tangled

Had a good talk the other night. With ROY, of all people, which I wasn’t expecting. I have to say, droids generally make me uneasy, so I’m not quite sure why he’s starting to not. He says he’s nearly a century old and never a single memory wipe.

In any case, some interesting insights. On him, on Quin. He seems to feel Quin thinks of me as a friend, which is…nice. It’s not going to get me into his pants (dammit) but then I already knew I have a weirdly relaxed attitude about sex compared to most people. If that’s how Quin thinks about me, good. I can use friends. I could get used to working for a really good friend like this. I’ve cut myself off from all I had and I was never much of a loner. Building a new life is not easy.

(Interestingly, another new friend is convinced I have feelings for Quin beyond friendship. It’s probably just as well – based on that hell-booze he gave me the last time we drank together, if he wanted in my britches he could probably get there. And somehow I’m not interested in him that way. I guess it’s all about the redhead.

…I refuse to prove him right.)

(The remainder of this entry is heavily crossed out. Apparently Bet needed to write it out but does not want it read)

I was so pleased that Quin trusted me to take care of a delivery for him. ME, pleased to be making a spice delivery. What’s wrong with me?

Delivery was on Tython. This is both frightening and sad. Stop and think a minute about a strung out Jedi. Chances are I’ve helped being about the downfall of this poor guy, whoever he is. I feel dreadful except. I also don’t…the more I think about it, the mor I think it’s not the worst thing. This is probably a person who really shouldn’t BE a Jedi. (Rationalize much, Bet?)

I ran into Jorrick and dropped a very broad (smack between the eyes) hint about the situation. Something to the effect that he could help this person with his addiction if he helped me with my delivery. This is the new me, moral and caring corruptor of Jedi.

I feel guilty that I did it. I fel guilty that I didn’t do it right. And I feel guilty that I enjoyed it. Every bit of it. The adrenaline rush was like going in to battle and holy shit I miss that rush. And for all my guilt I already know that the next time he hands me a package and says ‘go’ – I will.

“Heeeey, Bitchin’!”

Bet’s head shot up at the familiar voice, and then looked around in surprise at equally familiar surroundings she’d never thought to see again.  Basic training quarters…in my nightshirt…WHAT?

“You’re dreaming, dummy.”  Puk strutted up to her, all grin and black hair and straight white teeth, to toss an arm around her shoulder. “You let your hair grow – looks better than that butch you always wore it in. Still wearing the girly nightgown, though.”
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Betjin glanced out the door of the barracks. Nervous. Jumpy. It was the fourth time she’d looked in the last fifteen minutes as she packed a bag with the barest necessities – weapon, credits, armor.

What do I do with THIS? she wondered, holding sets of insignia in her hands. Republic army insignia, rank identification, field awards, specialty identifications. All of them things that had meant the world to her yesterday, and today were meaningless. She looked at them a little longer, whistfully, and then tossed them into the trash incinerator. Who knew throwing away everything you’d ever worked for would be so easy?

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