Mart Webber: Quiet

He sits nearly motionless against the canyon wall as the window blows sand and dust over his armor, covered head to toe at this point in it, his visor almost fully obscured as he finally wipes it down before retreating back into his thoughts again

It’s for the best, it has to be. Sandra and Callista, they’ll be good for each other, I know it. She’ll succeed where I failed. She’ll make Sandra happy. She has to, for I can’t. Not anymore. A betrayer. That’s what she called me. That’s what I am. That’s what I’ll be. It’s best to be forgotten. Remove myself from their lives altogether. Better for them, so I can’t interfere with their happiness, like I always seem to interfere with my own.

His mind goes back to the conversation he had with Zvadras before they broke up and how he doesn’t know what he wants anymore, nor does he have any idea of what he does now, a soft sigh escaping him as he shifts slightly in place

Zvadras, Sandra, Callista. They’re all better without me at this point. They have to be. Since it seems the only thing I do is cause misery to everyone around me. Because I myself live in misery, and I have no idea how I can possibly get out of it. I probably can’t. It’s not like I don’t deserve what has happened. What always happens. What was it that Sandra always says “…I am a Shadow…to the rest of the galaxy I no longer exist.” Or something like that, at least. Maybe that’s what I should do, now. Just stop existing. If only it were that easy. Callista, Zvadras, Sandra…please, just be happy. No matter what I feel, no matter what I go through. Just be happy, please…

He sighs softly and then settles in for some uncomfortable sleep against the rock, the sand continuing to accumulate on him

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A figure watches from the distance as he falls asleep, a shadow against the outcropping, their features obscured by a dark hood, only when sound out from the exhaustion does the figure approach, breaking the neck of a womp rat that had thought it had a free and easy meal. Not today it would not. A hand gently traces the helmet as they kneel beside him. The voice a whisper in the winds of the canyons

They do not deserve you Mart, they never have, none of them, they take and take and take…with no care for your pain, none of them…but I see it…and I care…the figure examines him as best they can, though remaining obscured in their own gear, mindful of any movement

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