The message, when it came, came without preamble on what seemed like just another day in the midst of busy days. Above it in the chain were other messages– not frequent, but not non-existent either, and though the energy was significantly greater and warmer on one side than the other, responses would come. At least, except for any time the word “bro” got used, in which case the offender was left on read until it was rescinded.
This time, the incoming message read:
🦈: Minnow mentioned that she told you her full name. Let’s take a walk. Base of the mountain trails, 1900.
Bril was in the middle of reading a report discussing known Selenian Force artifacts and their history when his vambrace chimed at the arrival of a new message. To his surprise, it was from Foxen. He wanted to meet, likely to speak about the Zabrak’s relationship with Minnie. Her revealing her name marked a significant step forward in their relationship, so it didn’t surprise him that she mentioned it to her brother.
Be there soon.
Stepping into the living room, he smiled at Minnie, who was sitting on the floor while playing with Femi. He kneeled in front of them and pet the snow-colored tooka on the head before turning to place a kiss on her lips.
“Foxen wants to meet. You two going to be fine here without me?”
“Foxxie wants to hang out?” she sounded like he’d told her gravity had reversed (or something more unlikely, thanks Ethereal Realm). Then a smile lit up her face. “That’s great, Kitty! Yeah we’ll be totes fine. What are y'all doing?”
“He said he wants to take a walk,” he replied, “Guess he wants to talk about something. That’s what I’d say if I needed to talk to him, at least.”
“Huh,” Minnie mused, sitting up, her expression thoughtful. “I can’t tell if that’s code or literal. Probably both.”
She bounced up and gave him a kiss.
“I’m totally texting him to ask, just so yanno.”
“Feel free. love. It’s not a secret.”
Smiling at the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her midsection to lift her into the air. Another, deeper kiss followed before he pulled away to gaze longingly into her seafoam eyes.
“I’ll tell him how lucky I am to have you, of course.”
“Awwefjfj,” Minnie cooed, and booped his nose with hers. “You, mister, are too sweet. I love you. Go on. He doesn’t tolerate being late.”
“I love you too. And noted. Wouldn’t want to get on his nerves! Not yet at least. See you soon, pur'ka.”
After setting her on her feet again, he touched to fingers to his heart and then touched hers–a spontaneous gesture of his affection.
–
Once he arrived at the meeting place Foxen chose for their meeting, Bril scanned the area to see where he was. Such a large man was hard to miss. He lifted a hand in a casual greeting to his beloved’s brother, and jogged over to where he was standing.
“Hey, Foxen. You wanted to walk and talk?”
The towering Nautolan hybrid stood straight, dressed in warm, soft but bright pastels of peony pink and orange, fitted pants and a loosely open dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, though his head had been tilted to look down at the datapad he was typing on, an easy, relaxed smile curving his scarred lips hinting at who to. His gaze lifted though at Bril’s approach, and his free hand left his trouser pocket to return the wave, if with one less finger.
Once the Zabrak was closer, Foxen gave him his usual scrutinizing look, then nodded to him, and signed with exaggerated slowness, such that Bril might be able to understand from whatever Minnie had already taught him here and there.
Good evening, Bril. Confirm. Walk, W-A-L-K, walk, and talk. How are you? I write, W-R-I-T-E, write to you.
He then patted the pad.
It was nice to see a smile on Foxen’s face. The missing finger was a bit concerning, causing his crystal blue eyes to linger on the space where the now missing digit used to be for a moment before he moved his hand to begin signing. He’d been studying dutifully with Minnow, making progress steadily over the last few weeks. Already possessing three languages under his belt, Bril didn’t see adding a fourth as something too difficult, especially when he was doing it as a way to be more accommodating for someone who meant so much for his beloved–and who was becoming something akin to a friend of his own. At least, as close to a friend as Foxen was capable of having, right now.
He nodded in appreciation for the slowness with which he formed the signs. Once he was ready to speak, he did so slower than normal as he mentally worked his way through his memory for the signs he did know, performing them alongside his spoken words.
“I’m holding together. Busy. New position, family stuff. But I’m happy … how are you?”
Foxen wasn’t put off by the Zabrak’s slow speech, recognizing it for what it was– and very much used to not only Flyndt’s long and thoughtful (or thought full to the point of thoughtless noise and emotion) pauses to work out something he wanted to convey. Flyndt and his family were as patient with him. He nodded in indication of correctness at Bril’s signing, only noting where he could perhaps provide brief correction.
At the question, Foxen showed him the smile that had previously been directed at his home on the other side of his datapad ‘s signal.
I am happy, thank you, he replied in turn. Your family is O.K.?
There was that smile again. It made him smile in kind. But for how long? A more pensive expression appeared on Bril’s face when he contemplated Foxen’s question. He thought about his birth family and how worried they’d all been when he finally told him the truth of all that had happened to him in the last few months, then he thought about Siva and how distant she’d been lately, and he finally thought about Ruka and Cora.
“Things are not okay, right now. But they will be in time. That’s life though, isn’t it? It’s all messy and complicated.”
Bril shook his head to dismiss his thoughts.
Foxen inclined his head in a nod, then tilted it, the next gesture more of a direction than words as he bid Bril to the east and started walking. With his massive musculature and naturally predatory stride, even his amble seemed sinuous, like the prowl of a panther. He started typing on the datapad as he walked, not needing to look, and offered the screen towards Bril as the Zabrak fell in beside him.
I take it by the platitudinous generalizations that you aren’t overly concerned with discussing what’s not okay?
“I just figured you wouldn’t care to hear about things related to the clan,” he replied, “The family I’m speaking about are my … clan-family, I guess you could say. Ruka was just waking up after being in a coma for more than a month, and he was …”
Bril paused to take a breath when he felt his emotions begin to broil within him.
“… fired by the Brotherhood Council.” The words left a bitter taste on his tongue.
“And to take matters worse, Siva is being secretive. More than she ever has before. Closed me off from our bond completely and the only time she’s done that before was when we had a really bad fight. She’s hiding something.”
“Hrm,” the Nautolan hummed, red gaze piercing but not judgemental, just witnessing the Zabrak’s anger. He typed while they walked after Bril finished speaking, giving their conversation its typical stilted cadence.
I don’t care about anything related to Arcona. They hold my bond oath as an Erinos, as they do Minnie’s and Jax’s, but they mean nothing to me. Well, they are a source of annoyance, anger, envy at times. But not care. They are demagogues, tyrants, and despots controlling entire populations and systems with the convenience of their Force abilities, armies, and riches. Just as the Council is. Only on a smaller scale. They are a convenience, much like the Erinos. However: you are important to Minnie, and therefore I will make you important to me, and your problems and concerns are important to me. I have never met the former Proconsul but his overtures in ethical behavioral compliance and general martyrdom are well known. Sucks to be fired. Especially like that. As for Siva: do you want my opinion/advice.
Bril shook his head. He knew enough about Foxen to know why he would feel that way about his clanmates, but it didn’t make it feel any less wrong to hear them described that way.
“If we were talking about Plagueis, I would agree with you for the most part,” he countered, “And I’m sure it applies to a few Arconans, too. But no one whose company I elect to keep fits that bill. Especially not Ruka. He’s flawed just like you and I, but he cares about doing right by people. And that includes the people that fall under the clan’s protection.”
A hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose. His recent appointment had left him with a lot to study, and that included a lot of research into the clan’s … complicated history with the native populations of the planets it controlled. He considered it his duty to familiarize himself with the people and their history if he was to have any hope in being a good Deputy.
“And so do I.” He just hoped he didn’t see himself the exact kind of person Foxen described in such unceremonious terms.
“Thank you, for expressing your willingness to … invite me into your circle of concern. The feeling is mutual. And yes, I would like to know your advice about Siva.”
The Nautolan hybrid grimaced at that motion, feeling a throb between his own eyes, right in the soft spot where the brow met the orbital socket. Based on the pause the Zabrak gave, and the young man’s thoughtful nature, he didn’t need to say that Bril was treading dangerous waters.
Likelihood high you will be a revolutionary leader in your new position as your Ruka was. Your care: in evidence. Of Siva: that is her choice to make. Identified: hurt, concern to be cut out. Desire: to help, to know. However: our emotions/desires do not supercede her autonomy. Especially now. To indulge the expression, take it from someone who knows, familiar with having pieces of shit who thought they could own me and were wrong: she has had few enough choices. Even if she is making wrong choices, bad choices, etc. It is her right to choose poorly. To endanger herself. To leave us or to invite us in. Etc. Likely best you can do is be there waiting. Or: if you have preexisting mutually consensual agreement to come for each other no matter what/always tell one another if leaving system/only with agreement/awareness, etc, as an example.
It was obvious that Foxen’s words had made an impression on the young man’s mind. A single finger tapped the middle of his lips–a gesture he frequently used when contemplating something.
“I didn’t think of it that way, Foxen. But you’re right. I know enough of Siva’s history to know how bad it would be to rob her of her ability to choose. But I also can’t just let go of my desire to help keep her safe. How do I reconcile the two?”
He hadn’t even realized he’d begun to lightly chew at the inside of his cheek while thinking aloud–a habit that he’d picked up from watching Minnie.
“I’m sure you want Flyndt to make his own decisions, even if you disagree with them. And you clearly care about his well-being and protecting him. How do you do it?”
A complicated expression crossed Foxen’s face, the result of memory files replaying. He gave a grunting hrm as they started down the slope he was leading them. To his ears, the ocean was already louder, but they would not break the dense forest line for another two kilometers. This pause was a longer one, which he signaled with a simple, thinking. In the end, however, when he stopped mid stride to type this time, the reply was simple.
I love him.
He nodded. That, he understood. The love for his family back home, for the one he’d gained since joining the Brotherhood, and his love for Minnie motivated him to do right by them all, no matter the cost.
“I understand. Thank you,” he said appreciatively.
Foxen nodded back, seeming satisfied with the easy acceptance. He typed a bit more.
Have no illusions that my thought processes more absolutist/rigid than majority: objects: people. However: still difficult. Respecting Flyndt may choose to die for me as I would for him does not mean the emotions do not cascade into critical failure when he is wounded. Does not mean that when he leaves, I will not be affected. Only means: I cannot, will not do anything other than respect his choices and ensure he has every freedom to make them. Will not influence his choices. I love him. That means: I will let him go. (Sentimental analogy statement – he does NOT belong to me.) I will trust you understand this as you say, confirm.
Bril nodded, doing his best to fill in with Sign when he could. His vocabulary was limited, but no one could say he wasn’t trying.
“In other news, things with Minnie have been going really well. I don’t know how much she shares with you but she’s a lot more open, now. We have this thing, like a connection in the Force, that lets us feel each other’s presence and emotions and stuff. Creating it was unintentional and I think it scared her, at first but now she’s a lot more comfortable with it. I often use it as a way to … check in with her, in a way? To let her know I’m present and thinking about her.”
And there they were to the original stated reason for his reaching out: Bril and his baby sister. Foxen Kelly walking, always at a slightly sideways angle to be able to view Bril’s hands and arms, and the ocean grew louder still as they slowly wound downhill. He considered, thinking on what Minnie did share, and on what she obviously didn’t. Thinking on the bond Bril described.
I think, he signed, habitual as the reaction came upon him, I’m jealous of you. Or envious. “Hrm.”
“Envious? Why?”
Based on what he knew, and that wasn’t much, about Foxen’s relationship with Flyndt, the two seemed inseparable.
“You two seem like you’re nearly inseparable already.”
A small smile flickered across the Nautolan’s face, and the way his chest and chin lifted hinted at visible pride. Nevertheless, he shook his head and gave an emotive shrug and gesture, then went back to the datapad.
We can track each other, with our chips, and ‘feel’ one another, under certain circumstances…he can connect to me…feel, Know me…in water, close as I can get. Know it’s different though. And your description sounds…ideal. To be able to feel him, know where he could be, at any distance, at any time…even when he is gone from me. I wish I could have that. But I don’t. Can’t.
Bril nodded. He hadn’t really thought about how much of a gift it really was to be able to have such a strong connection to Minnie through the Force. It was like second nature to him, and even now he could faintly feel her presence. He sent a gentle pulse of warmth across their bond before returning his attention to Foxen.
“I’ve felt how powerful Flyndt is in the Force, Foxen. He can do the same thing with you. Create that bond,” he explained, “I could try to … help him, if he doesn’t know how to do it already. But I would talk to him about it at first, of course.
Similar to how you and Minnie can connect with and feel others’ emotions when in water, my ability to do the same through the Force is innate. Most of our kind have to put some effort into doing so, but to me, feeling through Living Force has always been as easy breathing. It was quieting that connection that was difficult, for me.”
It was an instantaneous shift, the predatory yet mechanical tenseness that suddenly turned on over Foxen when Bril mentioned trying to help Flyndt. It revealed the sheer ease he’d been allowing. However, it was gone again as soon as the Zabrak went on about talking to him, and then more about the Force.
He is P-O-W-E-R-F-U-L, powerful, confirm. Amazing. He…
A slight sigh, more typing.
If he ever asks you for training of such a bond formation, confirm. Or any other training, obviously. But I will not ask for that. Do not suggest it. Influences his choice. Coercion: deny. Will say: you two may relate of strong senses. I do. Feel, remember: everything. Too much. So: deny input. Allow when processable, then process. Sometimes, the boxes slip. Usually around Flyndt. He makes me feel. Feel. Very much. Minnie and Jax did, but this is more. And after the pit. Brought me back to life. But still, computation works.* Very few memories before this. Pulled from the water. Made a schism in the mind. Useful, efficient. Is it still difficult for you?
There it was again. That threat response. That stifled, yet nonetheless palpable urge to end any potential threats to Flyndt that made his own protective instincts seem so tame in comparison. Even though Bril knew the difference was likely due to the asymmetry in their temperaments, part of him still wondered how much more depth there was to feel for Minnow if feelings like these were possible. It made him feel hopeful, and also a little apprehensive; although he’d chosen to follow his own path separate from the Jedi and Sith, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes muse about whether they were right about the danger of attachments.
“Out of respect for you and your relationship, I won’t bring it up to him unless he asks. But you know, whether you want to or not, you influence his choices just by being in his life, Foxen. No one makes decisions in a vacuum.”
A passing breeze carried a tiny orange ladybug, and, without hesitating, Bril reached out to let it land on his hand. As they walked, he watched it crawl around his fingers. “That’s certainly a way to do it. Compartmentalizing,” he replied, “And I’m glad he’s helped you so much. Especially in light of everything that’s happened to you. It’s not difficult for me anymore, at least not in most situations. Meditation helps a lot. To quiet what I’m getting from other people and even little ones like this.”
Bril had a solid, logical point.
It didn’t mean the Nautolan didn’t absolutely not pout grimace about it.
And it wasn’t…bad that he could influence Flyndt just by being with him. On the contrary: the recent revelation of the kilograms the Omwati had gained around the hipbones and blamed fondly on his cooking had him feeling like he was floating for the last 19 days straight. It was a good thing. The tattoo–
“…carry you with me, hoo, always. Part of. Us, this time, ours…”
Wherever he would go.
When he did.
The Nautolan tuned back in to the conversation, replaying a few seconds of audio input with some difficulty and then composing a response as the listening became real-time. Thankfully there was an interesting insect to distract from his lapse.
What’s a bug feel like?
After seeing the face Foxen made when he realized he was right, Bril chuckled and pointed. “You make the same face Minnie does when I make a good point,” he said with a smile.
To his question, Bril paused for a moment to think. He hadn’t ever considered it before, what exactly something like an insect felt like in the Force. After a few moments, he began to speak and sign to his best ability.
“Simpler in some ways, more complex in others. You would think something so small would feel like a smaller life, but that isn’t the case. It has just as much life in it as you or I. The Living Force doesn’t discriminate.”
Foxen’s bitchy face was eerily similar Minnie’s too, as Bril was finding out at that moment– or rather the reverse maybe, as she’d have gotten it from him, but Bril knew it from his Nautolan so there.
Doing well, the elder man nevertheless signed in compliment to the efforts. Try to spell more when you don’t have the signs. Necessary communication habit. Easiest method for accessibility, A-C-C-E-S-A-B-I-L-I-T-Y, accessibility.
He debated a moment longer, the ocean now wide before them and sparkling inferiorly to Flyndt’s eyes across the horizon.
What do I feel like to you?
“Sequestered. Intense. Like a quiet drone at first that quickly rises into a roaring crescendo when you poke a hole in one of those boxes you keep everything locked away in.”
Foxen’s pierced brows went up. Then burrowed. “Hrm.”
They ambled down the trail awhile longer, getting closer to the beach, before he gestured any further.
Is it unpleasant.
Bril shook his head. “Not when I’m prepared for it,” he explained, “It only becomes difficult now when I’m under extreme duress. Or if I feel something that I wasn’t expecting. Something really dark.”
Foxen nodded along, then clarified, Meant…am I unpleasant. Thinking of Flyndt’s experience.
“I won’t lie to you and say that things didn’t start off very rough between us,” he said, “You can be hard to be around. But the right circumstances allow people to get to know you. And then, you become pleasant. In your own way.”
He smiled. “Flyndt loves you. I felt it. Doesn’t mean things will always be easy, or always good, but that love is true.”
While none of what Bril said was actually answering what the Nautolan was trying to ask, the reply was…oddly heartening.
Illogical, of course. The only validation of Flyndt’s love that mattered was Flyndt.
But it was still.
Nice.
Hrm.
Foxen paused to type again.
You give me something in the self to analyze later, confirm. I appreciate the answers.
He nodded with a brighter smile this time. “I’m glad I can be of use.”
The Mandalorian’s lips ticked up on one side, the mildest saw-toothed smirk.
Begrudgingly, maybe, approved. You are useful at times. Come. Walk the shore. Not going in water. However: you can. Appropriate to have intended conversation with the ocean beside.
“No swimming for me today. Unless you want to race. Sure I could give you a run for your money,” he smirked before turning to follow Foxen to the distant shore. He wondered what he wanted to talk about.
The Nautolan snorted at that, looking over his shoulder and down at Bril with an expression that needed no words to convey, yeah, right, champ.
They meandered down the cliffs to the beach itself, then a bit down the shore. As they stepped onto the sand, Foxen stopped and took his shoes and socks off, tucking them into each other then hooking the pristine, pale pink, red-bottomed footwear over two fingers, carrying them along. His bare feet weren’t particularly easy to look at on a visceral, mammalian level, disfigured as they were, not only thickly riddled with various scars but misshapen from injuries and Collective torture alike. One might wonder how he walked on them, nevermind the physical feats he could perform, but Bril had seen and defied plenty in his own time with the Force, and witnessed those without.
They went farther down the beach, prolonged silence – in all forms – on Foxen’s part and Bril just as companionable in the contemplative peace of the waves for company. Eventually, the Nautolan stopped, though what made the location ideal wasn’t immediately obvious. Small tide pools churned here and there in rockier portions, the thickly jungled cliffs dense and sheer and bare in some places to one side, the endless ocean on the other. Ussun could be seen on the horizon, but it was no more than the thinnest thread of gray-brown, a smudge in the blue waters.
Foxen held up his hand, signaling, wait, and set down his shoes and datapad on a dry rock. Then he rolled up his trouser legs and took two steps into the surf. Crouched down.
Watched.
Bril only glanced at Foxen’s feet a few times. The scars that marred his skin told a story just like his own jatii, both their bodies akin to tapestries upon which the records of their tribulations–their failures and triumphs–were written. He wondered if that’s why Foxen kept them despite there being medical technology to remove them or at least most of them. Perhaps he had developed a fondness for them? Or perhaps, he kept them as a way for those whom he deemed worthy to see to know him in a way mere words couldn’t convey.
“Look upon me, and know me,” he muttered to himself while musing on the thought.
He stopped near Foxen’s shoes and datapad when he was told to wait, and watched him, wondering what he was doing.
Look upon me, and know me…
Hmm.
He liked that. It reminded him of gesturing olive fingers, a coo, “I Know you…you are Known to me…”
Most precious words…
–memory file breaks in, discordant: “don’t even know me. Just met in arena”–
–“I am sorry, was wrong, to say…”–
–“…you called!”–
–“prefer this, us, also…”–
–“I love you, Bapti.”
…the silvery glints in the water flicker.
Ah-hah.
There they were.
Foxen turned and looked over his shoulder, beckoning the Zabrak. Come look, he said, and then: bring P-A-D, datapad.
Bril nodded, grabbing the datapad and hurried over to where he was crouched. He did the same, handing him the datapad before beginning to speak–signing as well, of course.
“What’s up? You wanted to show me something?”
Foxen nodded in encouragement again of the signing and in affirmative. He pointed to the eddies he had been gazing at, signed, look, and then started typing.
If Bril were to look as directed while the elder wrote, he would see miniscule little fish darting around in the water, feeding on the algae and silt close to shore much like the small crabs did. Unremarkable fish, overall, for how very tiny they were, and there were many of them, varying in shades of brackish pale green to the same brackish pale yellow, a bit silver striped down the middle or at the fins. But they were apparently significant.
These are minnows. Saltwater ones, usually freshwater, but Selen wildlife generally doesn’t give a frak. I named her after fish like these. Not these exactly obviously. She wasn’t born here, though it is her home ocean. But same kind. Now you know her full (outer) name, seemed pertinent to share. Reminiscence. Offer information. Sure she explained some. However: possible to explain more, within limit.
He nodded while listening, watching the little fish zip through the clear water. His use of the term “outer” name caught his attention. Bril had always assumed that the name she gave him was her full name, and that there were no others. But as guarded as the Erinos siblings were, he supposed it wasn’t a surprise that there were still more intimate, more sacred ways of identifying her–of knowing her that he’d yet to learn.
“And why did you give her that name?” he asked, curiosity clear in his voice.
A chuff left Foxen, the look he gave Bril undeniably fond if exasperated, and he nodded to the fish while he typed without looking at his pad.
Two reasons. One: one of the first fish I saw after escape. Insufficient nutrients for creatures our size, even then, but still. Get enough mouthfuls. Two: she was a playful tadpole. Very playful. At the time, source of great stress. Loud splashing of splashy infant = high risk to giveaway our location. But also: uniquely her. Wonderful thing. Such life after such dismay. It seemed fitting. Put them all together, I deemed it adequate. Typically our names relate to personalities, dreams, feelings, communicated to each other through observations/sensing in the pod, in the water/verbally conveyed at greater age. Not given at birth. Birth name, child name, is inner name. Most intimate. Only for blood or mates(s), or in place of blood, eg children/family adopted. Our mother chose this before she was murdered. Without her, the growing name, outer, was left to me, to come to know who Minnie was, would be. Did a damn good job. She only got more playful. And fraking louder. Jax was always a smartass about it. Said the kid talked for us both and that’s why she had x2 million words per day.
Leave it to Foxen to eat a bunch of fish and then name his baby sister after it. It was an amusing thought, even though he understood that that was a heavily oversimplified reimagining of his explanation.
“Call me biased, but I think it’s a very beautiful name you picked. And it is fitting, you’re right. It amazes me how much energy she has even now, and how … animated she gets when she’s excited.”
“My people don’t have names that mean things, of course, but the practice of naming is more simplistic than what you’ve described,” he paused to lift a hand to his face, gesturing to the tattoos that flowed across his skin like rivers of onyx. “Our jato and jat'i, clan and personal tattoos, tell a story. Where we’re from, who our people are, what we’ve accomplished; who we’ve lost, who we’ve found. Certain patterns, certain inks, are sort of like you and Minnie’s inner names, in how important to us they are. I’m young, so I don’t have very many. Only what you can see on my face and neck.”
He looked down to the school of minnows again and smiled. “One day I’d like to create a mark for the family I’ve gained here. For Minnow.”
After a moment’s pause to allow his words to settle in Foxen’s mind, he continued. “Tell me about your mother. What was her name? What was she like?”
Foxen was visibly pleased by both Bril’s acknowledgment of his naming skill and rightness and by the Zabrak’s comments on his sister being accurate. The fond set of his lips stayed, which lent a lot of life to a face Bril typically saw in two modes: black and red speckled granite slab, or melting in Flyndt’s direction. The third option was this, fondness, tinged by exasperation or a solemn seriousness, usually seen around Minnie or the famous Jax when they all got together.
Approved: tattoo for Minnie. Is acceptable for equal seriousness from you to her name giving. I do not have a great deal of information on Zabraki culture on file, outside combat/weaponry. Acknowledged.
He showed this, then pulled the pad back, jaw working like he was physically chewing on his words as he selected them. He looked out to the water, took several measures breaths Bril could recognize as a meditative cadence. When next Foxen spoke, it wasn’t with the pad.
“Rae-ell,” he said, a raspy low thing, roughly as loud as the white noise of the gentle waves. Foxen’s voice was a deep baritone bass, and it had a rich accent like whole cream, though only a shadow of what it could be in another life. “Raell. Sp-arkle of Stars in…the Black Cave On-yx. She was. Good. Beau-tiful.”
He fell quiet again for a moment, just staring, then turned his head down to type more.
This moment of joyful reminiscing filled the young Zabrak with a warm feeling that settled within his core, only to be supplanted by the sensation of tension around his eyes once he heard him say he approved of him adding her to his jat'i. He responded with a thankful nod.
“Maybe you could help me design it,” he suggested, “You know Minnie better than anyone, so having your input on what things best represent her would be really nice. That paired with my own feelings of her, and knowledge of my clan’s tattooing techniques would make something really beautiful.”
Bril paused for a moment to reflect on that idea, on what it would be like to work with Foxen on something so meaningful. Another way to bond with him was always welcome–the opportunity to learn more about the man who had steadily become someone whom he admired, who he now wanted to know and bond with merely for the sake of bonding with him, not merely as a way to Minnow happy. He likely would have continued musing on the thought were it not for a distinct sound catching his ear. It was wholly distinct from the crash of waves breaking against ocean banks that dotted the Selenian coastline, different from his voice.
Bril looked to Foxen again, eyes wide with recognition. He was speaking. Minnie had explained to him that Foxen lost his voice, and for his entire time knowing the man, he’d never known him to make more than the occasional grunt. He didn’t say a thing in response, instead hanging on the man’s every word like he was a child listening to the village soothsayer. Raell. So that was their mother’s name. What he would give to know her and, most importantly, for Minnie to know her.
“I’m sure she was, Foxen. I’m sure she was.”
Another curled lip of approval lit Foxen’s face, his typing pausing so that he could meet Bril’s wide eyes and nod slowly. He touched his hand to his chin, signing, thank you.
It was as much acknowledgement for the compliment to their mother as it was to Bril’s reaction, seeming to take with respect and no making a big deal of his speech.
He went back to typing, and eventually, Bril got more to the story.
Minnie looks much more like her. She was beautiful. Striped. White and black and yellow. The eyes are her eyes. Never met the sire, and don’t care to, but know she loved him as her mate. She wanted us to be together as a family unit. The slavers found our pod first. She was clever, or so the Foxen thought at the time. Possible: lens of a juvenile. But presently, still do. She was uncompromising. Kind. Soft, in ways. Sad. The memory holds softness and sadness in the ocean. Was no room for either under the whip and collar. But where she could she made the softness for the Foxen. She loved completely. The self. And Minnow.
“Can Minnie remember how she looked?” he asked while doing his best to solidify the details Foxen had shared in his mind. “If she was killed shortly after Minnie was born, I doubt it, right?”
The slight cheer, if it could be called such, fell from the elder Nautolan’s features. The smallest flicker of bald, deep and gutted pain, for a moment– before it seemed to be tucked away into one of those boxes, not slammed in and walled off but gently drawn a curtain over, too difficult to be seen.
He shook his head.
No, he replied in definitive. Dead. She never saw. Either.
A frustrated huff preludes more typing.
Our mother never met Minnow. Never held her egg, saw her face, nor vice versa. Not killed shortly after. Killed during. The body took her egg. Brought us to the water. Guarded until she hatched. No possessions then. No holos. Only memory. It is a regret the Foxen has, that they never knew.
Bril paused for one long moment, working his thumb repeatedly into the skin of his index finger while considering his reply. His heart wept for the woman he loved, who had never the gift of seeing either of her parents. She deserved that and so, so much more.
“…What if I could show her, Foxen? With your help.”
Foxen’s head cocked sharply to the side as hrm’d question, a motion that reminded Bril immediately of a convor…or more likely, Flyndt.
Explain.
“I know you, like Minnie, have a history with Force users,” he began, running his hands across his robes to wipe away a thin coat of sweat that had formed on his palms. Was it the humidity or his nerves? “So, I wouldn’t be suggesting this for any other reason, but…”
“I can show her how Raell looks. Using your memories. Using the Force.”
“Hrm,” the brother repeated, unblinking eyes catching every movement, nostrils flaring slightly as he watched the Zabrak fuss. He lifted his hand again, making a simple shape.
O.K.
Bril’s eyes widened at the brevity of Foxen’s response, having expected more resistance to the idea. But that spoke volumes about the love he had for his little sister. His expression brightened.
“I would use my Force bond with her to share your memories with her. How she looked, how she sounded, everything.”
That caused Foxen’s expression to flicker with a frown then shutter. He shook his head, started to gesture too rapidly, and then caught himself and grunted, going for the pad.
Incorrect assumption on my part. Thought you proposed accessing memory and creating image. Flyndt makes images/sounds sometimes. Incredible combat asset. I assumed this. Assuming, foolish. That is O.K. Would allow. Do not have same trauma Minnie does with jediit. Merely threat assessment. Pointless to feel overly violated by mental invasion when a fraker spent five years breaking the me body/mind/self with creative perfectly non-magical torture. Don’t need the Force to do that. Possibility: traumatic trigger accepted. Permission granted to access my mind/memories. Caution: I remember everything. Everything. You go at your own risk. However: deny, sharing memories with Minnie directly. Cannot remove the painful from the good. I would not
The line suddenly ended. When Bril would look back up, he would see that slab face crumpled in frustration, pain, disgust.
Briil went silent again, considering. Then, he reached out tentatively to touch the man’s shoulder when he saw the troubling emotions appear on his face.
“I’m sorry that all this has happened to you, Foxen. I want you to know that none of that defines you. Whatever they tried to make you think you are, you’re not.”
He retracted his hand but still held the Nautolan hybrid’s gaze. “And I want to thank you fir giving me permission. When the time comes, I’ll create an iimage for her to see instead of showing her your memories directly.”
“You’re welcome, Foxen,” he said before cracking a grin, “Now, about that race.”