Work Text:
1 BBY
The documentary about the life of forest nexus is excruciatingly boring. It seems like he’s been watching it for an eternity. Piett checks the progress bar - looks like it’s been an hour since he started.
Should he turn it off? Or should he keep watching and hoping for it to get more interesting? What if he spent the whole hour like this, waiting for the movie to get better, and wasted all this time?
However, it’s not like he can do anything productive with his life.
The nexu on the screen is gulping down chunks of an arboreal octopus, tearing off its twitching tentacles with forceful jerks of her head. Who told him to watch this? Most likely his sister. All of her favorite movies have graphic depictions of violence.
Where is she? Time is approaching midnight.
His datapad - the file named “Today” (Piett never remembers the current date, so the file is synchonized with his calendar) - the required section. Sorel, on a date, ETA - early morning. The comlink frequency of her partner. A note – If I’m not back by nine, then I’m dead and you must avenge me – contact Leia, she knows you. He doesn’t remember anyone called Leia, but there is only one contact under this name in his comlink’s memory.
The octopus on the screen stops moving, and the nexu is roaring for her cubs. Piett switches the screen off and goes to bed.
He dreams about rehearsing a love confession.
***
Sorel returns at seven, scowling and irritated. Without saying a single word, she stumbles past Piett, pulls a bottle of ale from her stash behind the couch and contemplates it.
“Drinking already? Was it that bad?”
“The worst.”
“Another silly romantic?”
Piett takes notes of her dates with a persistency worthy of a much better application. He feels like there’s a significant pattern to his sister’s dating habits, but fails to establish it.
“Oh no. A healthy human acts like his tongue’s been cut off and all his fingers are frozen in carbonite. And what does this leave? Complete disappointment, that’s what.”
She touches the cap, but then shakes her head and puts the bottle on the table.
“Well, what did I expect? Should have guessed from the start. Do we have any food?”
“Of course.”
He doesn’t even need to check. They always have food since Piett is in charge of feeding them, and that is because his sister can never be trusted with essential recurrent tasks.
“Then I’ll just…”
Her comlink beeps. Taking a glimpse at the caller’s ID, she swears. This happens so often that even Piett remembers - this is some mysterious acquaintance of his sister’s, listed in her comlink’s memory as “L.V.”, and their calls are never welcome.
“Seven in the morning!” Sorel snarls. “I could be sleeping for all they know! Is this for real?”
With another vile curse, she rushes to her bedroom and locks the door. She only talks to “L.V.” in private.
***
The empty ale bottle is joined by a half-full (“Half-empty, Fir, I never have enough of this when I need it the most!”) bottle of liqueur (from behind the table) and a can of some cheap cocktail that Sorel rummaged out from a cluttered drawer.
“I hate this,” she mutters, looking at Piett with completely sober eyes. “Why don’t people get simple things? Like… like that everyone hates them?”
He nods - without a single clue on what the problem is.
“You mean that person, right? “L.V.”?”
“Yeah, who else. It’s always them.”
“And you’re absolutely sure there is nothing you can do?”
Sorel turns the bottle upside down and gives its bottom a few knocks, catching the last drops with her tongue.
“Nah. We have this,” she gestures with the empty bottle, “this shared project, a really important one. And anyway,” she waves the bottle again, “you know how some people are, you can’t just say you despise them and hope they’ll take the hint and go away. Well, I guess you can, but that’s not gonna help.”
Sorel contemplates him just as she did her bottle (not too long ago, because he still remembers). She must feel sorry for Piett and his confusion, because she starts explaining. Calmly and steadily, like it’s the thousandth time she does this. Perhaps it is.
“I’ve known them for a while now. They had that messed-up affair with someone else I knew. Then did something terrible, and I’ll never forgive that. Can’t get rid of them either. So I’m stuck. Hope they feel as shitty as I do, at the very least,” she shrugs.
“Get some food with that, or you’re going to feel even worse.”
“Nah, I got this. Nothing’s gonna happen to me.” She stands up and sways on her feet. “It’s like the fucking Force keeps me safe or something. Screw the Force. Screw everything.”
She takes the empty bottles away and spends the rest of the day at her computer, not touching any food at all (he checks).
It’s about midnight when Piett manages to get her to eat, and with a great sense of accomplishment, he goes to bed.
He dreams of something like a romantic dinner. For some obscure reason, he’s the only one who’s actually eating. His partner’s face and figure are blurred, and there is no way to find out who that is.
***
It’s Empire Day. Piett still hardly believes that they have a new emperor. Even though it’s been - how many years?
He’s put up many reminders around their home, because the Empire Day means the emperor’s speeches. It won’t do to mindlessly switch a screen on, get his share of Vader and a subsequent panic attack. No matter what Sorel says, he wants to trust the pieces of his memories that still remain.
Piett remembers the last scene from his former life clearly: he’s choking, scratching his throat, his legs are not touching the floor, and Vader’s mask is right before him. Everything else is a blur, but Vader is clearly present. Someone lets out an unnatural, raspy laugh, Piett is thrown back, and everything disappears.
He opens an old message from his sister.
“It wasn’t Vader who tried to off you,” her hologram says. “He was just… there. Yeah, that sucks too, but I won’t lie - you have nothing to fear now.”
Piett wants to start arguing right away. Perhaps he tried to, many times - arguing, insisting that he remembers everything, that nobody else could have strangled him from the distance and then thrown him across the whole room with some invisible force. This isn’t a false memory, the scar on his face is proof enough. But where is the other scar from, the weird-shaped one on his arm? His datapad states: Sorel cannot explain, mentions electricity and lightning.
How many times did he try to find out?
***
"How about tonight?”
It looks like his sister forgot to close the door - she always makes her date arrangements in private, but now the door is open and he can hear everything. But the woman on the other end who just suggested the time doesn’t sound like Sorel’s potential date.
“So he sent you to check up on us, right?” Sorel chuckles. “Fine. Tonight is fine.”
“I don’t take orders from him,” the woman snaps.
“Well, technically…” Sorel trails off. “Stars, kid, you’re a mess. Even worse than I am, and that’s saying something.”
A drinking buddy? Not likely.
“If you mean that my presence reminds you of…”
“Damn, Leia, that’s not it! Look, forget what I just said, alright? I’m… Guess I’m just projecting like mad, you know? Of course I’m glad to meet you!” She chuckles again. “Let’s… let’s forget about everyone else, kid. We’re the only sane people in this galaxy anyway, so tell me how you’ve been, and then I’ll say you’re doing great, and…”
Sane. It shouldn’t hurt, not after all this time. Piett goes away - he doesn’t want to keep listening after all, but it’s only a couple of minutes before Sorel claps him on his shoulder from behind, scaring him to death.
“It’s Leia’s birthday today!”
At least she seems to be genuinely happy now.
“She’s all grown up now, and…“ She frowns. "You remember her, right? Well, you kind of do?”
He nods.
His datapad - the file named “Acquaintances” - “Leia”. Sorel’s friend, age unknown (over 17), they like to discuss politics. The note goes on, but that’s sufficient.
“Alright, I should really put myself together.” She looks at her reflection in a datapad and shakes her head. “Oh no, this won’t do. This won’t do at all.”
She never puts any effort into her appearance.
“It’s a date then?”
Sorel visibly deflates.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well, how do I explain this…” She shakes her head. “How do I even begin to explain this? Let’s just say “age gap” and leave it at that.”
Age gap. Leia is of age, that is all his note says. And his sister is… how many years old now?
Why does she hide this information?
“Is that "L.V.”?“
"Who?”
“Leia. Is she that "L.V.” person?“
Sorel stops and carefully puts the datapad away.
"No. She really, really isn’t. What brought this on?”
Their conversation wasn’t exactly private, but he’s not going to mention listening to it.
“Her initial.”
“Nah. Leia’s my friend. I’d never let someone like that get so close to me.”
Sorel fixes him with a significant look, and he doesn’t even try to understand what that is supposed to imply.
“And what does "V” stand for?“
Sorel laughs - a hollow, empty sound.
"Vader”.
“What?”
“"V” stands for “Vader”. Our emperor just can’t get enough of me. He wants to keep up with us and tells me to stop drinking so much.“
Piett shudders.
"Sorel, that's a horrible joke.”
“Oh yes. The absolute worst.” Her gaze hardens. “You don’t nag a grown person about her drinking habits. It’s her business.”
“And that's your problem? That’s why you hate them?”
He makes a grab for her comlink, but she steps away, just out of his reach, as if they did it many times before.
“Give me that. I’m sick of hearing about them. This time I’ll…”
“This time?”
He stops, his hand still stretched out.
“It won’t work. Not this time. Not any other. You call him, you start taking notes, nothing makes sense and you give up. And I have to get more booze, and you say it’s bad for me, and…” She grinds her teeth. “Just leave it, alright? You think I’d lie to you? You shouldn’t call him. You really, really shouldn’t. And every time you do, moon angels kill a baby nexu.”
Him. As least he got some information out of this. Piett manages to copy the frequency from Sorel’s comlink before she leaves.
***
Sorel, a meeting (not a date?) with Leia (see Contacts), ETA - tomorrow morning (or not). Forget about contacting her. Don’t forget about calling L.V.
"Forget”, “Don’t forget”. Of course.
Not even waiting for the sun to set, Piett goes to bed.
He dreams of someone offering him love and the whole galaxy with it.