[Oatara] Broaden Your Horizons (Mike)

Horst hadn't gotten a good-night's sleep in ages. It had mainly been because he had always been too upset to sleep, too wary to let his mind wander.

Tonight it had been because his mind was racing with possibility.

The recruitment today had gone well. A good number of guys had shown up; far more than Ethan had predicted. Horst had been too busy directing the new troops to their barracks all day to get a chance to look at the actual roster count, but suffice it to say they had gotten more than they had bargained for.

The Engineer sighed, adjusted his jacket (complete with Rancor patch and "Major" on the breast pocket), and started walking around his new home. I'll have to see about getting some help with the training. No way I'm gonna get all of 'em ready for business in a few weeks on my own.

But that was part of the excitement. The thrill of leadership, they had called it in officer's school. Horst wasn't sure "thrill" was quite the right word, but it was a comforting thought, training boys and mercs into men and soldiers. Even when most of them shot about as well as drunken Bantha.

Horst smiled, looking up at the stars. But that's half the fun.

Oatara's night sky was quite simply awesome to the Engineer, now a Commander by Spearpoint's authority. He loved gazing at the stars, thinking of the galaxy beyond. Most people thought little of starry nights nowadays; Horst supposed that in a galaxy where people rushed between solar systems with ease, that was to be expected.

But not him. The stars were his ally, in a way. No matter where people went, he believed, they would never truly know each and every star.

Humming warmly in satisfaction and exhaustion, Horst stood on the tarmac with a relaxed posture. Most of the men were either sleeping or chatting in the barracks, so that left Horst a whole quarter of the base to himself.

Or so he thought.

Walking slowly, purposelessly through the aircraft and ships, Horst would occasionally peek inside one or two to see more, considering the idea of cracking open some panels and checking the wiring, adjusting the power flows, installing better readers or amplifiers, or just flat out disassembling whatever he found and putting it back together again. It had been a while since he had just sat down and played around with something, what with his recent escapades. He was due to start training a set of engineers in a few days, but that would be work, after all.

But all of these thoughts slammed to a screeching halt when he arrived at the choppers. After ducking into one or two and checking the nobs and resetting one of the altimeters, he jumped out of one's cockpit to discover a Mirialan woman, smoking in a tank-top and shaking her head, talking to herself softly.

Her. Horst immediately tensed, remembering her clearly. She had been the former-Jedi. The chick with the lightsaber. One of those.

Horst would never bring himself to trust the Jedi, nor the Sith (not that he would otherwise), nor anyone, affiliated or otherwise, carrying one of those living beams of death and capable of bending the world like a straw with the flick of a hand. Horst thought they were unnatural; why should anyone have such power?

And why should they get to use it to do whatever the hell they wanted?

"Oh. Didn't realize anyone was up." The statement was cold and factual. It wasn't impolite, per se, but it definitely did little to encourage discussion or a warm reply.

"Neither did I," Ervisa answered around her cigar.

This was that big guy from earlier, next to Ethan. His name was... Horst? She hadn't really interacted with him aside from noticing a look he'd made earlier, she'd assumed at her waist. That was hardly unusual as it was a pretty nice waist, where she usually showed some emerald green skin.

Somehow she didn't get the friendly vibe off of him. And she didn't need telepathy, force empathy, or sense abilities to tell that. She had the distinct feeling this guy didn't trust her, and didn't like her. The really galling thing was that she couldn't tell why. Certainly she hadn't done anything to him, not even exchanged words.

She didn't like his tone. Ervisa found it too cold, too brusque. This guy definitely didn't like her.

'Subtle' and 'nuanced' weren't exactly words often applied to Ervisa, and her standard approach to dealing with a problem was a little different than the old Jedi methods everyone had wanted her to learn. 'Bold' and 'direct' were more applicable words.

Ervisa pulled the cigar away from her lips and spoke in her own brusque tone, though she still kept it relaxed and casual.

"I saw you looking at me earlier. Figured you were checking me out, didn't think anything more of it. But now you don't seem so fond of me, so I'm guessing you weren't interested in asking me on a date to the movies. That all leads me to ask, who pissed in your lemonade?"

The cigar returned to her lips and grey eyes flecked with blue looked inquisitively at the human man, waiting on an answer.

The Mirialan seem to pick up the idea pretty quickly. She dragged on her cigar for a moment, and answered back in her own brisque tone. The idea was clear: we're not getting along.

To be fair, the sentiment had originated in Horst, although he suspected that his look at her belt earlier had forged some poor intent on her end. Sure, he had looked at her waist, but it wasn't to look at what the guys in the barracks were definitely going to be hounding during training.

It was that damned lightsaber.

"Figures," Horst mumbled, barely loud enough for this lady to hear. She was a demigod, and yet she just sat there smoking like some bum. Horst would bet she couldn't even pull her own weight. What had she signed up for again?

... come to think of it, what was her name? Bit had said it at one point, but the exact title escaped the Engineer-Commander's memory. Something with an E.

Evil, maybe? Okay, even that was a little harsh. Still, she didn't deserve much better. Why should she when she could kill a man with the blink of an eye and had no rules, no laws, not even any limitations to keep her from it? It was unnatural. It was unsavory.

It was downright unfair.

"What pissed in my lemonade?" Horst's tone was grim. "How about the fact that you could kill a guy and never even have to so much as see the death in his eyes?" The voice became even colder, accusing and assertive, and chuck-full of passionate emotion. Horst had never actually spoken to a Forcie before, so he assumed they were all the same; demigod-space-bending marauders who did as they pleased and mangled the world around them like it was made of wet clay. It was almost like this woman was that same guy on that pirate ship...

The same guy who had killed Rancors. The same guy who had killed Geog.

"Not see the death in his eyes? What the hell are you talking about?" Ervisa said defensively.

She rose to her feet, drawing herself up to her rather tall height, for a girl, and dropped the cigar, folding her arms instead. Her angular features were firm as she realized what this was.

He had some kind of baggage he was forcing onto her, dragging her down with his sinking ship. Well she wasn't going to just sit there and take it. Her temper was active now dammit, and she wasn't going to quietly into that good night.

"You probably kill people from further away than I do with your guns. You're one to lecture me about not seeing death. You have no idea what I've seen, so don't you dare presume to tell me I don't see death!"

Ervisa realized her fists had clenched and she was yelling, and one particularly memory came back at that instant.

Hadn't seen death in someone's eyes. No, she'd held her Padawan in the steamy heat of Felucia, watched the life slowly fade from him, robbed by a Dark Jedi's lightsaber. His blue skin had turned pale, and Bola had been ripped away from her.

Like that, Ervisa fell like a deflated balloon on a string. She sank back down onto the deck of her bird and swiveled herself inward resting her back against a bulkhead and pulling up her legs, resting her arms on top of her knees, and her sharp chin on top of her arms.

She felt shaky, in one of those states she had before where she'd feel a crippling anxiety, one only cured by alcohol. Part of the reason she was an alcoholic. Something she'd probably never overcome.

"I'll tell you what the hell I'm talking about!!!" Horst hollered, practically screaming. That did it. He was angry. Not sort of irritated. Not uncomfortable.

100% pure, unadulterated pissed-offedness.

The Engineer's throat strained as he became fully erect, still retaining his size advantage over the admittedly tall Mirialan. His fists clenched as well, and he barely resisted the urge to grab this lady's throat and shout at her to death. How dare she get defensive! How dare she have the audacity to think that her cheating the universe, her role as a reaper of life was fine!

Just as Horst was about start shouting, however, the woman seemed to change in the blink of an eye. She stared off, and then collapsed onto the chopper deck, and curled up into the fetal position. She started shaking slightly, almost like she was suddenly very cold.

For a moment, Horst forgot his rage. He wasn't that intimidating was he? He'd barely opened up on this... abuser of life. And yet here she was, on the verge of what looked like a seizure, breathing like she had just been hit by a speeder.

Then the rage seeped back. It was still strong, but it lost its edge, like a dull knife. Horst still hated this woman. He hated what she was.

But now he had to consider who she was.

For a minute, he was quiet, thinking and breathing heavily like he had just run a marathon. His rage still brooded and bubbled, but it failed to bubble over like before. No, there was a block now.

Horst almost thought it was empathy. This woman was hurt.

That prompted Horst's own memories to be dug up, and in an instant he could see it perfectly again, flying away in an escape pod as a crimson blade of light stabbed downward, followed by the most tremendous explosion Horst had yet witnessed. It was infuriating. Horst had failed. He should have been stronger. He should have held the door longer. Forget what Geog had said, he should have stayed, should have died right then and there using his last moments of life to stay and kill that murderous S.O.B.

"... I hate you people." Horst stated, returning to his stone-cold voice, but this time at a far lower pitch. "You're the ones who killed him..."

The Commander spun on his heal and lashed out, smashing his fist into the chopper opposite the one the Mirialan was shivering in.

"YOU'RE THE ONES THAT KILLED HIM, DAMNIT!" The fist smashed into the metal, crunching with a sickening sound. Horst grimaced in pain, both physical and emotional, as tears rolled down his cheeks. He clutched his now-broken hand gingerly with his other, not noticing the dent in the chopper's fuselage as he collapsed onto his knees, head braced bellow the dent on chopper's side.

He cried softly, letting out the pain and rage he'd kept for half a decade. He mumbled through silent sobs.

"You killed Geog, damnit... you killed him... you bastards..."

Ervisa froze and stared at the hulking man over her knees. You people? What people? Mirialans? She didn't know what he was talking about, and when he started screaming and hit the hull of the chopper next to hers, the green woman was genuinely nervous.

It wasn't so much fear of physical harm, as she was willing to wager she could defend herself against him. It was a general sort of fear, an overall tense state from the tempers flying high. From the erratic behavior of his.

He kept repeating 'you killed him', and Ervisa couldn't for the life of her figure it out. Who was him? Who had she killed? Even the name Geog didn't help.

This new sense of tension overrode her anxiety attack, and she found herself simply... concerned. All of her attention was on the man having a breakdown, uncertain of whether or not he was going to try to hurt her or himself.

One thing was apparent, his hand was obviously broken by his assault on the vehicle.

For some strange reason, Ervisa's own anger was gone, replaced by some sort of awkward compassion or sympathy. Despite the fact he blamed her, despite the fact he hated her, she felt sorry for him.

She had to make a reply.

"I have never killed a single person who didn't deserve it. Doesn't matter if you don't believe it, because it's true. Now get in the chopper, I'm going to take you to Waypoint to get that had dealt with at a real hospital."

Ervisa opened up the door to the pilot's side and climbed in, strapping herself down and beginning the process of flipping countless switches and pressing certain buttons. Her abbreviated preflight checklist was underway.

Horst cried softly to himself, letting it all out. After 5 years of unconditional holding, the flood-gates of emotion were open, and the Engineer couldn't close them if he tried.

Behind him, the woman said something. Horst didn't hear exactly. Something about killing. That was sad. But the tone was nice, almost a little concerned. That was nice.

The Engineer kept mumbling. "Frakkin' Jedi... Sith... all of you... bastards, the whole lot..." He wasn't speaking to communicate; merely vent.

Engines roared to life behind him as one of the choppers started. The woman seemed to want to go somewhere. Where? Horst hadn't heard. He couldn't think.

"All of you... bend the world... kill the weak..." He was weak. It was Horst's undeniable fact. He was a battle-hardened, steadfast and hardy leader and killing machine, but when you peeled away everything, he was the same kid he had been when Rorry had died. When Geog had bought it, he tried to pretend that he could deal with it better, like he was better equipped to handle it.

What a fool he was.

The chopper seemed ready to go, and Horst finally turned around to see it. The woman was in the pilot's seat, flipping switches and reading meters.

The Engineer fell on his side, unmoving, still sobbing.

"Jedi... Force... killed him..."

Horst was now a blubbering wreck lying on the ground muttering obscenities about Jedi and Sith, but by the time Ervisa fired up the rotors he was drowned out by the engine noise. Mercifully.

The Mirialan pilot climbed out from the cockpit and stood on the tarmac, staring down at the man lying on the ground with a look that was both sympathetic and exasperated. Why couldn't he just get drunk like she'd done? It'd save everyone a big hassle.

Normally she would have tried motivating him into getting into the helo on his own, but under the present circumstances he wouldn't be able to hear any motivational words unless she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Ervisa reached out both green arms to grab Horst and guide him up into the troop compartment.

Horst was being lifted. Green hands. Green arms. A green face. It was her. She was one of those. She felt hurt though. She could feel broken too.

Horst moaned in resistance, swinging numbly his free arm. It sailed far from the Mirialan's body, though, and she heaved him over the edge of the chopper's deck, sliding him onto the floor. He mumbled, still crying softly. "Don't touch me..." The rotors drowned out his words, making him raise his volume.

"No good... dirty-frakkin'... life-stealing..." The tears were wearing off, and the anger was inching back.

Horst took a swing at her but missed, and Ervisa rolled him up inside the troop/cargo/whatever compartment and slid the doors shut. She walked back to the cockpit and climbed in once more, strapped herself in once more, and closed the door.

Pulling on a headset, the Mirialan thumbed the comm unit on and spoke to whoever was on duty at the Spearpoint headquarters.

"Got a guy here who shattered his hand pretty bad, taking him in to Waypoint for some medical attention. I'll be back with him in the morning. Out."

Ervisa flipped shut the comm, and placed a hand on the stick and another hand on the throttle. With practiced ease she throttled up and pressed on the right rudder pedal, bringing her bird about to face the heading she wanted, confirmed by the navigational charts she'd memorized. Then she dipped the nose and headed off over the trees on her way to what passed for civilization.

With absolutely no headphones in the back with Horst, and the communicating hatch closed, Ervisa had herself a rather quiet flight for a matter of hours. But eventually the artificial lights of Waypoint appeared and she opened a channel to the hospital requesting permission to land.

It was granted, and exactly five hours after departure she touched down on the roof of the best, and only, medical facility on the planet.

Now came the unhappy task of fishing Horst out of the back.

Horst hadn't even tried to leave the chopper as he slumped into the back, laying on the floor releasing the last of his tears. 5 years worth of emotion was a handsome sum, but after a good half hour or so of general misery, the Engineer began to pick up the pieces.

By the half-way-mark of the flight, Horst actually managed to sit up, grimacing as he used his broken hand to do so. Still, his thoughts were cluttered. This god-of-no-limit was bringing him gods-know-where.

They killed Geog. Horst still held no reservations in saying so. The Jedi were truly a force to be reckoned with in the galaxy, almost unfairly so in his opinion. They could read minds, move objects, even save and end lives, and all they had to do in order to learn how was spend a few years following some ancient religion or something.

After that? They were totally unrestrained.

But Horst, slowly regaining his sound mind, began to think again. Was this woman the cause of Geog's death? Of course not. That guy was dead, or so he hoped. Besides, it had very obviously been a MAN, while this Mirialan was obviously a woman.

But still, Horst seethed at the thought of her in cockpit. She might not have been the problem directly, but her essence, her status was. Horst hadn't payed much attention in history class, but weren't those evil guys, those... what were they called, Sith? Weren't they former Jedi like his "friend" here? Weren't they somewhere in the Empire again? Heck, the place was even named after them!

But no. As the hours crawled by, Horst began to think more and more about Geog. He had never hurt a fly beyond his enemies. He chuckled even louder than Horst. He was obnoxious, annoying, and down-right fidgety.

And he was dead. And Horst would never see him again.

And yet no more tears came. Horst couldn't tell if it was because he had simply grown too tired to cry, or because the statement was somehow different now. He doubted the latter, but still.

Finally, the chopper landed with a thud, and Horst looked out the window. They had landed atop the Waypoint medical facility. This god-of-no-limits had brought Horst to get his hand fixed.

That was... nice.

The rotors slowed and died, and the Mirialan slid open the door. Horst looked at her again, doing his best to retain a normal demeanor. His eyes were bloodshot and his posture exposed his obvious exhaustion after such an episode, but otherwise he was as normal; imposing, tall, and hardened.

What do I say? Considering the last legible sentences he had screamed at this woman were accusing her of being the cause of Geog's demise, Horst didn't exactly have a lot of options. He wasn't ready to apologize, though. Not yet, at least.

"Hey," Horst chimmed, still in his grim tone. It was cold, yes, but it had lightened up a little. "Do me a favor." And wasn't really asking.

"Tell me what it's like to have the world on a string." Before, it might have been perceived as an insult, but Horst asked it in a way that made it sound more like a serious, honest question.

Ervisa folded her arms and fixed Horst with an intimidating gaze that was clearly asking for an apology or some sense out of him. Maybe even a thank you for taking him to get his hand fixed when she could have let him languish at the Spearpoint base with only a first aid kit to help.

Instead of getting an apology she got that bantha crap rant he seemed so attached to, about having absolute control over everything. And it really pissed Ervisa off.

His damn flippant attitude as if everything was all sunshine and roses for her just because she had the Force. Her eyes narrowed and her lips formed into a frown. Her hands balled into fists, and then it was her turn to snap.

"Listen you damn frakking ass, I'd beat the crap out of you right here in a second if I wasn't so damn patient with you! World on a string? You f*ckstick, I spent years in prison! And you know what, guess what I was doing for the past three months before I came here? I was a wh*re, I was addicted to spice! There's your damn control. Clearly I'm omnipotent and just CHOSE to be a pro, because I have the whole goddam world on a frakking string!"

The Mirialan woman angrily reached out and yanked Horst out of the chopper as roughly as she could before glaring at him and yelling one last time.

"Go the f*ck inside, get the hell out my chopper, and don't ever ask me for a single goddam favor, EVER."

Ervisa stormed off to the stairwell on the roof, with every intention of going straight to the Green Dragon and blowing two weeks free of substances.

Horst hadn't expected such aggression on the other side of this equation, so it was a blow to gut when screamed out her past.

The world on a string. She'd been imprisoned.

Omnipotent. She'd had an addiction.

In control. She'd been a freaking prostitute.

The Mirialan woman yanked Horst out of the back with more force than he would've given her credit for, and then screamed at him to never ask a favor of her again. With that, she was gone.

Horst blinked. THAT was a Forcie?

The Commander clutched his broken hand gingerly, waiting for his mental gears to crank and make sense of things. Where was the control? The power to do what she wanted? Wh*ring? Spice? Prison? That wasn't someone who was in control. That sounded more like Horst, to be honest; one of life's many victims.

Horst looked up at the stars again. He'd always imagined these lightsaber-folks to have some extra umph in their fight against life. Almost an edge; a little boost, like someone handing them a small favor.

That's what it was like, wasn't it? Had she chosen that sort of past?

H*ll, was she just lying?

Horst stayed on the roof for a few minutes, and then entered the facility and got his hand looked at. The doctor detected about 4 fractures, and said Horst was lucky not to have shattered his pinkie. Horst went through the process of putting a cast around his hand with a dull apathy, too busy considering other things. By the time the doctor had set him on his way, a good hour had passed.

Horst stood outside of facility with a new mitten-cast and a question to answer. What now? He gazed up at the roof, considering flying home himself. Sure, he was no pilot, but he knew enough at least to get home in one piece (after a little practice at the controls).

But that'd leave her here. Besides, Horst considered, I doubt she left the keys. Beyond that, something seemed mean about leaving this Mirialan woman here, ditching her like a bad habit. Sure, she was a Forcie, but...

... she seemed like a person too. Horst had never spoken to a Forcie since that day five years ago, and now that he had, he was wondering if maybe he been living in a bit of an illusion.

Ugh. Horst rubbed his head with his good hand, too tired and too overloaded to try and reconsider an entire way of thinking. Only one thing might make it better.

A nice drink.

Meandering the streets of Waypoint with some familiarity (he and the guys had been here a while before the recruitment), Horst managed to find the Green Dragon pretty easily. On the way, a few other bars enticed the Engineer, but he decided to stick to his guns and head for the Dragon.

The last thing he needed tonight was another new experience.

The door to the Dragon opened with a jingle as the door rung a bell, alerting the patrons to its opening. A few guys looked over, and one even waved. Thanks to the recruitment, Spearpoint had gained quite the reputation in Waypoint.

Considering the wave was mocking and the guy giving it snarled with obvious amusement, it didn't seem Spearpoint had a good reputation. Horst noted that they'd have to change that.

The Engineer didn't even bother to look over the small night crowd, instead slumping down on the stool nearest to the door. His head and body slumped, showing his exhaustion.

The bartender, the very same one from earlier today, came over and chatted.

"Ah. Stellar. You boys ran up a tab earlier, you know.

Horst was too tired to care. "Tell me about it when the sun's up, Herb. I'll have whatever's Corellian." The bartender seemed to eye the man for a moment, having heard that excuse before. But he gave it up, picking up on the Engineer's condition, and simply got out a glass and poured some Corellian whiskey. Horst grabbed it with his good hand, but only sipped it, savoring the flavor and hoping it was a turning point in a long night of headaches.

As Ervisa walked through the streets of Waypoint, few though they were, she found that her anger wasn't subsiding. Each passing step didn't help, and she felt a growing anxiety and aggravation. Bad enough she had to deal with him, but worse that she'd just blown it and told the bastard everything.

She'd been supposed to keep that confidential. It was supposed to be her secret. If Bit hadn't told everyone else by now, Horst was about to. Probably couldn't wait to see a forcie b*tch get degraded, see her uncomfortable when every single man at the base knows she was a hooker.

Probably get requests to go to bed now, mocking ones. Once a wh*re, always a wh*re.

Ervisa was just so mad, so furious at herself and everything. She'd epically blown it yet again, running her new life into the ground just a few weeks after she'd started it. This was exactly the reason she'd spent so long travelling from planet to planet aimlessly, because no one could find out crap about you, and if someone knew something bad about you, you just left and headed on to the next place.

By the time she reached the Green Dragon, it was all Ervisa could do to slap down credits and receive a bottle of Twi'lek rum, from which she poured into a shot glass. One, two, three, four shots she drank in a few seconds.

Soon the alcohol was swirling around her head, all the more powerful for her time spent free of it. Her cares started to dissolve, and she felt singularly at ease.

By the time she finished the bottle, she'd vomited once and nearly blacked out. Somehow her body found the old habit of alcoholism easier to transition back into than she'd expected. Of course everything was a blur and the room was spinning.

At this hour of the morning it was amazing that the bar staff were still on call, but apparently it was a 24 hour establishment. Even if it hadn't been, Ervisa would have smashed her way in and taken what she needed.

"Treat me lik sheert, shiz, sh*t," She muttered. "Basters."

It was no surprise when the Mirialan woman finally blacked out, tattooed face pressed against the counter, arms dangling limply by her side.

She was in that state when Horst arrived. And while he drank.

The look on her face wasn't exactly peaceful, but neither was it angry.

Horst swirled his whiskey trying to make sense of it all. He couldn't help but be angry. That bastard had taken Geog, and nothing in the galaxy would help him get over it. If he ever could, that was.

Sighing, Horst finished his whiskey in silence. Down the counter, something was snoring on the counter. Horst didn't bother to see what.

The bartender, however, did. He trotted over to Horst pointing at the noise. "One of yours? She already puked on the floor, and this isn't a motel."

Horst looked down, and immediately cursed himself for not thinking of where this woman might go. Sure enough, there she was, drunk as a skunk, and half as conscious, drooling on the polished wooden counter, obviously buzzed enough for two men.

Horst waited a while to answer, much to Herb's impatience. What was he supposed to do? Apologize? Plead? Stay mad? Furthermore, what could he do? She was out like a light.

"... yeah, I s'pose she's one of mine." Horst spoke slowly, still thinking as the words dribbled out.

"Great. Now get her out of here. This is a bar, not a bed and breakfast." With that, Herb swiped Horst's empty glass and retreated to the back of the restaurant in an annoyed fashion.

So we need to go. Where? Horst couldn't really fly them back to base with a broken hand and a good glass of strong whiskey. And she certainly was in no state to fly. It seemed as though they were both stuck there until morning, at the very least.

Horst picked himself up with a heave after a moment, glancing out the window. The cracks of sunlight were visible on the horizon, and the very edge of the sky was beginning to glow a soft pink color. By his guess, they had a good two hours until sunrise. Maybe three.

The Engineer walked over to the Mirialan woman, doing his best to forget what'd he'd been putting her through all night. In retrospect, he'd been a grade-A *sshole, unloading on her like that. Sure, it was pent up and uncontrollable furry, but that didn't make things much better.

After staring at her for a moment, Horst patted the Mirialan's shoulder. He didn't move. He shook her next. Nothing but a slight groan. She wasn't going anywhere of her own accord. The Engineer sighed lightly in physical protest, and then proceeded to grab the woman's waist, bringing her up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The guy that had waved earlier seemed to get a hoot out of that, wolf-whistling.

"Blow it out your-" The last word was covered by the ding-a-ling of the door's bell, signaling Horst's exit as well as this woman's.

The early morning was still chilly, and Horst shivered slightly, hoping the Mirialan was too unconcious to feel the breeze tugging at her tank top. He rested his hand on her back, making sure her top stayed where it was.

From the sound of it, she'd suffered enough for a lifetime.

Still, where to go? 2-3 hours to kill, and both of them could use a little sobering-up.

That's when Horst's stomach growled, and the answer became obvious. They were going to miss breakfast at the barracks at any rate any how.

The Engineer wandered around a bit, undoubtedly looking strange with a green woman with a face like nausea hung over his shoulder. Nevertheless, he searched the small cluster of streets until he found what he was looking for; a small cafe opening up its doors. The smuggler knocked on the door with his elbow, not wanting to use his broken hand or let the breeze meddle with the Mirialan's shirt. The waitress setting the tables seemed a tad shocked at the sight of a hefty, middle-aged guy carrying some green, passed-out chick into the cafe, but Horst dropped that she was drunk, and the waitress immediately set out two cups of coffee on a table right next to the cafe's window, allowing for Horst to view the beautiful pre-sunrise sky as he settled the Mirialan into her seat.

Sitting down himself, he stared out the window and sipped his coffee, waiting for her to come to.

When Ervisa finally came to from the blackness of unconscious mind, she was cognizant of exactly one thing. She was sitting up right.

She knew that by the feeling of something on her back and her butt, and the back of her legs. And then there was something below her boots as well, probably the floor. Unless she was lying on a toppled barstool with her feet resting against the bar.

Simply opening her eyes would provide an answer, and she did. However the brightness of the sky outside, while not excessive by sober standards, caused her to groan uncomfortably before she took notice of her exact setting.

The Mirialan woman was sitting in a booth, in a cheap cafe. That was all a secondary concern as the person sitting across from her was Horst, with a hand in a cast.

She groaned again. Such misfortune.

Ervisa promptly found the coffee before her and raised the mug to her lips, draining it all in one long and steady gulp. When she was done with that, she fished out a glasses case and put on a pair of aviator sunglasses that obscured her eyes.

The Mirialan woman was past 'drunk' and into 'hungover' pretty securely, missing the pleasant buzz and instead reminded of how damned miserable the effects of too much alcohol were. Of course there were nice force-body and healing techniques that could help remove toxins from her blood, and tried to run through a couple as quickly as possible.

With the coffe exhausted and the bright light dealt with, Ervisa felt she had no choice but to actually deal with the human man she'd viewed as her nemesis for the past however-many hours it had been since he'd succeeded in pissing her off.

"You again," She said flatly. "Am I really so fascinating that you have to see me again?"

A trace of uncharacteristic sarcasm eked out as the green woman rubbed her temples wearily.

Horst stirred his coffee a little as the Mirialan stirred herself. Moaning with the classic sound of a hangover, she gulped down her coffee before groggily procuring her shades. By that point, she couldn't seem to ignore Horst any more.

"You again. Am I really so fascinating that you have to see me again?"

For a minute, Horst tried to think of something to say. He was running on zero sleep and a cup of coffee, so the words were slow to come.

"I just wanted to say..." Horst paused, trying to find the right words. What did you say to someone you had accused of being a heartless reaper of death a few hours ago?

Honesty, then.

"... that I'm a real jack*ss." the words were frank and simple. Horst meant what he said. He glanced up over from the rising sun and looked the woman over. Her face and body were still lazy with sleep, and her hair was a mess, but Horst predicted that he didn't look much nicer. Still, he peered, just for a second, into the those big, black shades, and tried to communicate just how honest he was trying to be.

With that, he sipped his coffee again and returned his gaze to the sunrise, now with the rim of the sun actually visible on the horizon and the sky in at least eight different shades of orange, purple, and pink.

Would she pick up on the sincerity?

Hell, I wouldn't.

"No sh*t?" Ervisa said nonchalantly in response to Horst's obvious statement, not registering the significance of it. Then he just stared at it for a few long second and the Mirialan woman figured out something she wasn't sure how to deal with. He was serious.

Ervisa stared dumbly for a minute with her jaw hanging open a bit, then she started playing with the end of her braid, rolling it around between her fingers. In silence.

Finally she picked up the menu from the table and thumbed through it idly, not sure of exactly what to say. As she was perusing the list of breakfast specials, she started to speak anyway.

"Well," She said awkwardly. "About what I told you..."

Ervisa tapped her fingers against the tabletop and stared out the window, not making eye contact. It was because she felt a certain... Embarrassment. That was it. She felt embarrassed, and a little shamed. No one was supposed to know about her past.

She could clearly remember telling him about it.

"I don't want anyone else to know. Bit already knows. But if you tell anyone else, I have to leave again."

The Mirialan woman rested her face between both hands and sighed deeply. Life had gotten so awkward again, and just when she'd thought it was getting better.