Post by Meira on Nov 10, 2014 9:42:41 GMT -5
She had come to a deep appreciation for the resources that she used to have. Green Meadows had nothing if it didn't have credits, and those credits provided their assets with the best equipment, training, and health care in the galaxy. Whiskey was living off the remnants of that. Her training would never be lost, though her effectiveness was forever weakened by the now fully dead chip. She still had her blaster pistol, though Avanni Silas had tried valiantly -but in vain- to keep her from it. And she had the modifications that she'd been implanted with, apart from the chip, that would continue to serve her interests as she lived out this experiment that she called "freedom".
What she'd found to be the most difficult thing to cope with were the decisions. She had never had to decide things before. There was the mission, or there was the training facility. She'd always chosen things, of course, such as when to eat, or how to carry out a plan. But the overall goal was never her choice. Kill and train. That was all there was. Now, she found herself wasting hours on end trying to decide what to eat or where to go. With no overarching plan given to her, Whiskey felt lost.
The memories were also becoming a problem. Without the suppressive chip and the regular memory wipes, she was becoming overwhelmed by information flooding her mind at seemingly random times. Whiskey was now too often losing herself in remembering past events. In particular, she'd been plagued recently by Avanni Silas and his stubborn refusal to cooperate. She'd killed him, and ever since, was furious with the man. It was a useless feeling, to be angry at a dead man, but she could not understand why he'd remained so resolute, even in the face of death. He would gain nothing for it, and lose everything. It was a maddening puzzle she could not solve.
What was worse, the man's ship proved practically useless. She'd managed to fly for a time, but a series of mechanical issued ended her on Obroa-skai without the credits to have the ship repaired, nor the knowledge to repair it herself. She'd taken what she could and sold the ship for scrap, but with the war between the Republic and the Sith Empire, travel was a luxury on this planet dedicated to knowledge. It wouldn't be long before Whiskey found herself starving. That was not a state she intended to be in. But what skills did she have for a place like this?
She found herself in a cantina, sampling the drink that was apparently her namesake. She was disgusted by the amber liquid at first, but soon found that in small sips, it was bearable. The warmth that came with it was welcome, and the assassin soon found herself relaxing. She slouched slightly on the stool where she sat, leaning her weight onto her elbows on the bar. She'd learned about drunkenness, but mostly only that such a state should be avoided as it negatively impacted the senses and reaction times. Whiskey chuckled at the thought. What did that matter now?
What she'd found to be the most difficult thing to cope with were the decisions. She had never had to decide things before. There was the mission, or there was the training facility. She'd always chosen things, of course, such as when to eat, or how to carry out a plan. But the overall goal was never her choice. Kill and train. That was all there was. Now, she found herself wasting hours on end trying to decide what to eat or where to go. With no overarching plan given to her, Whiskey felt lost.
The memories were also becoming a problem. Without the suppressive chip and the regular memory wipes, she was becoming overwhelmed by information flooding her mind at seemingly random times. Whiskey was now too often losing herself in remembering past events. In particular, she'd been plagued recently by Avanni Silas and his stubborn refusal to cooperate. She'd killed him, and ever since, was furious with the man. It was a useless feeling, to be angry at a dead man, but she could not understand why he'd remained so resolute, even in the face of death. He would gain nothing for it, and lose everything. It was a maddening puzzle she could not solve.
What was worse, the man's ship proved practically useless. She'd managed to fly for a time, but a series of mechanical issued ended her on Obroa-skai without the credits to have the ship repaired, nor the knowledge to repair it herself. She'd taken what she could and sold the ship for scrap, but with the war between the Republic and the Sith Empire, travel was a luxury on this planet dedicated to knowledge. It wouldn't be long before Whiskey found herself starving. That was not a state she intended to be in. But what skills did she have for a place like this?
She found herself in a cantina, sampling the drink that was apparently her namesake. She was disgusted by the amber liquid at first, but soon found that in small sips, it was bearable. The warmth that came with it was welcome, and the assassin soon found herself relaxing. She slouched slightly on the stool where she sat, leaning her weight onto her elbows on the bar. She'd learned about drunkenness, but mostly only that such a state should be avoided as it negatively impacted the senses and reaction times. Whiskey chuckled at the thought. What did that matter now?