#daniera

Niko

There was a long, thin crack down the center of the ferrocrete room. Niko had put it there during his fit last week, though it wasn’t like anyone had noticed; the Powers were supposed to be a secret, and it was on him to keep it that way. If the Master found out about this, he would…Niko couldn’t finish the thought, hands flexing rhythmically open and closed, teeth clicking shut harshly the way they always did when he needed to feel something.

He thought back to the first time he’d done it. Three years old, in his father’s laboratory. He’d dropped something and the noise startled him, cutting through the silence like a lightsaber cuts through the darkness. His hands reflexively went up near his ears, clenched painfully tight as his teeth ground against one another. His father had told him to focus or be sent back upstairs. It ended that moment abruptly.

Just a few more weeks, he thought, pulling his bruised knees close to him in a dark, shadowed corner. A few more weeks, and I can free everyone. I can go home.

Niko had stolen a blue apple from the stable’s stockpile, his first crime of the month; at this point, disobedience was expected from him and tallied up like currency. First overseer to catch him misbehaving five times would win. His sentence today was minor: only three hours alone in the room, just enough for the walls to start closing in on him and the meager window on the door to pinch shut like a blinking eye. Just enough for the ground to swallow him whole.

It wasn’t so bad, when he thought about it. It wasn’t a beating, nor was it starvation or extra hours of labor. It wasn’t…wasn’t humiliation. The piteous look everyone in the compound gave you when you were sent from the Big House back to your quarters on weakly shaking knees, sick to your stomach and broken in spirit. Exposed. It wasn’t that kind of punishment.

Niko felt his stomach roil at the thought, and he rested his forehead on his knees. Just a few more weeks, he thought, just a few more weeks.

Kip

The commute home from the Temple was Kip’s favorite time of the week, back when she was Kimber Aduriel and not a Sith pureblood socialite. When Daniera was home on shore leave, she liked to come pick her up on the most outrageous speeders. “Perks of being a ‘Pub hotshot,” she would laugh, giving her a wink before zipping through the Tython wilderness like a blaster bolt. Kip would hold on tight to her sister, Jedi robes far too big for her threatening to fling the two off as if it were a parachute and not a mark of unbelonging. Dani would slow to a stop in front of their house, purring uncontrollably in the funny way cathars show satisfaction.

When Mom came to pick her up, she’d park right out front and march in without a care in the world. Her black hair would be wind-tossed and wild, almost as wild as the smile she got when Kim would run and jump in her arms, telling her everything she learned at a rate faster than she could even think at. They would trade made-up stories and stop at a fast food place to pick up the special of the day. The calories didn’t matter; theirs was a family of high metabolisms and low standards.

It was on one such ride home that Mom stopped the speeder and pulled over unexpectedly. “Kimmie,” she said, using that tone of voice she would usually use when one of the three members of the family were in trouble, “you can tell me anything, you know.”

It was completely out of the blue. “I know,” Kip responded, sharp little teeth curling up into a forced smile.

“Anything,” Mom repeated, eyebrow quirked in a way that let Kip know instantly that she was caught. Damn it. “Was it Master Vuo?”

Kip sighed, pulling her hood over her head. “He didn’t say much. He just kinda…looked at me. Meanly.” It was the truth, but not necessarily the full truth. He did say something, and that something was a slur hissed under his breath in passing. “Red Imp”.

“He always was stuck-up elitist scum,” Mom rambled, turning the key in the ignition again. “Was always mean to this family. Started with Grandma and Grandpa for their whole relationship. Then it was Uncle Tobek for his writing, and Uncle Lucan because he doesn’t like to meditate just sitting there like a sleeping frogdog. No surprise to me that he’s a xenophobe as well. Can’t wait ‘til he croaks his last–” She snapped her mouth shut. “Sorry,” Mom muttered, “not the Jedi way.”