Ask Coruscant Truth and Consequences

[Corran Velt]

Steel sliced up his torso and plunged deep into his chest. He had prepared himself, readied his mind and heart, but the lance impaled him deeper and more ruthlessly than expected. Doctor Morata has always been more lethal than she looked. Blood felt like it was pouring from the gaping wounds, life leaving him. Corran leans forward on the counter to support himself, his shoulders rising and back arching like dark and terrible gargoyle wings. The was someone else. Her added details were useless. Ilana was a beautiful, ethereal being. Intelligent and witty. If what Amariel said was true, she was Ilana's better. Any person in the galaxy would love her. That was a cardinal truth to the disemboweled man.

He saw the frustration come alight, confused or annoyed. There was no way the Arkanian could be so blind. Corran's back shuddered heavily as he finally rose in defiance; his brow furrowed. "Why? Because - Because you look like her! You talk like her! You sound just like her! Your expressions, your movements, your gentleness with our child!" The man pressed his knuckles against the granite. "Don't you get it? She was my first love! Every time I was away I dreamed of her! My happiest memories, between the chaos of the galaxy, were of her!" He grew silent for a moment, his energy failing. A shaky inhale finally allowed him to complete his will, "I never got to say good bye to her. Not... not even good bye." Corran hunched over again, shadowing his face. A single tear, imperceptible until it dropped, impacted the counter. These were not the words of a man begging or pleading for a second chance. To be taken back out of sympathy or remorse. These were the last confessions. A man was dying.

Silence gripped the atmosphere. There were no sobs. No cries. No hate. Only anguish. A great torment enshrouded his very aura. Corran finally rose back to his full height, eyes dry, but disconsolate. After what he had said, was there anything left? Perhaps only shame. His gaze lingered on the woman who wasn't Ilana, wishing it was all a nightmare. Residue from the Sith toxic giving the Ranger one final fear. But this was real. Something he'd never wake up from. Sky-blue eyes wordlessly drifted to look over his shoulder to where Silvi had been hurried away. "Can I say good night to my daughter?" Corran asked, his voice weak and ragged.

@Killa Ree

 

[Dr Ilana Morata]

She could feel all of it.

Every painful tearing into his chest was clawing its' way through her. Grief, remorse, all of it sunk black claws deep into her chest and she shuddered as though physically assaulted, knees buckling as she gripped onto the countertop. Amber eyes widened at his words, and her throat closed with the dense rush of the tears he wouldn't shed. Rose thorns of agony prickled in her chest, feeling like they drew blood, and she drew in shallow breaths.

It seemed even a monster could be loved.

It was over. That thin, tenuous thread of their daughter remained, but his grief would echo in her mind for long after. Even after he would inevitably leave, it would twist and slice deep into her bones, into even her very heart and threaten to swallow her up in his grief and torment. She could only stare at him for a beat. There was nothing she could say, no words to make it better or right.

And then he stood. For a moment, her lips parted as though she would speak, but only a faint croak came out. Wincing, she spoke again, her voice quiet, a thin whisper.

"Of course you can. Take all the time you need... this place is yours. You can see her whenever you want. She needs you."

She felt like she was going to be sick, or pass out from the unintentional emotional assault. She forced herself to stand upright, to face what she had done, but she felt sick doing it. She wanted nothing more than to flee the room, but she wouldn't. She never would flinch any longer... she owed him that much, at least.

@TerranSteel

 

[Corran Velt]

Through his own suffering eyes, the Arkanian suffered too. Barbed-wire entangled his chest, piercing and pricking as he saw the shared torment envelop her. Her empathic abilities, one of the things he loved most, was proving to be the double-edged sword that Ilana promised it would be. Corran hadn't wanted this. Regret soured his stomach, squeezing his organs with a spindle-like fingers. He never wanted to hurt her. Even as her truth gutted and skewered him whole, none of the injury was to transfer to her. But it was too late. Amariel was forced to withstand the feelings that were killing him. Some men would have felt vindicated if others could feel their suffering in a moment like this. Corran wanted take the bitter cup from her.

So he turned to Silvi. To rely on the strength of a newborn...

The bearded gave a grateful nod to his host before turning away from her and walking towards the refresher. Despite his athletic build, he shambled over the floor like a ghost. A memory of a good man. Amariel was wrong about one thing for certain. This place was not his. A deep scar would always linger here. A revenant of a romantic love no longer living. The things that once made Ilana special would be nothing but haunting wails. The jungle of greenery and plants looked no longer vibrant. Only decay and grimacing shadows. Hurt was a prisoner to this place.

Corran stood in the doorway of the refresher. The droid knelt near the baby, ever watchful and attentive, finishing up the cleaning duties. Silvi sat in a specially-made chair that helped her sit upright in the tub, but still able to kick the water and splash the suds. In her presence, everything felt brighter. The severing of his heart pushed to the recesses of his soul. A subdued wave told the droid there was nothing to fear. Corran glided to one knee next to his daughter. A gummy smile greeted him and her arms waved at the bubbles around her. A scratchy chuckle couldn't be fended off and tailed by a fatigued grin. "Daddy's gotta go soon, little one," he said gently, "I'll be back to see you. Promise. I wish..." The words seized in his throat; weighted with grief. "I wish I could've stayed longer." A wish for both the women in his life. The one before him and the one... he mourned.

In her innocence, Silvi only giggled in response to her father's voice. Not understanding his wounds or tortures. Good. He made a silent oath to do everything in his power to protect her and provide the family life he had lost in his youth. Corran raised an unserious, scolding finger towards the baby, "And be good to your mother. No screeching tonight. She's had plenty of that." He huffed in fatalist amusement. The father of the giddy toddler kissed the top of her head and then her rounded cheek. "I love you, Silvi. Good night."

With that farewell, he departed the light of his life and returned to the emptiness of the apartment living room. So much life had been here less than a year ago. The two of them sitting on the sofa, embracing at the future of their healthy child. That memory seemed a faint dream now. Corran lifted his satchel, now empty of the toys he arrived with, and tucked it over his shoulder. He turned to look at Amariel, battling to suppress his negative emotions to help her. Battling and losing. "Is there... anything else?"

@Killa Ree

 

[Dr Ilana Morata]

She could see the reflection in him, feel the regret that soured the air. She watched him move away, and she didn't move. She couldn't move. She felt like she had been made of stone, her fingers unfeeling and her breath frozen in her chest. Would she ever be able to breathe or feel warmth again?

Tears threatened to rush up but she would blink them away. She would not torment him any more than she already had. She would give him his time with Silvi, but she would not move either.

Is there anything else.

She managed to stir, staring him in the eyes. Amber eyes blazed with a fierce light. Warmth.

"Come back alive. For her. And come back soon. As often as you can... for her."

That was all, that was it. She was gripping onto the marble countertop to keep herself from collapsing, but he wouldn't see how her fingers trembled, how white her knuckles were from gripping the marble. Hard enough to imprint deep in her palms. But she had said all she needed to, and that was all.

@TerranSteel

 

[Corran Velt]

He stood in the living room. She by the kitchen island. A small distance yet a great chasm kept them apart. Frigid, chilling wind arose from it. Corran didn't know why he asked what he did but he soon regretted it. Golden eyes, though wetted, pierced into sky blue. Shining brilliance illuminated her genuine intent. He would have preferred cold indifference. Eyes of amber, so expressive, reminded too much of the woman who was lost to him. Another icy cut to his fading heart.

"Yeah," Corran said with a gallows rasp, "For her."

The man turned to face the threshold and left without another word. Emptiness trailing in his wake. When the door closed, every trace of Corran, his warmth, his boyish playfulness, his outsized affections, were gone. Only Amariel was left with herself.

Weakness nearly consumed him out in the hallway. It had only taken a few steps before he stumbled and braced himself against the wall. Corran leaned over, resting his forehead against the elegant paint. A whole world was lost to him. But he would not cry here. Not here. The turbolifts were too isolating. A room to stand in while doubts and disdain clawed at his flesh and mind. No, he had to keep moving. The stairs were tall in such a high-rise, luxury, apartment building. They seemed to roll downward forever. Yet a boot landed on each step. Over and over. A haunting, empty rhythm.

A raging inferno, towering up to the heavens, had burned for Ilana Morata. It was fed by her secret smiles, half-lidded glances, teasing wit, gentle, wintery touch, and tender affections. Now that conflagration had been doused to near nothingness. A small, flickering torch was all that remained. The weak flame matched the descent of the man. Lower and lower, deeper into the cavernous depths of the void. Darkness pushed against its light glow as it marched into the mountain of his being. Sealing itself away so it could not be felt. So it could not burn. Yet could also never fully be snuffed out. The flame's glow vanished from sight into the caves and grottoes of his soul, concealed, and gone as Corran's final footsteps reached the ground floor tile.

Here he stood. Alone. At night, no one was in the lobby and only the darkness awaited him outside beyond the artificial light. Hollow blue eyes stared at nothing on the tile floor. His hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, reached into a pocket of the satchel. It returned with a tiny black box in the palm. A key to a future that wouldn't exist. His thumb flipped up the lid, revealing a golden ring with a single diamond atop it. Gold the same color as Ilana's dress on Nar Shaddaa. Another daydream to discard. A world to never be.

The tiny ring box was clamped shut by all the force in his hand. Corran squeezed it tightly in his palm before easing it. The capsule to lost hope disappeared into his coat pocket. A problem for another time.

Everything had left him in the descent. Memories of good times gone. The faint flicker of joy as it sunset into his emptiness. Emotions of rage, melancholy, and loss had departed in disgust of him. He was well and truly alone. Except for one companion. A familiar feeling he had gotten quite used to. It often came from without. Something he accepted and endured. But now it came from within, where no bacta or bandage could reach. A feeling that told him, at least, that he was still alive.

Pain.​

@Killa Ree

 

[Dr Ilana Morata]

She nodded once, dully, at his words. Nausea crawled up her throat, and she forced herself to stare at his retreating back. Watch how each footfall came, heavy as stone, and when the door shut, she didn't move then. No, she stood there, as time steadily ticked on. Frozen. There was just the long distance, the echo dinning in her ears until she couldn't feel him anymore.

And then she sagged to the floor, fingers pressing into icy tiles. Shoulders shook as her lips parted, but at first, no sound would come out. Tears slid down marble-cold cheeks as hot pain suddenly lanced into her chest, and she leaned forward, feeling razors rake deep into her chest.

Her breathing came in sharp, hard gasps as she sobbed, and suddenly, there was a deep crack. Granite countertops cracked at the onslaught of her grief through the Force, glasses shattered and their brilliant, deadly shards rang like rain over the tile, the water pouring down, mingling with pink. One of the shards caught her palm, and she stared dully at it, tears still falling, falling, and dimly she could hear footsteps, and then a soft, mild voice of her protocol droid.

"Lady Morata, you must have that treated. I shall clean this for you, do be careful."

But instead, she gritted her teeth. She had done it. She had done this to him. Ilana hadn't loved him the way he should have been. His first love, he called her. She couldn't say the same to him, because it would have been a lie. She loved him, but it wasn't enough to hold on, to lie and pretend. She had to get up, and move on.

"Thaddeus. Contact Jack Seypka for me, and update me on the latest crisis."

She forced herself to stand. More shards nicked her, but she gripped her fists tightly, feeling the blood well up from it. "There appears to have been a battle on Sullust, my lady. Many wounded, but Jedi were involved." She swallowed hollowly, her voice hoarse.

"Ensure Mistress Velt is with her grandmother for temporary care. I must attend this crisis; notify the trauma team for emergency triage on Sullust."

She could feel the exhaustion weighing in on her. Every step felt heavy as lead, as she walked towards Silvi's room. She had to move on to get past the ache in her chest, and work was her salvation. She had to keep moving forward. Silvi was beginning to wind down for the night; with her uncut hand, she wiped tears away, giving her a tremulous smile.

She looked so much like her father.

"Goodnight, my starshine. Sweet dreams."

She sat by her crib until she was asleep. And then she rose, to bandage her wounds and prepare for the next crisis.

It was time to move forward, and let the chips fall where they would.

//End Thread