dathomirs | for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

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 The directive was a simple one. Routine even. For the Inquisitorious' most loyal hound, it was a test of his extensive conditioning. He wasn't a normal Inquisitor - where there was some level of free will with them, with this one, most, if not all of it had been snuffed out He had one order, and one order only: obey. 

Often, obey meant kill. Destroy. Terminate a target, eliminate a base or a threat by wiping it off the map and vanishing as if he'd never been there. No evidence. Typically, he was sent alone, where an Inquisitor would have an entire squadron of troopers to lead. There wasn't much else. He was a blank slate, a sum of what they made him into, a ghost. He didn't think of himself as anything because his thoughts were all programmed by someone else.

As was his training. 

Whoever he'd once been had been washed away under months of torture and conditioning until he truly was nothing but a weapon of the Empire. 

(It wasn't foolproof - on more than one occasion a hint of something would slip through his shields, causing him to question... but they'd take him back and start fresh, wipe the slate all over again).

The pilot did not let up once they landed on the nearly empty ruins of the planet Dathomir. A nightsister, his target, there had been a knowing smile on Grand's face but he did not know what it meant nor did he care enough to ask as he gathered his gear and boarded the ship. The chip in his hand revealed a woman, zabrak by the look of it - according to the information, one of the last of her kind. He said nothing, or felt nothing as he stared at the holographic image for a moment longer than normal, before stashing it once again. Adjusting his helmet, he drew his saber and stepped lightly over the rust red terrain to where he believed he would find her. 

When he found the woman in question, he engaged, red blade flashing as he ducked, dodged, and struck against her. She was powerful; the report had said as much - not to underestimate her and do not come back until the job was complete. For a while it seemed like they were both on even ground and fairly matched well. Neither had the upper hand. 

Not until she slipped past his defenses once, for only a second. The strike was strong enough to throw him back off his feel, the blank mask flying off his face as he hit the ground. 

Get. Up. Do not fail. Or else. 

Head still bowed, he climbed awkwardly back to his feet before meeting his opponents eyes, wiping blood from his mouth. Green eyes stared back from a face that might be all too familiar, if not slightly different - pale and thinner, but unmistakably the face of someone long since dead and gone stares back, eyes full of hate and rage, pain screaming into the force. 

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Cal's brow raised as he shot Merrin an incredulous look. "I did what now?" On second thought, maybe he'd rather not know - it sounds like it would be an embarrassing story (for him). With a slight nod, he moves to sit down in front of her, bringing one leg underneath him as he tries to lose some of the tension in his shoulders.

Haircuts and grooming had never been a particularly pleasant experience, for anyone involved but he trusts Merrin even if he can't fully remember her, knows enough that she won't do anything he doesn't want her to do.

It's just hard when there are so many experiences and memories that are tied up in even the most mundane day-to-day things that threaten him at every chance.

"Alright, I'm ready. Have at it."

[dathomirs]

Merrin merely shrugs, her lips sealed on the matter of lightsaber haircuts for the time being. He'll remember eventually, and she's not sure that she can quite describe the effect the intially lopsided result had had on the rest of the crew. There had been tears of the laughing far too hard variety on more counts than it seems fair to recount just now.

She stands behind Cal and starts to work the tangles out of his hair with her fingers before she even touches it with a brush or comb. She can be more gentle this way; it has nothing at all to do with the fact that she's spent endless nights wishing she could reach out and thread her fingers through the vibrant strands just one more time, as she often had when he couldn't sleep or simply needed comfort. If she lingers a bit over this step before picking up a comb again, who can truly blame her? She had told Cal she would be careful, after all.

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Somehow, Cal isn't sure that it's a memory he wants back - it's likely embarrassing. There are occasional flashes, of the person he used to be that come through, sometimes. Cal hadn't resembled the deadly, emotionless killer he'd been for the last two years - he fought, but he looked at killing differently. He'd also had the ability to quip out a retort, which was starting to come back. But he was also prone to bouts of well, he's just going to say that he was younger then, and leave it at that.

He knows he's tense, when Merrin first begins. Not due to a lack of trust, right now she and BD are the only ones in the galaxy that he trusts, but he's still getting used to a gentle touch over one meant to cause hurt. But as she continues, his shoulders begin to loosen and relax as she works the knots and tangles. Wearing a helmet for a long period of time meant it was likely to get messed up, and his handlers kept his grooming the bare minimum in that regard.

And they'd never been kind or as careful to work out knots like Merrin was doing.

[dathomirs]

Merrin is patient as she waits for Cal to begin to relax. She remembers how difficult it had been for him to fully unwind even before his disappearance, but she also remembers that touch had been the thing to ground him. At least that much hasn't changed between them.

Once she's satisfied with the state of both Cal's hair and his nerves, she picks up the comb and scissors and starts carefully trimming sections to the length he'd come to prefer it for much of their time together. Still a little intentionally messy, still a little longer than was perhaps ideal for fighting, but closer to something recognizably Cal.

"I am sorry I do not have much in the way of small talk to distract you. While you were gone, I -- Cere said I was very singularly focused in a way that was beginning to concern her. I cannot say she was wrong, but it does not make for pleasant retelling."

She'd thrown herself into the fight she'd once wished Cal to take even a short break from, and then into tracking this new Inquisitor with such persistence that she'd had to leave to avoid breaking the hearts of everyone who had loved Cal should her suspicions turn out to be false. Or true, for that matter. She hadn't known what she'd find under that mask. How much of Cal would be left. It's been a relief to learn that he's still there, intact memories or no.

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"s'okay." Cal replies with a half shrug. It is, he doesn't mind the silence. One would think it would make it easier to fall back into his memories, but it doesn't really bother him - his mind isn't on his time in the Empire's clutches, the pain and torment he'd endured but just how gentle Merrin is with him. She's careful but isn't treating him like he could break at any second.

"As you can see I'm not really much of a talker, either." The thing is, Cal isn't sure if that's always been the case with him. If the silence was a normal thing - or if he was talkative and open before he'd been captured. While he feels like he might've been, he can't picture it. Then again he can't really picture the person that he supposedly was before the Empire got him. There are also times where he feels that he's always been this hollowed out, husk of a person and that's how it was so easy for them to fill in the places with the perfect soldier of their own making.

Eventually, he will remember it all. Eventually. Cal needs to be patient with himself, forgiving of his faults but neither are things he knows much about doing. He flounders a moment longer before speaking again.

"Why don't you tell me something from before? Something that we did together."

[dathomirs]

"You were the more talkative of the two of us before. It took me some time to become used to it, as the Nightbrothers were not particularly good conversationalists."

Merrin tries to keep her tone light, not wanting to burden Cal with the weight of expectation. She knows that version of Cal is likely to be gone, even if more of his memories return in time. The easy companionship they'd come to share back then had evolved once before; she could love whatever version of themselves they discovered together.

"I remember one night soon after I'd joined you. You were only barely healed from a particularly difficult mission. Cere and Greez went for some supplies, and the two of us stayed up half the night just talking. Morning came entirely too soon, but it was the first time I had talked about my sisters to anyone in years."