Another Day, Another Brother

[Aver Brand]

Could ye make somethin’... empathic-like? A ring, or a necklace, or... somesuch?

Hadn’t exactly been her most eloquent moment, but there was truth in being caught off-guard.

On the shuttle back home from Sulon, she’d thought about Gabriel, about Reverance, about what she was going to tell the latter about the former. If she was even going to say anything at all – if she had something to say.

But she also thought about the request. Spilled unbidden by an unprepared tongue from an honest mind.

To stifle the urge to fidget, the merc had taken to cleaning her blades in transit. This time to a world she knew well, that she had defended and brought to heel all in the span of ten years. So odd to be here again, neither a warden nor a conqueror – merely a guest.

The click of phrik boots preceded her arrival, echoing down the maze of sewers along with the skitter of rats and whispers of the homeless and the drip of human refuse. If the ambient bothered her, the faceplate gave nothing away.

A small bell chimed as Aver pushed the door open. Dust motes danced through the air when the presence of the woman upset the stale atmosphere. Hinges creaked behind her, the floor creaked beneath her.

What a karking dump, was the first thought on her mind – but then she felt the power radiating off the shelves hit her with full brunt. In place of a remark, Aver whistled, canted her head and…

waited.

[member="Dissero"]​

 

[Dissero]

Quiet in the store.

Stillness.

And then a note.

And another.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2-1u8xvk54

A slow meandering tune echoing from a distant doorway.

Followed it lead down a sloping hall, a carpet once red perhaps centuries ago now charred and stained by the years.

Deep under Coruscant where the old cities once thrived there sat a hunched skeleton of the planet's former life. A hallway that opened up into the belly of an old opera house. Dark and dank, the stadium seating had long since been ripped out to be replaced with rows upon rows of archival hubs. The tune continued, lilting and begging of internal sensation. A beat forlorn, a treble of memory, an inkling of loss.

The sensation was on the air, in the very fiber of being. It traveled through the Force an empathic symphony of emotions sourced from the man sat at a piano center stage. His hands drifted ceaselessly across piano keys, eyes closed and expression fraught with the many lines of grief.

"My apologies," said the man without looking up, his voice carrying over the sound of the song despite not being particularly loud, "the shopkeep is out at the moment," the tune quieted, lighter keys and lighter feelings, a brewing storm giving way to a somber summer afternoon, "perhaps I can be of assistance."

 

[Aver Brand]

Couldn’t be quiet even if she’d wanted to. The whole shop seemed to stir and look on as she moved to follow the distant tune, unafraid of the rare items peering from the shelves. Or, perhaps, ignorant of their power.

It did not matter.

Her boots clicked at a steady pace, barely muffled by the threadbare carpet covering the rotting planks. Her form was a dense black mass, upsetting the still swarms of dust that swirled in the wake of her passage.

She drew closer, and so did the melody grow louder.

As if cut open by the swift strike of a blade, the corridor spilled into a massive hall. A moldy domed ceiling; rusted, broken organ pipes; lingering seats of moss-eaten satin. Aver stopped at the mouth of the vast chamber, leaned against the crumbling duracrete and…

…listened.

The harmonies were more haunting than they had any right to be, raising the small hairs of her neck as they soared through the air. Even after centuries of disuse, the opera maintained its fantastic acoustics. Despite herself, Aver closed her eyes and let the last notes of melancholy ring out into the quiet.

His voice joined in at the turn into major, and the merc began to descend down the aisle.

“I have a… request,” her own timbre was lower, scratchy for the rebreather behind her faceplate.

“I’m told Marrow and Illskin’s are the best at this sort of thing.” Her heels tapped together, soft-like, as she reached the lip of the stage. A gauntleted hand gestured to the instrument beneath his fingers.

“This sort of thing.”

Twenty years, give or take. Aver could tell what induced empathy felt like, now.

 

[Dissero]

He continued playing, fingers lacing a stacatto tune of whimsical notes that drifted into innocent evening hours spent by the seaside on Borleias with the Talith children playing. Had been years since then, but he remembered those visits well and it pushed the creases of grief from his face for a lingering smile of warmth. Those years felt so far away now.

Blue eyes opened and turned to the woman pools of deep sapphire, richer and darker than her own pale ice, "Musical?" he replied, smiling a beat before leaning into the next frame, sobering crescendo of sound; a sunrise on a distant crown, pale pink and orange skies gleaming over a royal palace. Quiet morning hours spent with the warmth of his wife and their newborn son. Murmured words between lovers, quiet so as not to wake the infant. Secret smiles with private meanings shared across a room. [member="Verie Lacroix"] reading a book in the sunlight days before their wedding.

The scent of her perfume lingering on the pillows.

It all could be inferred through the music. Feelings shared, rippling outwards unseen.

"We do have many unique instrumental pieces here. Fitting considering the location..." he glanced at her, "you look like a bass cello violinist sort to me. Fresh out, unfortunately."

 

[Aver Brand]

A warmth filled her belly as the melody continued to sweep across the hall. It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, and perhaps that’s what brought the hint of a smile to her lips.

Was a pointed sort of humor the natural side-effect of alchemy?

Electric blue met the deep of the ocean through the faceplate, and the merc leaned forward to fold her arms on the stage. Didn’t lean too hard – whole thing looked like it might collapse under the slightest application of weight.

“I don’t play,” she replied after he settled into the tune again. “Not… these kinds of instruments, at least.”

As he turned to the piano again, Aver let her eyes take in his bared form. Half-angled away from her and swaying on the bench, the splaying tattoo on his chest only appeared in glimpses.

Nonetheless, she was intrigued – familiarity, again. Odd.

“You’re very good, but things like these never move me elsewise.” She smiled, drooping her shoulders a fraction. “You piano’s enchanted, isn’t it? Bit of empathy goin’ on?”

 

[Dissero]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1ni1sVCgEk

And the sullen, mellow tune faded, traipsing into something lighter. Warmer. Fonder.

It begged of faraway grasses gently swaying in a breeze. A hidden pathway taken through purple hillsides. A home nestled in the heart of lake country. Tiny steps, faltering and stumbling, progressing across cobbled paths. The shade of trees speckled across the ground.

Magic.

Alchemy.

The man smiled again, thinking on his own good fortunes despite all the recent heartache.

"That is a shame," he said in response to her admission of not playing, "these sorts of things can only truly move you once you've learned to play them." But they weren't for everyone, he knew, "Much easier to appreciate and understand when you know them so intimately. Like a lover. But yes," a nod, a glance - longer this time, looking the woman and her armor over of what he could see from where she leant against the stage, "you're correct."

He chuckled, eyes casting upwards towards the ceiling, "I suppose that's a good a sign as any that I'm on the right track."

 

[Aver Brand]

Blue eyes drifted closed behind the safety of the mask, and she let the music carry what induced emotion it could convey. It was nothing so powerful as what Quietus had impressed upon her – and that was just as well.

This was a man she didn’t know, and he neither earned nor deserved what Aver had to offer.

“You made it?” the merc inquired after a long silence, awash with the gentle melody. Its calm was inoffensive, a guest so gentle and polite even Aver didn’t turn it away at the door.

A beat, then, “Would you be willing to make something like this for me?” She chuckled. “Not a piano – the whole alchemical business.”

Aver leaned forward, resisting the urge to drum her fingers lest she disrupt the song.

“A ring.”

 

[Dissero]

"I remade it," an admission more than a correction. The piano had been whole and perfect already, he'd only recently sought to make it greater than the sum of its parts as a means of distraction. Busy work to keep his mind off the hurt, away from those darker corners of his subconscious that lead back to deeper, darker places.

Places he'd worked so hard over the last few years of his life to leave behind. Never to return.

Places whose memories were never far away despite those years. Visible, always, on his own flesh.

"Aye, I would be willing," he said as the tune continued on, eyes drifting back down to the keys, "if it is the sort I am able to craft. Tell me about this ring."

Cool waters on bare feet, the gentle sound of lake waves on a shore of pebbles. Tiny fingers seeking out the perfect stone - perfection only beholden to him and him alone. A bright smile, shadows darting through the wading pools. Tiny fish tickling at little toes.

 

[Aver Brand]

Oh what the shet—

Aver bit back a groan, the soothing music driven away as quickly as it’d been let in. The merc frowned. What was with these alchemists and wanting to talk about everything? What was so karking hard about making one little ring? Silver, with a sprinkle of space magic on top, pretty please?

Gauntleted fingers moved to rest against her plate over the mark.

“It’s a gift,” she murmured. Realized he probably hadn’t heard over the melody, and spoke up. “It’s for a friend… a lover.”

Both?

The merc sighed, tracing the pattern of the three lines. “A gift of me.”

Of course, now that it was out of her mouth, Aver realized just how arrogant that sounded. She snorted and dropped her forehead against her palm.

 

[Dissero]

It seemed, then, that just as quickly as the woman banished the effects of the song from her mind that the song itself drew to a natural close, last notes fading away after her initial response. The man remained at the piano, fingers ghosting over keys without using them, listening for the difficult answer. These things were always the most difficult part of the process.

Not the crafting.

Not the powers imbued or alchemized.

"I see..." he said.

But the interview with the client. So few wanted or knew how to answer these questions and damn near all of them didn't understand why they were asked. These were the things most pertinent to their items. The reason for their creation, the why behind everything they were made to do. The intent.

Without intent you could not have Alchemy.

He closed the cover and reached for a cloth nearby, calmly drawing it across the wooden surface to erase finger marks and dust.

"And this ring will be worn by who? You or your lover?"

"What do you intend for it to do?"

 

[Aver Brand]

Staring at her hand meant she didn’t have to look the man in the eye. Just as well.

Aver considered the worn scales of the undersuit for a moment before speaking again. The absence of music was… strangely welcome. She peered at the alchemist between her fingers, and felt irrationally young for it.

This was stupid. The whole idea was stupid.

“By me,” came the gruff response. She could see the tattoo on his chest better now, and blue eyes narrowed at the pattern. Gesturing to the piano, the merc parted hand from head – if only to get a better look at the tree blooming across his torso.

Definitely familiar.

Spine straighter now, Aver braced against the edge of the stage. “What your piano did… does.” It was difficult to put into words the things you experienced about as often as the planets aligned.

Still, with a heavy exhale, she found them.

“So I’m grayscale, yeah? I’d like that ring to make me full color.”

 

[Dissero]

"Mmhm," he wasn't looking at her but his posture did not give off the impression that he wasn't listening. On the contrary he seemed to be listening very closely. Picking up the inflection of a voice filtered through the speaker of her armor. A challenge to note the various inflections of emotion, but perhaps this was the point. Dissero hadn't met too many people that kept their helmet on while conversing in a peaceful setting that weren't hiding something.

Just as well, he didn't need to see her face or, truly, hear her voice to get the gist.

"My piano," the man stood from the bench then, rag in hand, and turned to face her fully. Every mark was visible even in the low light of the old opera house, "takes the emotions of the player and hones them through keys and chords specifically crafted to clarify and enhance the energy," a black handprint clear as day stamped at the very center of his chest; the tree of life burned into the flesh over his heart - it's branches and roots having grown in tangles of knotwork across the larger portion of his torso, shoulder, left arm, neck, and across his back; scars too on the areas of unmarked skin. Though he did not exude a presence drenched in the Darkside there was a very clear taste of it that seemed to trail him like a stubborn shadow.

"Amplified by the instrument, it exudes those energies unseen through the air, empathic waves carrying every minute feeling impressed into the notes."

His footsteps carried him to the stairs leading down from the stage, echoing along with his voice throughout the chamber despite not being very loud to begin with. Acoustics. Hm. Approaching Aver now revealed that he was tall and broad - likely might've been on par with the woman stature-wise were it not for her armor, though his poise was not imposing in the least.

"That is what you are after? To conduct your internal feelings to those around you?"

 

[Aver Brand]

After motions of meticulous cleaning, the man stood up.

Aver dug her fingers into the rotten wood. Yeah, she knew that tree. Had stared at it from up close; traced her fingers along the branches; pressed lips and tongue along the leaves.

Her breath was stuck in her throat. That was a Dark Mark, and not a recent one. Centuries old.

What were the karking odds?

Blue eyes followed his stride as he descended from the stage, pausing just shy out of her reach. Probably for the better.

“No.” She angled her body to face the bare-chested man. The tattoo mocked her now, up-close. Hackles raised.

“I need internal feelings first.” Nostrils flared, and Aver forcibly dragged her gaze away from the winding black lines. “Or, rather,” she frowned, glancing away completely, “I need access to them.”

 

[Dissero]

With luck this man was not one of the skilled Empaths of the family despite knowing quite a great deal about the power and skill. Such was the benefit of hiding oneself behind plates of armor - he had only a distorted voice to go by and her general posture. She was watching him closely, that much he could tell, but the reason eluded him. Likely it had something to do with paranoia, suspicion; two things he was as intimately familiar with as he was that piano. The man nodded, gaze falling to his hands as he calmly wiped them clean of dust on the rag, "Well," he began, brows lofted at the presented challenge, "a woman should never be without her feelings for that's where her intuition thrives, or so a wise old woman once told me."

A flat, grim smile tried at his expression as he looked back up, nodding again, "Let's see about that order then, ey? Follow me."

The man gestured back along the path Aver had taken down into the hall and quietly heading back up and into the shop proper.

"I'll need to size you," he explained, the echo of his voice cutting off as he entered the contained hallway for the stairs, "I will also require a blood sample to tie the item to your essence."

 

[Aver Brand]

“She did? Lovely.” Aver eyed the man like someone else might regard the barrel of a rifle pointed straight at them. Not even for his smile, or his easy demeanor with matters that she found inconvenient at best.

That damn tattoo.

Unbidden, her blue gaze flickered back down to the sprawling pattern – far more elaborate than the small design she remembered from a certain tanned back. But at their core, no matter how she wished she didn’t, Aver saw the similarity. Hell, they were the same.

The merc followed the alchemist at a healthy distance – mostly for his benefit. Staring at that tree any longer might make the itch in her throat to strong, and she’d just spit out the karking words.

Any burning questions were better left for after. Once the ring was in her palm, paid for, debt settled. And, well, asking Qui was absolutely off the table.

Thus it was with a fixed scowl that Aver rejoined the man in his shop, taking off her left gauntlet without protest. Blood. Of course.

Might as well be karkin’ related, eh?

She peeled back the undersuit and laid her arm bare on the counter. Well, almost – the Ternion of the spider clung to her skin in thin, piercing lines, weaving from the wrist up to the back of the hand, and then back around to disappear along her forearm.

“Size away.”

 

[Dissero]

Behind the dusty counter, beneath the pale light of low burning candelabras on the walls, the man turned and picked a plain navy tee from the chair back, pulling it over his head and obscuring the marks on his skin from view. Mostly. Whether the gesture was made absently, out of some sense of propriety, or for other reasons his expression nor tone did not betray a thing.

The same way it did not betray him when he recognized the esoteric nature of a rather curious tattoo peeking out from the woman's bodyglove. Difficult to be around those sorts of things all the time, to have studied them, to live with their likeness on his own skin, to be intrinsically connected to the dark and corrupting powers-that-be what made such things without recognizing them.

Dissero said nothing, taking his chair and a moment to himself to shuffle through a jewelers tool case on the shelf behind the counter.
He pulled out a chain of sizing rings, sorting through them as he turned back to her, "Which finger?"

For some reason, when she turned her hand and curled her fingers, he was not at all surprised to see what single finger she was holding up. It fit her, for what little he knew of her. The man's jaw stretched out the smirk forming there, his free hand lifting to itch at his beard, "Wotcher," he said, tapping the side of his nose with his pointer finger before pointing at her hand, "you'll put someone's eye out with that thing..."

Eyeing the offending gesture a few moments of careful visual gauging passed before he slipped the first sizer on. Too big. A size down pinched faintly at the knuckle before sliding into place. The ideal size would be slightly smaller than that for a more permanent fit, but he had an inkling this would be a ring she'd likely want to be able to take off without too much trouble. Treading into the realm of emotions was choppy, treacherous waters for someone not wholly experienced with them.

"I foresee some very vehement kark-yous in your future."

 

[Aver Brand]

The gesture was a flippant, knee-jerk response to the tattoo. To the convoluted business of alchemy. To the whole damn mess with Gabriel.

She wasn’t particularly proud of the reflex, but—

With the armor it was hard to notice when Aver froze in place. It was a brief, disbelieving moment as the alchemist tapped the side of his nose with a wide, sharp grin. The merc would’ve gladly refused what she was seeing, but what she was seeing was dead-set on yelling at her face until she admitted to the apparent truth.

Grand-mother-karker would be more correct, my first child is over two hundred years old and has children of his own.

Immobile, she let him try out the rings. Mostly because she was busy staring at where the tree had been, underneath the shirt.

Aver refused to walk out on another alchemist because of… familial bonds. Besides, it wasn’t like this man knew who she was – she’d given nothing away, of that she was sure.

But damned if the universe wasn’t laughing at her.

“Oh yeah. That’s the whole goal. You got me.”

 

[Dissero]

"What you do with your ring is your business," said the man as he double-checked the sizer over her knuckle one last time, "normally I'd go a half size down but it'll be difficult to take off if I do. Unless this is a ring you want permanently fixed in place, we can stick with this size," Dissero let the chain of sizers fall free from his grasp, nodding to it, "you see how that feels for a moment, try a half size down if you like-"

His chair squealed as he turned on it to pull out a leather bound book from another shelf, flipping to a fresh page for the new project and etching in the sizing with an antique inkwell pen, "any particular style or colors of choice to note?"

 

[Aver Brand]

“This is fine.”

Glancing down, Aver rolled the band of metal around her finger a few times. Yanked it off. Slid it back on, slow-like.

Avoided inappropriate thoughts.

“Nothing shiny. Or gold. Or…diamondy…” she trailed off with a frown. “Just make it simple.”

The merc puffed out a breath, pulling the sizer off to set it on the counter. “Red and blue, if you can.”

 

[Dissero]

"Simple..." the man rolled the word over his tongue and teeth, mentally chewing on it. He wasn't exactly known for simplicity in his designs, but he'd managed to attain it in the ring he'd crafted for Verie. A greater challenge in some ways than making a fully fledged Phobis Device - his attachment to his wife was anything but simple.

He had no attachments here.

Simple.

Red and blue.

No shine, gold, or gemstones.

The man ran his fingers through his beard thoughtfully, knowing already he would need to take a less-traditional approach to this particular piece. Normally he'd elect for full crystals in something like this, but there were other means and methods for attaining empathic center than simply polished gemstones. Jotting down notes on likely materials he leaned next for a supply cabinet set against the wall behind the counter. From there he produced a single small glass vial with a crystal stopper and a red-hued stone basin that sat on four legs, the smoothed inner surface bearing carved alchemical markings and symbols.

"I don't need much for a ring," the man began, carefully setting the basin between them, "but it's best to break the skin with your own blade, if you have one handy. If not, I will prepare one."