(no subject)
Even the terrifying can become routine, with enough exposure. After two weeks on-planet, Laranth has learned to accept the salutes of the clones, how to project confidence while on patrols even if she doesn't even remotely feel it, how to move with the rhythm of camp life. She joined the rest of the Jedi for strategy meetings every morning and evening, and stayed with her Master for meditation during down time. She made friendships amongst the clones - not nearly as alike as the holonet would proclaim, they all have their own very distinct personalities despite their identical appearances. Though even that isn't quite true - they've all adopted small variations - different haircuts, tattoos, scars... it is easy to tell them apart if one pays attention.
One long hazy afternoon she spent with a trio of snipers, all of them True Gunners - those talented soldiers who would nail any target within the range of their blasters without hardly aiming. From them she learns how they feel about their role in the Republic army, and gets her first feel for DL-44 blaster pistols - a compact weapon that rattles her hard the first time she fires it. It isn't the kick that gets her, which is actually negligible in comparison to its power, but the sudden sense of trueness that sings through her connection to the Force. The three soldiers are mystified, she can tell, when she drops the blaster and backs away from it, but she's too stunned to care much. This is... not how it is supposed to be. Jedi carry lightsabers. It is considered heretical to carry any weapon beside the lightsaber, even by the most popular non-mainstream Jedi group - the Paladins. Laranth has only met one Paladin who carried other weapons - the Grey Paladin who had saved her life, and the life of her Master, so many years before. This sudden revelation does nothing for her confidence, which is still faltering. The other Padawan, though younger than she is, is lightyears ahead of her in terms of raw talent where their signature weapon is concerned. The other Master offered once to let the Padawans spar for practice, and Laranth has never loved her Master more than when he had politely refused the offer.
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Her cot creaked ominously as she flopped onto it, exhausted and heart-sore. Today's patrol was bloody, and one of her sniper friends had been fried to a crisp in front of her eyes thanks to an unanticipated addition of an extra platoon of Droidekas. She buried her face in her hands, knowing that she wouldn't be sleeping any time soon - failure hung around her like a cloak, and if they were startled by a surprise attack later that night, she wouldn't be able to access the Force as she needed.
She's so tired.
Shrugging out of her robe, she knelt on the hardpacked dirt floor, ignoring the lure of her minimally comfortable bed to find what balance she can. She very nearly cracked her head on her Master's jaw when he knelt behind her, his hands firm on her shoulders.
"Padawan." She felt more than heard the rumble in his voice, and retaliated in a flood of words, all on a knifes-edge of breakdown.
"Master, I'm sorry, I couldn't tell they were coming, and I couldn't..." The soothing wave of power from her Master effectively silenced her - she couldn't even muster the energy to keep her stiff posture, slumping into a more comfortable heap instead.
"Ah, Atin, I would not have brought you here if I had the choice, but your performance thus far has only made me proud." The sincerity, the love, the fierce... yes, pride in his voice undid her. That night she cried herself to sleep, cradled against her Master's broad chest, as she hadn't been since she was a very young Padawan.
One long hazy afternoon she spent with a trio of snipers, all of them True Gunners - those talented soldiers who would nail any target within the range of their blasters without hardly aiming. From them she learns how they feel about their role in the Republic army, and gets her first feel for DL-44 blaster pistols - a compact weapon that rattles her hard the first time she fires it. It isn't the kick that gets her, which is actually negligible in comparison to its power, but the sudden sense of trueness that sings through her connection to the Force. The three soldiers are mystified, she can tell, when she drops the blaster and backs away from it, but she's too stunned to care much. This is... not how it is supposed to be. Jedi carry lightsabers. It is considered heretical to carry any weapon beside the lightsaber, even by the most popular non-mainstream Jedi group - the Paladins. Laranth has only met one Paladin who carried other weapons - the Grey Paladin who had saved her life, and the life of her Master, so many years before. This sudden revelation does nothing for her confidence, which is still faltering. The other Padawan, though younger than she is, is lightyears ahead of her in terms of raw talent where their signature weapon is concerned. The other Master offered once to let the Padawans spar for practice, and Laranth has never loved her Master more than when he had politely refused the offer.
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Her cot creaked ominously as she flopped onto it, exhausted and heart-sore. Today's patrol was bloody, and one of her sniper friends had been fried to a crisp in front of her eyes thanks to an unanticipated addition of an extra platoon of Droidekas. She buried her face in her hands, knowing that she wouldn't be sleeping any time soon - failure hung around her like a cloak, and if they were startled by a surprise attack later that night, she wouldn't be able to access the Force as she needed.
She's so tired.
Shrugging out of her robe, she knelt on the hardpacked dirt floor, ignoring the lure of her minimally comfortable bed to find what balance she can. She very nearly cracked her head on her Master's jaw when he knelt behind her, his hands firm on her shoulders.
"Padawan." She felt more than heard the rumble in his voice, and retaliated in a flood of words, all on a knifes-edge of breakdown.
"Master, I'm sorry, I couldn't tell they were coming, and I couldn't..." The soothing wave of power from her Master effectively silenced her - she couldn't even muster the energy to keep her stiff posture, slumping into a more comfortable heap instead.
"Ah, Atin, I would not have brought you here if I had the choice, but your performance thus far has only made me proud." The sincerity, the love, the fierce... yes, pride in his voice undid her. That night she cried herself to sleep, cradled against her Master's broad chest, as she hadn't been since she was a very young Padawan.