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Katunda, Nelona 12th, 12731

Thirty-six days completed

by Jedi Knight VN Ysadora

Vanya:

Today is, I'm pretty sure, twelfth of Nelona -- so that makes it Katunda. Still Twelve-seven-thirty-one on the Tapani calendar. We're in Hutt Space, not the Tapani Sector, but you know what? I don't care.

Vanya leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her forehead on her hands.

Maybe I should put this off for another ten minutes. I dunno. If you're my unauthorized eavesdropper, you might want to hit the fast forward until I get organized and interesting.

Vanya looks up to face toward the datapad's screen.
Her posture otherwise does not change.
She appears slightly worn.

Oh. While I'm in here, I should undo the rest of the braids. Maybe run a comb through my hair a few times. I got distracted.

So. As you can deduce, I normally have done my debrief entry more quickly after the end of a match. But, you know, that thing in the Arena -- that was a hairball, wasn't it? I was actually hanging with my scheduled opponents, getting on pleasant terms, when I found out that one of my parishioners was in the cacky.

We get back here, start washing up and patching up, there's all this bureacracy that I needed to handle quick in the wake of who all jumped into Team Us. Lord Grakor probably had his people handle loads more. But a few things were either Jedi-specific or chaplain-specific or {waves one hand tiredly to the left} Vanya-specific. Support people who got hit particularly hard by that Force Scream, that's Jedi. Go over medical histories of patients, that's the chaplain. And "Hi, welcome to the 'What are YOU doing here??' Club", that's me in particular.

Which. If you're the folks working the bounty on one of my associates, maybe get in touch? We can schedule something?

{forehead against upraised palms again}

In my copious spare time.

{Long, slow breath. In. Hold. Out. Shoulders do not relax.}

I should not start these things up until I have thought of at least two topics. I know better. Stream of consciousness does not work for me.

My first mentor on how to be a private investig-- strike that. My first official mentor was great, too. But not who I'm thinking of now. I'm talking about my actual first mentor on how to investigate, which was a lady back on Esseles who had retired from the industry. Tess Belden. She's gone now, so if you go investigating in that direction, you're wasting your money. Tess is the one who pointed out that someone is always going to be better at slicing through encryption than I am ever going to afford defenses on my database. So why bother? Put my notes that need to be private in a file which no one can hack, otherwise known as "keep it under your hat".

Tess did actually wear a hat sometimes. Think she might've had a datastick for a hairpin, too. But she meant the metaphor.

So then she handed me a stack of blank flimsies, cut down to index card size, and taught me how to record each item I learned in small bits. How to label the cards. How to sort them. How to shuffle 'em together, lay them out in different patterns, see if I can find connections or disconnects that might be worth poking further.

Once I got pretty good at that, she said I should learn how to do it in my head, too. At least the card-making and sorting part. You can always find some old flimsies to wipe, reuse, wipe again. If you get stumped, get a stack and start writing things down.

Turns out that I can keep a good-sized stack all sorted into the To Do List. Mine is getting to an alarming size lately. I need to complete some of 'em, sort them over to "Done". Otherwise cards are going to start falling away.

You know what? Let's talk about some of the older cards.

Vanya straightens up, settles her arms with fingers interlaced in her lap, her expression brightens a little. She opens her mouth to speak.

A strange expression crosses her face.

Fierfek.

Can't talk about that, can't talk about that either . . . . Remind me in a couple days that I wanted to spill all I've got on the parasite thingies. The mynock is out of the proverbial spare parts crate on those, but I have not yet done a full datashare. If you lot want to pile in on any of these, it would be a help. Toss me an email after Datunda's match, I should be ready to get disgustingly medical.

Today is not my day for that, though.

{starts unwinding the braid frontmost on her right side}

I dunno how strictly arena fans stick to the fanon -- I mean, you know, the fictional narrative of the gladatorial arena shows, the whole "Curator the Torrent versus Blue" thing -- while they try to politely pretend the backstage actual people "Maspi Tarr" and "Vanya Ysadora" are an irrelevant mystery. But I also figure that anyone who's into the fanon is not going to dig up journal entries that I try to delete every day. So this is probably going straight to bettors and bookies and would-be bounty collectors, right?

The real people are the ones that matter to me.

That Nightsister in the match, listen: she was the exception among gladiators, not the rule. Most of the gladiators are competent people living a career. They treat their colleagues as colleagues.

I admire that.

And I'm relieved about it.

{switches to working on the next braid around}

When I was a young adult, I did contract work for two notable construction crews. One of 'em was successful, efficient, and profitable. Because they were pleasant to one another. Because they gave each other some space. Because they started with the assumption that no one would be on that job without knowing how to do it, and from there they traded useful techniques on how to deal with particular client requirements or legal restrictions or just, you know, "how'd you get that cable to thread in on the first try?"

The other crew, every employee was out for themself. And it showed. Nobody stayed in that job long before they got into some kind of shouting match, or burned out, or started checking around for a replacement contract. One riveter got into the habit of marking his checklists with stale eyeliner -- he was an ass, don't do that. Ruins the finish on the flimsy so it can't be reset. Also tends to smear so the scanner won't pick anything up. Lipstick is not much better.

Before my matches, sometimes, the other gladiators include me in whatever chat is going on. It's {waves hands vaguely, then switches to the frontmost braid on the left side} workplace chitchat. How was your week, have you heard about the new protein shake flavor at the commissary, my agent wants me to switch my trademark weapon but I'm not convinced, they're recruiting for a new Boomboom teamup but I heard that it's because Shuge Nirid came down with a severe case of "lawyers", which anybody hearing this is going to know Shuge not only had full-blown lawyeritis but turned out to be a lawyer's favorite Yarkora cousin so that must have been an entertaining patent infringement trial to adjudicate. Heh.

Anyway.

My point is, the gladiators at this facility are mostly sensible pros. I like that. My intrusion on the scene probably threw the regular structure for a loop. I'm trying to be extra respectful of that fact, to the point that I did not even think about calling Shuge to ask where I can get my manipulator digits on a current law library. Maybe I should do that this afternoon?

There's an idea. I don't want to drag Shuge into an introduction with Legal Shark Cousin Nirid or anything, but maybe we can find the funds for a couple of hours with a paralegal or a law clerk or -- does Nar Shaddaa even have that kind of profession? Does that standard not apply in Hutt Space?

Fierfek.

Remember when I used to be an autonomously functional component of society?

Man, I miss those days.

{Vanya takes in a slow breath, lets it out carefully, runs her fingers through the kinks of the unbraided hair. No knots so far. She reaches for the final remaining braid.}

Okay. We all know I'm going to end up asking Lord Grakor's staff about research resources. What's that old saw about favors owed to Hutts? But I'm not going to take stupid risks in order to lower the weight, either. Some dumb, not--

{Davish and Hicks step into the room. Vanya immediately becomes more cheerful in expression and body language.}

Hi, you two. {wiggles one elbow toward the recording datapad} That's on, and unsecured. Any late developments from this afternoon?

Hicks:

Sure, Vanya: summaries only. Injuries treated, no internal bleeding, no debilitating issues. We're going to get another meal before we head out.

Vanya:

Thanks, vod.

Hicks:

You got it.

{walks toward exit}

Davish Tam:

I'll catch up with you, man.

{focuses fully on Vanya}

You know the rules. You have to talk!

Hicks:

{stops in the open doorway}

Eh?

Vanya:

{to Hicks, wryly}

Qualifications to be a chaplain do not mean that one has LESS need of spiritual advice and intervention, vod'ika. In fact it means I must be more blunt in my self-analysis. And.

{to Davish} Yeah. Hadn't've been for Danar, yeah. My estimate of how close I had gotten to a fall over the course of this past month was way off.