revivalproject | closed ☾

It's difficult for Merrin to sort through everything that happened in the last month, and how she feels about it. There's anger, for having her past taken away from her, even if it was dressed up differently. For the lies she still can't quite get out of her head. Annoyance, for the wasted month of her time. Those are directionless, and easy to compartmentalize.

The rest is much more complicated to unravel, things like guilt and disappointment and bitterness. Her life in the city was fundamentally differentmdash;she still had the great loss, the need for revenge for her sisters, but she also had... family. Friends. A path beyond only vengeance. She wasn't alone. Or lonely.

As it turned out, that changed things for her. A lot.

It's too much to untangle all at once, and on her own. Which is... new for her, since she's used to doing everything on her own, without relying on anyone, but whatever the city made them believe, Cal is still her friend. So it isn't too long after everything goes back to normal ("normal") when she teleports herself into Cal's workshop, because—well, she knows where he is. (She may or may not be keeping tabs on his location, by certain magickal means.)

"Cal." Just the first name, this time. "You are alright?"

It's strange, going from meeting someone to believing that someone practically raised you, loved you, became your family. And the strangest part of all is that there's a part of her that... misses it. Or wants it back? Merrin's not really sure yet, honestly, or if there's even a functional difference.

Either way, all she knows is that having him in her life, after her coven was taken away from her, changed everything. In the city, her childhood, in spite of the loss, was... happy. She was happy. It makes her wonder if Cobb was happy too, having her as a daughter.

It's not in her nature to avoid or let things linger, so she eventually uses her spell to teleport herself near the homes that Cobb has been fixing up—she's more familiar with Temba now, familiar enough to teleport most places instead of walking—and pokes around the houses until she finds him.

"Cobb Vanth." It feels slightly awkward even to her own ears, after weeks of thinking of him as her father. Of addressing him as if he was, with genuine affection.

"Hey kiddo." Cobb pauses and chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "Sorry. Habit. Memory?"

He shakes his head again and puts down his tools. After wiping his hands on his pants he walks over to her, giving her a little space because Maker it's strange.

For the past month this young woman was his daughter. Cobb had loved her fiercely in that other world. Now, she was almost a stranger again. He liked her before they went to that other world but he didn't really know her.

Now, he feels this weird sense of knowing her and caring for her but it's all fake. "Hello, Merrin. How've you been?"

Kiddo. It's like her heart does this funny little twist in her chest, and she feels a rush of fondness that she's not sure is her own feelings or the memory of them or what. It's just... confusing, and she's really starting to resent the situation that did it.

She shifts her weight to one foot, the movement somewhat awkward. A small line forms between her eyebrows, her mouth turning down.

"I have been..." She trails off, because that is a minefield of question, and she isn't really sure how to answer it truthfully. Merrin isn't the type of person to say fine just because it's polite. "Overwhelmed," she settles on finally, even if that doesn't feel quite right. "Much has happened. You are alright?"

Cal's in a bit of a strange place after everything, but he hasn't really found any real resentment to the experience overall. That's not to say he could approve of being thrust into some fictional life, and for how pleasant it had seemed to be, it still felt empty to his city-self then, like something was missing. It's strange to think about, but it makes sense, he feels. For all the pain and struggle that he'd been through, it was a part of him and who he'd become.

He'd jumped back into things, feeling that he needed to put his focus into something physical to help ground himself better. Having the familiar weight of BD-1 over his shoulder brings some comfort, the company of the little droid something he had sorely missed, even though he hadn't been aware of it.

So caught up in dismantling a random piece of Agrii equipment is he that when he suddenly finds they have extra company, Cal practically jumps. A few pieces go bouncing off the worktable, clattering onto the floor. The padawan shakes his hand out, setting down his arc welder to inspect the small, faint slash of a burn across a knuckle.

"Merrin! Hey," he says, looking over at her, somehow still managing a smile, but thankfully his mishap hadn't been too serious. "-yeah, I'm... I'm fine." It's also a relief that she's even come by at all. He's not sure how everyone's taken the city experience.

"How're you?"

Overwhelmed feels like the right answer. Cobb had felt that pretty strongly himself when he'd woken up from that reality. Seeing again had been a lot after a month of outlines and strange thermal visions of the world.

But like everything else overwhelming in his life he had pushed it down and focused on moving forward. It was the only way to go. It was the only way he knew how to live.

"I'm handling it. That wasn't a bad life so can't say I'm that upset by livin' it." He shrugged and leaned his shoulder against a wall. "Talked to Billy to check in with him. Figured you might want a little more time before we talked but I'm glad to see you."

Normally, it's kind of her own personal little game to see if she can startle him, but this time it's a little less fun. Still, his reaction is sort of... endearing, and her expression softens as she steps closer, using magick to lift the pieces that fell from the ground and deposit them back onto the table.

"I am..." She frowns while she considers her answer, before finally settling on: "I have been thinking." About the city, about her life there, and what it says about her life here. She still hasn't really untangled it all, but she did want to check in on Cal.

Suddenly, with little to no warning, she reaches out and takes the hand he burned, fingers curling around his wrist as she holds it in place in front of her. Her other hand glows green with magick that flows into the burn, healing the wound and soothing most of the pain. There's still a faint line there, but it's the best she can do without the Water of Life—and her healing was never that great anyway.

Merrin is surprised to hear him say that he isn't that upset, and it shows on her face, her eyebrows raising. But... she can't disagree with him. It wasn't a bad life at all—even though she was still in a world where her sisters had died, she was still able to be... happy. It was a stark contrast to the six years she spent on Dathomir, with only Malicos and her anger and vengeance for company, until Cal showed up.

"I do not need more time," she says, blunt as ever. She just wishes she could take all this a little more like Cobb. He looks almost relaxed, leaning against the wall—unlike him, she stands stiffly, her hands curled at her sides. Even hearing that he's glad to see her—well, her expression does soften a little.

"You are not upset?" The question ends up sounding a little more vulnerable than she'd intended, as if she'd expected him to... to say it was all bad, even the parts where she was his daughter.

Her admission has him nod, and he wouldn't be surprised if everyone has been reflecting on things since they'd been broken out of the lifelike illusion of a city. He knows he can't be the only one wrestling with having two sets of memories. "Yeah. Same here, really. Kind of hard not to, you know? Confusing too."

At least Cal's not as startled as the first time when Merrin suddenly grabs for his hand, even as he feels BD-1 jerk behind him before clambering up higher to peer over his shoulder. He's seen Merrin user her magick enough that it doesn't make him uneasy, trusting that she doesn't mean harm by it, despite the questionable appearance. It's the first time she's actually used it so directly on him that he can't help but tense a little, however brief as he forces himself to relax, watching in curious fascination.

The difference is more than obvious, and even if there's still a faint scar, it's such a minor thing. Cal smiles as he looks at her again. "You didn't have to..."

"That was the most peaceful life I've ever known," he said softly, seriously, with something like wistful sadness in his voice. "The kindest, the gentlest, and pretty loving. There's a part of me that misses it. No, I'm not upset Merrin. Far from it."

Yeah, a little part of him had been pissed off that his mind had been taken over but after thinking about it that life had been good. How could he be upset about that?

"But back to reality." He gestured to the house he was fixing up. "Figure we can be friends here. And look out for each other. And see what happens."

She'd accidentally caused him to hurt himself, and so she fixed it—she hadn't really thought of anything beyond that, even when she'd seized his hand. So Merrin's a little startled to find him smiling at her like that—like what? At all?—his hand warm and weighty in hers.

So of course, she immediately leans into threats. "You are complaining? I could put it back," she says, deadpan, and forces herself to drop his hand. It's a little more difficult to do than she'd been expecting, but she tries not to think about that.

That's more like the Merrin he knows, and yet he can sense the... Well he's not quite sure how to put it. There's an anxiousness there, and he feels he can relate. Weeks ago they'd shared a past, they'd been coworkers, friends.

When she releases his hand, Cal almost starts to reach for her own as she retracts it. He remembers a cool night, a crowded party, how beautiful she'd looked in that red dress...

"No, that's not-" he blurts, as though just remembering to speak again, feeling his face flush. "Thank you."

That's... touching. And she understands, because it's the also the most peaceful life she's had since her sisters were killed, where all she really had to worry about was school assignments and missed deadlines. And he's right—it was kind, and gentle, and loving. She can't really even say that for her childhood—Nightsisters aren't well known for being particularly kind or gentle.

"Yes. I would like that," she says, in that same soft and serious tone. She has no real way of knowing if the Cobb she knew in the city, who acted as her father, is the same or similar to the real Cobb—at least, not yet—but she does get the feeling that he's just as kind, gentle, and loving at his very core.

Her posture relaxing, she adds, "Nightsisters do not have fathers. I did not expect to ever have one, even for a short time. It was... a new experience."

This awkwardness between them is... strange, and new, and it doesn't settle quite right in her chest, especially since she's always felt comfortable around him before. Well, maybe not always, but... still. It's confusing.

Her head tips curiously to the side, seeing his face flush red—almost as red as his hair, she notes—since blushing is not a feature of Nightbrothers. But she doesn't say anything about it, instead nodding in response and curling her hand at her side, as if that could capture the warmth of his touch a little longer.

"It's strange," she says, purposefully aiming for a thoughtful tone. "To have memories of you when we were children." That's definitely been one of the weirder parts of all this—having what felt like two sets of memories, and then having to remind herself which set is fake. "It is sometimes difficult to remember they aren't real."

Cobb thinks about it for a moment as he studies her. Should he tell her? She's practically a stranger to him in this world but there's that pull, that fake past between them. "Never knew my dad. He was sold before I was born."

His story wasn't that unusual in a slave commune. Parents got sold away all the time. According to his mama he had his father's eyes. Cobb didn't know. The man was a ghost in his life, just memories haunting his mother.

"Like to think I did a decent job for you there." They had seemed happy, teasing each other and looking after each other. Cobb felt he'd done well. Still felt like that even though their life together was made up.

His fingers trace the what remains of the burn, hardly a scar compared to the others he still wears. He breathes a brief laugh as Merrin muses aloud. "Yeah...isn't it? It really is confusing with them still there. I'd have thought it all would have faded when everything snapped back to normal."

Cal looks over at her again almost hesitantly. "It's been pretty distracting. I'm not sure if it's because they're still fresh memories, in a way, but they just keep coming up. I thought it was easier to just focus on something right in front of me, work on things until I could straighten things out in my head." It had worked for a while anyway.

"...I know it wasn't something we'd actually lived out, or that we'd asked for, but it was...nice, in a way. Being able to know how a normal childhood might have been like. Well, normal in that world, I guess."

"Sold?" she echoes, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Your father was sold into slavery?"

Admittedly, she's still a little sheltered, after having spent her whole life on Dathomir, with only secondhand stories from her sisters to inform her of the wider galaxy. Information that was then completely cut off when they'd all died—she didn't even know anything about the fall of the Republic and rise of the Empire.

Traveling with Cal and his crew for the short time she did before coming here certainly widened her perspective, but slavery—the formal kind where people are bought and sold—is still somewhat nebulous to her. She's never seen the reality of it.

"It was... yes," she says after a pause, though she's not sure nice is the word she'd used so much as different. Of all her real memories, her childhood ones are her happiest—when she was surrounded by her sisters, and everything was still as it should be.

It was similar in the city, if even happier with the addition of Cal, but the real difference for her was what happened after her sisters had died, and her life had changed in an instant.

"You were not a Jedi at all?" she asks curiously. "Not even kept as a secret?" No training, no Force, nothing? How odd. Both that he was "normal" and just the idea of Cal not being a Jedi at all—it seems intrinsic to him, in her eyes.

"No, he was born into it. Just like me." Cobb looked away for a moment. His family line went way back on Tatooine. The Vanths had been slaves for generations. He was the first freed Vanth.

He sighed heavily and looked back at her. "I'd appreciate you keepin' quiet about this to the others. Don't like people knowin' what I was. It's not who I am now."

It was clear from his tone and expression that he was a little bothered by her knowing but she'd been his kind and always looked after him. He couldn't just forget that feeling.

Most people in the galaxy didn't know the reality of it. They got to ignore it on their fancy Core World. Cobb lived it and it wasn't pretty.

'Different.' That, he'd definitely agree upon.

"No," Cal says, shaking his head. "I was just...a regular person, trying to get by." The latter was a path he knew well enough, living and working on Bracca for several years, but that was an extreme compared to the relatively tame life he'd experienced.

He laughs lightly, shrugging a little. "Weird, right? But even as it was, there was just something that felt kind of...I don't know. Off. Unfulfilling, maybe. I wonder if I paid more attention to that feeling, if I would have realized things weren't supposed to be like they were."

Maybe it's naivete showing through, but she looks surprised by the admission, that people can just be born into slavery, and their parents and loved ones can be taken from them so callously. She's not so naïve as to believe that the galaxy doesn't have dark corners, but... yes, she sees now why he would describe their alternate life as peaceful, compared to this.

"I am glad you are no longer a slave. I will do that," she assures him. "Keep quiet, if that's your wish." Secrets are very safe with her, though this one—it seems as though he's... ashamed of it, and it doesn't sit right with her. If anyone should be ashamed, it's the people who kept him as a slave in the first place, and she can feel a thread of cold, protective fury snake through her chest.

Probably not very helpful to unleash at the moment, though she does frown, her eyes narrowing slightly. (Tattooine was the name of his planet, wasn't it? Maybe she can take the Mantis on a detour, when she gets back.)

And she feels compelled to add, her tone very firm, "I do not know you so well yet, Cobb Vanth, but I believe that it was never who you are."

So odd. Even having seen it for herself, right in front of her eyes, she still can't quite fathom Cal without his Jedi identity—probably because she'd faced his strength and purpose head on, had fought alongside him. Even so, she'd still...

"I know. It was the same for me," she says, her brow furrowing as she leans her hip against the edge of his worktable, arms crossed. There were definitely moments where things didn't feel right, like cognitive dissonance, and then the moment would pass as quickly as it came.

"But it was... easy to ignore." She sounds kind of annoyed, really, but the annoyance is directed mostly at herself. It was magick, an illusion, well-trod by Nightsisters. If she hadn't given up so easily, maybe she could've fought.

The lack of a distinct purpose had made things strange. Much of the hardship that they'd gone through is what had shaped them, painful as it was. It certainly brings a lot of perspective to things.

"Yeah," Cal nods, sharing the sentiment. "I think we just kept getting distracted by how...all right things were, or that they could be. And it wasn't entirely bad an experience. I just don't know that I'd have willingly chosen it, not like that." For all the loss and pain and regret, he can't just throw those things away.

"Folks look at you different when they know," Cobb explains as he moves to do something with his hands. He needs to keep himself busy against the wave of unease he feels talking about this. He gets back to work on pulling out some rotted wall where there was a leak in the pipes.

"It's always gonna be a part of me, kid. I'll always carry it. It's not who I am now, you're right, but it's there." He can't ever escape that past. It's burned into the back of his neck, hidden behind a scarf around his neck even now when he's inside.

"Just like you'll always carry what hardships you went through." He yanks at the wall, tears it free and tosses it to a pile that's building up a little distance away. "But I'd rather folks didn't know that side of me."

He was trusting her a lot with that information. Hopefully, his trust wasn't misplaced.

That's the thing, and that's what she's so torn about. In general, Nightsisters believe that suffering is a teacher, and that struggle begets strength. After seeing what her life could've been like, if she'd been shown kindness and understanding and love after her sisters' deaths, can she really say that she'd been weaker for it?

But at the same time, it hadn't been her life. Her real life. Her real circumstances, her choices, her... mistakes. It may not be perfect, but it's still hers.

Her thoughts feel like they're spiraling again, and she's not exactly sure how to articulate it. So she's quiet for a moment, her gaze focused on one of the little pieces—a bolt of some kind—on his worktable, her fingertips idly tracing the ridges, back and forth, while she thinks.

"It... no, I would not choose to forget," she says, her voice quiet. "My sisters, Malicos, you, Cal Kestis—it is all a part of me now." It all shaped her—she wouldn't be the same person she is today if it wasn't for everything unfolding the way it had, and her alternate life in the city is proof enough of that. "But," she adds, because there was always a but coming. "It was... nice. To see what could have been. I was... happy."

Her gaze is back on the bolt, avoiding his, because the admission feels... uncharacteristically vulnerable for her. Cal seems to have this funny way of making her open up more than she normally would.

closed ☾

☆ cal

☆ cobb

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