The Tyrant's Tyrant

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

It smelled funny in here.

Like... an old person.

Dama had said she had to leave for a short time, and with Wyl busy with his studies on the Whaladon, Teagan had to be somewhere else. According to Dama and Wyl's master, the two of them together was a bit distracting, and usually led to long discussions explanations to the Whaladon crew that always ended with 'they won't do it again'.

And so, because she could not stay with Wyl, Dama had chosen the only other avenue that she thought best. Dama said he was an old friend, and that he was a nice man, though a little bit gruff like Dad.

With her small backpack slung over both shoulders, the girl looked up at the towering man who loomed over her. Dama had just left, leaving the girl with a parting hug and words to behave before sweeping out of the door.

And now she was alone with him.

With Vansen Tyree.

And he was old.

Older than her Dad even she was willing to bet, which was amazing to think about quite frankly. He had a lot of wrinkles, that was for sure - she'd have to be careful not to touch him or else she'd start getting them too.

She matched him stare for stare, refusing to back down. Dama had said that he liked to glare a lot and make scary faces at people to get them to do what he wanted. For her part, Teagan wasn't about to let him scare her. She could make angry faces too, and with a natural scowl etched on her young features, she refused to look away. Her neck was craned up so that she could meet his one good eye, and after what seemed like a million years she finally spoke.

Her words unintentionally echoed to a time long past.

"You're not scaring me, you know."

[Vansen Tyree]

If her eyes and the shape hadn't been enough to identify the child as the spawn of Loklorien s'Ilancy, the words that tumbled from her mouth left absolutely no doubt in Vansen's mind.

He grunted out a laugh, though he didn't smile. "Your mother told me that once," he muttered, though his stoic face unchanging. "I soon fixed that."

Granted, I had to drag her into a cockpit and nearly fly her to death a few times, he mused to himself, But at least I eventually scrubbed that smug attitude out of her head.

The back of his mind considered flagging a protest, but Vansen refused to allow his memories to provide any kind of evidence to the contrary. Loklorien had repeatedly refused to board any ship that Vansen was supposed to be flying, and he knew full well that it was as close to her being frightened or intimidated of him as he was ever going to get; so he'd grabbed his victory in a vice grip, and ran like hell.

Things were a little different this time, though. Teagan was considerably younger than Loklorien had been when they'd first met; and Vansen was considerably older. Plus, he had an eyepatch now and, frustrating as the lack of depth perception was, he'd refused a cybernetic replacement for his lost eye for one damned good reason: eye patches were intimidating as hell, if you used them right.

The gaze he fixed Teagan with was unflinching. "Your mother asked me to keep an eye on you." His scowl deepened, eye narrowing. "But I will not accept misbehaviour on my ship. Is that understood, young lady?"

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

Teagan crossed her arms, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her resolve break beneath his gaze. She'd weathered plenty of Dama's lectures, and Dad's stern warnings. She was practically a veteran at staying calm and in control by now, and with Wyl's constant tutelage, she'd become a master at hiding uncomfortable fidgeting. Of course, she wasn't uncomfortable now; she was just standing, looking up at Dama's old friend.

His plain eyepatch was almost the same color as his skin - idly she mused that Wyl would've worn a black one with a skull and crossbones if he was missing an eye. It was obvious that Mr. Tyree wasn't as on top of today's trends as much as she and her husband were.

She made a face, pursing her lips and almost rolling her eyes.

"Yes, Mr Tyree."

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen hid a cringe. No one had referred to him as Mister Tyree in years; not since his brief brush with retirement. Even then the term had made him uncomfortable - Mister Tyree was his grandfather, not him - and most of the people he'd interacted with regularly had taken to calling him 'Captain' anyway; though as a nickname it was far less respectful and complimentary than he would have liked.

Still, forced respect was better than no respect, he supposed; and even if he hadn't managed to intimidate her into compliance, she seemed at least vaguely willing to be obedient, for now at least. It wasn't a victory he'd won; but it was one he planned to embrace.

"So."

Vansen finally relaxed his pose and expression, lowering himself into one of the battered but still comfortable chairs in his quarters. He smoothed a hand down the front of his uniform and then interlaced his fingers, drumming his thumb tips together as he frowned intently at his knuckles.

Finally, he spoke again.

"Who is this Wyl Staedtler boy you keep getting into trouble with?"

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

"Nobody."

The word was out of her mouth mere nanoseconds after he'd finished speaking, and Teagan furrowed her brow as she took a few more cautious steps further into Mr. Tyree's quarters. They were nothing like home, back on the Dauntless. Here it was just... plain. Or at least on first glance that was how it seemed.

She let her backpack slip from her shoulders, and laying it at her feet the girl turned her eyes back to Mr. Tyree.

"Where's my room?"

[Vansen Tyree]

A parent he most definately was not, but Vansen had been wearing the uncomfortable uniform of a senior officer for long enough to pick up on a deliberately evasive answer. He filed away any further questions about young Wyl, just in case he ever found himself needing to cause strategic embarassment or something similar.

Besides, Teagan's question bore some consideration. Had the invitation been voluntary, he would have considered these options in advance. Might have thought to get a few of the deck hands to lug a bunk out of one of the vacant crew quarters. Unfortunately, his child supervision responsibilities had been thrust upon him; and for all her Force-enhanced precognition, Loklorien s'Ilancy hadn't bothered to brief him on the logistics of it.

"We'll worry about that later," he grunted, waving at Teagan to come further inside and stop loitering by the door like a feral animal looking for an escape. "Just dump your gear down and grab a seat. Can I fix you a -"

His voice trailed off as his eyes strayed towards the drinks cabinet; persistant nagging in the back of his mind pointed out that his usual approach to hospitality probably wouldn't be considered appropriate for his current guest.

His expression morphed into a frown, and his gaze turned back to Teagan. "I don't suppose you drink caf, do you?"

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

She did as instructed, and moving away from the door, Teagan stepped carefully into the rest of his quarters. They weren't really big big, but she supposed that since Mr. Tyree was the only one living here, they didn't need to be very large. Her small backpack was set beside the compact sofa, and she rested her hand on the sofa's arm for a moment, considering his question.

Of course she didn't drink caf - that stuff was so gross. Dama had told her once that it tasted like sludge, and once, when Dad had offered her a sip from his, she'd taken a cautious drink. Dama had been right, and Dad had laughed at the face she'd made. Now, she never could help but look at her Dad in disgust as he had his morning caf, and for a very brief moment the girl turned that same look on Mr. Tyree.

"I don't like caf."

She gave him a shrug - not exactly apologetic, it was more noncommittal than anything else, and climbing up onto the sofa, she situated herself until she was comfortable. Not really slouching, she was almost straight-backed and alert, with her hands folded in her lap to mimic his own.

"I like milk and juice. And cocoa drinks."

Well, that last one she figured she'd slip in on the off-chance that he actually had any hot cocoa; ever since last Life Day she'd been determined to have more. Of course Dama had always said no, but Mr. Tyree didn't know that.

She watched him carefully, squinting her eyes just a small bit as she studied him.

"Dama told me some about you.

"Mostly that you don't ever have kids over here, though."

[Vansen Tyree]

Don't ever have kids.

Those words resonated with the Commodore more than they should have. It was no secret that Vansen was old, and that he'd dedicated his life to serving one military or another. For the most part, he didn't have even a trace of regret about it. He'd seen friends and colleagues settle down and start families; but that wasn't the life for him. He hadn't the patience for romance, or child-rearing; and frankly there wasn't a woman alive with the stomach to tolerate his ascerbic personality.

But there were occasions when he wondered otherwise; times when he considered the sobering fact that the burden of continuing his bloodline had fallen to him, and he had done nothing about it. There were other branches of the family of course - ordinal cousins several times removed, and so forth - and so the continuation of the line was assured. But after Vansen, son of Orlan, one arm of the Tyree family would simply end; and there were fleeting occasions where, to some part of his mind, that mattered.

Now was not the time to indulge, however; he resorted to deflection instead.

"This is a military vessel," he grunted, "Not a cruise liner. Children are largely unreliable, insubordinate, and undiciplined. On the rare occasions they even make it past the airlock, it's usually because of extremely mitigating circumstances."

Like a mother armed with a lightsaber, he added silently.

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

Teagan made a face at that. Of all the people Dama had to leave her with, it was this man? This man that looked to have nothing fun anywhere at all in his quarters, who didn't look to know how to smile, and on top of all that he only had caf to drink. She sighed loudly at that last thought.

"You only say that 'cause you don't have any," she countered, moving her hands from her lap to cross her arms over her chest. There was a small degree of sass in her tone, but not enough to signal outright rebellion.

Mr. Tyree was in the testing phase. She would see just how far she could push him, and when she found out the line, she'd back off. Maybe.

"Besides. My Dad's ship isn't a cruise liner, and there's kids there."

[Vansen Tyree]

"You're right," Vansen countered, with a little more bite in his words than he'd intended. "I do not have any children. No doubt your father only allows families aboard his vessel so freely is because he does."

Vansen could have said more. Would have said more, if his better judgement hadn't reared it's head in the nick of time. Families aboard military vessels was one of those issues that tended to divide opinion, particularly amongst old and traditional officers like himself. It was a grim fact of reality that the Alliance had to take whatever it could get, and sometimes that meant biting your tongue and letting the kids come along in tow; but that didn't mean that Vansen had to like it.

Now was hardly the time to labour on the philosophies of command however, and Teagan was hardly the appropriate audience.

Taking a moment to gather his strength, and smooth down the hackles that threatened to rise if Teagan kept being an annoying little whelp who had clearly inherited his mother's talent for getting under his skin, he tried a different tactic.

"Alright then," he admitted, making his voice as calm and non-grizzled as he possibly could. "Your father clearly has more experience balancing the operation of a military vessel with the provision of child care. What -" He trailed off, making a vague gesture with his interlaced hands. "- does he let you do, exactly?"

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

This moment was a moment that had to be handled with extreme care. Wyl would've called it a golden opportunity, and Teagan knew that she would need to tread lightly. Nothing too unbelievable, but something that was credible. Of course, her Dad let her do a number of things that Dama often forbade, so it was no real hardship to stretch over the line just a little bit.

"Well, he makes sure I have my own room, for one," she trailed off deliberately, her little fingers drumming against her upper arms.

"He reads me bedtime stories every night so I can go to sleep easier, and makes sure to have juiceboxes in the fridge for me. He lets me go out with my friends to the mess hall and get food, and lots of times he plays My Little Dewback and Action Johnny Rebel with me."

Teagan of course neglected to mention the fact that she did attend classes with the rest of the gaggle of younglings aboard the Dauntless, but that wasn't important. If there weren't any kids on this ship, there wouldn't be any schooling.

She smiled sweetly then, in the way that she knew adults hated the most - that sickeningly innocent devil's grin.

[Vansen Tyree]

It was a nightmare: a perfectly crafted horrible nightmare of Vansen's own personal hell. Bedtime stories? Playing with dolls? Juice boxes? It took all his will power to fight off the urge to shudder.

"Unfortunately," he replied slowly, making up his excuses as he went, and ignoring that idiotic smile as best he could, "Because of the... sensitive nature of the Wheel, Alliance High Command has us operating under more stringent security regulations than most Rebel ships. Article 15, Sub-Section -" He plucked a number out of the air. "- 7 clearly states that no authorised personel may be allowed to move freely around this vessel without... an appropriate security escort."

Surprised by his own resourcefulness at stringing together a moderately plausible excuse, he fought the urge to smile at himself, and quickly scrutinised what he'd said for any possible exploitable loopholes.

"And no," he added quickly, before the child had an opportunity to speak. "I'm afraid I can't grant you any kind of special authorisation for that. We'd have to get approval from Alliance Intelligence and the Council for that kind of exemption, and, well -"

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and offered Teagan an apologetic smile. "- sorry, Teagan. I just don't see that happening. Not unless you were..." He trailed off, an arm waving around in vagueness as a scheme began to form in his mind.

"I don't know. Not unless you became a part of the crew, or something."

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

Pulling in a breath, she held it in for a few moments before letting it out.

"Nope, not interested."

Well, that was a little lie - it was interesting, and Teagan was somewhat intrigued by the notion, but she was still trying to see just how far she could push him. Until then, the girl was not about to let him know that what he'd said had hooked her in any way (even if it was only just a little bit).

"When is lunch? I'm hungry."

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen was quickly getting the feeling that he would have a more constructive conversation if he were to turn around and chat to the bulkhead. Certainly, a hulking slab of matte grey durasteel would have been considerably less infuriating, and wouldn't keep trying to give him puppy-dog eyes in an attempt to get it's own way.

Steady now, Vansen, he warned himself. When this kid really gives you puppy-dog eyes, it'll be a whole lot less endearing.

Venting his frustration as a heavy sigh, he dove a pair of fingers into the pocket of his uniform, and plucked out an ornate gold pocket watch, attached to him by a short chain. Clicking the latch, he glanced down at the display. Being from Rendili, it unfortunately didn't show the same number of hours in a day as was the galactic standard; but Vansen had a good head for numbers, and had learned to convert easily from one timekeeping system to the other.

"The mess hall will start serving dinner for the crew coming off the swing shift in about fifteen minutes," he answered, clicking the chrono closed. Gripping the chain, he swung the watch in three casual loops before flicking it back into his pocket with a flourish: one of the only things his father had ever done that he felt the urge to emulate.

"I can take you there, but I'll need to find another officer to escort you back." He fixed Teagan with his most stern look. "Is that acceptable, or are you not interested in that arrangement either?"

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

Oh ho! Well now she was getting somewhere! The look he'd given her was one she had come to recognize as a sign, and in that moment she knew that it was time to give him a bit of false security.

Sliding from the sofa, Teagan stuffed one hand into the front pocket of her trousers while the other swept up to brush her bangs from her eyes - Dama hadn't made sure her hair was trimmed in a while, and it was starting to grow out rather wildly. Dad said it reminded him of Dama when she was younger, and Teagan liked the comparison, and had determined to use it the next time she was threatened with a haircut.

"Oh of course," she smiled widely, "That doesn't bother me at all."

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen leapt into action before she could change her mind, with a surge of energy that he didn't realise his aging body was even capable of. He instantly regretted it, as his his back and legs cried out in protest. He ignored them, instead aiming a set of fingers towards the door like a blaster.

"Ladies first," he said, even managing to muster a forced smile - anything to disguise the fact that his vertibrae were extremely unhappy with him.

"Out the door and turn left; I'll be right behind you."

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

She followed his directions without protest, and only gave him one funny look before turning to lead the way out the door. Teagan knew the smile he wore; she'd seen her dad make the same face a few times before, and it was usually at those times that he complained of 'being too old for this'. Whatever he meant by 'this' she never could figure out, as he said it in useless protest to the strangest things.

The little Lupine was all evil smiles as she headed down the corridor with Mr. Tyree in tow, but the expression changed to one of careful concern as she looked back and up at him.

"You know, Dama told me you're a lot older than she is, and I don't think you should've got out of your chair so fast. It's prolly bad for your back."

A shrug as she turned to face forward once more, suddenly recalling an under-the-breath statement her mother had made. It was a confusing one, and when Teagan had asked about it, Dama only shook her head and shooed her off to go brush her teeth and hair.

"But she also did say something about you having a strong back. She didn't tell me why though."

[Vansen Tyree]

There were a number of disadvantages to being as grizzled and aged as Vansen Tyree had become, but at that moment he was particularly glad of one of the few advantages. Deeply marred by endless wrinkles and folds of skin that pulled his features into a permanent scowl, his face was particularly slow and reluctant to let emotions show: and right now, Vansen was glad for the assistance in masking his startled embarassment at that question.

"Your mother has seen me in combat," was the only excuse he could muster. Hoping to distract the infant from any follow-up questions, he advanced towards the door, wafting her through like a simple-minded offworlder trying to herd nerfs.

Ushering her into the corridor, and hoping that his stiffened joints would ease up after a few dozen paces like they normally did, he struggled for an alternative topic of conversation before Teagan lapsed into further interrogation. Unfortunately, when you spent most of your life surrounded by soldiers and gunfire, you didn't get all that much practice at the kinds of innane topics that adults usually discussed with children. Vansen could happily talk down a bounty hunter, or negotiate his way out of a pirate's holding cell; but stopping an infant from becoming bored was a challenge unlike nothing he had faced before.

"What do you even do for fun on this blasted fleet?" he muttered to himself, entirely unaware that he'd spoken out loud.

[Teagan s'Ilancy]

As she was sent into the corridor ahead of him, Teagan pondered his answer. She supposed that it made sense, since Dama did often talk about how she used to fight a lot when she was young; she also said she'd fought with Mr. Tyree before so the girl supposed that it wasn't quite impossible for Dama to know about him having a strong back.

Looking up at the corridor's walls, Teagan folded her hands together in front of her and idly wished that she knew how to whistle like Wyl did. He'd tried to teach her once, but she'd never been able to quite get the hang of it and even though he'd spent hours trying to show her how to make the right face and how to make your lips into a little 'o', she just couldn't do it. Thoughts of Wyl of course sent her mind away once more, and the little Lupine made a sour face, away from where Mr. Tyree could see. Wyl was probably having fun on the Wheel with the other kids. He was prolly playing 'secret agents' and 'duck duck dewback' and 'red rancor'.

It wasn't fair that she had to be here, with one of Dama's old... old friends.

Without thinking, she blurted out an answer to Mr. Tyree's accidental question.

"Dama told me. She said you play cards and make scary faces in the mirror for practice."

[Vansen Tyree]

"Trust me," Vansen muttered darkly, mostly to himself. "Playing cards with your mother is seldom fun, especially with those damn Jedi voodoo powers of hers."

It might not have seemed possible given his almost perpetual scowl, but Vansen's features managed to tighten into an even deeper frown. A thought floated through his mind as he regarded the infant a few paces ahead. She was clearly her mother's daughter: within minutes anyone who knew the elder s'Ilancy would see that, clear as day. She looked, acted, even sounded every inch the miniature verison of her mother. He knew that she even shared her mother's canine tendancies: when one said that s'Ilancy could be a real bitch sometimes, it was far more literal than common sense should have allowed.

But back when Vansen had first met her, she hadn't been Loklorien the Lupine; and she most definately wasn't Loklorien the Friend. Instead she was Loklorien the Jedi; Padawan s'Ilancy; Mace Windu's Apprentice; a Jedi Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic; and a whole slew of other less complimentary descriptors in the young Vansen's mind. And that raised a question in Vansen's mind that he'd never even thought to ask.

He came to a halt, standing still in the middle of the corridor. "Teagan," he asked, wondering for a moment if there was a more tactful way to phrase the question, before deciding that there wasn't. "Can you use the Force?"