#jer'ax

FULL NAME: TY'NEA SARAI KORBIN

SEX: FEMALE

PARENTS: [intentionally left blank]

DATE OF BIRTH (STANDARD GALACTIC): 30 DECEMBER, 14 YEARS BEFORE CORUSCANT FALL

PLACE OF BIRTH: NAR SHADDAA

HEIGHT: 5'7"

WEIGHT: 145LB

HAIR COLOR: RED

EYE COLOR: BROWN

SPECIES: HUMAN

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: THREE SMALL TATTOOS ON FACE, TWO ON FOREHEAD, ONE ON CHIN.  SCAR CROSSING RIGHT CHEEK FROM EYE TO JAW.

PLEASE LIST THE PRIMARY REASONS FOR REQUESTING ASYLUM (USE FORM 122-A.2 IF MORE ROOM IS REQUIRED):

Sith torture

Political asylum

I'm in love

They'll kill me if I go back

...

***

Ty'nea sat still, staring down at the form in front of her.  How?  How could she put to words why she wanted to become a Republic citizen?  There were so many.  Jerhal's love. Escaping the hell the Sith had put her through.  Finding herself, her true self, for the first time.

She looked out the small window in the intake room, wishing someone was there with her.  Jerhal.  Vyen'a.  Even Rythe's disdainful laughter would be comforting; something to focus on other than the buzz of the lights overhead and the forms in front of her.  This was the appointment she'd waited for, the one she'd hoped to finally have.  And now that it was here, with pen in hand and form after form in front of her, she was terrified.

Worse than stepping into the ring against an opponent over twice her size.

Worse than going up against a bounty that could kill her.

Worse than when Jerhal left and she knew she'd have to face the Sith alone.

Worse than when Book dove into her head, to find out what had been done.

At least there, she thought, she knew what would happen.  She knew that it would be one of two possible outcomes.  Here there were unknown variables.  Jail.  Exile. Execution.  Getting lost in a paperwork maze.  Never hearing.  Never knowing.

She took a breath and looked at the paper again, muttering to herself.

"How do I answer a question that effects the rest of my life?"

Ty'nea rubbed the space between her eyes, willing away the headache that was creeping around the edges, and looked out the window again.  The view, at least, was magnificent; she could see the ships landing and taking off from the spaceport.  It made her long for her own; the battered D5-Mantis that she never got around to naming and was now scrapped, most likely, at the bottom of Nar Shaddaa's docks.  The only place she had of her own, before the apartment on Carrick.

Her home for so long, stripped and gone by dock rats.  She hadn't been able to get a hold of Ludwik to find out what happened to it, and didn't feel right asking Lieutenant Teral to call him over something so trivial.

And even though she loved her apartment, she missed flying.  She missed sitting in her captain's chair, counting the stars, completely in control of her own destiny.

She hoped she'd have that again someday.

The pen rolled between her fingers, and she looked back down at the paper, staring at the question field.

Tomorrow.  One more day.

The woman looked over her shoulder at the man, deep in his sated sleep, and smiled softly.

I love him.

She slipped from under the blankets, hissing softly as her bare feet hit the cold durasteel of the floor, and padded naked across the room to his desk, sitting and carefully pulling a loose sheet of flimsiplast free from a sheaf of papers.  A few drawers open and close until a pen is found.

She took a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder again, and began to write.  Lists of bank accounts, access codes, hundreds of thousands of credits scattered in bunches across the galaxy.  The codes to pilot her ship; the ones that need to be entered every time to ensure it's not being stolen again - and therefore preventing the engine from frying itself.  All her worldly goods, listed onto a single piece of flimsi.

She looked over her shoulder again, writing the man's name at the top of the page.

He's first.  I'll take care of him, no matter what happens to me.

Her hand faltered.

And if he falls too?

She wrote the woman's name next; the shy shell who's already recovered more than Vyen'a ever thought possible.

She's gone through so much, and now Red's the only one that's guaranteed to see the next sunrise.  I could fall.  Jer'ax could fall.  Bald?  Shit, Jerhal's goin' front lines with Ihlrath.  I need to make sure Red's taken care of, too.

She blinked, startled, vision suddenly blurred by tears before they slid down the sides of her nose, splashing against the back of her hand.

The hell's wrong wit' you?

She took a deep breath, looking back down at the desk.  Her whole life, twenty five galactic standard years, reduced to a list scribbled out on a piece of flimsiplast.  

Oh.  That'd explain it, yeh?

She shivered in the cool air of the ship, small bumps rising along her bare arms, and looked over her shoulder to the inviting sight of the bed, full of Jer'ax and covered in warm blankets.

Finish this first, Anaria.

She sighed, looking back to the task at hand.  The memory of her parents graves, slowly being filled side by side in the cold drizzle of rain that morning so long ago, filtered through her mind; she shook her head to remove the image, then jotted a final line.

If I die, take me to Mirial.  Wrap me in satin and bury me next to my mother.

She tapped the pen thoughtfully.

If Jer'ax and I both die, bury me near him.

She scratched the line out, looking over her shoulder at the sleeping man again.

Maybe I should ask him to marry me again.  Maybe...

She shook her head again, looking back at the list.

It's up to him, the next time.  If there's a next time.

She picked up her datapad from his desk, resting where she'd left it as they came in, and tapped in the codes.  Lists of troop positioning, ship counts, faction numbers all blinked awake to shine softly in the darkness of the room, illuminating her face with an eerie blue glow.  

Please let there be a next time.

For the first time in a very long time, Vyen'a felt her heart flutter in her chest.  She was truly frightened.   

She sat quietly, studying the information, memorizing the lines, the names, the way the terrain rose up and fell away, all the information gathered by the reconnaissance mission the day before.

The war was here.  Worse than anything else they'd ever faced.  And it would all be decided tomorrow.

Tomorrow we'll discover what the maker has in store.  

One by one.

She sighed, setting the datapad down, and blinks back the threat of rising tears.

One more day.

Silently, she padded back to the bed, slipping back between the covers and wrapping around the sleeping man, murmuring soft words as she nuzzled the back of his neck, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come quickly.

HOLO 246.2.221://

Unlike the entries previous, chattered out in rapid-fire Basic with the occasional curse or exclamation in Huttese or Ul'Zabrak, this entry was recorded in a soft, lyrical tongue.  Any translator would recognize it immediately as Mirialan.

I can't do this any more.

I don't even know who I am any more.

I'm tired of keeping up the act.  I keep breaking, or almost breaking.  I miswired my own damn hyperdrive.  Something I could do drunk and half-asleep.  Hell, something I *have* done drunk and half-asleep.  Nearly ended up bantha burger on the side of some no-name moon behind some no-name planet on the outer edge of the outer rim.

Everything is just... wrong.  

Maybe it's time I took off the mask.  Find someone else to be.

Vyen'a doesn't fail.

I failed.  

The one thing I wanted - the only thing, the thing I didn't even know I really and truly wanted - I failed at.

Taking a break.  Yeah, right.

Everyone knows what that means.

I failed.

He came over the other night.  We spent some time at the cantina, and he came home with me.  And it was like it always should have been, and he was still there in the morning.

And then he had to go.  

And I know there's other girls who have their eyes on him.  The ones that are better for him.  Pretty little blonde humans.  Ones who will blend in when Corellia is rebuilt.  Ones who won't fall into bottles of whiskey.  Ones who can give him everything he ever wanted in a family.

That can give him a family.

I buried Anaria Rex when I ran from Mirial.  

Maybe it's time to bury Vyen'a, too.

I can reinvent myself again.  I can disappear into deep space again.  Sell everything that made me Vyen'a and buy a new name.  A new face.  A new identity.

A new life.

And hope that everyone just... forgets about me.  

Jer'ax will find someone new; someone better for him.  Jerhal and Ty'nea will get married and have lots of babies and be happy.  Ihlrath will... go on being Ihlrath.  With the Marran and his Sith.  Niatara will be fine; Ansten will fall in line if he takes her on that date.

I can just be a little happy greenie memory for everyone who knows me.  Knew me.

I can disappear into the galaxy.

And...

*She chokes a tiny sob*

And just hope everyone forgets about me.

Whoever they think I am.

drip...  drip...  drip...

Vyen'a's eyes flicked along the outline of the ceiling, trailing her gaze across the durasteel plates welded together above her bed.  She stretched, fingers reaching out to grasp empty air, and her ears strained to hear anything beyond the quiet drip of the faucet in the 'fresher room.  

High in orbit above Dantooine, she had slept.  For the first time in a long time, she was truly alone.  Even the droids had powered down for the night.  

She hated it.

She had moved Red into a flat on Carrick last week.  Before the 7th had officially moved to Corellia; to fight the war there.  No use in Bald surviving the fight wherever he was, only to come back to a dead girlfriend.  So the two women had searched out a safe spot for Ty'nea on Carrick.  A small studio.  Near a security hub.  Extra security measures installed.  When Vyen'a had left, handing a secure comm and stack of sketchpads over with a smile, the younger woman had looked so scared, but downright determined.

Vyen'a's face flickered into a smile at the memory.  "Tha' girl's got a fightin' spirit," she muttered quietly.

But that left her alone.  Utterly, completely alone with her thoughts.  Again, her ears strained, longing for the beep of a comm or the rumble of a droid powering up.  And again, nothing but the harsh echo of silence came from beyond the steady drip.

drip... drip... drip...

She rolled over, pulling a spiced cigarette and small lighter from a bedside drawer, lighting up and staring at the ceiling again, letting the events from the previous weeks flip through her mind.

The rave.  Tal.  The ambush. Jer'ax. The battle against the Nemesis.  The encounter with Ihlrath.  Dhen leaving.  Moving to Corellia.  Being stranded on Coruscant with a broken ship.  The Marran being declared enemies of the Republic.  Her dreams, growing increasingly more dangerous.

She takes a long drag off the cigarette, holding her breath before slowly exhaling a thin stream of smoke. And last night, she thought.  Findin' Ihlrath.  Jer'ax threatenin' to arrest him.  Followin' him and findin' Nia and all th' Marran.  Volunteerin' to slice int' Imp feeds like it was nothin'.

On her empty ship, Vyen'a shivered, the gravity of the situation slowly settling around her consciousness like a shroud.  She wished for what seemed the hundredth time since she'd left Nar Shaddaa that Jer'ax was there, strong arms around her.  They'd decided to try again; he'd apologized for leaving her like he did, they'd had strained conversations and a few evenings of curling up and watching holodramas.  No sex yet; it seemed... forbidden, somehow, until things were more stable.  But his arms always made her feel safer.

And here, in the middle of empty space, Vyen'a felt unsafe for the first time: a wholly unfamiliar sensation for her, here in her element, on her ship.

Her ears strained for sound again.  

drip... drip... drip...

She let out a shaky sigh, fingers brushing the pendant at her throat.  Just a simple gift from a friend, she thought, eyes closing.  But the perceived implications are astounding.

She sighed again, unfastening the clasp behind her neck and staring at the curled chain and stone in her palm. The most dangerous things always start out that way, don't they?  She set the necklace on the table, next to the stubbed out cigarette, and looked back up to the ceiling.  Already, her throat felt naked and exposed without the pendant resting between her collarbones. It's amazing how quickly familiarity comes, even with something so unusual.  Her eyes flick toward the box on her desk: Jer'ax's things, brought back in from the cargo bay.  And how fragile that familiarity really is.

She sits up, letting her breath out with a whoosh of air as her hair falls around her bare shoulders, voice seemingly booming out against the silence of the room.

"No more hidin'.  It's time t' tell him th' truth. All th' truth."

She takes a deep breath, listening for some sound of approval from somewhere in the room, in the ship, in that quadrant of the galaxy; something telling her she was going to be okay, they were all going to be okay.

i'm getting better.

the more days that pass, the better i feel.  i've been taking walks alone around carrick station; the big republic fleet actually lets me feel safer.  i know no one can get me here, and i know if something happens i'll be safe.  i'll just have to scream and i'll be okay.

i ran into master ihlrath the other day on a walk.  he was one of the jedi who rescued me.  he was the one who slipped me his comm information the day before everything goes fuzzy in my brain.  he was the one that got my information to zentoyo for jerhal's party.

i never knew he and jerhal were such good friends, or that he held vyen'a and lieutenant teral in such high regards. or... anything, really.  he told me stories about jerhal, too.  it was good, so good, to hear about him from someone who knows and isn't afraid to tell me things.  

it was a good day that day.

tonight was even better.

vyen'a came in to tell me that she was going to go get smokes and by the way someone on her comm wanted to talk to me.  so i picked it up and said hello and...

i'm still smiling.

it was jerhal.  the regiment he's with hijacked an imperial holo-buoy and they rewired it and everyone was able to make calls.  and we talked and talked for hours and hours and i told him what happened - what i could remember, anyway - and he let me know he was okay and he said he loved me and still wanted forever. and he called me his fiancee.  so i guess i didn't dream it when he said he was going to marry me when he gets back.

we talked until the comm died.  and the last thing i heard him say before that dead air silence was he was coming back safe to me and that he loved me.

and i'm still smiling.

i'm going to get better now.  i have to get better now.  i need to stand up tall when he walks off the transport in five weeks.  thirty-five days.  and i know i have people on my side.  master ihlrath.  lieutenant teral.  vyen'a.

and when he gets back, jerhal.

i can find my strength in numbers until i can stand on my own again.

i can do it.