Passing the Rites of the Conch-tar
Lyla reached out to lay a hand on Lamar's shoulder, though the water and the suits made contact impossible and her sympathy harder to convey. She spoke softly 'I know, Lamar. I saw my parents, my whole clan and way of life, incinerated in a heatstorm, all over again. But anger doesn't make the pain go away. It just makes it fester.' She had to wonder, had it been easier for her? Her foe had been bad weather, the impersonal forces of nature, of fortune and fate, that one could not get truly angry with. Was it the Twi'lek philosophy to go with the flow, or simply the Twi'lek physiology that let her shake off the drug faster? Or was it because she'd been a child at the time, it had been much longer ago, she had had longer to become accustomed to the grief and pain. 'Save it for the pirates and Imperials, alright?' she asked softly.
But Anyar, it seemed, did not know when to shut up, and his continued excuses, his attacks on her team, provoked a very present irritation in Lyla. So much for asking Lamar to put away his anger. She rounded on Anyar, pointing and declaring 'Your rites of Conch-tar are what fills people with anger! ...Ah, cruk it. Let's just drop it, alright? We'll save your tails for you, you won't even have to thank us or pay us, then we won't have to bother each other again.'
She returned to Iych-thae, who also wasn't helping. 'You should've asked me that before we landed.' she answered bitterly. 'Our fear and anger are natural reactions to being drugged, tortured, and traumatised, then being blamed and belittled for it. If you lot are looking for a Dark Side, then look in the mirror. If you want to save this world, then tell us how and where to find the bad guys.'