Ciphered Holos

What are they doing now?

It felt like the war was on the brink of something to the woman, the sixth sense of premonition that something moved, slipped in, and was growing. It was that precipice of feeling right before a major change in the landscape, that feeling that precipitated a clash on the battlefield.

She reached over, pulling out her datapad lying on the desk and with a flick starting to scan through the war reports.

She barely set foot on the Promenade now, excepting few occurrences to hang in the Slopes. But it wasn't even some feeling of 'too much to do' that kept her away, nor was it a feeling of 'evade your friends' but simply... it'd changed. Or she'd changed.

It was probably the latter.

Where are they now?

She didn't know. She occasionally kept in touch with Sriia but other than helping the woman they seemed to not exchange words. It was probably the 'opposite side of things' problem. Torlem had never shot a time to talk (and how long ago was that request and promise made?) and it'd been ages since she'd seen the 'old crowd' around. What was even left of it.

Maybe Torlem had gotten his Knighthood. Maybe the war was just too all-encompassing, too devouring, to allow for shenanigans. Or maybe she'd just stopped looking for them, stopped seeking out the thrill and adventure and - finally? - settling down.

She raised a hand, reaching up to stroke the muzzle of the small hound she'd picked up at the market. She wasn't attached to it, not like she'd been with Sparks, wasn't sentimental. Which meant she could pet it, croon to it, and not feel more than a flicker when it started to cry in pain as the blood and Force worked. But she had an idea and it hadn't shaken from her mind so she was sitting in the lab watching the Force move and twist and buckle as it bent to her will.

It was a battle of will though, watching the shifts and catching them as they started to unknit and return to normal - but no she wanted them this way. She tuned out the screams, the panicked cries of pain from the beast before they started to sound... more like screams. But still she didn't mind, fingers running down the barrier as she waited.

When it was done she could feel the Force shifting, the tug of emotions brought out unnaturally and wafting in her mind like an undercurrent of a scent, barely registered but there. Weak but that was the moment, the crux, the same feeling she'd felt when studying Ark's creation.

It bleated. It cried. And it died in the span of a few breaths.

Aran deactivated the cage, reaching inside and pulling out the mutilated corpse her experiment had left.

It'd worked.

Now she just needed to make the carrier live longer. And then... her mind turned over the possibilities. What was her goal? She knew the goal. Small, unobstrusive carrier tugging emotions into patterns. Weariness was a mindset that could be evoked, she figured, worming it into ranks slowly. Tired people were defeated people.

..defeat. Defeat. Weariness could be fought off. But weariness edged a battle to its end, a trudge of mistakes and fumbles leading to the inevitable conclusion of conflict.

Weariness, like sleep, was a natural state and something every species experienced. She could tease it out easily, worm it past defenses. Little plagues of weariness, pockets scurrying about - it was a little insidious way to migrate her experiments with emotions.

Would you enjoy the life...

She could almost hear the Pureblood's voice in her ear while absently brushing strands of hair from her face, the blood on her fingers tacky and copper-scented. Aran found she missed their company, missed the intricate debate and lessoning, the odd camaraderie, the odd and twisted friendship.

She missed the press to continue, too, so imposed it on herself now more than ever. There was no battlefield to test on nearby but she fancied if she needed to she could find another little skirmish zone and see her plans wrought large. Stop and think of what you're doing a little voice whispered and she ignore it, recalling instead the rush, the rightness, the comfort she found.

With a hand she reached down, picking up the corpse.

The pain was a small price to pay.