OOM: Csilla
This is what it’s like to be Jedi Jaina Fel right now:
You wake up at five in the morning when the alarm on the chronometer starts to hum an obnoxious tune by the Modal Nodes, a band both you and Jag can agree on but neither can stand this early in the morning. Depending on how much sleep you’ve gotten the night before, the chrono either gets turned off when your husband finally admits to being awake, or you hurl it across the room with the Force and then crawl back up in the warm nest of blankets, skin, and pajamas.
It’s a good thing you’re an apt mechanic.
But both you and he are awake right now, and while you lie there for five extra minutes, tangled in each others arms, you know the day needs to start. He has the CEDF to get to, and on a day like today, you have a shipment of datachips to deliver to Shili. So, reluctantly, you both crawl out of bed. As he slips into the ‘fresher, you straighten up the sheets. While you don’t mind if Jay-vee cleans up the rest of your home, you don’t like the droid in here. It’s your sanctuary, and only Jagged’s allowed.
By six hundred hours, both of you are dressed and fed, and you kiss your husband goodbye before returning upstairs to find your favorite blaster pistol and slide it in to the holster hanging off your belt. Your long hair’s tied back in a braid today and you’re not dressed in any manner that would resemble a Jedi. Instead, it’s tight black pants with a vibroblade holster around your thigh, a dark green thermal shirt, and a black vest that carries your lightsaber - safe and out of sight. Wedding ring and gallinore necklace, however, accompany every outfit and you make sure that the thin metal chain doesn’t tangle your hair when you put the necklace on.
You pull on the gloves and by now it’s only six fifteen and the day’s still early. A section of the farm room has been cleared for you to run your training in. After all, as the Sword of the Jedi, you can’t ever afford to be out of shape or lessen your skills. So, lightsaber training against remotes takes up the next hour and forty-five minutes of your day, occasionally intermingled with a Jedi meditation or two.
You call a carriage to take you across the iceway now, making a mental note to remind Jagged that at some point, it might be wise to invest in another speeder. It comes - ten minutes late - but that doesn’t bother you as much as it once should. The run to Shili’s straightforward, and you have time to spare.
Docking Bay 903 is your destination, where the outdated WUD-500 Corellian star yacht named the Evasive Maneuvers waits. You smile fondly when the lift stops on the proper level and your ship - yours and Jag’s, that wedding gift you purchased for the both of you - comes into view. Even though she’s only belonged to you for a few short months, there are already so many memories tied up with her - of you and him working to make her the second fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy (nothing will ever compare to the Falcon of course).
Nuruodo’s men haven’t arrived yet with the shipment - a glance at your wrist chronometer tells you that there’s still about twenty minutes to go - and that’s fine. It means that you have time to tinker with the sublight engines, something you’ve been longing to do for days.
By now it’s nearly nine hundred hours and the shipment just arrived. It’s loaded into Maneuvers’ cargo bay and you run the preflight diagnostics. A co-pilot would be helpful with a ship of this size, but you know you can handle her. Jag will be your co-pilot (or pilot) next time he doesn’t have duties with the CEDF to attend to. For such a simple flight, you’ll be fine on your own.
You get the clear sign to take off and a door opens overhead to allow the ship to fly out. You orbit Csilla for a brief moment, taking in the blue-white ice world before flying further away and then punching in the hyperspace coordinates. Sit back, relax. The next two hours are all automated.
The cargo run goes smoothly and you meet up with your contact on Shili and then stop by the local cantina for a drink. On your way back to the docking bay, you pass by a Duros merchant selling some sort of floral wooden carving of one type or another and decide to buy one to put on the caf table. You have a home to place such objects now, after all.
Then back to Csilla in record time. Evasive Maneuvers isn’t the fastest ship out there, but you and Jag are working on that. She’ll be formidable in no time, a respectable ship for two snub fighter pilots.
From the docking bay you swing by work to drop off the receipts and then a carriage home through the underground roadway running by your inoperative shrimp farm. It’s about fourteen hundred hours now and you’re not expecting Jagged home for another three hours or so. You pat Sneaky’s head and give Jay-vee a curt wave and then head upstairs to change. Or, at least, remove the blaster, vibroblade, and vest. Then it’s downstairs to the holocomm to put in a call to Ossus or Coruscant and keep base with the Jedi.
You’re still not needed for any missions and the lack of activity irks you ever so much. After grabbing a hot chocolate from the kitchen, you debate visiting friends in Milliways and then opt not to. Zekk’s on Ossus today; in some strange way, compliment of the strong Force connection that exists between you, he’s kept you company all day. You can feel his amusement at your boredom and you shove it away. It’s not exactly like when he was your mindmate, but in many ways it’s still the same.
Finally, you decide on a nap and curl up on one of the couches downstairs, staring out at the cavern wall across from your home until your eyes drift closed. You don’t wake until a gentle kiss is placed on your cheek and a cold hand runs down the sleeve of your shirt. He’s home and that means you fell asleep, but you don’t care. Yawning slightly, you sit up and run a hand through your hair, not really bothering to fix it. Jag’s never cared about your appearance even if you sort of do. Instead, you let the braid go. Hair will fall into place eventually.
As you catch up with him on the day, you and he head into the kitchen to prepare a meal. Sure, Jay-vee could take care of it, but lately, the two of you have enjoyed this time together doing something as menial as preparing dinner instead of having to save the galaxy yet again. The big circular table seems big for just the two of you and it’s a reminder that some day, your family is going to grow. By nineteen hundred hours, the dishes have been cleared and the two of you have retired upstairs for the night.
Sometimes, during these evening hours, comm calls are made to his parents or yours. Other times, it’s spent working together on cleaning up the work room - cleaning out the tanks and dusting the shelves and fixing the storage unit that also leads to Milliways. But tonight, you and he have settled on going up to your room and watching an old holovid (Jag always had this weakness for old holovids) before it leads to activities that would possibly make a Twi’lek dancing girl blush.
Then you change into your night clothes and slip to the ‘fresher to clean up before crawling back in to bed. Five minutes later, somewhere close to twenty-three hundred, he’s joined you back in bed and your body instinctively curls up against him when he wraps an arm around you. It hasn’t been a long day, but your eyes drift close anyway, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of his quiet snores.
It’s not the life you’ve been used to living. It’s different, it’s tamer. There’s less heroics and less death. There’s more quality time spent with the one person who means the galaxy to you and there’s more love. It’s a strange swap, spaced even, but it’s not that bad.
Because you know, deep down, this is what you wanted. It’s not what you imagined, but you have him. And that’s what counts most now.
You wake up at five in the morning when the alarm on the chronometer starts to hum an obnoxious tune by the Modal Nodes, a band both you and Jag can agree on but neither can stand this early in the morning. Depending on how much sleep you’ve gotten the night before, the chrono either gets turned off when your husband finally admits to being awake, or you hurl it across the room with the Force and then crawl back up in the warm nest of blankets, skin, and pajamas.
It’s a good thing you’re an apt mechanic.
But both you and he are awake right now, and while you lie there for five extra minutes, tangled in each others arms, you know the day needs to start. He has the CEDF to get to, and on a day like today, you have a shipment of datachips to deliver to Shili. So, reluctantly, you both crawl out of bed. As he slips into the ‘fresher, you straighten up the sheets. While you don’t mind if Jay-vee cleans up the rest of your home, you don’t like the droid in here. It’s your sanctuary, and only Jagged’s allowed.
By six hundred hours, both of you are dressed and fed, and you kiss your husband goodbye before returning upstairs to find your favorite blaster pistol and slide it in to the holster hanging off your belt. Your long hair’s tied back in a braid today and you’re not dressed in any manner that would resemble a Jedi. Instead, it’s tight black pants with a vibroblade holster around your thigh, a dark green thermal shirt, and a black vest that carries your lightsaber - safe and out of sight. Wedding ring and gallinore necklace, however, accompany every outfit and you make sure that the thin metal chain doesn’t tangle your hair when you put the necklace on.
You pull on the gloves and by now it’s only six fifteen and the day’s still early. A section of the farm room has been cleared for you to run your training in. After all, as the Sword of the Jedi, you can’t ever afford to be out of shape or lessen your skills. So, lightsaber training against remotes takes up the next hour and forty-five minutes of your day, occasionally intermingled with a Jedi meditation or two.
You call a carriage to take you across the iceway now, making a mental note to remind Jagged that at some point, it might be wise to invest in another speeder. It comes - ten minutes late - but that doesn’t bother you as much as it once should. The run to Shili’s straightforward, and you have time to spare.
Docking Bay 903 is your destination, where the outdated WUD-500 Corellian star yacht named the Evasive Maneuvers waits. You smile fondly when the lift stops on the proper level and your ship - yours and Jag’s, that wedding gift you purchased for the both of you - comes into view. Even though she’s only belonged to you for a few short months, there are already so many memories tied up with her - of you and him working to make her the second fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy (nothing will ever compare to the Falcon of course).
Nuruodo’s men haven’t arrived yet with the shipment - a glance at your wrist chronometer tells you that there’s still about twenty minutes to go - and that’s fine. It means that you have time to tinker with the sublight engines, something you’ve been longing to do for days.
By now it’s nearly nine hundred hours and the shipment just arrived. It’s loaded into Maneuvers’ cargo bay and you run the preflight diagnostics. A co-pilot would be helpful with a ship of this size, but you know you can handle her. Jag will be your co-pilot (or pilot) next time he doesn’t have duties with the CEDF to attend to. For such a simple flight, you’ll be fine on your own.
You get the clear sign to take off and a door opens overhead to allow the ship to fly out. You orbit Csilla for a brief moment, taking in the blue-white ice world before flying further away and then punching in the hyperspace coordinates. Sit back, relax. The next two hours are all automated.
The cargo run goes smoothly and you meet up with your contact on Shili and then stop by the local cantina for a drink. On your way back to the docking bay, you pass by a Duros merchant selling some sort of floral wooden carving of one type or another and decide to buy one to put on the caf table. You have a home to place such objects now, after all.
Then back to Csilla in record time. Evasive Maneuvers isn’t the fastest ship out there, but you and Jag are working on that. She’ll be formidable in no time, a respectable ship for two snub fighter pilots.
From the docking bay you swing by work to drop off the receipts and then a carriage home through the underground roadway running by your inoperative shrimp farm. It’s about fourteen hundred hours now and you’re not expecting Jagged home for another three hours or so. You pat Sneaky’s head and give Jay-vee a curt wave and then head upstairs to change. Or, at least, remove the blaster, vibroblade, and vest. Then it’s downstairs to the holocomm to put in a call to Ossus or Coruscant and keep base with the Jedi.
You’re still not needed for any missions and the lack of activity irks you ever so much. After grabbing a hot chocolate from the kitchen, you debate visiting friends in Milliways and then opt not to. Zekk’s on Ossus today; in some strange way, compliment of the strong Force connection that exists between you, he’s kept you company all day. You can feel his amusement at your boredom and you shove it away. It’s not exactly like when he was your mindmate, but in many ways it’s still the same.
Finally, you decide on a nap and curl up on one of the couches downstairs, staring out at the cavern wall across from your home until your eyes drift closed. You don’t wake until a gentle kiss is placed on your cheek and a cold hand runs down the sleeve of your shirt. He’s home and that means you fell asleep, but you don’t care. Yawning slightly, you sit up and run a hand through your hair, not really bothering to fix it. Jag’s never cared about your appearance even if you sort of do. Instead, you let the braid go. Hair will fall into place eventually.
As you catch up with him on the day, you and he head into the kitchen to prepare a meal. Sure, Jay-vee could take care of it, but lately, the two of you have enjoyed this time together doing something as menial as preparing dinner instead of having to save the galaxy yet again. The big circular table seems big for just the two of you and it’s a reminder that some day, your family is going to grow. By nineteen hundred hours, the dishes have been cleared and the two of you have retired upstairs for the night.
Sometimes, during these evening hours, comm calls are made to his parents or yours. Other times, it’s spent working together on cleaning up the work room - cleaning out the tanks and dusting the shelves and fixing the storage unit that also leads to Milliways. But tonight, you and he have settled on going up to your room and watching an old holovid (Jag always had this weakness for old holovids) before it leads to activities that would possibly make a Twi’lek dancing girl blush.
Then you change into your night clothes and slip to the ‘fresher to clean up before crawling back in to bed. Five minutes later, somewhere close to twenty-three hundred, he’s joined you back in bed and your body instinctively curls up against him when he wraps an arm around you. It hasn’t been a long day, but your eyes drift close anyway, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of his quiet snores.
It’s not the life you’ve been used to living. It’s different, it’s tamer. There’s less heroics and less death. There’s more quality time spent with the one person who means the galaxy to you and there’s more love. It’s a strange swap, spaced even, but it’s not that bad.
Because you know, deep down, this is what you wanted. It’s not what you imagined, but you have him. And that’s what counts most now.