Ces Bottes Sont Faites Pour Marcher

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan was light on feet, and Mags did not see him until well after he rounded the corner. He paused, and gave her a few meters.

"Hi."

She looked up, angry that he was able to see her in a state of sadness and annoyed that he moved so quietly. Morgan slipped past her and into the fresher before she wound up, if that was what she was doing.

Like Mags, he turned the sonic shower to it's most aggressive setting, and stripped away the physical aftermath of last night's distraction. Morgan turned the power down, and put both hands on the rounded walls and leaned his head against the wall for a moment. It had been a welcome distraction, but his guilt and problems were still there. He stood still for a minute, letting the sound waves massage his skin.

Morgan turned off the fresher and Mags was not at the vanity, but he could hear her in the kitchenette. He put on his undergarments and pants.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

[Mags Sondeeta]

She took her time debating that question in her head. It wasn't going to come clean, or all at once. Before she could even begin, she was going to need the ritual.

A cup of caf slid onto the table by the chair nearest the Jedi. Mags didn't sit down though. She took her own cup standing up by the counter.

"Zere are too many zings to say. Everyzing I saw during ze occupation and ze intifada. Everyone 'as a sad story. Zere are so many of zem."

The Twi'lek sipped her steaming cup, letting the bitter settle on her tongue, she swallowed heavily.

"Not everyzing is made better because ze Empire 'as gone away. Ze dead are still dead. Ze zings zey did, zey aren't put back like zey were."

[Morgan Evanar]

It was true. If something was broken thoroughly enough, it never went back together quite the same. Sure, you could hide it, but it might fall apart at a moment's notice when the right stress was introduced. Morgan had seen it several times: first at home, and then with the Alliance. The Empire had left large holes in billions of hearts, in tens of thousands of planets, in thousands of systems. Ryloth had one of the shortests ends of it. Things under the Republic were bad, and under the Empire they went directly to much worse.

"What about Naya?"

[Mags Sondeeta]

There was a striken look on Mags face, as if Morgan had stabbed her. Her hand reflexively went up to her collarbone, the tattoo there nearly completely covered by the under-tee she had slipped on since the shower. Like a wounded creature, she turned her back to him, keeping her injury as protected as she was able. Not nearly enough.

"Get out."

[Morgan Evanar]

Morgan stood up and put his hands even with his head. His curiosity had bested his sense, and he had gone too far.

"Okay."

He left the fire-tempered Twi'ek in her kitchenette. He put on the rest of his clothes quickly. He located a pen and a scrap of paper.

Sorry

- Morgan

He left his public comm frequency below it, in case she ever changed her mind about, well, any of it. If she wanted help from a true empath she'd have it. He'd take the door like a normal person this time.

[Mags Sondeeta]

She kept her back to him, taking metered sip after sip. He quietly did as she asked. The door hissed open.

A moment later, he was gone.

"EEYAAA!"

Mags hurled her empty cup against the cabinet. It shattered into a spray of shards, tinkling across the counter and the floor below. She slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor as she clutched both hands over the name etched forever into her flesh.

"Naya..."