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It was quiet inside the house. Empty. Without the filling presence of Savin and his friends, it just felt... still. The silence got under Alema's skin as soon as she woke, and often as not it was the very thing that jolted her out of sleep. When she could, Alema took quick naps out in the more public areas of the house when people were home. The sound of voices made it much easier, though now and again she woke in the night to find herself back in the room designated for her.

Occasionally the twi'lek felt guilty to be the cause of so much trouble. If she could sleep in her own quarters it would be best. It was unseemly to have to be returned to her proper place so frequently. At the same time, it was just so frightfully quiet in her room by herself. Once she woke to find herself alone, it was hard to get back to sleep again.

She ended up doing a lot of cooking and cleaning in the middle of the night. Alema did her best to be quiet, but Savin's friend Medrit had wandered to the kitchen in the night for... something... and found his guest waiting on an air cake for Dinua's children, Shalk and Brilla. With a murmured apology she'd done her best to stay out of his way.

Of course, staying out of the way was occasionally a more difficult prospect than Alema would like. There had been the initial urgent need to get her clothing at the very least. Thankfully Alema had been able to slice into her own--largely unspent--savings from her days on the Revenge, and did not have to spend her friend's money.

Alema had taken to wearing variations on more or less the same clothing every day. There were several different colors, but each was a long tunic with splits up the sides, worn over loose trousers. She had them in several colors, partly because she didn't care enough anymore to go out of her way to hide herself the way she had on the Revenge when men were still looking at her. It was just too much trouble. It was also because she had worn them when she was younger and missed them.

It was partly because they had high collars, and if she wore a different one each day Savin would never--ever--see the back of her neck.

Today she was wearing blue, since for some reason adding more of the same color tended to make her just a little less noticeable than adding anything new. Just a quiet blue shadow haunting the Mandalore's steps.

He had been gone a while, and she had to get out. She pulled together a few odds and ends from her latest evening cooking, a bowl of thick nerf stew and some flatbread with a tall glass of water. Recalling how hot the forge got, she dropped some ice into the water. Recalling that Savin had an assistant out with him this time, she added another plate.

The blue-skinned self-appointed house servant laid a finger across her lips and assessed this. Two plates, each with bread and a bowl. And two glasses. Two hands. She hadn't been a waitress for nothing. With a short "Hn," she resolved herself and took the first plate in one hand, crooked the glass between her elbow and her side, and then repeated the same with the other. Quiet paces in thin-soled shoes carried her outside into sunlight and a million tiny woodland noises. Much better.

She hurried as best she could to keep the soup from cooling and the water warming, but halted on the path when she realized that they weren't alone at the forge. Blue armor on both. Strange. She didn't recognize them. Alema had only brought enough for two people. She'd just have to make another trip.

Well, so what if they had guests. It didn't matter. Savin could handle it, and all Alema had to do was see that everybody was cared for.

As she drew closer the ringing clang of the forge smothered her quiet steps. The noise was good. It was loud and it vibrated down through her ears into her blood. She could feel it in the soles of her feet. Slipping inside she carefully laid the plates and glasses down on a workbench.

As soon as they were out of her hands she dashed back outside to hurry back to the house. There might have been enough of the brisket from two nights ago if she supplemented it with some lamta. The twi'lek would have liked to tarry a moment at the side of the path to feel the grass under her feet--the sensation had left her completely hypnotized for almost a minute when they'd first arrived--but there were guests to be attended. They had to come first.

Alema, unaware of the great advance in Mandalorian resource that the Mandalore was showing to a man she didn't realize she knew, left the forge behind to retrieve enough food to attend on Savin's guests.

She had pulled out the remains of the leftover brisket when she noticed that she wasn't alone. As much as the twi'lek appreciated company, it was hard not to be startled by how quickly it could sometimes appear. She managed not to jump at the sudden footstep behind her. Medrit. Just Medrit.

Alema liked him, even if it wasn't really her place to make such judgments. He was willing to open his home to a complete stranger, and Alema had to admit that as strangers went she erred on the side of strangeness. Simultaneously reclusive and craving contact, eager to help and afraid to be noticed. Medrit was... tolerant of her. And she appreciated that.

It was good of him to offer her assistance, but it was a hard thing to accept. Now that she was here such things simply were not his position; they were beneath him and given the presence of someone like Alema to do them he really ought to busy himself with more worthy tasks for his station.

Then again, by all indications Medrit was used to dominion over these things as well. How would Alema have felt if someone had suddenly taken over the galley on the Revenge? Replaced, obsolete. Painful feelings. Feelings that were part of the reason she had left. It would be inexcusable to outright deny Medrit and risk putting him in the same position.

"If you like," Alema replied deferentially. "But you all get so busy, and it's no trouble for me to put together a plate or two." A thin smile, and a change of subject while she continued sifting through leftovers. "What have you been working on, if it's not too bold to ask? You all seem rather determinedly busy."

Alema's eyes widened in a dutiful display of pleased surprise. It really was an excellent thing for her friend's militant nation to find such a natural resource, even if Alema's knowledge about it was limited. She knew they used it in many things, but had no idea just how scarce it was. Still, it was clearly important to Medrit, and that meant she didn't need to understand the gravity of what he'd told her. He understood and it mattered to him, and therefore it was important. If he'd told her they had found a pile of orange featherdown in the forest, it would have been enough for Alema that they were pleased.

"That's wonderful," she answered. "I'm glad that you have that at your disposal. And I'm glad that it's given Savin something concrete to do. He always seems so much happier when he's busy," the twi'lek offered, alluding only very carefully to her friendship with the Mandalore. If hammering weapons out of hot metal made Savin happy, then the universe didn't have enough beskar in it to please Alema. Whatever he needed.

She began dividing leftover meat equally onto plates, suppressing the urge to fill the silence. If there wasn't enough of this, she could always round it out with the mynock she'd cooked just before sunrise two days ago. It had made a good breakfast for her hosts, but they had not quite eaten all of it.

Alema pulled the container out and set it to reheat while she waited quietly. She never knew what to say around Medrit. He was quiet, and she was grateful for that sometimes. It meant there was little pressure on her to respond, and it relieved her of the obligation to weigh a mountain of words and gestures to puzzle out the correct reply.

Still... it also meant she had less information to work with. Savin always expected her to converse, but he also gave her the data she needed to do it properly. She knew him. She didn't know Medrit. All she knew was that she didn't seem to have offended him yet, and it was important that she keep things that way. If that meant maintaining a careful silence, so be it. Perhaps what he really wanted was for her to keep her mouth shut, in which case she'd been doing the right thing all along.

Alema nodded in grateful acknowledgement of Medrit's praise. She wanted to be helpful, and it was good that she could be of use. These people were kind and generous and happy. They were a family, and they were giving a stranger more than she had a right to ask for. If Medrit felt that she had done their household good in her time here, Alema could ask for no higher esteem.

"I would like it if you told me what I can do to make you more comfortable here."

Now there was a difficult inquiry to answer.

Part of her wondered what exactly he thought he could do for her. Did he personally have the power to drive a terrorist imperial fringe group from her homeworld? She doubted it. Could he give her back her life? Certainly not. Nor could he cease the unending obsession of their friend Savin with the wellbeing of a woman who survived only as a hollow figment of her former self. There was nothing she truly needed that he could give her, and she had lost the knack for wanting.

The appropriate response was to deny that she needed assistance of any kind, to avoid imposing on him further. It would be wrong--not merely morally, but cosmically awry--if Alema started making demands.

On the other hand, he clearly wanted to do something for her. Even if it made her uncomfortable to be the object of such concern, it was important to him. And that... perhaps meant that her own reservations were irrelevant. She didn't want to accept anything from him and there was nothing more she desired anyway. That meant Alema would have to think of something to appease Medrit.

Slowly, and with obvious effort, Alema dragged her gaze up to his. She remained perfectly still for the span of a couple of heartbeats while her mind raced to resolve these conflicting priorities.

The twi'lek spoke very slowly, in tense and quiet whisper. "This... is a good place. It... is... solid and good and full of people. The trees are never silent. There is... always color and sound, and..." Her thoughts escaped her in broken fragments, pulled together from pieces of memory and stray scraps of feeling that could still be recovered. Despite her sincere compliments, her voice had the tone of a woman betraying a terrible secret. The truth was so much more difficult to stitch together than a lie. Lies could be created from nothing. "Birds, stars, voices. There are many good things." She swallowed hard. "Being here is enough. It helps."

She blinked a few times, smoothly and quickly transitioning back to the business at hand. "The uj cake was a good idea. As was hiding it, I think," she commented, allowing an unfelt but seemingly appropriate warm humor into her voice. She picked up a plate in one hand and two glasses: one in her free hand and the other crooked in the elbow of the arm holding the plate. She left Medrit a glass and a plate, deferring to his desire to contribute. "But we'd best return with the rest of their lunch before our friends start gnawing off their own limbs in desperation, hm?" With a sudden merry smile and a whisper of dark blue fabric Alema was out the door again to lead the way back to the forge.

The former political prisoner tried not to dwell on the sound of Medrit's footsteps behind her. It was just Medrit. She liked Medrit. She just... did not particularly enjoy the sense that she was being escorted. What did he think would happen if she were left to complete her tasks alone? Trip, fall, cry? Fly into a screaming fit of insanity? Flee into the forest? She could not understand why he was supervising her. It never crossed her mind that he might have been genuinely--and rightfully--concerned.

Alema slipped through the doorway at the end of the path, noting with satisfaction that the plates she left before had already been claimed. She laid down her second set of lunch fare and cast a quick glance around the room to see what the others were up to, and if she had been noticed.

Alema paid some attention to the conversation around her, but had a hard time imagining that it involved her. Those people whose needs directed her life now were arranging their own affairs, and her presence was mere coincidence. It wasn't her place to have opinions about such things. She listened idly just so that she'd have some idea what lay ahead for Savin and their hosts, but it really had no immediate impact.

She nodded a silent reply to Savin when he greeted her, unwilling to allow the discourse to be disrupted further by her presence. Unfortunately, Savin had other ideas. Alema prepared herself for a brief token introduction before they all went on with their business.

Then one whirled around and looked at her. Really looked at her like she was the only thing in the room. She froze, her posture something like a mouse that had run halfway across a kitchen floor only to find the family pet staring at her hungrily. Too far to run back. Too far to run forward. Nowhere to go. Everyone was looking.

How did he know who she was? She remembered faces well, and would know if they'd met. They hadn't. Who was he? What could he want?

"Yes... that's what they called me." She recovered quickly, but not as quickly as she'd like. "I... am sorry, I don't... believe we've met." The twi'lek glanced to Savin, looking for some cue to what could possibly be going on. He must know; this was his friend, wasn't it?

Realization lit on her face with two words. Crimson's Children. How long had it been since she'd even thought about them? She'd forgotten about them almost immediately: just people she'd worked with one time. She had certainly never expected to encounter them again.

She obviously not expected them to remember her. Alema had no way to know just how many Mando'ade knew exactly who she was.

The twi'lek's smile was an expression of pleasure mixed with relief. She knew what to do here, it was just a matter of gracefully accepting thanks. It was nothing she couldn't handle. A quick 'you're welcome' and it would all be over and they could go on with their lives. "I... am glad that you're well. I haven't been keeping up with everyone, and it's nice to run into old friends. I got into a bit of trouble after we last spoke, but it worked out all right. Was a messy battle," she added. Alema did not bother to clarify whether she meant her near-capture by Imperials... or her recent and very real captivity.

That was enough talk about her. It was important to deflect the conversation away from herself, since she was hardly a fitting subject for all this attention. There were important people around. People she had helped once, and people who would certainly help her as well, charmingly ignorant of her station. Good people. "All we have on short notice is leftovers, but I brought what we have." Some of them were already disappearing into hungry Mando'ade, and Alema noted this with approval. Well-fed warriors were happy warriors, and they deserved that much. Savin needed her to give them that much. "Will you be here long? I can get something together for dinner."

Ma'am?

If it hadn't been coming from another woman, Alema would have been more in her element. Men often said "ma'am" or "miss" to highlight the differences in their stations. It was at once an instant barrier and a built-in overture. But Ruun was a woman. And that complicated things. The complicated play of gender and status was less intuitive with other females, since Alema wasn't as well-trained to deal with them except as potential rivals.

She needed to defuse this awkwardness between her and Ruun, deflect Rik's attention and dodge incoming volleys of admiration from the approaching Jen, and make sure that rooms were arranged for guests so that Medrit didn't have to do it. Long list.

She had to do it.

It's what she would have done back when she was... the woman they knew. Somehow it seemed easier to pretend with them here, these people who carried a stronger memory of the woman Cobalt than she had left within herself.

"Nice to meet you, Ruun. Please, call me Alema," she insisted. "No one's called me ma'am since I was a governess. And that was more years ago than I care to share," she joked, flashing a smile to the other woman in the room. Jokes about one's own age were always safe territory with other females. Good way to ease tension, distract from Rik's reverence. A tiny piece of her evidently-mysterious past. And possibly an opportunity to change the subject and flee.

"Really, though, would any of you like anything? You wouldn't think we'd have much by way of leftovers around, but we do and it won't take a moment for me to start on something for everyone. Medrit?" she appealed. "Did you have any plans for dinner, or shall I just run wild and take care of everyone however I can?" Hardly most people's definition of 'run wild,'--particularly since she was asking for permission beforehand--but it was certainly the closest Alema ever got.

Permission from Medrit was a tremendous relief to the former comms officer living under his roof. Alema had no idea whether he was responding to the unspoken plea for an escape in her request, or whether he was truly indifferent to whatever Alema wanted to do for dinner.

Medrit was indifferent, and the two guests seemed more than happy to be treated to dinner. Savin... Savin was unhappy again. Alema watched him go, dark brown eyes following him until he was gone.

It was just like before she had left. It was just like why she had left. He didn't need her. She couldn't do anything for him. He had so many burdens and so many losses to carry, and nothing she did was ever enough. But what else could she do but try? She had nothing else.

She glanced to their guests and then to the doorway through which her friend had vanished. There was a choice to be made, him or them. The twi'lek swallowed, reminding herself that if he needed to go, the best thing she could do for him was take care of his friends in his absence. She would still be helping.

It just felt hollow. She didn't know these people. Not really. They had nothing to do with her except by relation to him, and that made the service indirect at best. It made things harder. Harder to stay focused. Harder to keep things straight.

But she could do it. She knew she could.

She hoped she could.

With a grateful nod to Medrit, Alema took the dishes he'd stacked and slipped back outside. She wasn't sure just yet what everyone would be eating, but it had to be something that kept well. Savin hadn't asked for it, but he had to know she would save him a plate. He had to, didn't he? Hadn't she always made sure there was something left for him? Even after she'd left--forever, she'd thought--she had made sure that there was at least a week or two of food set aside so that he would know she had thought of him.

Why did he ask her not to wait up? Did he really think that she would just forget about him if he wasn't around? She didn't have anyone, anything, but him. Did he think she would make dinner for everyone but him just because he wouldn't be there?

One sentence, those three little words, left her in doubt. What had she done wrong?

The darkening sky around her would turn to night in a few hours. Night was a hard time, a quiet time. A time when the urge to run came slipping in, most difficult to resist.

She wouldn't. She couldn't run. Even when the only place for miles and miles where she could hear anything but her own breathing was the deep shadow of the forest, she would stay. Because here was where Savin expected her to be.

And now he expected her to take care of everyone.

She laid the plates down, ready to be washed, and pondered what she was going to do. Something good and heavy that could be made to stretch without too much trouble. She'd already made nerf stew, so soups were out. A roast might be good. And the long prep time would allow her an excuse to stay in the kitchen for a few hours until it was done. In the kitchen and away from their guests.

Unless of course, Rik or Ruun came to find her. At which point she would be trapped. But this was her best option, and it would have to do.

She set a large cut of meat from some unidentifiable but massive beast to marinade in some wine and oil. Alema wasn't certain what they had for vegetables, but with this meal it didn't particularly matter. Whatever she found would be perfectly fine. Everything would be fine.

They had some kibla greens, a couple of shadun bulbs, and even some celto and rilllrrnnn of all things. As she pulled the shadun cloves apart, the thorns on the outside bit into her fingertips and would clearly need to be removed. Alema selected a large broad-bladed knife and began chopping greens.

She wasn't sure when it happened, but suddenly there was just an awful lot of blood. Alema curled her fingers in and stepped away from the counter, afraid of getting it on the greens. There was a long laceration along the backs of her fingers, but she couldn't see it. Uncharacteristically her knife had slipped, and Alema hadn't seen it.

Red blood ran over slender blue fingers past her shoes onto the floor. Blood on clean white tile. Tile with... her blood, it was...

She didn't finish the thought. Her mind completely emptied out and she stared with rapt attention, lips slightly parted. It wasn't quite fear it was... beyond that. It was like the tiny filaments connecting one part of her self to every other part of her just... fell away.

Blood fell. The knife slipped from her hand and dropped with a clear ringing sound that fell on deaf ears.

"Now hold still, the blade is going to break your skin a little bit more than a needle vould."

Her hands wanted to fly up to cover her ears. Her body wanted to close her eyes, drop to her knees, curl on the floor, scream. But Alema couldn't move. Because Alema wasn't there.

Alema slipped quickly past all thoughts into a great open chasm inside herself from which not even her dreams could emerge. The abyss wasn't simple nothingness. It weighed down like the black water at the bottom of an ocean, driving her further and further under.

She did not move at Medrit's touch, not helping but at least not resisting. Her old habit of standing or sitting with careful stillness became something terrible and unnatural, as though she had ceased to be animate altogether. Not a woman or living thing. Certainly not the retired comms officer who had slowly been falling to pieces since Savin's enemies had found her.

Blood pooling on the tile began to sink through the thin cloth of her shoes, staining the indigo fabric a sticky black. The thick red substance continued seeping out past her skin, sinking into the gauze that would hopefully stop the flow. Still she didn't move.

It was easy enough to work the bandages, since Alema's hands stayed however Medrit positioned them. They did not move unless he moved them. Walking was quite another matter. When she was finally turned away from the blood-splashed floor she was standing on, she began to turn where she was directed. The motion of walking was too complicated and the one-time temple dancer stumbled. It wasn't until strong arms caught her that some inner piece of her was vaulted up from beneath the heavy dark water, back up through the place where dreams and thoughts drifted like so much blasted-out rubble.

"I vant that Mandalore."

Finally her body unlocked and acted on its own. Her lungs took a sudden powerful breath and her body did the only thing it knew to do without Alema's will there to silence it. It screamed.

Like a woman awakened from a nightmare by the sound of her own voice, Alema jolted back to awareness of herself. Strong hands holding her back. Blood. Everything seemed to make sense until she realized that neither of them was armed. They hadn't hurt her. That was just Medrit. She liked Medrit.

The twi'lek shrank away from the familiar Mando, her eyes flicking suspiciously to Ruun. "I don't understand," she whispered.