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Thread: The Finding

  1. #41
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    Taking the canteen, the girl turned it up to splash a small amount of water into her mouth, swishing and sloshing it around before swallowing.

    "Haaa," the canteen was held out for the Major to take back, "... yeah well, it's still a trip away from Ossus."

    One hand reached up then, to tug at her earlobe as she twisted her torso, trying to loosen up suddenly-over-exerted muscles.

    "Plus the food here is probably really good - " Untaurra was no stranger to the stomach cravings of her young Lupine friend, "... though when I was in the lift earlier, I heard some folks talking about a Cizerack teahouse. Didn't make a lot of sense to me though, since I kinda agree with dad, that tea is just hot grasswater and it tastes a little gross. A whole place meant to serve tea seems like too much."

  2. #42
    A chuckle halfway escaped before the Major stowed it. Rather than correct her, Untaaura was tempted to let Teagan's own momentum carry her away from the notion. Besides, it wasn't exactly a place that the Major felt comfortable being around. Still, Teagan was right about the age where you were supposed to find out about this sort of thing. That didn't mean that it was her job to bring it up. Forrda tended to be a little touchy about the subject.

    Thanks for putting me on the spot, kid. She smiled tightly, taking another gulp of water.

    "Well, jit'ss lesss about what jyou drrjink at that ssorrt of place, and morre about fjindjing companjy."

    Untaaura took a few stretches, and began to walk a cooldown pace back the way she came.

    "Overrated, honesstljy. The drrjinkss arre expenssjive, and jit neverr worrkss out the wajy jyou thjink."

  3. #43
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    "Oh."

    Keeping pace with the Major, Teagan rolled her shoulders in a further attempt to re-stretch he muscles.

    "So you look for friends there?"

    She reached for the canteen once more, a wordless request for the Major to hand it over.

    "Would it be a good place for you and I to go to?"

  4. #44
    "Negatjive. Ljike jI ssajid, overrblown and overrprrjiced. That, and jI doubt jyourr Arr'fai would apprrecjiate me takjing jyou therre."

    Her pace slowed, and she pivoted back to look at Teagan with a careful expression as she passed her cantina over.

    "jYou'rre ssweatjy, and jI'm a messs. Tell jyou what. Gjive me half an hourr to hjit the head, get cleaned up and drresssed, and meet me at Essk 23, level one. jI'll sshow jyou ssomethjing that jyou don't have on Osssuss." she promised with a wink.

  5. #45
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    A quick glance at her wrist chrono, and her better-self was drowned out by the immediate. She wanted to spend time with the major, she wanted to understand these feelings that she was having. They were the sorts of feelings that left her confused and concerned; she felt them when she was with Draiya, but the times that she was with Wyl, they weren't there. There was something there, when she'd been with Wyl, but it just wasn't the same. How did she even describe it?!

    With a sigh of frustration, the girl eventually nodded.

    "Ok."

    A hand went up to rub her temple.

    "Essk 23. Level 1."

    A final breath out, and she looked to the Major.

    "I'll find that place. Just don't be late, yeah?"

  6. #46
    "Forr jyou?"

    Untaaura squared up to her with a serious expression.

    "jIf jI'm not back jin...letss sspot me thjirrtjy-fjive mjinutess, then jyou sshould know that jI djied ljike jI ljived. Drrowned jin moonljight and sstrrangled bjy mjy own brra."

    Before Teagan spent any more time figuring that one out, Untaaura retrieved her canteen, giving the Lupine an affectionate double pat on the shoulder.

    "jYou'd betterr get the lead out too, jyoung blood. Double tjime."

    She was back at a jog, leaving the scene with a raised, slightly curled tail. Untaaura stole a glance back to see what the Lupine was doing, and continued to the lift to take her to the officers quarters.

  7. #47
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    The tail. The tail. It was curled up just so. And the Major had looked back, which only made Teagan cut her gaze away to the boring walls of the corridor.

    "Essk 23, Level 1. I'll find it for sure," she reiterated with iron lacing her tone.

    A 'heh', and she half-turned on her heel.

    "I'll beat you there!"

  8. #48
    "We'll ssee, rrough-foot!"

    Untaaura made quick time to her billet, peeling off her PT's mid-stride through the living area before flinging them into the auto-washer hamper. She quickly took care of business in the sonic shower, then spent another five minutes making sure her lines were clean on her fade before making the sudden choice to wear civilian clothing. She settled on slightly flare-legged maroon pants and a cream & grey short-sleeved seersucker shirt. With a quick check to make sure that her hair was tightly-combed and coiffed where needed, Untaaura was out the door with five minutes to spare, and began to move down the concourse to Esk sector. Being on a higher floor gave Untaaura a good aerial view of the concourse sprawl, and she tried to pick out Teagan as she headed to the section 23 lift.

  9. #49
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    And just like that she was retracing her steps, sprinting all the way back to the lift that she'd initially gotten off of. Thank the gods that it dinged and opened back up not too long after she'd pressed the call button.

    The trip back up to the level that her and Zem's quarters were on was made in relatively short order, and the girl burst back in through the door like some tumbling Tatooine dune-devil. She cast her gaze to either side, unsure if Zem was still here. She didn't see him, but that didn't mean he wasn't still here. Either way, she continued on like a nexxu intent on its prey, heading for the fresher.

  10. #50
    After a brief moment of glancing furtively about, Teagan quickly got the idea that Zem was out of the room, likely taking care of his tasks at hand.

    Meanwhile, Untaaura eased back on her usual pace. Maybe some other time - hell, most other times, she'd go all out. This time, she wanted Teagan to get there first. As she watched the people milling below, Untaaura tried to figure out why that was.

  11. #51
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    She'd given herself a quick once over before leaving the provided quarters, making sure that she was once more as fresh as possible. It didn't take too long; s splash from the sink into her face, running fingers through her hair, and another pass with her deodorant to make sure that she didn't give off too much of a 'just-sprinted' smell. Of course, it didn't take too awful much. She'd not really run that far or that hard; certainly not like she did back home on Ossus.

    Esk 23 was easy enough to find, but at the same time there were a myriad of beings that were all about, and the young Lupine slid her way through the bodies to a far bulkhead. She cast her gaze from left to right, and unable to spot the Major just yet, settled herself for the time being. A quick glance to her chrono, and she was reassured in the fact that she had enough time before dinner with her dad.

    Unconsciously, she lifted her hand up, and blowing into her palm, immediately gave her breath a quick sniff-test.

    Not horrid.

    Good.

    A second later, she sent her gaze back up to scan the passing bodies.

  12. #52
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    The Guild hub was unusually quiet. Loki waited in the empty room for Ygor to return to his post; somewhere, on the other side of the glass, he could be heard growling about stimcaf. The processing station was an uncluttered space by necessity, with a single row of fixed seats lining the perimeter, a holocam in every corner, and an empty space in the middle. It was empty, save for the man by his side.

    Foster Skavish was a human male of 32 years, with sandy hair and a slim build. Wanted for defrauding elderly widows up to the sum of 120,000 credits and for the suspected murder of Dame Octofort of Taris, he fled arrest into the Outer Rim. Presently, he stood silent and dejected, with his hands in binders and a tracking collar around his neck. His face was purple with bruising, his right eye was black, and the left side of his face was swollen beyond recognition. A fresh trickle of drool oozed from the corner of his busted mouth and soiled the pristine floor.

    “You.”

    Behind the glass appeared an old Weequay with a steaming cup in his hand. He regarded Loki with his remaining eye, and then the man beside him. With a grunt, he lowered himself into his seat and made a wordless beckoning gesture. Loki had the bounty puck ready and deposited it on the counter.

    “Foster Skavish,” he said, simply. From the puck rose a blue-tinted facsimile of the man beside him, he had shorter hair and wore a suit. Ygor gave the bounty another look.

    “You sure? Barely enough left of him for a positive ID.”

    “An exaggeration,” Loki countered, “My blaster malfunctioned. The stun doesn’t work.”

    “Put up a good fight, did he? The old granny fucker?”

    Another grunt came from behind the glass, but this time, there was movement. The heavy sealed door beside the processing station rushed open and out stepped a looming security droid. Beside him, he heard his bounty whimper, and his whole body tensed up. Under the droid’s influence, however, he quickly unraveled, as he was jostled through the door and towards the holding cells. If he had indeed murdered Dame Octofort, he may be executed by firing squad. But Loki gave no thought to that, instead he presented Ygor with a credit chit.

    “That’s 12 large, with a guild fee of 2,000,” said Ygor, as he inserted the chit into a datapad and poked sluggishly at the keys.

    “What’s hot?” Loki received his credit chit and cast a glance over his shoulder to a doorway illuminated by a red shield, which in turn led to the bustling posting agency. “Any tips?”

    “You want a tip? Take a break, kid. You look like shit.”

    Unimpressed, Loki left. With a tap of his security pass, the humming barrier dissipated, allowing him entry into a long dim space illuminated by faintly flickering computer terminals. Though still very much a part of the Guild hub, unlike the processing station, the posting agency was a space unconcerned with privacy, security, or general order. Tucked away on Resh 11, the agency was accessible to all, but the terminals within, available only to the few. The floor was dirty and marked with a chaotic web of footprints, once-glossy posters were peeling from the walls, and there were noticeboards thick with the contact details of unknown handlers and sketchy slicers. A haze of smoke circled slowly overhead, yellowed by ailing lights. In the corner of the room, a trio of Rodians were sitting on crates, they spoke in undertones and stole skittish glances from the gloom.

    Taking his place at an unoccupied terminal, Loki inserted his keycard and waited for the bounty registry to update. A moment passed, then another. Then, with an obnoxious buzz, the screen turned red.

    Access denied.

    “I told ya to take a break, kid.”

    From behind him came the familiar thunk of a heavy mechanical leg. Loki’s jaw clenched in frustration. Steeling himself, he turned to face his tormentor. Though weathered by age and injury, Ygor Ix had lost none of the presence that came with being one of the oldest and most experienced bounty hunters in the Guild. The skin on his face sagged like worn leather, but his grey eye remained as sharp as a vibroblade, and twice as cutting. And while the shabby rags hung loose from his bones, Loki suspected the old frame hunched beneath them was as tough as kingswood. In the time he had known Loki, or rather, Wexli Wallas, the alias he had adopted, old Ygor had made one thing clear: he did not suffer fools.

    Ygor was not his handler - and had outright expressed he had no intention of ever taking on that role - but in the 6 months since Loki parted ways with his hunting mentor, Li Ho Fook, it would be fair to say that the grizzled Weequay had taken him under his wing. They had a taciturn sort of understanding: Loki never accepted jobs that were beyond his skills and experience, and in return, he trusted Ygor to direct him towards work that was both challenging and within his own hunt parameters – namely, targets that were guilty of violent crime to innocent people. It accommodated his own brand of justice: no jobs for crime lords, or Imperial agencies, or corrupt politicians.

    And it was an arrangement that had served him well, until now.

    “You did this?”

    “I did. Take yourself out of the game for a few days,” Ygor’s trademark growl was reduced to a grumble. He did not seem comfortable with this degree of interference, “Get yourself some rest. Heal up.”

    Loki frowned. There was a graze on his chin and a bruise on his cheek, all wholly superficial. He scoffed, “I’m fine. I just need to keep busy.”

    “What you need is to get your head straight,” Ygor hissed through jagged teeth, taking a step closer.

    “Ygor, you can’t do this. I-”

    Faster than he ever could have imagined, the retired bounty hunter snatched him by the wrist and, with rough and bony fingers biting into his skin, raised his hand to eye level. There, around the knuckles and fingers, the skin was as black and purple as Foster Skavish’s face.

    “It ain’t just your blaster that’s acting up, kid. Get yourself fixed. You have 2 days.”

    With restrained force, Ygor released him, snorted his last ounce of frustration, and turned. Loki watched him pass through the barrier, frozen in place, and owlish with surprise. That look in his eyes, the hardness, the anger, he’d never seen it before. Not from Ygor. And now it was burned into his memory. In his memory. Hard eyes. Cold. He was cold. In his extremities. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his toes. He couldn’t feel the grass beneath his feet. He couldn’t feel the night air.

    In section Osk 18, there was a stretch of engineering hubs that specialized in servicing the droids that kept the station running. Loki was familiar with the workshops, and the workers, but he struggled to recall why he was there, in the first place. He stopped and took in his surroundings. Greyness, and pale light spilling out from open doors. And then, a symphony of noise: clattering, clanking, buzzing, crackling. He remembered it, vividly. Ahead and to the left were Anauri’s workshops. But what was he doing here? He didn’t want to see Anauri. He didn’t want to see anyone.

    He wanted food.

    Unwelcome pangs of hunger dredged him from a stew of lethargic thoughts. Stew would be great about now, actually. There were places up on Esk, he recalled. There was a time when this station was a home to him. And for 2 days, he must call it ‘home’ again. Inside an unoccupied lift, he studied his right hand, warped by violence, with bruises blossomed on each knuckle like angry flowers. A damning testament. Get yourself fixed. Ygor’s words rang in his head like thunder. What did he mean?

    The ride through the levels took minutes, with passengers filling the lift on the way. Loki kept his distance and fixed his gaze on the thin strip of strobing light that blinked by with each level. Most of the occupants spilled out onto Esk with him, it being one of the most popular and populated levels on the station. He swam through an ocean of sound towards his destination, carried on a current of busy people who were closer than he’d have liked; so close he caught the lingering spice of Cizerack perfume, the sour whiff of an overworked and undergroomed Besalisk chef, and the rot of Herglic halitosis. What did people smell when he walked by? In hindsight, a wash would not have gone amiss coming fresh off a job.

    When he noticed a shop he didn’t recognise – some new place with buckets of fresh flowers outside – Loki stopped to get his bearings. The walkway above was the same, the tobacco and spirits place was the same, and there was the bulkhead. No, he was on the right path. If he kept on in that direction, he…

    There. At the bulkhead. The girl with brown hair.

    No. Loki snapped his gaze away and closed his eyes. A deep breath. He could smell the flower shop. When he reopened his eyes, she would be gone. Near the bulkhead, clusters of people congregated, and weaved, threaded at occasion by a couple of smartly dressed security officers on patrol. But there was no girl. No brown hair.

    He pressed on, careful to avoid contact with strangers, mindful of his footing. There were younglings hidden amongst the crowd, there were always younglings, he could hear them. All it took was one misstep and someone could get hurt in a place like this, especially younglings. And one could never overestimate the stupidity of people in large gatherings. He dodged and he pivoted, eyes fixed upon his location, where a heavy concentration of humans dispersed.

    There she was again. Brown hair, sharp features. She was standing by the bulkhead, waiting.

    His gaze was averted again. He walked on, determined.

    10… 9… 8… 7…

    It wasn’t her. She looked different. Different, but similar.

    6… 5… 4…

    It wasn’t her. She wasn’t there. Not really.

    3… 2… 1…

    He dared another look and stopped dead in his tracks. There, at the bulkhead, with the brown hair, the sharp features, and fiercely inquisitive eyes. It was her.

    Another deep breath, then slowly, he approached. As the crowds between them thinned, he assessed her situation. There was no-one around her, no-one she was talking to, and certainly no other faces that he recognised – she was alone. His pace left him. Their eyes met. He took one more tentative step closer until he was just out of arm’s reach.

    Softly, he said, “Teagan? Is that you?”

  13. #53
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    She'd been scanning the milling bodies all about, trying to catch a glimpse of the Major. She was focused on finding a certain individual. Every bit of her attentions had been so attuned that when she met the eyes of the man who'd apparently become incredibly interested in her, she didn't quite register his features.

    And in the next moment, those features coalesced into a rather poignant memory. The memory of someone older than she, who had ultimately given her the courage to put herself onto the path that she was now.

    She'd brought him a peace-offering of stew. She'd asked him hard questions, and he had answered her in his unwavering fashion. It had been hard to hear back then, but in a begrudging way, she knew that his insight was needed and - though she was loathe to admit it, necessary. What he spoke of back then was what she'd needed to hear.

    But, then he'd left Ossus himself. Left so many Padawans, and gone from her life as swiftly as Wyl had left her.

    For a fraction of a second, she wondered if she was seeing people that the Force had brought into her life.

    In the next moment, she swallowed. She was here, on Jovan. And now, Teagan found herself locking eyes with Abarai Loki.

    She was already halfway leaning against a bulkhead, and now... she couldn't help but try to meld her body further into the durasteel slats.

    Still though, he had asked a question, and that demanded an answer.

    "...yes?"

  14. #54
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    “Teagan,” he repeated, setting the name in stone, “It’s me!”

    He pressed open hands to his chest, and exhaled through his teeth. A tremulous flash of a smile. It was the first familiar face he’d seen in six months. Familiar was relative, of course: Teagan had grown, she had changed, but enough of her old self remained to kindle the spark of recognition. He was staring, drinking up the sight of her like a parched manka cat in the desert. And she was staring, too, with all the wariness of the nerf calf cornered by the manka cat.

    It gave him pause. He gave their immediate surroundings a cautious sweep to make sure no-one was watching, then he met her gaze again.

    “L…” He struggled, the word lodged like a jagged stone in his throat, “Loki.”

    The last time they spoke, it had been over a bowl of shaak and tuber stew, which Teagan brought to him as… it was a peace offering. What did they speak about? He couldn’t recall. There was garlic toast – he remembered that – and freshly-picked periberries, too. Stars above, he was hungry. He could see her face in his mind’s eye, a mask of fractured hardness. But why? All he remembered was a feeling. Respect.

    That was gone, now. Replaced with a kind of guarded curiosity. Or was it suspicion? Perhaps, he did smell, after all. Or maybe it was just him? He, too, had changed. He was older, he was taller, he dressed differently, and he was a little banged up. Maybe that was why she didn’t recognise him. Unless…

    Unless...

    What if he wasn’t who he thought he was?

    He took a deep breath:

    “Do you remember me?”

  15. #55
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    "Do you remember me?"

    Of course she remembered him. Remembered his intense eyes and the conviction on his words. Back then he'd been like an unwavering rock to all of the padawans. Even to her, though she was loathe to admit it. It was why she'd sought out his help, after all. His experience and insight, while often-times harsh, was never without resolve.

    "I... "

    For the time being, the Major was forgotten. Staring at the face that'd been so once ingrained in her, she couldn't help but lose herself in those old times. When she constantly ducked and shied away from the sparring lessons that he so often taught. When she did her best to become like some Force ghost that no one could see. She'd never been drawn to the martial disciplines like Draiya, and even now still hadn't completed the construction of her own lightsaber. The Loki from back then would've scolded her for that, probably.

    Now though, while older, he looked more than a bit removed from the hard-edged and rigid Knight that he'd once been. Was he desperate? Desperate that she remember him?

    If only he knew that there was no way she could possibly forget him. His was a scent so unique. It wasn't like others, and even through the dirt and grime, there was still his particular smell.

    "... I remember you left," she finally got out, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  16. #56
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    “Okay,” He said, mostly to himself, “Good.”

    The falling feeling stopped. Inside his boots, his toes clenched, recalling the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet. His fingers, tingling from the electricity of a once-frantic pulse, hung limp at his sides like severed power cables, jolting from flashes of life. His breathing remained calm, however, like he practiced. If she remembered he left, she remembered who he was, which meant she was who he thought she was, and she was indeed standing before him. Everything in its right place.

    Except not.

    Teagan s’Ilancy did not belong here. Jovan Station was a bustling place full of strange people with strange intentions, and she was young and alone. His gaze swept over her once again, this time looking for any sign of injury or mistreatment. She appeared unhurt. And she would remain unhurt. Against every prickly instinct, he closed the distance between them and fell into rank beside her, where he leaned against the bulkhead. Now he had a good view of their surroundings, and while they spoke, his eyes remained fixed on the flow of strangers passing them by.

    “What brings you to the station?” His eyes narrowed in thought, “Did you come here alone?”

  17. #57
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    He was so unlike how she remembered. On Ossus, he would've never come to stand beside her, let alone ask her anything. What had his time away been like? What had he done? What had happened in the span of time from when he'd left to this moment, where she now stood next to him? A myriad of questions paraded through her thoughts, as numerous as the bodies all around them now. Biting her lip, the young Lupine reigned in her own curiosity, returning to his own questions.

    "I'm not alone, no," she answered, hands stuffing into her pockets. The fingers of her right hands clenched at the small collection of credits that Zem had given her.

    "I came here with... " a pause, as she caught herself right before blurting out 'my Dad'. Instead, she gave a little cough and continued carefully.

    "... Master Vymes. He had some business here, and I asked to come along for a sort of... vacation."

    A pair of Chadra-Fan tottered by, chittering away between themselves in what seemed like happy tones. Behind them, a towering Ithorian lumbered forward, attentions firmly on a comm unit. A group of Cizeri officers, random humans, Twi-Leks, there were so many beings aboard Jovan that it reminded her of a much, much bigger Joffa Market, back on Cathar. Those trips with her mother had always been exciting, and now, here on Jovan with Zem she could feel the faintest tinge of that very same excitement.

    She watched as a vendor passed by, eyeing the small cart of what looked like trinkets and charms, and her peripheral vision fell on Loki. Breathing in, the girl cast her eyes back down to the floor beneath her boots, and idly she scuffed the toe against a rivet-bolt.

    "What are you doing here?"

  18. #58
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    The knowledge that Teagan had not come to Jovan Station on her own was met with a wave of relief. For a moment, Loki harboured the suspicion that she was at the station out of some misguided act of rebellion. A big assumption, perhaps, but this was Teagan s’Ilancy and his concern was not unfounded. In her youth, Teagan was a menace, and as she embarked on her teenage years, who can say what brand of chaos she may yet unleash? In any case, he was off the hook. It was not for him to concern himself with the whereabouts of wayward youngsters, or, more to the point, return them to their keepers. No, she was another’s burden.

    Vymes. At the mention of the name, all of the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It trickled like ice water down his spine. He was no longer leaning against the bulkhead, but stood rigid. Another cautionary sweep of the vicinity confirmed he was not around, and that was enough. Loki lingered on the name only for as long as he needed, and Teagan had already moved on. And now she was the one asking questions.

    “I work here,” he hesitated, “In a fashion.”

    For the first time since taking his place against the bulkhead, he afforded Teagan a glance. He thought long enough about his answer to realise that he did not care who knew how he earned his credits.

    “There’s a Guild hub in Resh 11. I collect bounties, there.”

  19. #59
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    A... bounty hunter? He was a bounty hunter?! Her eyes grew wide then, as her gaze settled fully on him in a moment of unguarded surprise. And, well, a little bit of awe. Going from a Jedi Knight to a bounty hunter was kind of amazing to her, as her mind instantly tried to figure out how he more than likely used his Force talents to bring in his bounties. Her imagination instantly conjured up the vision of some gristled criminal with double blaster pistols, facing off against Loki who stood like a kingwood tree. And then, in dramatic fashion, out came his lightsaber, the blade igniting in a brilliant flash. And of course, it was on some rain-swept landing pad, with angry mountain crags in the distance, and lightning making flashes through the sky.

    She blinked. The inner sight her thoughts painted was certainly impressive.

    And in that brief moment, every ounce of her attentions were on Loki.

    "That's so cool," she couldn't help but whisper out, awestruck.

    A bare moment passed before she went on, her voice still low.

    "Is it fun?"

  20. #60
    TheHolo.Net Poster

    He has taken a supreme vow of celibacy, like his father, and his father before him...

    Has been a member for 5 years or longer
    Abarai Loki's Avatar
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    Sep 2008
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    The surprise was not unexpected, taking shape as it was across Teagan’s face. For someone like him, with his history, and their shared history, to become so far removed from his roots – well, it was odd. And it was a moment that had haunted his thoughts for a long time, to meet a ghost of his past and lay bare the truth of his new life, having forsaken the old. He reconciled this with the fact that at least he was no longer manhandling oily patrons of the teahouse. Nonetheless, he braced himself.

    He braced himself, and still Teagan’s response sent him reeling. Inwardly, he tumbled, grappling for purchase on the truth of her words. Had he heard her correctly? Cool? What did he even say to that? As he attempted to make sense of it, and to gauge an appropriate response, Loki felt the corners of his mouth twitch in rebellion of his good sense. He turned back to the milling crowd and scratched his cheek until the embers of his smile were snuffed out. Was he actively trying to be cool, now? What did that mean? No-one had ever called him ‘cool,’ before.

    And he hated just how much it meant to him. In that moment. He was giddy.

    “It can be fun,” he said, then cleared his throat to give his voice a little more oomph, “It is a tough job. Dangerous, of course. But… I’m free to do what I want, go where I want, and I catch bad guys along the way.”

    That last turn of phrase was curated especially for Teagan. Plucked directly from the Li Ho Fook playbook of words, instead of his own. Given the choice, he would’ve probably said something trite about making a difference, but Teagan had always lived for adventure. So it was with just the slightest hint of mischief in his eyes that he regarded the girl beside him, searching for the truth.

    “Do you really think it’s cool?”

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