young woman shouts at cloud. [closed]

[snaphiss]

CHARACTERS: MJ snaphiss & JM wrackful.
WHERE: Bearings.
WHEN: 4am of d41.
SUMMARY: Elnath continues its campaign for 'best personality'.
WARNINGS: hurt feelings.

Mara Jade is exhausted.

She's suffered worse, of course. She's made it longer without sleep. She's survived worse conditions, and much longer. She refuses to let this break her.

But that doesn't mean it isn't a strain; while she hasn't overextended herself, she's getting close. Being part of two major operations, and having a keen-- borderline obsessive-- eye for detail and pre-planning, will do that to you. She's checked and rechecked the plans, scouted the locations in advance, made sure to check the personnel rosters, get floorplans...

Now, she needs to rest. But rest doesn't come, only nervous habits and anxiety. What if she never gets out of here? What if this pathetic dead end is the rest of her life? Will she eventually be hollowed out like that horrible Cathaway woman, to become an empty vessel for someone else's desires? She thinks of Joruus C'Baoth, a man she usually tries to erase from her thoughts completely. Did she escape him just to replace him with another master?

Mara refuses to let that thought settle in. She finds a quiet place in the bearings, where the open window lets the moon shine in. The city is beautiful by night.

No one is awake at this hour, or if they are, they're out enjoying the nightlife. It's safe to meditate in the living room, bathed in the comforting darkness.

Comments

[wrackful]

[No, he hadn't known that was what he was saying, but it wouldn't be the first time he's cut deeper than he intended to. But he doesn't know if he would have avoided that one, if he'd known it was there.]

What, he's been dead for five years and you're still only doing what he taught you?

[Five years, a life she wants to get back to. Murphy doubts this is the first time she's been calling herself alone when she wasn't.]

[snaphiss]

You don't get it. [She spits the words out like they're bitter. He doesn't understand, she said more than she ever wanted, and he doesn't understand. No one can, not really, not unless they've lived it. In that, she'll always be alone.]

[But no, she might not be. Maybe that's what the Force is trying to tell her. She needs to be brave like Murphy, yes, but she also needs to start using what resources she has, instead of fearing them and loving her privacy and secrecy.]

[She focuses on the feelings of her life for twenty-two years. It's not a specific memory, it's an idea, an endless feeling that lasted constantly. The hum in the back of her mind, the concrete knowledge that her mind was connected to the Emperor's, and his to hers. The feeling of being able to reach out to him at any time, to share anything with him completely. The knowledge that he was the only person who knew her, her name and her existence and the importance of her. The only person who valued her, and he was with her always.]

[In the end, his voice leaks through, echoed through the ripples in the Force: What will you do now, Mara Jade?]

[wrackful]

[Maybe he doesn't get it, but it seems simple enough to him. If you're loose of the collar, you don't have to act like you're chained anymore. But she starts pushing through their connection again before he can just shrug and concede it. There's the thought to say something about getting some warning first, dry, not sharp - the soft flood of what she shows him sweeps it aside, drowns it and the present moment out.

The sense of connection chimes a chord, tugs on an ache somewhere in Murphy that bleeds the same for this, the Nest. The feeling of unconditional acceptance he's lost, too many times, and he can understand. He thinks he can.

But then the rest comes.

Anger lights. Like an ember crystallized over in a bitter, icy shell, suddenly finding fuel again. Each drip of feeling that she shares, of this man being the only one who knew her, knew she existed, said he valued her. A cage of isolation, control meted out through fear and that feeling of belonging. It feeds and feeds until the flames are roiling, white hot and liquid in Murphy's skin. That voice seeps through and Murphy pushes Mara back from the surging burn, the demand for outlet coming the same way it always had: a fight, a fire, blood spilt, death.

He doesn't want to hit her. She isn't the target.]

You should have killed him.

[There's hatred in his eyes, but they're glossy, wet. He doesn't notice.]

[snaphiss]

[There's anger in his heart, and it confuses her. She'd been angry for herself, of course, but no one's ever been angry for her. She stares at him as though through a viewscreen, watching a holo of a far off actor in a forgotten play. Why does he care?]

[Predictably, staring doesn't get her any answers.]

I wasn't the only one. In the end, it was someone else in his inner circle. The Emperor liked to cut off his body parts and replace them with machinery.

[Why is she telling him this? The same reason why he cares: she doesn't know. Maybe she never will.]

I only realized a month ago. [She breathes.] That I should have killed him. [It doesn't matter. It matters. She feels vulnerable, and has to fight not to bring her haunches up, to strike out and protect herself at all costs. Needing something to sink her teeth into, she turns on herself.] So you have the edge on me for mental clarity.

[wrackful]

[He hates this, being this angry, how it feels. It'll burn out eventually, or he'll choke it down, or maybe he'll have to go back out, see if the digitally censored violence of one of those Bout It Out games would be enough to leech it off.

Right now it just churns sickly in his bones, looking for an outlet it couldn't have, even if Mara's Emperor was still alive. That would be her vengeance. This anger was born from her experiences, but that wouldn't give Murphy any right. He has to look away from her, lift one hand to hastily rub the wetness away from his eyes.]

Means you can learn, at least.

[Even if it had taken her five years to realise something that felt, to him, like a basic fact. She'd still realised it. And that meant she was wrong, saying she couldn't do something because he'd never taught her how.]

Be more than what he made you be.

[snaphiss]

[Anger on others' behalf is an unusual thing; no one's ever been angry for her sake. When Mara is angry for others, it's because they've suffered an injustice, something fundamental has failed them, tripped them up, knocked them down. Is that- The realization dawns on her like a sunburst. He thinks what was done to her was wrong. She wants to explain-- he hurt her, lied to her, but that was him. He wasn't what he seemed. But it wasn't all... what? Her beginnings don't have endings. The thoughts start, arguments spinning in the air only to fall, pointless before they even reach her lips.]

[It never occurred to her that she could be more than the Emperor's Hand.]

I will be. [She sits up a little straighter, shoulders a little more steady. Her eyes are cool, but not, for once, with judgement or loathing. This is an idea she can keep, can use. A new hope to bolster her for the future.]

[He's saved her. She wonders if he knows it.]

What about you? What will you do now?

[wrackful]

[She's probably talking about further than the immediate, same as for her, but it's been enough already treading through her memories, digging up his own past. He doesn't have an answer past the same goals as her: find a way out of this, get back home. Survive. And that always tended to come day by day.

His mouth tugs down at the corners, hands shoving back into his pockets as he pushes away from the counter.]

Well, I was going to sleep, but your bedtime stories suck. No offence.

[He's still angry, and still tired. Maybe he'll need to find a fight, or maybe just a walk would be enough for the latter to overcome the former. Either way, he's moving to head back out of the Bearings.]