#rivka jaexyth

(this is.... only the more-or-less finished swtor ones lmao, because they make a good set. "more-or-less" bc there is Always tinkering to mess around with for enrichment purposes.)

Rivka gets two slots due to Significant Distinctive Costume Changes; Agent Cipher 9 NameProblems gets two for both before/after base-game class story transing his gender.

Fandom: SWTOR Characters: Jedi Knight, Sith Warrior Additional Tags: Nonbinary Character, Battle of Corellia, Trauma Self-Doubt, Past Mind Control, Lightsaber Combat, Minor Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Extended Scene, mildly AU, Developing Relationship, Jedi & Sith

Summary:

Rivka receives a frantic transmission from her Republic operating base under attack, and discovers the principal assailant is a Sith she's already met once before. The duel they fight this time digs up lingering wounds and emerging doubts on both sides.

Notes:

(it’s a lie anyway, this is actually nine sentences)

Context - Kira, Khisit, and T7 have just rendezvoused with Scourge and Rivka’s escape-the-Emperor’s-space-station shuttle.

“Then we need to call them, immediately,” said Kira. “Have them send out all the teams they can as soon as possible.” Rivka felt a spike of selfish relief - the idea of speaking to the Council felt like dragging her wounds over sandpaper, and having to be the one to suggest it in the first place would have been even harder .

But Scourge countered with a short, sharp noise. “Do you think they would be inclined to believe us, a Lord of the Sith and a Jedi fresh from the Emperor’s control? We must speak to them in person, where they can evaluate the truth in the Force.

“I’m not going back to Tython.”

[[MORE]]

-----

Pressure. So much pressure, another mind invading her senses and squeezing her reach in the Force down to almost nothing.

Rivka raised her lightsaber once more, limbs like lead, as if she could fend off another attack like a physical blow. It felt physical, compressing her from the connections with minds, matter, the flow of the universe around her into nothing but her bodily shell; and edging her presence out of that too, as the fight continued.

Was she the last one standing? Braga and Sedoru, she thought she remembered seeing them fall, but she couldn't - check - ordinarily almost effortless and now she felt tiny, claustrophobic - Leeha, what happened to Leeha - ?

Hundreds, hundreds of thousands of voices seemed to swarm into her ears, into her soul, and she swayed, dizzied… so many voices, some terrified, or despairing, or pained. Worse than the most intolerable chaos of the capital, even with it's underlayer of ignored suffering.

The part of Rivka that could still feel the outside, felt her crying out, quiet at first and then louder, as she clasped her hands inward, curling back and forth as she dropped to her knees, wrapping herself into a ball. The sound of her lightsaber, clattering on the floor.

Help us!, chorused the voices. Join us.

With each repetition, they blotted out the last piece of her own senses, bit by bit. Black eating at the corners of her vision.

Rivka floated on the sea of voices, fragmented souls, numb.

Her body unfurled, and stood.

-----

Khisit practically bounded down the boarding ramp, so so ready to be off this damn ship, ghost-haunted not to mention making them stir-crazy with the nearly two weeks it took to cross the entire galaxy from the Caldera to the Core. It hardly mattered what hour of the day it was local time; they were going to head out to the nearest train and spend the next twelve hours just wandering, anywhere they could find that looked interesting where they could stretch their legs, move around, forget themself and doomed missions and grab a bite and a drink -

The view outside once nature's lighting had fully replaced the shipboard glare knocked that train of thought violently off course and skidding to a stop. Bright sunlight, a smell of evergreen foliage and water, rather than the diffuse, climate controlled city sky and thrumming assault on the senses - Instead of endless layers of skyscraper towers in a mish-mashed tumult of architectural styles, only a few buildings rose in Khisit's line of sight; gentle sloping lines on large, awe-suggestive shapes, stone carved and filigreed. It wasn't any place they could remember being before, but it was just familiar enough to tweak alarm bells ringing in their head.

They turned to look up at Kira, carrying baggage down our of the ship. "I thought you said we were going to Coruscant?"

Hard to read through the exhaustion on Kira's face, but some expression of unease flickered through for a moment. "I was going to, but with all that's happened I ended up making a last minute course change - some things really couldn't wait…"

"So then where did we - "

Footsteps on the landing pad made Khisit turn once more; and then everything slotted into place like a shock.

Brown robes, with blue and beige and silver and yellow tunics beneath; a group of three people led by a pale, dark-haired human at the front -

Familiarity slid into the heavy immersion of a sense memory, a presence they knew since before anything else they could remember… Ah.

...fuck.

Khisit backed up reflexively, almost running into Kira as they swung back around toward the ship's ramp - she was still standing practically in front of it with her bags, and of a sudden something icy lodged in Khisit's lungs.

"What kind of bullshit is this?"

Kira swallowed. "I spoke with the Council several times while we were in transit and they urged me to come to Tython immediately without any delays or stops in between - "

"I'm sure they fucking did," Khisit exclaimed, snarl rising along the edge of their voice. "Now get out of my way."

"What, are you going to change your plans entirely and go sulk inside the ship just because we're on Tython and not Coruscant?"

"Oh, I'm not staying - "

"Welcome back to Tython, Knight Carsen," came another voice from behind them. Khisit flinched. "...Is there some sort of problem here?"

(What was the damn luck it would be Tryse sent out to greet them just on chance - ?)

"Move," said Khisit, stepping around Kira to get to the boarding ramp - not without an only minorly intentional shoulder-check.

They'd strode halfway up into the ship, ignoring a chorus of Hey!, Excuse me, Savrow -, Stop right there -, when each part of their body was tugged suddenly, stopped abruptly from its forward momentum by a pressure exerted in the opposite direction like reaching the end of a bungee cable. They felt their heart jump in their throat, startled; then tried to lean back in and relieve the pressure.

Nothing. They couldn't move.

Khisit's eyes darted back, looking as far behind them as they could with their head nearly locked in place; the rhythm of their heart beat frantically enough to make up for every other limb that wouldn't budge.

"Let me go!" they shouted, throwing all their strength against the invisible restraints around their arms, legs, body. They crept forward a hairsbreadth, muscles straining.

Boots clacked along the boarding ramp, until Khisit could feel her presence behind them like a pervasive perfume, infusing the air like clouds. "Not if you're thinking of trying to steal a vessel belonging to the Order in the middle of Tython," said Master Tryse Mavari, sensible and irritated and final all at once. A cousin, in essence, by Sith kinship - but it wasn't family that mattered among the Jedi, only history. "Khisit, that's absurd even for you."

They felt one of Tryse's hands on their shoulder; could feel her looking them over for a weapon - Khisit had left their blaster on the ship. No need for if if they were just a civilian, no guerilla campaign, no more missions with Rivka - Rivka -

The pang broke through fresh again, alloying Khisit's fury. At the same time, Tryse was grasping their arms, wrists, pulling them behind Khisit's back; and then they were forced down -

Their knees could buckle, and for a moment that was enough. Bonds slipped, or determination punched through, or something, and they shoved their shoulders forward, twisting in Tryse's grasp even as it felt like fighting through tangled sheets; cursing and yelling. Then a few seconds later a second pair of hands fell on their shoulders and arms, and clapped restraints around their wrists.

("Khisit, are you kidding me, use your head!" came Kira's voice, raised and exasperated, in the background. Did she think this was some kind of game? Of course, of course not, no, the Jedi had saved her.)

Panicked tears began to blur Khisit's vision. They'd never said it to themself, had they? It had just become a felt, unspoken axiom, somewhere in between shooting at Imps and dodging security firewalls - they were never going back, ever.

Tryse sighed, with an edge of frustration. "I hoped to have a reasonable discussion about your path going forward," she said, somewhere above Khisit's head, looking down. "But I suppose that will have to wait if you're going to act like this." Her hand closed around the side of Khisit's face; fingers splayed about their temple.

(meme here)

Rivka:

3. What’s something pointless/petty/unimportant that IRRATIONALLY ANNOYS THE HELL out of your OC?

Not closing cabinet doors all the way. No matter how many times she tells herself it's not actually consequential or indicative of character, her brain always goes ALDFJDJJFKDFJSJD when she sees one because wtf it's so lazy and it looks so awful and WHY. (Also, people in a classroom setting asking "stupid" questions or not following a lesson as quickly as she did, when she was younger.)

6. What would STOP your OC from Doing The Right Thing in a tense situation? 

Is it intuitively obvious during the situation in question what The Right Thing is? Because indecision over what’s actually right would be a big one if not. Like, take that one quest on Coruscant with the politician who sends you to clean up a gang war/terrorism situation, but it comes out that she’d actually been taking money & favors from them to win her office opposite a lot of wealthy candidates - do you expose her as being corrupt, or let the situation stand because she’s one of the few people doing anything helpful for the reconstruction efforts? That was a pretty character-defining moment for Rivka early-on, and has obviously stuck with me. (She chose not to expose the politician, fwiw.)

Otherwise, uhhh… probably PTSD symptoms? :') It's hard to say without having a specific context in mind, but in general if something about a situation triggers an emotional flashback for her, she has a much harder time moderating impulsive anger or fear responses. (This is… more or less what happens in the incident that nukes her relationship with Kira. Oops :/)

----

aaaand the rest are going under a cut bc LONG

Uhhhhh HI sorry this took so long!! I blame (lack of) keyboards and my general attention span :'D

(meme here)

3 and 7 for Rivka and 2 for Khisit have been answered here!

Khisit:

3. What’s something pointless/petty/unimportant that IRRATIONALLY ANNOYS THE HELL out of your OC? 

People trying to make small talk while they’re working. Which is… probably not actually all that unimportant considering some of the reasons why it pisses them off; but the level of irritation and the way they end up making largely unwarranted and vitriolic negative judgements about people for it, probably qualifies as petty.

...this question is hard for me all around I think bc I'm both easygoing enough about pointless things, and interrogative enough about peeves that on inspection aren't pointless, that it's hard for me to come up with good answers? Aaahhh.

7. Realistically, could your OC (in their normal circumstances- i.e. at their own house/battlecamp/spaceship etc.) keep a small child alive for a week if they had to?  A dog? A houseplant? A rock with a smiley face painted on?

Uhhhhhhh, probably… There would most likely be incidents, because Khisit obviously doesn’t child-proof their stuff and has no interest in actively babysitting a kid - so y’know, whatever dangerous nonsense a kid gets up to when they’re trying to entertain themself and don’t have an adult around telling them not to climb up tall things, something of that nature would probably happen once or twice. There would probably be a lot of takeout eaten.

A dog would probably be okay, particularly if it was a relatively chill dog? It’d certainly remain alive… Khisit would be a bit weirded out by how person-centered a dog’s attention was, but I think they’d (be surprised to) enjoy taking it for walks. However, as much as it pains me to say it, a houseplant would probably be on its way to death by underwatering at the end of a week, because they’d just forget about it unless they had some particular reason to make reminders to check up on it, like if it were a friend’s plant or something. It’s just incapable of coming up and making noise and demanding attention when its needs aren’t being met! D:

17. How does your OC sabotage themselves?

HO BOY WELL. So many ways. Being a bratty assbiscuit to 9 authority figures (or people of generally higher status) out of 10. Refusing to acknowledge having any sort of strong emotions or mental weaknesses, until one of them completely blows up in their face. Antagonising people in general, because they can’t reject you if you piss them off first! :D and otherwise it provides information on how far they can push someone and how they react to prodding. Being too proud to compromise or try to make nice with or even remotely appease people they dislike. Shrugging off other people's attempts to comfort them or see if they're okay, because a) that would be showing weakness/emotion and b) it's not like they actually care anyway so why bother. ….. yeah that's about the general gist :D

Rivka:

2. What are your OC’s food preferences (flavors/textures/spiciness/calories/when and how they eat) and how did they get that way? 

Rivka's preferred foods would probably be along the lines of north & east African cuisines, as a best analogy? (Injera…..!!) It's the sort of thing she remembers growing up with, and has the most intuitive sense of how to cook well/easily. She probably doesn't tend to eat much dairy… Do I feel like importing kashrut directly into SW? Who knows tbh. But assuming there are some kind of relevant dietary rules, she probably follows the bigger general ideas but doesn't like, fuss about getting only hechshered products at the grocery store. Another person offering her something she's unfamiliar with will probably be accepted, unless it's Really Blatantly Not Allowed from what she can immediately see; it feels rude to do otherwise, with how often her work puts her as a guest of someone else's community.

In general she prefers to eat with others, even if it's just as passive socialising? Eating by herself too often feels lonely, and wasteful when you could be making and sharing food for multiple people at one time. Plus the daily ritual with other people helps ground her and make sure she's not just getting lost in her own head.

Meshurat introduces her to the wonderful world of sweet filled breads at some point; Rivka finds this enjoyable but less relevatory than Meshurat was hoping for and gets offendedly written off as a lost cause XD

17. How does your OC sabotage themselves?

-----

Khisit plops down at the cramped galley table opposite Rivka, bearing a plate of sausages and hash browns, and a black mug of caf. They take a bite of sausage and chew thoughtfully, chin propped up on one hand as the other idly flicks their fork back and forth.

"So, question for you," they start, after a few moments' silence. "How come the really obvious limbs?"

[[MORE]]

Rivka blinks and looks up at Khisit with an expression of genuine surprise flickering across her face. Antagonism she'd expected, yes; but no one had ever brought up her prosthetics like that before. (Made leading comments, expressed undesired 'sympathy' - but never just bald-faced asked.)

"I mean, you'd figure the Council'd be willing to spring for the really nice ones with synthskin and all, since they've set you up with this rig," Khisit elaborates, shrugging and gesturing about at the ship. Their golden eyes pierce into Rivka - but she doesn't sense hostility, exactly, more just… testing? Evaluating?

A piece of her bristles instinctually at the idea, and the idea of being found wanting; but it's vestigial and weak enough that she can brush it away with little difficulty.

She sets her datapad down. "These are the sort of limbs I've always had, actually." Rivka meets Khisit's gaze for a moment before glancing off again in thought. "They offered to buy me more organic-looking ones when I joined the Order, yes. And whenever I need to upgrade to a newer model or get repairs done. But there's no real functional advantage to them, and in some cases the added cases just make fixing things harder."

From the corner of her eye, Rivka catches Khisit's brows raise a fraction, paired with a sense of familiarity, positive appraisal. Maybe thinking of an analogy with the work they do on computers?

"So it's just about utility? Don't want a pretty piece of dead weight to drag around in the field if something gets fucked up while you're on assignment? That's respectable."

And yet… incomplete? It's hard to tell what's her read from Khisit's presence and what's her own response, this close to another person. She's pretty sure the irritation is her own, though.

"There's a lot more that can go wrong, too, when you're building based on principles besides just functional efficiency," Rivka elaborates instead, frowning as she thinks of some of the repairs she's seen and heard about hanging around the maintenance enclave. "Is synthskin the most durable outside covering? No. Is it an extra challenge trying to add another layer of signal transfer systems for the tactile feedback impulses? Yes. And some of the compensation methods weigh more, so you're putting more strain on the rest of the body where it joins up… and they're harder to take off regularly, so you're wearing them more and that just compounds the stress, on top of how people wearing the fancy ones half the time want to feel as normal as possible and so again, aren't taking them off -"

She cuts off abruptly, aware of the heat in her face and how her voice has raised through the impromptu rant. Not to mention whether Khisit even cared for that much detail… she looks away briefly, twisting a lock of hair between her finger and thumb.

But Khisit is almost smiling when Rivka hazards a glance back - smirking, really - with their brow ridges raised at the edges. "Oh, no, don't stop on my account," they say, leaning back and crossing their arms. One grey-clad knee peeks over the edge of the table. "This is fascinating."

Giving her enough rope to hang herself with? But no. Khisit isn't… Master Kaedan. Or his ilk.

She sighs, and sets her hands down. "People put a lot of moral importance on… being purely organic. Or at least looking like it, if you can't have the real thing. If life creates the Force, what does it say if your body is too… infected by corruption, to accept the methods of healing that would reconnect you fully with the Force the way you should be? Never mind that there's no such thing as equal access to medical technology; and organic-looking prosthetics, full-term kolto treatments, happen to be what rich people in the Core can afford. Or that no between-group differences have been found in any empirical studies of Force potential in people with mechanical prosthetics versus not. So I just… yes, part of it is efficiency. But part of it is also…"

She trails off, drumming fingers against the table, not wanting to verbalise the words that come most readily to mind, that contain the honesty she wants to provide. But she isn't coming up with any more acceptable-sounding alternatives that aren't lies, either.

Part of it is anger. Spite. Not wanting to let the ignorant bastards who believe those things win.

Knowledge has always come easier than peace, and made peace even harder to achieve in turn. She still doesn't know what to do with that.

Khisit is still watching intently, but doesn't seem to give anything away in either their face or the Force. They shrug, casualness belied by the focus in their eyes. "Hey, you're not gonna get any argument from me." A hint of steel edges their voice. "Fuck them."

Rivka almost laughs, beset with memory. She'd said almost the same thing once, more than once, strained with tension and the heavy chain of awareness of the transgression in the statement. Calculated curses, carefully packaged and deployed as befit the only outlet of such power she could access. Khisit's presence, even for such a short time, has begun to desensitise her.