permanently' in this armor, remember? Or didn't Revan get around to explaining certain mechanics?" Another laugh greeted the next statement. "No wonder your Republic lost all battles before Revan and Renani took charge, if the first thing you assume a woman can be used for is in bed. Rest assured, there are far more important things for the Exile to accomplish, 'Admiral'. I won't have you distracting her concentration."
Distract-- the gall of the man! If it had been anywhere but his office, Carth would have stormed out. As such, he was seriously debating whether it would do to have his 'guest' forcibly ejected... before he lost all of his temper and indulged the blaster begging in his holster.
The Mandalorian preempted both options by rising and walking out with less courtesy than gifted by his entrance. Carth mustered resistance against an urge to bang his head against his desk in attempt of dislodging a most bizarre conversation.
Never before had he appreciated as much the health benefits of a good mind-wipe.
interlude
She gazed in a mirror, and a stranger looked back.
An intricate patterning of blues, reds, and in-betweens decorated the canvas around too-large eyes, lending character to plain black orbs. Burgundy curls softened a too-square jaw, length just grazing bared shoulders; even now, the diligence of a floor-droid erased all evidence of hated waist-level black braid. The same wine stained too-thin lips, for a pretense of definition.
The Girl nodded in satisfaction, baring teeth more fierce than humorous -- or seductive. The Order did not officially celebrate birthing-days, but there was always a small fete commemorating her adoption.
"Padawan."
Girl whirled, terror scrunching corners of painted lids. "M-m-master A-A-Areki! I, uh, I..." Heat crept down neck and shoulders, but no amount of defensive crossing of arms could hide the indecent revelation of skin, the shameful neckline.
"You what? Succeeded in arraying yourself like a common trollop?"
A germ of anger, sown in humiliation, bloomed to insistent life. "I look nice! Why can't I be the pretty one for once? It's always her people want to know about, her that people look at."
"So this is how you want them to see you?" Distilled scorn filled the Woman's voice. She turned dismissively, Girl having fallen below notice, and showered the dumbfounded Beautician with the ice of contempt. "And you. Does your license mean so little that you consent to dolling a child up like a street harlot?"
The blue Twi'lek sputtered in indignation. /#I am not some cheap pahgan, and you have only to look at my work to see it!#/ A lekku jabbed angrily at Girl's direction. /#She told me she was fifteen, anyway! That is more than old enough to start paying attention to appearance. Even for Humans.#/
"She is twelve, as you would have figured had you not been so blinded by credits. Not even old enough to know better than to coddle stupid vanities, evidently."
"That's what you all do, talk about me as if I'm not here!" Girl shouted. The volume felt funny in her throat, but relieved the pressure in her chest.
"You may physically be here, but obviously your senses have taken leave long ago. If I pay you no attention, it is because you have nothing intelligent to say."
"Of course I don't. She is always the smart one, the fast one, the strong one, isn't she? Of course she would have to be, she is your Padawan. I suppose she is the only reason they haven't shipped me off to the Corps already since no Master would have me!"
Beautician flexed her headtails in distress, torn between the relief gained by throwing the spectacle-makers out and avarice of the still-pending compensation for her efforts. The floor-droid whirred off to a corner and deactivated itself. Neither Girl nor Woman paid any heed.
"Is that so? Then perhaps you should start packing, because I doubt Master Bindo will care to take on a Padawan who behaves with the maturity of a five-year-old in a tantrum."
"Master Bindo? Has the Council made him take on charity cases to atone for his latest misbehavior?"
"So it is self-pity that you gorge on now, is it? I had thought that Revan required more guidance when I chose her to tutor, that you were more capable of sound self-direction. Apparently it was a grievous error in judgment."
Girl uttered an involuntary gasp as anger abandoned her. Shoulders hunched, presenting a smaller target. "You, you really thought that? I, I wasn't just the, the useless twin?" Her voice was very small.
The stern line of Woman's lips relaxed a fraction. "You are as useful or as useless as you make of yourself, Padawan. It is not through other's eyes that worth is measured. This fiasco is a lesson, a lesson you would do well to remember. Now come. We will see what we can do about your current... appearance before your Master arrives."
Girl trailed meekly, pausing to grab at discarded garments with guilty hands. The glamorous face-paint -- so tawdry now -- stung her eyes.
/#Schutta! I expect payment for my services!#/ Beautician called after the retreating duo. /#The Jedi Council will hear of this!#/
A handful of credit-chips landed before the shutting door.
For a moment Beautician considered scorning the scornful offering, but common sense won out. She did, however, vow that her first stint with a Jedi customer would also be her last.
end interlude
"It doesn't change the way we think or feel about you, General."
The tech's gentle tone broke the awkward silence, and gave Reni courage enough to raise her head. She tried a grin from behind misty eyes, tried to feel less dastardly for such gaping omissions as "oh, and thought you might like to know, the Sith Lord is my twin". No instance where it would have been apt injection into conversation came to mind, but that was because all hard truths had no fortuitous venues, just necessary ones.
Did they give out titles for Masters of Denial?
It was an open secret, actually. Many had seen them both, even together. Most had marked the resemblance. Some had discerned the blood relation. Few -- the rinacat senses of their Mandalorian companion amongst exceptions -- concluded twins, much less identical ones. The Jedi policy of de-emphasizing pasts helped.
Disciple looked slightly troubled, but otherwise as if she had only confirmed a suspicion, likely from "old days" back on Dantooine. Visas seemed surprised, curious, but nonjudgmental as ever. Mira did not demand retribution for atrocities witnessed in Revan's name, executed by Renani's hand; a good sign. Bao-Dur... Bao-Dur was always her anchor, trusting her to do what was right yet unhesitant to point where she was wrong.
Having delayed the inevitable, Reni forced her eyes over to the remaining -- Mandalore having taken off for some purported catch-up with an old comrade. Atton was, again, the one whose response worried most. The others had suffered the Wars, true, but to them "Revan" was a myth. Glorious from one angle, horrible from the next, yet ultimately dinner-table conversation and not dinner-table figure. The ex-assassin, though, had felt, intimately, the caress of both Jedi Knight and Dark Lord incarnations.
Had been, if deduction panned out, one of Revan's "experiments".
He appeared surprisingly calm in the present. Stony, wary, as if half-expecting her to leak force lightning and spout Sith teachings at any minute... but calm. Perhaps he was re-evaluating her influence under the light of Revan's penchant for manipulation; she would be the first to grant that he was entitled.
They would all be justified in questioning her authority. The Exile had explained to each, some several times over, the former Council's theories on her Force Bonds. The logic that demanded they assign the matter the deserved gravity turned out to be harder to sell.
Did spice-addicts truly contemplate their addictions until too late?
Mandalore was right. She really did need to get off that old wheel. Spinning it was not getting anybody anywhere, except her on the express lane to a headache.
The Exile shot one last nervous look at the silent pilot, then slapped hands on laps in prelude to rising. An odd habit, the origins of which memory had obscured, but one that comfortingly punctuated her switch in modes of operation.
"Alright. Bao-Dur, shall we go see what we can wheedle out of Admiral Onasi? The rest of you can stay here and enjoy the hotel, go cheat the crew out of credits, whatever. Just don't let's get booted off, okay?"
"You run a tight ship, Adm-- Carth," the Exile said by way of greeting. Ensign Delighted-To-Be-Of-Help had escorted them to the Admiral's office; she had felt instantly at home in the efficient yet amicable atmosphere of stations along the way. "Nebulon Frigate, if I'm not that rusty?"
Carth rose to greet them, a smile finding its way instantly to his lips. "EF60. Boots are way too big for me, but we manage. Right now all we seem to be doing anyway is shuttling diplomats, all of whom seem to think that arriving in the ship of a 'war hero' gives their cause that much extra shine. They're helping Telos out though, so I suppose I really shouldn't be complaining."
He laughed slightly at himself, shook his head ruefully. "I'm prattling, aren't I? You didn't come here to hear me grumble anyway. C-- Mandalore told me that you're going to look for Revan. How can I help?"
Reni exchanged a brief glance with Bao-Dur. "Well, we are in a bit of a bind..."
Forty minutes later, the tech was happily ensconced in arguments with his fellow mechanics over what the Ebon Hawk required and what it did not. They had taken the scenic route, both visitors having expressed an interest that Carth was more than happy to indulge. Under the self-effacing charm was a captain -- duly, according to evidence -- proud of his ship and people.
He also struck her as very... alone. The former General had spent her adult life feeling the disconnect between command and crew, but this was something more. A deliberate retreat, much like her own in manifestation if not, perhaps, reason. Reni had the feeling that she was one of few people he had spoken to at length recently, and it pained her at a level outside empathy.
The Admiral had been hurt, badly, more than once. Hope, if not belief, ventured that it had not been by Revan's hand.
"The Ebon Hawk out-flew death for us, more than once. Didn't think I'd get to see her again, but no coincidences with the Force, huh?" Fond nostalgia infused the crisp tenor. "We'll get her ship-shape again, don't you worry. That gal's got plenty of juice left in her still."
"Thank you. But you do know that the, uh, credits..."
He chuckled. "Now that sounds familiar. We never did exactly pay for the Hawk in the first place, come to think of it. Being stuck on Taris with nothing more than the clothes on your back will do that to a person. Or people. Kae--"
Carth bit his lip, fell silent. Reni fiddled with hands that had suddenly nowhere to go, a gauche sensation not uncommon in the presence of people navigating a particular slope.
Brown eyes shot a sidelong glance her way. "You, you're not going to pr-- ask?" He sounded rather surprised.
No, that is Revan's style. She grappled the familiar emotion and squished it to gratifyingly small proportions, reaching instead for a sincere smile. Gazing at that open, honest face, it was not difficult. "You will talk about it when you're ready, and to someone you're ready to trust. Just know that I am willing to listen. I, I suppose Mandalore told you that we're twins." With possible thanks to recent practice, the admission came out more easily than anticipated.
"Um, yeah. Thanks." Carth winced. "So. About the Hawk..."
"I was hoping there are some errands we could run for the Fleet, to pay for the cost. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we'll be able to move much without repairs coming first. Even Bao-Dur's magic only goes so far."
The Admiral pursed his lips. "I was thinking about that, actually. The Republic has quite some interest in, uh, locating Rev-Revan, I'm sure you know. We can probably get the Admiralty to hire you for that. Everybody's more or less agreed that only Jedi stand a chance, and you've done some pretty amazing things from what I've seen."
The Exile closed her eyes. "I cannot hunt my sister, Carth. Not for the Republic, the Jedi, or the hungry masses out for her blood."
A long pause, then an agitation of air and aether. "I, I truly thought she, she was redeemed, you know. I mean, we went to all these places looking for the Star Map, and Kae-- Revan would do these amazing things for people just because they needed it. She had this, this glow about her. And she was the most damn persistent woman in the galaxy."
"I guess I didn't, I didn't want to believe that she had started to change, way before Saul, Saul Karath, told me that she was Revan. Dark Lord Revan. Kinda ironic, actually. I kept throwing Revan back at Kaelynn's face, back then, but deep down I really didn't want to believe that Kaelynn had just... disappeared. Or wasn't really real. Or whatever. I challenged it because I wanted her to prove it to me, that she was still her."
"I think... she did just that. She was Kaelynn because everybody wanted it of her, did things she knew Kaelynn would do."
The man was only a touch Force-sensitive, but broadcast his emotions so overwhelmingly, they were a physical stone that found lodging within the Exile's chest. She would have touched him if she thought it might transmit some comfort, but in his current condition he looked more likely to lash out or bolt. She did not know him well enough to pick a response, and so took the path of patience.
A score or so meters below and beyond a transglass portal, the blue of Bao-Dur's mechanical arm bobbed up the Ebon Hawk's ramp and vanished. A troop of datapad-wielding escorts shared the same fate.
"It couldn't last. I probably knew, even, even back then. Rev-- Revan killed... she killed Jolee. And Juhani. I, I couldn't believe it. And M-m-mission..."
The names were familiar only by repute, save one.
The Jedi Master knew that each of her students felt her mental scream. The woman was in little condition to care. Muscles were suddenly inadequate support, and she would have fallen but for the transglass wall. Face against near-invisible material, Reni felt rather like she imagined an insect in amber might feel -- frozen, yet falling, falling.
Warm hands caught her about the shoulders. "Hey, are, are you okay? I'm sorry, I forgot that you were Exiled, that you might not have known..."
Her rude jerk away confused and stung him, but Reni could not at the moment bear to be touched. The roil of anger/pain nauseated her into semi-fetal position. But, just who was she furious at? Revan, for her so-typical inconsideration of life? Jolee, for no longer being around to balance the propaganda spouting from both sides? Herself, for not having even felt his passing, not having even paid that last tribute?
Voices, from a distance.
"--not sure what happened, I, I--"
"--grief. What did you tell--"
"--should get a medic--"
"--just give her space, the Gen--"
You are making such a scene... End retreat. Now.
Geometric lines blurred into focus on tanned cream. "General?"
Reni nodded, not feeling up for nor inclined to more than that inhuman effort.
Bao-Dur neither spoke nor pressed. Thus they remained for some time -- her huddled over knees, him in half-kneel, half-crouch, willing her calm via unwavering amber set in a treasured face.
She blinked often, and so was not aware of tears coursing her face.
The Exile was subdued for days ensuing, a mood that, needless to say, was mirrored by her troops. Also a given was that not one tight-lipped Jedi would tell him why he'd left a bunch of spice-happy bleeding-hearts to scout out Onasi's new toy, only to come back to a bunch of sarlac-pitted bleeding-hearts.
Mandalore was not pleased. He liked being informed, and Jedi clung to secrecy like sap to a tree.
It was not the first time he wondered why he had stuck around when she had started converting not one, or two, or even three, but five pompous Padawans. The Fool might find amusing that the number constituted half a Paza'ak deck.
Shavit. Here was here and that was all there was to it.
Onasi might have been suspect, except that had some Sith possessed the "soldier, not warrior" to swing the other extreme of "gentlemanly" conduct, the Exile would have demonstrated exactly how "capable a woman" she really was. And though the now-Admiral had done more than his share of bumbling, he walked too well for one with a certain male injury, plus his pitiful stuttering had not been that high-pitched. No, no likely injury other than to the fragile flyboy-cum-hero psyche, dare he hope.
Had Republic been half as annoying back when Revan had him apron-tied and potty-trained?
Ah, memory did wonderful things.
Onasi had at least come through on the aid, as Mandalore had known he would. The mora'ga doggedly spouted that Revan was "redeemed" -- hah. "Brainwashed", I'd say -- though what he and his Republic could possibly entice Revan with was beyond Mandalore's imagination. Onasi banked too much on suave words and too little on strength and action. Revan might appreciate (and very well) a pretty face plus other, useful bodily parts, but boy-toys she could have at the snap of a sithy-or-otherwise finger.
If Revan ever conceded to a man, he would have to be her equal, with a bride's price she could not refuse.
One could almost pity Onasi for having been betrayed by two commanders -- and boy had Revan been in command, whatever technicalities of rank Republic chose to delude himself with -- twice at that by the greater of them. Though, Mandalore imagined that the man suffered more from "his" woman's desertion, also another second in a different class of betrayals.
Yes, one could almost pity Republic, if one was not getting soft.
All the pointless speculation and Onasi-musings in the galaxy, though, was not going to resolve Mandalore's current... predicament.
There were a few things the warrior, mercenary, and current Mandalore considered unbearable. Years of experience in the nasty side of life had diluted most, though about a handful of them remained as abhorrent as the day he squalled first breath.
Parading around a room of bishwag politicians who didn't know the difference between their mouths and other bodily orifices, while pretending that he wouldn't rather shoot the oh-so-fine ceramic out of their sasalea-white hands just to see how fast they could run on those designer footwear... that was one of them.
He appreciated finery. He appreciated the luxurious (for a starship) suits Onasi had stuffed them in, complete with personal 'freshers and corny flowers that never seemed to wilt and even a private (from the rest of the ship) common (for all of them) dining area the Exile had appropriated for planning sessions (she planned, they listened, and somehow at the end thought they had done the thinking. Beats holovids hands-down).
He did not appreciate having to tiptoe around the delicate sensibilities of beings whose business was to pomp and preen and talk meaningless circles around circles in the name of "diplomacy". He did not appreciate having to play nice and endure hours upon hours of rancor-wash on the off chance that all the flarg contained one speck of not-flarg.
He did not appreciate that the torture was optional.
Not even on Taris had the Mandalorian sunk so low. He had chosen to chance Davik's treacherous offer, rather than take up one of many from skrag-brained nobles to play muscle-on-display, just so their spoilt little daughters had something to flutter their pretty little mouths over to their bluer-than-Twi'lek "friends".
Mandalore restrained himself from denting the bulkhead. Barely. He did not bother halting the flow of subvocalized curses.
It wasn't like there was anybody there to hear him.
That might have been part of the problem.
Admiral Carth Onasi completely detested but one portion of his upgraded duties, so naturally it was the one thing the Fleet had delighted to bestow upon him. His Ensign self might have been awed by exalted names, his Lieutenant self hopeful of hobnobbing opportunities, his Captain self amused by scrambling preparations, his Commander self tolerant of necessary distractions.
His Admiral self grew a headache just thinking about the next oncoming Event, and all that from behind the carbonited smile he forced during the throes of the current one.
Which was to say, "often" didn't quite cut it.
However goosebump-provoking the thought, he imagined it was one of the exceedingly few things he shared with that sore-thumb of a Mandalorian on his ship. The evidence was all there, in how scarce said unworthy had made of himself since the start of the current song-and-dance.
Carth hid a sigh (and brief respite for facial muscles) behind his glass, nodding politely in the direction of miscellaneous notaries he passed on the way towards the buffet table.
He really should not be complaining, especially since he had been the one to invite the latest lot. He still hated to cash in on his near-celebrity status, felt guilty that it had become just that little bit easier each time, but had done it anyway. They needed political support, and political support could only be earned by politicking. It truly annoyed the Admiral that Can-- Mandalore shirked all the unpleasant pleasantries and would still get a free ticket on the quest for Kae-- Revan.
Which part irked most, he was not yet done deciding.
Carth glanced anxiously at the door for the sixth time in half an hour, trying to stop his feet from circling back to where it stood. It was not (entirely) the urge to escape that motivated his limbs -- they fidgetily anticipated grand entrance from the guests of honor.
The Exile and company were not really tardy; it just seemed that way to an Admiral whose host status had required him to be earliest of the trickle of beings. A substantial number of whom would no doubt be "fashionably late".
If it had been a Fleet-only party, punctuality would have been rather more strict, but the presence of Republic officials had also been necessary. Some of them had been conveniently stashed around, from tours they had insisted on of the "miraculous progress" the Ithorians had made rehabilitating Telos since Czerka's mysterious drop out. Most, however, had to be cajoled from the various penthouses they wallowed in, then catered to in appropriately bootlicking style.
Medals and might, check.
Finery and finesse, check.
Bulkheads and enviro-seals, check.
Wookiee-sized orders, check.
After all, they were only proposing to rebuild the Jedi Order.