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TotOR is the place to post stories you have written about your character or others, either based upon RP that has occurred, or an entire side-story to events in the game's RP which shed light on other parts of your character's life.

TOPIC: Memoirs of a Princess

Memoirs of a Princess 9 months 3 weeks ago #16671

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Part I

She lay with her head on his chest, a hand stretched out toying with a strand of grass as it swayed in the wind. A strong, rough hand gently stroked her mess of raven curls more so to keep them from tickling his nose. “Ye’ ever consid’r getting’ this cut? Can’t be nice undah a ‘elmet.”

“I can’t have fancy long nails; I can’t smother myself in makeup… so I keep my hair long. Reminds me I’m a woman.” She kept her emerald eyes on the strand of grass in front of her, smiling softly.

“Wha’? And ye’ tits make ye’ feel lik’ a lad?”

“Mac has a rather nice pair.”

“Oi oi. Those be mine.”

They both laughed, for a time then fell silent, listening to the waves crashing into the bottom of the cliff as they lay in the field watching the sun fall over the ocean.

Ord Mantell really was a beautiful planet with a high contrast of landscapes. You had the vibrant city of Worlport in the equatorial band, push north into the tropics you find the coastal cities dotting the land with massive industrial areas behind them. Push a little further north you come across a band of mountains, similar to how Balmorra was before the wars. You would often find small farms and villages around these areas but they were also favoured by the Separatists during the Civil War.

The two were currently using their leave to visit his mother in Oradam Village, which was used as a small stronghold by the Republic during the Civil War. There was still scars on the walls from the war but it was long over and the people were recovering well. That was something she admired about the people; no matter the situation they stood strong and hardy, just like the land they lived in.
In the northern reaches of the planets at the far end of the temperate zones and the start of the tundra the men and woman are forged by the harsh environment. Spending the short summer months gathering food and growing crops, then preserving them to last through the long winter months.

Her heart was truly on this planet, there was nowhere else in the galaxy she’d rather be, no one else she’d rather be laying with. She found herself staring at his stubble covered jaw, a finger tracing the chiselled shape; a common feature in the men this far north.

All the local men were REAL men. Muscular, tall, strong… the facial hair; It made her melt. These were her dream boys, all of these physical features coupled with their accent. She loved it, revelled in it. She had captured the interest of one of the local men and boy did she use it. He knew she was using him purely for comfort, and he did the same.

By being together they were breaking rules, but they simply didn’t care they just never told anyone. They were from the same unit, they bled together, sweat together even pissed together at times. So they saw each other as a way to solve other needs, there were no other feelings. She felt some other feelings towards him, but she suppressed them, knowing he didn’t care for such pointless things. All he cared about was his family and his job. Outside of work she was but an object to him, but in being treated as such she got what she needed, comfort.

She knew it was messed up, but after going through so much she soon found herself not caring anymore. She took the attention when it was offered, then got strait back to work. If anything the actions of him holding her created an illusion of normality, an escape from the evils they were forced to commit for the Republic. The lives which they took to try to bring about peace in the long run, the innocent blood on their hands when it always turned out the sacrifices were for nothing.

That was war nowadays, that was what she signed on for. The three long months stranded on a war torn planet… forced to fight the locals turned insane by loss, hunger or both. When she closed her eyes she could hear the ragged final breaths of the shuttle pilot she tried to save, but failed. When she slept she heard the screams of the innocent civilians as they were torn apart by packs of wild mutant hounds. The red eyes everywhere, she often found herself jumping at shadows or red lights in unexpected places.

The events of the three months were still so fresh in her mind, the humidity of the tropical forest they hid in, the waterlogged soil they were forced to sleep in. Knowing that as she dug the pit to sleep in, it could of very well ended up her grave. The things she ate to avoid starvation, having given up her rations to the men in her unit knowing they needed the calories more than her. She was lucky, carrying more body fat than all four of the men put together.

She ran a hand down over her shirt then back up under it, feeling her skin clinging to her bones still. She was home, but she still felt so ill. Even the bread was too rich for her to keep down, having spent the last few months eating any grubs she could find in the trees. Usually the idea made her feel sick, but at the time she was starving. She remembered clawing at the rotting bark of a fallen tree, ignoring the pain of splinters in her fingers as she dug away for food, half crazed. The happiness she felt when she found the bounty of fat little bugs crawling around. She could still feel them crawling around in her fist as she grabbed a handful, shoving them into her mouth.
‘Animal’, she thought at the memory.

“Lana.”

She looked up at him with a confused expression, “Hm?”

His hand moved to her chin, stroking her lips with his thumb. “We’re home, safe. No ‘ounds, no fighting, scavengin’. We survived.”

“At what cost? How many civis died at our hands?” She snapped, her eyes filling with rage from the thought.

“How many did we ‘elp?” He tightened his grip on her chin and around her middle so she couldn’t run from him. “We killed many, bu’ we set up a camp, started a trade for supplies, built defences. We salvaged some normality for the people. We did all we could.” He let her chin go and went back to stroking her hair.

“Sorry.” She said quietly.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled back on it harshly, this time glaring down at her. “We don’t say ‘sorry’ in the military.” Letting her hair go, he roughly pushed her off of him and began grabbing his clothes pulling them back on ready to leave.

She just lay there watching, knowing better than to speak again. Rolling onto her back she looked up at the white clouds, floating lazily across the sky, listening as he took his leave. She knew well enough to leave him to do his own thing when he snapped like this. He didn’t mean to harm her, but he knew she understood and that he was sorry. Running away like this was his way of admitting his fault. He was just as messed up as her from the three months, if not more.


This was why she wasn’t surprised when she woke up on her 28th birthday to find the documents marking the end of his service to the Republic on his bunk and a bottle of Corellian Red Wine tucked under her pillow. It stung, she’d lost her escape, but it was selfish to want him to stay. It was killing him. So she didn’t try to follow. She just salvaged herself and waited for the squad to be disbanded, knowing the Republic didn’t have the resources to fund their activities anymore nor the men to spare to lead what was left of the 6-5-6.

Funnily enough no one showed up to the camping trip she had planned for the squad that night to celebrate her getting older. Not even her newest ‘toy’ as she called them before anything official happened. Tomas Dyston, an engineer in the Republic Navy. She’d met him a few times when off world, but he was busy likely with real work. He was sweet, they’d only seen each other a few times but he already had worked out how to bring a smile to her face. When she thought about it, it wasn’t exactly difficult. She was admittedly very shallow, all it took was a good drink and some overly cheesy compliments.

It was different to the treatment she was used to, and she liked it. Maybe that was the best thing for her, a complete restart. Go back into intelligence in a completely different part of the Republic forces. Naval Intelligence? Now that was an intriguing thought. Being in the spec ops, they often laughed at the Navy boys, going with the stereotypes. But then the thought of being stuck on a ship, being shot at in space terrified her, but also sent a strange thrill through her. ‘Who dares, wins.’ She thought back over the rallying words of her former squad, a smile forming in her lips; her mind made up. It was time to move on, and she knew what her next challenge was to be.
Last Edit: 9 months 2 weeks ago by Nerfar.
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Memoirs of a Princess 9 months 1 week ago #16713

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Part II

Her eyes followed the asteroids as they gracefully passed by the window she sat in, her face illuminated by the orange glow of the force field that protected the transparent panes. She tugged the blanket around her tight, shivering slightly in the cold air that filled the dark little room she was in. Shaking her head and looked down at the datapad that was balanced on her lap as she sat cross-legged in the windowsill.

Deft fingers moved across the screen as she typed away:

"It has been little over a week in this fancy cage they call a ship. Perhaps that is a little harsh, but it is beginning to feel like a prison cell. I feel trapped, everywhere I go there is metal. No comfort, not rock just metal. I miss being able to step outside and just run, anywhere I want, as far as I want. I can keep on top of my cardio here, I’ve found a few circuits on near empty decks that I can just run until I have gotten the frustration out, but it’s not enough.

I feel out of place on this ship and largely shunned by the crew. No one likes a spook, I expected that much but outside of work no one really speaks to me. Even Tomas has been around less, it’s starting to feel like I annoy him with my presence so I’ve opted to keep to myself and read in my down-time.
However, the loneliness is beginning to get to me. It’s getting to the point where I am desperate for someone to talk to me, it hurts when people just walk past but I don’t want to be a bother. I know secluding myself like this isn’t healthy, but I don’t know what else to do.

I spoke to Eskkaar for a time last night, but I quickly learned I was just being a bother so I shall keep away from him for now. He’s suffering still, but he has people he can go to about it, people I know he’s been talking with. He doesn’t need me. Also again, I’m a spook. Only an idiot confides in me. It’s part of my duties to keep an eye on the goings ons and make note of anything I deem as a possible danger to the functionality of the crew.

The whole thing is really eating at me, but I have enough work to keep myself busy with so I don’t start feeling too down about it. But I’m on this ship for a long time yet, so we’ll see how that develops.
During times when I end up feeling this low, I start keeping a diary and it usually helps. It’s just text on a datapad but I guess it is kind of someone to talk to about everything. There is no one else around that I feel I can open up to without being judged. I tried opening up to Eskkaar last night, but it just felt wrong. He has enough on his plate.

Tomas is up and about around the ship now, that makes me happy. I try to help him when I need a break from staring at code. My job would be a whole lot easier if I had caffa, but understandably that is of low priority at this time. We need to fix the hole in the hull and fill our water tank else we are done for.

I am not completely shunned and my input during some planning is welcome. For example, stating that when liquid water turns to ice it expands by roughly 9%. This helped the group planning decide that it would be more efficient to transport the mined water back to the ship in liquid form as 9% is a lot when looking at a large scale. That made me feel good, a little highlight. It also kind of shows how far I have fallen.

I think I’m done with this today, I should get back to work."


She locked her datapad then slid down from the window, still wrapped in her blanket. She crossed the space between the windows and the terminal quickly, plopping down into the metal seat, wincing slightly from the cold. “Why is everything made from metal...?” She grumbled.
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Memoirs of a Princess 8 months 2 weeks ago #16803

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Part III

‘You aren’t cut out for this life, Princess. Go back to your penthouse where you belong.’
A gloved fist slammed into a bag strung from a ceiling support with a metallic thunk.

‘Think about it, you’re rich. You can do anything you want, or nothing at all.’
Another fist landed on the bag, softer than before; a quick jab, nothing more to distract the imaginary opponent.

‘A hand, your lungs… haven’t you given enough for the people who resent you for what you have? They’ll always hate you.’
The gloved fist lands again, harder than before causing the bag to swing for a couple of seconds before going still.

‘You have what most people dream of having, but it isn’t enough. Selfish.’
The gloved fist strikes again, this time with greater force. The leather on the glove begins to split over the knuckles, a silver gleam coming from the split.

‘You know you can’t do this anymore. Why push yourself?’
She pulls back the hand to inspect the damage to the glove then hops back away from the bag, swinging her knee into the side of the bag.

‘A pretty face, that is all you are good for. Always have been. Drop the stupid pride and admit it!’
Stepping back in she swings her gloved fist back at the bag, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she practiced her art.

‘You have suffered for so long, trying to help people who don’t even acknowledge your existence. Did you get a thank you from the family you took the bolt for? No.’
She took a moment to catch her breath, beads of sweat rolling down her back, darkening the fabric of her pastel pink tank.

‘You couldn’t even save the pilot… all those civilians died for nothing! You still failed! Apparently failure is the only thing you are good at!’
“No!” She cried out in frustration, slamming her gloved fist into the bag once more, shredding the leather of the glove around the cybernetics limb. She dropped to her knees, holding her head between her hands as she sobbed.

“There was nothing more I could do. He knew the risks. He knew the risks.” She rambled between choked sobs. Her shoulders went tense, freezing up as she heard footsteps coming down the corridor... then past the archives to the mess. She was safe. No one came into the archives. No one would bother her.

Sitting back on the floor, she began to wipe her tears away. She still trembled slightly. ’I am a mess. I can’t help anyone like this. I need to get over myself. I’m not here for me, I’m here to help the people who despise my class. They don’t hate me; they hate what I have.’
‘I need to stop being stupid. I didn’t pay my way here, I worked for it like everyone else on this ship. I deserve to be here just as much as they do. My class means nothing here; I am just an ordinary private. In fact, I am less. I am naval intelligence. I don’t exist. I am there when people need me, but I am invisible when they don’t. No one likes a spook. No one is friends with a spook.’ She took a deep breath to calm herself as she looked back up at the bag. Not even a mark. The dead glove on her cybernetic hand had done it’s job. She tugged the mess of ripped leather from it, chuckling to herself. “R.I.P in pieces.”
Last Edit: 8 months 2 weeks ago by Nerfar.
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Memoirs of a Princess 7 months 4 days ago #16912

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She sits glaring at a datapad, alone in her office. She scratches her chin. The light from the datapad showing her tired inflamed eyes. She begins to write.
"Everyone leaves me. I don't know why I bother. To be honest I'm done caring. Archer, Millan, Tomas. I rely on other too much. I'm done being a little bitch."

She drops the datapad into her bag and stands up grabbing her bedsheets. She turns and heads out of the room, slinging her bag over one shoulder. Deciding tonight she would man up and sleep in the bunkroom.
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Memoirs of a Princess 6 months 2 weeks ago #16969

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Part IV

"I have not been performing to the best of my ability as of late. I have backed myself into a corner focusing on my past rather than looking ahead. Most of the horrible acts I have committed were for the Republic or my own personal survival in tough situations. However, some were for my pure selfishness. I was hurt when Tomas broke it off, but I now agree it would never of worked and honestly her dodged a bolt there.

My last relationship ended on a sour note, and I was then expected to serve beside him. This brought up those feelings and drove me to do some horrible things to him. I manipulated him into cheating on his lover with me, because I couldn't let go. I was jealous, he was mine. How dare she. - That is what I felt at the time, but now I see the error of my ways. I feel physically ill at this memory. It hurts. Yet like everything else, it is in the past.

If my old NCO's could see me now, they would be ashamed. I am not the strong woman they forged, I am a mess. I have seem to have forgotten their teachings. I need to put these memories behind me and learn from them. It won't stop them from hurting, but it's a step in the right direction. I can let them keep holding me back, or I can keep going. Make them proud to have known me.

This seems so simple writing it down. My first step is to be more social around the ship. Engage people rather than avoiding them. It strikes me now that I lack something which everyone should have, a battle buddy. I am not a marine, but everyone in the military knows that you need that one person around that you trust your life with. I haven't met anyone I have been able to forge that bond with as of yet. Perhaps Thorrek? I don't know, I need to get to know everyone better.

I have my starting point. Better get my finger out my arse.
Last Edit: 6 months 2 weeks ago by Nerfar.
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