hmmmmm angsty angsty narrative parallels
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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.
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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.
For a moment, all Khisit's senses swam, going fuzzy and dim. And then they were silent.
