When a pair of Purge Troopers arrive the next day to retrieve him, Cal is barely conscious enough to register the thin blanket over him and the fact that he's in an actual bed. It's not fantastic—a little lumpy in places—but a huge, huge improvement compared to the past few weeks.
They're still treating him like a prisoner, unfortunately.
"Get up, Kestis," One of the troopers says, kicking the bed frame. He blinks away the wisps of a dream—Ellys, huddled with a crowd of faceless younglings—and squints blearily up at the pair of red lenses staring at him.
"Huh?" He yawns.
The trooper kicks his bed frame again. "I said, up. The Second Sister is requesting your presence."
Right. The Second Sister. When is she not?
Cal sits up, eyeing the Purge Troopers. Then he swings his legs off the bed and steps into his boots.
"Let's go." The Purge Trooper steps forward, ready to take hold of his arms.
He steps back. "Can I at least use the refresher first?"
The trooper lets out an annoyed sound, but nods and points to the door. "Two minutes."
"Generous." Cal pushes past the troopers and makes it to the refresher, sliding the door shut.
Once inside, he makes use of the vacc tube, then heads over to the sink, splashing ice-cold water on his face. This new room had come equipped with extra privileges: he even has a toothbrush now, which he uses quickly before the troopers can come after him.
Then he's done. Cal steps back and looks himself in the mirror. He still looks crappy and in need of a haircut, but that's fine. Then he goes back out to the troopers. They take their places by his side at once.
"Walk," One Purge Trooper commands. A second later, the butt of his blaster rifle prods him in the back.
"Okay, okay." He raises his hands in surrender. "There's no need for that."
On the way out, Cal can't help but glance back at the wardrobe. He'd shoved the uniform back in there last night, then slammed the door as hard as the sliding mechanism would allow. He's not wearing that. The fatigues are old and smell of smoke, but it's better than that. And even if Cal ends up getting punished for it, he'll settle for small feats of defiance. It's all he has now, anyway. The rest are too big to attempt just yet.
The Purge Troopers lead him to the same dojo from a few days before. Cal pushes down a feeling of unease as he looks around. Everything is back to normal: the illumirods replaced, the blood scrubbed from the walls. You wouldn't even guess that someone died here.
Just as he turns to look at the ceiling, someone calls his name. "Cal."
Trilla appears behind him, her usual uniform and cape exchanged for fitting black clothes and plastoid bracers. Her sharp eyes trail over his Imperial fatigues, but she doesn't say anything. She glances over his shoulder to address the Purge Troopers. "Dismissed."
When they leave, her gaze fixes on him again. There's a pause before she speaks. "So. I suppose you chose to view yourself as superior to the Inquisitor uniform."
Ah. That means he's not off the hook just yet, then. Cal swallows, forcing a look of nonchalance as he stares back at Trilla. "Sorry." He shrugs. "They're not really my style."
Trilla crosses her arms. Yeah, that probably just made things worse. Cal digs his nails into his palms, anticipating his punishment—but Trilla just laughs, the sound condescending and menacing all at once.
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Careful with that thing; it's been though hell
Fanfiction"Just give in," A cruel voice murmurs in his ear. "You were always weak. What's one more failure to you?" But he can't. He won't. He's Cal Kestis, Jedi Commander of the 13th Battalion. Jaro Tapal's Padawan. And he will keep fighting-even if it kills...
