tritanopia | The Mandalorian

thirty-six

"You know who I am, Fae-" His words stopped dead when he felt the heat against the side of his neck. While he had spoken he had raised one of his hands with the intention of pressing it against Fae's cheek as some form of endearment. And he felt the lightsaber before he saw it; it having been activated and poised against his throat before his mind could register the flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Every storm trooper in the area instinctively lifted their blasters to have Fae in their sights practically immediately -- but were silently told to stand down by the way the man cautiously lifted his arm in a signal to hold fire.

Nobody was more shocked at Fae's action than she was herself. The day that she had finally left she had sworn herself to uphold a certain standard -- and, although it may have been purely internal and not spoken aloud to a single soul, Fae had previously believed that she would die before she let herself slip. But then, of course, the incident on the prison ship had, well, happened, and it was from that point that Fae vowed to never use the force again from that point. Which had worked...up until roughly five minutes ago where she had, albeit in a moment of blind anger, thrown Mando in a wall truly without thinking twice.

In her own mind, Fae was a sinner. Against which god, exactly, she did not know -- nor care. A sinner is a sinner, no matter what entity a person believes in. But when you're someone such as Fae, who believed in absolutely nothing, and no one, the one thing that you have left to hold onto is, perhaps, your own downfall. Because that was, in the end, a proven thing. And so if Fae was a sinner then so be it...at least she would have something to conduct herself by. To hold herself to.

How lost do you have to be to let the devil lead you home?

"Who the fuck are you?" Fae demanded again, her voice firmer and louder this time as she held the lightsaber only a couple of inches from singeing skin. The feel of the weapon in her hand was sickeningly familiar. There were some things from her past life that the girl had somehow managed to forget -- the smell of her room, the softness of her bed, the sound of her mother's voice. But the sensation of wielding such power in only one hand would forever been scorned into the forefront of her mind. The way the blazing red flickered dangerously around the edges and practically vibrated with potential anarchy seeped into her skin and bones like a wave of comfort and confidence.

Despite the resentment it caused towards herself, Fae could not deny the way she felt completely untouchable right then in that moment.

The man released a deep breath, his eyes reflecting the dangerous hue of red so close to causing his demise, and said firmly, "I am your father, Fae."

Of course, Fae had already known that he was going to say exactly that. She had known it since the second he had opened his mouth for the first time and yet the experience of actually hearing it out loud was what caused her breathing to to gradually get heavier and lead her to grip the lightsaber with two hands rather than just the one in order to keep it from shaking. And despite not being taken off guard in the slightest, it did nothing to hold off the unrelenting denial.

"You're not my father," She stated in a broken tone which suggested that there was absolutely no room for argument.

"I am your father," He repeated, taking the risk to gingerly lift a hand to push away the girl's arm so that the lightsaber was a few more inches away from him. "I just need you to listen to me-"

His hand had remained where it was for only a second or two at most before it was shaken off, and the weapon returned to it's previous level of threat.

"My father is dead," Fae's voice finally cracked as one single tear ran down the curve of her cheek, but the fierceness in her voice did not diminish.