vrepit sa!

She’d been offering her services in the settlement, treating injuries and sickness alike, and was on her way back to where she had made a small hideout for herself when she was suddenly grabbed and pulled into an alley…coming face to face with Commander Sendak of the Third Fleet.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Was he here to bring her back? There was no way she could fight him off or outrun him. Ears flattening, she quickly resigned herself, and nodded slowly.

His grip relented, but only just — still not one he was going to let her run from. Surely she was questioning why he would be bothering her, not the intruding ship. Truth be told, he had less interest in dealing with a petty-officer commander than he did with a simple medic.

Dodging the thrown blade, he was going to strike again, when the returning blade slashed his arm, cutting deeply and causing him to stagger with a growl of pain.

He was horrified. There was only one other person he had seen do that.

“Can’t be…” he spat, “SENDAK?!”

His mood shift was immediate. Growing more desperate, he charged his engineering gauntlet with electricity, intent on frying the stranger.

Qessyn was losing more and more focus. The battle sounded muffled, like it was getting further and further away, yet she could…see.

“Electric…gauntlet…!” she groaned out. The mark pulsed, but that wasn’t the only thing; there was a change in her eyes, the yellow and green growing dimmer and dimmer.

The hilt of the sword finds its way comfortable back to Sendak's grasp just as Trekhar spits out his name. That wasn't good. He had to deal with this quickly. Or at least disable the suit's internal communications system.

Once more, Qessyn provides him an answer. He shifts his attack, and whirls around in a flourish so that his dominant arm would clash with the hand featuring the deadly gauntlet, intending on a hit that would've been ideal to stop with a hand, provided one had the armor for it. He didn't even need to think, only followed the first idea that came to his mind at her divinitive words.

“Oh do come off it. I earned my rank because I am vicious. I am brutal. And I am a genius.”

It was no lie; Trekhar was one of the brightest engineering minds in the Empire, which was why much of his excessive brutality was overlooked.

Qessyn trembled, trying and failing to escape her bindings. It was getting harder to focus; the mark burned. “He’s telling the truth…one of the lead engineers…”

“Emperor Zarkon’s decree is clear; weakness shall not be tolerated. I am simply obeying his command by punishing those who cannot commit to his vision. Those who cannot do what needs to be done. The Galra will rule this universe…” Trekhar glanced at a bucket on the floor. “…no matter the cost.” Without warning, he kicked it towards Sendak, intent on distracting him with it as he charged again, this time with the knife coming up from under him.

He catches the shift in the yellow glow of Trekhar's eyes, and catches the bucket with his foot. As Qessyn cries out again, his eyes flick downward, catching sight of the stabbing blade before it struck. It was likely his armor would've absorbed much the blow anyway, but it's only Qessyn's warning that has him turning his sword in time to fully deflect it. Sendak's teeth are bared with the effort, but that look of recognition returns to his face again, unrelated to Trekhar.

Quickly, he lurches backwards creating distance between them. No sooner parted from the fight at hand, Sendak thrusts his hand out, sending the sword hurtling in Trekhar's direction. As he did, it was Sendak who charged forward, opposite hand pulling a smaller secondary blade free from his belt.

I will protect him. Even if it costs me my life, I will not speak.

It was starting to look as if she would have to pay that price. Trekhar brought up a blade, examining it, before smirking. “I think I’ve been quite lenient with you, Vrayaka. Now…one last chance. Where is he.”

Qessyn glared, speaking through gritted teeth despite her trembling. “Fuck you.”

Trekhar sighed dramatically. “And here I thought you might be more reasonable. Oh well.”

Bringing the blade closer, he seized her by the chin. “Now…why don’t we start with that ugly mark on your face?”

He grinned…then his expression changed into something more perplexed as he examined her closer.

That mark was glowing. Pulsing.

Trekhar raised a brow. “What…”

The doors sliding grabbed his attention, and he turned. “I thought I told you I wasn’t to be—“ He blinked. “Well, well…I would love to know how you were able to bypass the security protocols, but you appear disinclined to tell me.” Turning away from Qessyn, he grinned. “I do hope I don’t have to kill you. You look like you would be enjoyable to interrogate. But I confess…it would please me greatly if Vrayaka here got to watch you die.”

Qessyn looked on with wide eyes. “Y-You…” He had come…for her?

Galra like this disgusted him. So undisciplined. So disgustingly selfish. Individuals such as this were rare to him, but they seemed all too common here. This one commander — he was just an example of what has become normalized here. It was mortifying; was this what become of them in the future?

If cutting down the man in front of him counted as cutting down that future, he would do it gladly. Returning the favor to someone who had done him a kindness was the goal, but this was an additional benefit.

Sendak turned both hands to grip the blade. Trekhar had a knife half the size, but Sendak did not let the notion comfort him. As the other galra charged forward, the galran knight held his ground, and lifted the sword to block the hit, metal clashing on metal. As their strength struggled against one another, he redirected them so that his back might face Qessyn instead, and he stood between her and her commander. The blade slanted, lifting to let the dagger drag down and slide off of it. In the moment Trekhar might use to re-adjust his weight, Sendak thrust his arms forward and shoved him back.

Now it was Trekhar who had his back to the door. Even if he wanted to open it, he would find it unwilling to override the lock of the supposed-stranger in outdated, ancient red armor.

“Well, try not to worry about it too much. For now, just focus on staying out of sight. I’ll do what I can to—“

An angry roar echoing through the halls of the ship made Qessyn nearly jump out of her skin.

“VRAYAKA! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU WORTHLESS SACK OF—“

Qessyn’s eyes went wide. “It’s Trekhar,” she whispered, “you have to hide. Quickly!” She ran towards the source of the shout, “I will buy you time!”

Rushing out to meet the commander, Qessyn stood at attention. “Commander. I apologize. What do you require of me?”

Trekhar let out a growl. “There you are. It would seem we have a bit of a problem.”

Qessyn’s heart began racing. “A problem, sir?”

“Yes. It would appear there is a stowaway aboard the ship.”

He watched her carefully. “Someone wearing a ridiculous outfit has been sneaking about, knocked one of the guards out cold, but not before taking an injury himself. You wouldn’t happen to have seen anything, would you?”

“No sir. But I’ll keep an eye out.”

Several moments of silence. Then, Trekhar began to chuckle darkly.

“Corpsman Vrayaka…you are a terrible liar.”

Qessyn began to panic. “A liar? Sir, I don’t understand—“

CRACK!

She yelped as Trekhar backhanded her across the face, with enough force to knock her glasses loose, sending them skidding across the floor. Falling to the ground, Qessyn clutched her cheek.

“Do you take me for a fool, Vrayaka? You think I wouldn’t notice your obvious terror? But I’m in a generous mood. If you tell me the truth, I’ll make your punishment less severe.”

Silence. Then Qessyn murmured something. “…hell…”

Trekhar narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”

Qessyn glared defiantly, looking up at him from the floor. “I said GO TO HELL!”

Trekhar blinked. “….heh…hahaha…AHAHAHAHAHAA—!”

He howled in laughter, his lips curving into a malicious grin. “All this time! All the phoebs you’ve been aboard this ship! All the torture I put you through! And this is the first time you’ve shown such a spine!”

Her terror when she spoke of her commander earlier had been obvious. Yet as she she instructed him to hide and rushed off before he could protest much— which he did, getting out no more than “Wait—” before she rushed off to meet that terror. Without hesitation. It was admirable, but there was no pause to focus in that admiration, and he sets out to follow her immediately.

But stopped starkly in place when he heard the commotion just around the corner mere moments after the white of her robes disappeared. Her shadow remained there just against the wall, and it collapsed into a heap with a sharp smack. Qessyn's glasses slide into view, and Sendak's expression of shock shifts into anger. Even for his anger, he was not fool enough to make himself known just just. Stiffening his legs feels like a conscious effort to battle off the instinct that makes him want to run after her, and he curls his hands into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms, grinding his teeth in the wake of her screams as they echoed through his ears.

He wouldn't be far behind. Sendak breaks away into another room, using his current counterpart's permissions to allow him access. Even ten thousand years later, it seemed galra tech wasn't entirely different; though it changed, he was able to pull up a map of the ship with ease. Eyes wandered over it, imprinting its layout into his memory before he ducked out back into the halls. It was easy to navigate by sound, after all… But the sounds of her cries made it much harder to hear footsteps.

Even so, he managed to navigate behind them without rousing attention, though it slowed his speed. It was half a varga, perhaps more, before he came to the same room from the other half of the hall, but he was stopped. There were guards coming down the way, their heads turning toward the door from which originated the loudest screams. As the sound raked over his ears, he refused to wait any longer than he needed to. The only other room was too far away.

Sendak lunges at the guards when they round the corner, slamming one into the wall with enough force to knock him out, if their attacker grabbing him by the skull and slamming their head into it didn't do it first. The other had avoided contact, and fumbled for his weapon. While he did, Sendak's leg lashed out, taking the guard's weight from his own two feet. When he dropped the rifle, Sendak grabbed it, and rammed an end into the remaining threat's head, knocking him out just as he did the other. He drops the weapon and stomps on it, smashing it into inactivity, then moves to approach the door.

She didn’t finish, gasping softly when his hand brushed her hair to the side, with a gentleness she had not known in what felt like an eternity. He was looking at the birthmark, studying it, and his proximity made her heart race a little. Had she done something to offend?

When he drew back, she blinked. Was Sendak truly like this in his youth? It was actually endearing, charming even. She gave a reassuring smile, shaking her head.

“Oh, it’s quite alright—you’ve done nothing wrong.” Lifting her hair again, she allowed him to see the mark.

It was strange, to say the least. A different tone from the rest of her fur, and very unnatural-looking—almost as if it were placed by design. It resembled an eye in the abstract sense.

“It is kind of strange, isn’t it?” She smiled. “To answer your question, yes, I was born with this. The strangest birthmark I’ve ever seen. And it even acts strange—it throbs and burns, on occasion. It’s done it my whole life, but it’s like it’s acting up lately…”

It didn't match her at all; even the hue of purple was stark against the warmer shades of her fur. It was the sort of purple used for the banners of the great hall of the King's castle, the same color used in all manner of rituals. The longer Sendak looked at it, the more it began to bother him that he couldn't exactly recall the origin. How could he not remember something so significant?

“And you were... born with it.” Now he leant away somewhat, his hand idly rubbing at his chin as lips pursed and his eyes wandered upward in obvious expression his modern counterpart had none of. “Yes. I wish I could tell you more currently, but... I don't remember much.”

His attention turned back to look at her and he smiled reassuringly.

“Uh, what’s a ‘perogative’?” She thought she’d maybe heard Nena’s kids selling something like that at the stand. But somehow it didn’t track that whatever this thing was would be looking for stir fry or deep fried nut-mince pastries.

She turned it over again in her hands, rubbing at its surface to see if she could uncover any markings at all. But whatever she found, she couldn’t read, so that didn’t do a whole hell of a lot of good.