The duo walked back in the arid Sorasu desert sand, saving the jetpacks some fuel in case they became necessary. And maybe because Socorra was enjoying the natural light and heat. And maybe-maybe because she had more to discuss completely unrelated to their jaunt into the middle of nowhere to find a good place for a Socorran dragon sanctuary on Arx. Because the Princess Grand Master’s Praetor was going to get a sanctuary even if she had to hand raise the Tailrings herself.
“Zxyl. I have known for some time. Not the.. echo.. thing..” She waved a hand at the entirety of the Dathomiri. “Which we will get to, but the.. everything else.”
“I no judge. Ironic, though.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Normally I tell no one either. My work too clandestine, it not serve spy well for all to know their skill. But you not spy, so why you no?”
The Basic mixed with meme wasn’t great but the gist was there: why do you hide something so important?
Zxyl had been walking confidently with his ally through the desert sand back to Akaan'lar Rat Pizza & Casino when she had brought up his Force-sensitivity. The Mandalorian Sith didn’t have to completely spell it out for him to know what she meant. It was sort of hard to hide it now, with the dark spirits echoing his every word. He knew that the Erinos was a Force-sensitive as well, but he did not know she could see through the Concealment of his connection to the Force for some time. It was… Odd.
He wasn’t sure at this time how to express himself. Or his thoughts on the matter. The Mandalorian General and Regent of the Brotherhood was, though, curious how she knew.
“When did you figure it out? And how?” his mixed voice asked as they continued their walk through the hot hand.
Socorra was by all definitions a hypocrite; she wanted everyone in the galaxy to tell their secrets, or at least useful ones, while not sharing any herself. Because it kept her safe, they were hers, and not their business. But it made moments like these awkward. It made keeping friends awkward. It made being Human awkward.
When. Which timeline? “After the war,” she eventually replied. And how? “I have mental skills that few members in Brotherhood have trained in. The most powerful one was just left in the Realm.”
The woman projected the thought to him telepathically as well, as easily as breathing. While the spoken voice was a broken Basic, the mental words were clear and strong, as if she knew how to speak the words correctly but the physical foreign tongue clipped, staccatoed, and rolled the letters as if compelled.
“Some days easier to talk like that. No time or patience for karkin’ speech therapy.”
The Regent pursed his lips for a moment. He hated when someone invaded his mind. But he was slightly more chaffed at the idea that Socorra had known this entire time, since exiting the Ethereal Realm, that he was no longer just a Mandalorian. He was different. Changed. He now embodied both his cultures, much to his chagrin, instead of just the one that actually meant any thing to him.
Still, he accepted her reasoning, something he did not do for everyone, on why she had projected the words directly into the Mandalorian General’s mind. Had it been anyone else, someone he did not care about, his response would have been motivated by anger.
The Regent of the Brotherhood raised his hand to her, waving off the apology.
“It… Is fine.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say. He understood the damage that had been done. What the Sith had gone through was not easy, nor was it easy to talk about.
Bes'uliik was not one for sharing his life’s story either. His abandonment. His way to Nau'ur. The constant trials he faced, slugging his way through from Foundling to apprentice swearing the Creed to finally, a full fledged Mandalorian. Then a Naur'alor - a Mandalorian Armorer. From there, the decimation and destruction of Clan Bes'uliik before he found Idris Adenn and later, the Brotherhood. The struggles he endured on his path to Scion of Taldryan and then Regent of the Brotherhood, and everything he had faced since. His failure to adhere to the Way, and his eventual atonement in the Living Waters.
There was so much history. Even with the time the two had been spending together recently, there was never going to be enough time to cover it all. Nor did he want to. The Mandalorian General was sure that the Erinos did not want to either. But he would get her to open up, just a little bit, eventually. She was one of the few in this club, even Mandalorian, that he felt he could trust. Place his life in her hands with confidence.
Zxyl stopped walking for a moment, canting his head in the Socorran’s direction, catching the reflection off her stark-white armor. Armor he had crafted to fit every one angle on her shape.
“The Ethereal Realm… Changed me,” he said looking down at his open palms as the dark, foreboding otherworldly echo mimicked his words, “I am not sure why. Or how. Then came the trip to Dathomir, where I faced death at Tahiri Drakon’s and came out the other side alive. Now I am… This.”
The dark echo became sharper, deeper, more sinister for his next two words.
“A monster.”
He dropped his hands, returning his gaze to her and clenching his fists. This was hard. He didn’t talk about this stuff.
“No,” was her immediate reply, stopping and turning to him, her one arctic eye a piercing blue against the desert sand. “If appearance make us monster, then I at top of list.”
Between the battle scars-turned-runes, the scarred over eye, and even the unnatural shock of white strands strewn through the raven hair, the woman was a tapestry made from dark and volatile years in the Brotherhood.
“Many say it is what we do or no do that make us monster. Outside of Creed, do you believe you have done such horrible things?“
“No, I do not,” he said firmly. Yes, he had led his covert against the Imperial remnant faction that had decimated their clan. Putting so many bantha to the slaughter, so to speak. But the Creed had demanded a response in-kind for the atrocities they had committed, and Zxyl Bes'uliik had seen them through.
“I have done things I am not proud of,” he continued, “but all in service to the Creed.”
He wasn’t wrong. The Mandalorian Creed was the driving force behind every decision, every vow, every oath and action the Mandalorian General and Dathomirian-Mandalorian made.
“Then no monster.”
Her ruby lips formed a thin line.
“I have done horrible things. Some in service to Brotherhood, some my clan. Some more evil than others. Debatable if they in line with the Creed.”
“It is what it is, I guess,” the Regent exhaled. He was still unconvinced, but there was little he could do to change it now. This path was mostly set.
They continued trudging through the desert, the heat forming waves in the air above the desert sand.
She shook her raven head. “Not is what is. I was just fired from Director of DIA for ‘unauthorized torture.’ As if any form authorized there. It was karkin’ mess and I ended up torture my vod’ika and his partner.”
“That seems unfortunate,” the Regent responded curtly. There was not much else for him to really say on the matter… And even if there was, he did not know what that “else” would be. The Dathomirian-Mandalorian was completely out of his element here, and it showed in his awkwardness in the conversation.
The signal was fairly clear, Zxyl was more or less done “chatting.” Then she was too. The woman suddenly kicked a bunch of sand at him and ignited her jetpack, taking off and getting a good flying start. “Race you to the bar!”
“MOTHERFU-” the Regent bellowed as he threw his hands up to stop as much of the sand from hitting his face and neck as possible, in a vain attempt to keep it from getting between his armor’s bodyglove and plating. He immediately lowered his hands afterwards, but the Praetor to the Grand Master was already in the air and making her way to Akaan'lar Rat Pizza and Casino. Zxyl Bes'uliik cursed again, this time in Mando'a, and fired his heavy Mandalorian jetpack at full thrust to go after her.