inquisitorium | [ open rp ]

[ open rp ]

[ text * brackets * prose * memes ]

There's no surprise left in Trilla when her pain continues after what she'd been certain was death. Darth Vader didn't miss; he simply hadn't cared to finish her off quickly. There's a part of her that remains angry at that -- for not having expected dying to take an eternity, and for not having resisted it just a little harder at the end.

For days there's nothing for it. She can sense the Force, even the Light, just out of her grasp, but there against all odds. Taunting her by remaining just out of reach and yet annoyingly persistent, like the music that filters into her consciousness now. It does not bring comfort so much as distract her with a fresh sort of misery -- the reminder of a time that she'd felt safe, and cared for. The reminder that she would never have those things again, and that even the release of death remains frustratingly elusive.

She drifts somewhere on the edge of consciousness until she can start to feel something more than the agony of the lightsaber burn that was apparently not going to kill her. The fingers of one hand twitch as she tests her ability to move and finds that her muscles aren't quite ready to obey. Escape isn't yet a possibility -- never mind that she hasn't a clue where she is -- so she feigns sleep a while longer and reaches out with the Force instead for information.

What she finds yanks her back to consciousness rather unceremoniously, instinctual panic overtaking her enough to force her eyes open to confirm what a part of her has known for days.

No no no NO, she screams in her head as her mouth tries to find the strength to shape the word. Her eyes fly open and she looks about wildly, trying against all odds to find a way to flee. She can't be here, can't be this. She'd rather fling herself directly out an airlock than face the reality of being at the mercy of her former Master and what's starting to feel an awful lot like forgiveness.

There's a shift before it happens. A brush of something familiar and then, a warning surge of panic rippling in the Force just before Trilla tries to scream. Cere stops her playing, the last notes ringing in the air, jangled as she sets the hallikset aside. She rises and moves to Trilla's side.

"Trilla," she says, soft but firm, steady in the face of Trilla's obvious distress. "You are safe, but you are injured. Try not to move. Just breathe."

Cere watches her former Padawan's eyes, both to gauge lucidity and in an effort to catch her gaze and give Trilla something to focus on. (And maybe, also, to give herself something, too. Stay in the moment.) She places a hand on Trilla's shoulder as much to offer some attempt at grounding as to prevent her from lurching off the cot.

"You're safe, now."

It's a lie.

The warning from the part of her that still has any self-preservation is immediate. This is a dream, an illusion impressed upon her weakened mind. A dying wish, perhaps. Something that will certainly be used to punish her for her failure. It must be that, no matter what her senses are screaming at her as she forces her vision to focus.

She feels real in the Force, but Trilla knows better than most how the Dark can offer just enough truth to throw everything into question. She remembers how the memory of Cere had been used to taunt her, to tear her apart and reshape her into the Empire's weapon. She'd been a good weapon. Better than whatever she would be if she gave into the lie that was safe.

"Never safe," she rasps out, her voice hoarse from disuse. She'd laugh if she had the energy. Cere cannot possibly think that the two of them would ever be safe if this were real. An Inquisitor stolen from under the nose of Darth Vader himself by a Jedi Master who had escaped the Fortress twice now? There's no reason at all either of them should be alive. She can't wrap her mind around it, whether reality or fiction.

"There's nothing left to save," she whispers, her eyes drifting closed again for the moment. She's too tired for this. Whatever's going to happen will happen; she's in no state to fight it at present.

Of course Cere is not so delusional to believe they're safe forever, but for now, it is the truth. Between Greez's piloting, Merrin's cloaking, and the many pockets of the galaxy the Empire does not yet have complete control, it will take time before they can be tracked down. Still, she isn't about to argue the point with what follows. It hurts to hear that whisper, knowing how deep that belief must have been driven in, inch by agonizing inch, knowing the fragile, bitter reprieve that can be found in giving up and giving in. Sometimes that's how you survive.

"I haven't given up hope." Cere tightens her fingers on Trilla's shoulder just slightly, brushing her thumb back and forth in a small attempt at assurance. "As long as you are alive, you always have a choice."

It's the same refrain as before. The glimmer of hope that had finally caused Trilla to waver after it became clear that Cere's new Padawan was well-matched enough to wear her down. Trilla flinches slightly under that touch, knowing that a moment's comfort only means worse pain to follow. Any moment now this, too, will be taken from her, and that tiny flicker of hope that she'd been weak enough to allow will be crushed once more.

She is silent as she waits, her body tensed in anticipation of the pain to follow. When none does, save that of the lightsaber burn that's been a constant even in her unconscious state, she opens her eyes again to regard Cere warily.

"This is real. How did we survive?"

A question Cere has asked herself time and again these past days, and a reminder she often tells herself in the amorphous unreality of the moments just past waking -- when nightmares of the past and what could have been still cling as unwelcome cobwebs. The reminder that this is real is far easier to take solace in now, however, than it had been the first time she'd left Nur. After all, this time, she hadn't left Trilla behind. She cannot undo the past, and if Trilla never forgives her for how badly Cere failed her, then... so be it. But now that she - now that they both have this chance, Cere means to help however she can.

"Yes, this is real," Cere echoes, nodding. However, she pauses before giving any more of an answer, her gaze finally sliding away from Trilla's eyes to some unknowable point in the middle distance as she collects her thoughts.

She has had plenty of time to think about i in the time since, of course, but putting everything into words - into coherent words - is another matter entirely. Much of what Cere remembers a series of lurid snapshots connected by a blur of adrenaline, and even then, a haze of emotions and out of sequence memories of the first time she'd survived Nur makes it all muddy and hard to sort through. BD-1 has been helpful, of course, in relaying what he bore witness to, but the droid had been at Cal's side, not hers, and therefore missing moments remained. Still, what she could piece together would have to do.

"The short version is a combination of Cal's quick thinking, and Merrin's talent for teleportation -- followed by a lot bacta, Magick, and some help from the Force." The Trilla Cere remembers was rarely satisfied by cursory answers, though, so after giving her a moment to digest this, Cere continues, "The long version, however..."

"He," she begins and then stops for a moment, thinking she should have just said his name. She should have just said Vader. He has no power here, and avoiding his name only gives the fear and the fury a foothold for the future. So she starts again, willing her voice to be steady:

"Vader was more concerned with retrieving the holocron from Cal than dealing with you or me. I could still feel you there, alive, so when he left in pursuit, I climbed back to the platform and did what I could to stabilize you before carrying out." Their bond as Master and Padawan may have long since been utterly shattered, but enough remains in the jagged edges that Cere would have known if Trilla had died. Of that, she is certain. "We rejoined Cal in the underwater tunnels to make our escape. Vader caught up with us again. Cal was injured, and I..."

'I nearly lost myself to the Dark Side again,' catches in her throat, and Cere pauses again. She had been so afraid of losing both Trilla and Cal, then, and she had been so very angry, so full of hatred for everything Darth Vader had done to them, had done to her. Everything the Empire had taken and twisted. But she shakes herself out of the memory, pressing onwards.

"I held off Vader long enough for Cal to break the tunnels, and then we escaped into the water. Luckily, he had a spare rebreather, so you avoided inhaling too much seawater. Merrin teleported us back to the ship, and since then, like I said. A lot of bacta. A bit of Merrin's brand of assisted healing, and some of mine."

Cere finally looks at Trilla properly again, understanding that's a lot to take in just after one's woken up from days of recovering from life-threatening injury. Perhaps she should have stuck with the short and simple version...

It is a lot to take in, so much that Trilla finds herself wondering if she was wrong after all, if this is some strange fever dream that she's invented with which to distract herself from the monotony of dying. She cannot yet comprehend that she might be allowed to live after everything, but this is a strange enough diversion to cause her to want to know more. Her curiosity has remained intact, at the very least.

It takes her a few moments to piece together some manner of sense all the same, her brow furrowing as she works it out.

"Magick... you have a Nightsister."

Trilla had somehow missed that part, much to her annoyance. Where had they been keeping a Nightsister all this time? Why was a Nightsister of Dathomir helping two Jedi in hiding?

She has approximately a dozen more questions to ask as soon as she can manage such complexities as sitting up. For now, at least one more has already been answered, but it seems worth confirming anyway.

"Cal Kestis survived, then."

She's not sure if she's disappointed or relieved. Her emotions surrounding her replacement are too complex a knot to untie when she's still not sure how she feels about having lived to contemplate it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ open rp ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject