"Your failures do not define who you are." But he was being brought down by his failures, right now. How many nightmares had he had, where in the final moments of some Firrerreon family, some parent or loved one told some crying, terrified child that "it would be all right," just minutes before turbolasers blew them to smithereens? It was a lie, a lie he was being told in some vain hope that he was stupid enough to believe it. Every scar he had proved it was a lie, the crutch under his armpit proved it was a lie. Failure was carved into his body and soul, and nothing the knight said would change that.
As he stood, the man would follow Zerath's instructions, making his way over to a nearbye chair and promptly sitting, aquamarines boring holes into the floor as he tried his best to recenter himself. He just needed a minute to relax, than he could put this aside for awhile. If it got to bad, he could slip onto his ship later and break open that stash of liquor he'd been hiding for a few weeks. He was in the middle of one of his breathing exercises when he heard the robotic voice of Elidan's datapad, cutting through the tiny bit of serenity he'd managed to cling to.
Looking up, aquamarines narrowed as he heard the voice address him by name. "Fix that machine's pronunciation." He snapped, "It's Lay-oh-nahs, not Lay-oh-nays." The man explained, brow furrowed before he turned away. He Didn't speak for the next few seconds, before muttering, "...yeah, we did have a class together a few months back." The lesson with Alym was one it'd take quite awhile to forget-- and Elidan had been there.
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