Exorcising the Past [Witches]

[Sarge Potteiger]

She was a child's whimsy made manifest, and it genuinely warmed his heart to see her so enthused about his cloak. It was something designed to help him take lives, and here she was marveling over the fact that it existed at all, rather than be concerned over why it was he had it.

It was, in a way, a breath of fresh air.

"It needs to be light so it doesn't impede my mobility." He explains carefully. A faint bit of a smile appeared, and he stood, pulling at the cloth to wrap it around her shoulders and form the hood he so often used. "There.", he chuckles. "Now it's perfect."

Turning, he goes to sit and watch the food cook.

 

[Avalore Eden]

Smiling after him she stood there exercising this moment to see how it felt to be unseen. Perhaps it was not a good example - there was no one here to not see her but him, and he was well acquainted with the sensation. But the magic was still there, at least for her. She lifted her hands from within the cloak and looked down at what wasn't there.

"How...do I look?" her disembodied voice chimed over the din of fire crackle, the tone quite amused. A muffled chuckle that followed might insinuate her play as she struck an unseen pose.

She romped around in it for a few moments longer, swishing the material and feeling its weightless magic. It was like being a spirit - oh the mischief she could stir, but these were not the things of a Windtalker. Mischief and trouble wasn't her game. Eventually her fun stilled as she gave herself one last turn about, fluidly pulling the cloak from her shoulders and holding it up one last time before hanging it back by the entrance. The Witch stared as it glimmered from sight and stroked her hands away from the material, pulling herself away and back to the fire. Curiosity sated, she retook her seat by the fire on the pelt and began pulling the spits from the flames.

"It is perfect," she said through a pleased smile, though without much definition as to what she meant.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"You look like you're enjoying yourself.", he quips from the fireside, laughing quietly and shaking his head. Although he'd stopped watching her, he could hear her moving about and enjoying the moment of play in a new toy.

As she rejoined him, he raised a curious brow at her comment. "What is?", he asks. The material of the cloak? What it did? There was a myriad of things she could potentially mean.

There's a few moments as his eyes flicker over her, realizing she still had some ash smeared over her face. His gaze moves downward a bit, and then back up. It's not a sexual look, more a puzzled one, as if wondering what he should be looking at in that moment. There wasn't too much to occupy his eyes in the place, and staring at a fire could only go on for so long.

 

[Avalore Eden]

"This night," she replied simply, her eyes trained on the flames as she pulled the last of their meal from them. Ysan looked up in time to find him gazing at her and smiled again, holding out two of the four skewers of roasted ermine to take, "so many paths we could have taken. So many possible fates and this is how it comes to be. This night is perfect," she spoke a short verse of thanks to the spirits before taking the first bite, "and so is this meal. Mm."

She didn't like to brag, but Ysan thought she was a pretty good cook. Though she'd only ever cooked for herself but she had been taught by some of the best clan cooks there was. Her eyes twitched upwards to watch him try as well, hoping his reaction was a good one. How long had it been since he'd eaten a meal like this? she wondered.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He nodded, having gotten an answer he'd more or less expected. Taking the offered skewer, he took a tentative bite and found it fairly tender. It wasn't a meat he was used to, and he'd never had the words to accurately describe meat, but it was good, and that was enough for him.

It wasn't long before he finished it off and gave a faint burp, which he covered with a clenched fist. "Quite the perfect night...", he says wistfully.

Dathomir was so tranquil, so... archaic, that he couldn't help but feel at him. He'd always wished to return to the past, and living like this truly made him feel like he had been transported back in time. "Thank you for the meal; it was most delicious."

"Where shall I sleep?" He didn't want to sleep somewhere that he, perhaps, wasn't allowed. And she had pulled out a pelt earlier, so he wasn't sure if that's what they slept on or not.

 

[Avalore Eden]

There was a certain sense of accomplishment that came with those words. Ysan internally beamed: she'd cooked a meal for an off-worlder and done a good job at that. Now, at least, she knew she'd never have to prove those skills to anyone. Not that she'd ever really have to, but it pleased her nevertheless.

At his question she looked around and took note that the hutt wasn't really set up for sleeping arrangements since she'd packed everything away. It had certainly never been meant to house more than she, but the Witch was resourceful and would make do. "You may sleep wherever you find comfort. I burned my bed grasses days ago, but I have many pelts in that trunk there," she pointed to his left. Sarge was sitting on the wooden bench frame of where she usually made her bed, but it was bare now and likely not very comfortable without the aforementioned grasses. This often mattered little to Ysan; more often than not she was sleeping in the boughs of a tree or the floor of a cave during her travels. She only ever made a true bed if she knew she was to be staying within a clan for more than a few days.

Looking to the man it didn't seem like sleeping on the ground was of anything new to him. But simple home amenities such as a soft pelt could provide some comfort and certainly knowing he was in a safe haven might help him rest easier and deeper.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Then you'd not mind me sleeping with you?", he asks innocently. He was a simple man, truly, and he found comfort in the body heat of another. He knew the Witches to be a bit more open in regards to their bodies, and didn't find some things like cuddling to be sexual like most of the galaxy.

About the only thing be could figure to be off about the request was that it was a man asking, but at this point she'd probably not be surprised by the forwardness. "I hope I don't offend with that request.", he adds hastily, clearly worried she'd find something wrong with it and become upset.

 

[Avalore Eden]

The Windtalker blinked at his request, clearly not affronted but merely caught off-guard by it. She took a moment to internalize this, wondering about things taboo and things against tradition. In the end she found no harm in it. For a Witch it was a simple thing to share a bed with friends and family, and to do so meant only kinship. Perhaps such closeness with an off-worlder was frowned upon, but she was convinced his ties to her people were strong enough. If a village elder could openly embrace him before all her kin and share that bond with them, it didn't seem wrong. The Windtalker already walked against the grain of tradition and expectations anyways.

"I do not mind," she said finally, smiling easily again, "bring some pelts."

Ysan moved to her feet and cleared away the remnants of their meal then began removing the plated sections of armor from her arms and legs. Normally she would have left them, having grown accustomed to sleeping in it, but she was sure he would appreciate not having to sleep next to her in them. The pointed plates were carved from rancor bone: they were very strong, very sharp and very unforgiving. As she carefully hung them by the strappings on the wall she noted that his cloak had been curiously unscathed. That material, whatever it was made out of, was impressive.

Turning to place the last few logs on the fire, Ysan reclaimed her pelt on the ground by the pit and waited for him to settle in. She slid back onto her side and elbow, now cradling her head in the adjoining hand, and took the opportunity of such close proximity to look at his face. "How did you get this?" she asked quietly, lifting her other hand to her own face and tracing a line along her own cheek to indicate the scar upon his.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He nodded and stood, digging the requested pelts from the trunk. Bringing them over, he layed them upon the ground and began removing the plates of his own armor. Underneath the armor was a black body glove, and the black cloth clung to him readily, designed to hug the form.

By the time he was settled in and close to her, he hasn't been expecting more questions. Although, perhaps, he should have. "Grenade. It's about the size of a grapefruit. Filled with explosive and shrapnel. When it went off I twisted my head and took a bunch of shrapnel to the cheek."

Thankfully he still had on the body glove, or she'd have a lot of questions to ask. "You're a curious one, aren't you?" He asks with a bit of a smile, making himself as comfortable as possible.

 

[Avalore Eden]

Again there was the trace of confusion on the Witch's face, though it subsided to a pensive interest. All these new words and things he spoke of only drove her curiosity, though she held it in check if for no other reason than she knew him to be tired.

Smiling coyly at his last words, Ysan's cheeks pinked, "Yes," she looked away and rubbed absently at her neck, embarrassed that her inquisitive nature seemed to be bugging him. When she looked back her smile split wider, baring white teeth, and she nodded, "I am."

With a sigh she rolled to her back and fell into silence, watching the fire and letting her questions and thoughts culminate within. Sharing such close quarters with another was a peculiar feeling - it had been years since she had. Ysan tried not to weigh too much on the comfort of his presence, knowing he would be here only fleetingly. Instead she mentally prayed for him, asking the spirits to help him through his troubles and the challenges that may lay ahead. After a time the Windtalker closed her eyes contently to the sounds of fire-crackle and the man's breathing.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Good. But always remember, curiosity is only good until you start digging too deep." It wasn't a threat, merely a friendly warning. Who knew when another off-wielded would come, and whether she'd be just as curious as them.

Some in this galaxy were so cutthroat when it came to natives that curiosity was just about the worst trait to have. Like her, he lay there, quietly, enjoying the company and the sounds of the night. Unlike her, sleep came far less easily.

He lay there some hours, thinking, contemplating, fearing. Memories swam to the surface of his mind, and he forced their way back beneath the tidal ebb and flow of the mind of a man alive too long in this galaxy. But, when sleep did come, it was the most peaceful sleep he'd ever truly gotten outside of cryo.

 

[Avalore Eden]

In the breaking hours of the dawn the air was cool and humid. The firepit long since burnt out left a heavy silence within the hutt, allowing the shallow breathing of the two occupants to remain the only sound. Through windows of the hutt the marine blue of a morning sky not quite yet warmed by a peeking sun shone with remnants of fading stars and the ghostly faces of two Dathomiri moons.

A faint murmur broke the stillness. Ysan lay drawn alongside Sarge with her forehead pressed at his shoulder's side and her hands curled at her front. The fingertips of her left hand lay lightly along his arm, twitching momentarily to match a subtle movement beneath her eyelids.

"...it's not me..." more words uttered incoherently. Her fingers at his arm quivered, making a weak attempt to grasp at it before falling still. Brow knit fretfully, the Windtalker drew closer and dreamed on.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge had a curious habit of, mid-sleep, drawing his arms up around his head. So it was now, and it made the feeling of her fingertips on the underside of his arm unnatural enough that he awoke with a start, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

Realizing what had happened, he set his head back down and took deep breaths to calm the adrenaline that had coursed through his system. Now, wide awake, he realized the odds of falling back asleep any time soon were slim to none.

His gaze drifted down to the woman curled against his side, and he wasn't surprised to find her there. Nights could get cold, and with her body used to the warmth of the fire she had to seek out another heat source in its absence.

So, there he lay, looking at the roof and waiting for her to wake.

 

[Avalore Eden]

For a Witch, especially one that lived alone and in a dampened state of suspicion, all it took was the man's short startle to rouse her as well. She blinked, inhaling sharply though frozen in momentary confusion and fear. Questions filtered through her mind quickly but in no discernible means of who, what and where. Awareness fogged by the lingering dream state, she quickly but certainly not gracefully got her hands beneath her and pushed to sit up.

The Windtalker hovered uneasily over her guest, long hair falling past her shoulders to sweep across his chest, and blinked the sleep from her eyes as they slowly adjusted to the darkness. She caught her breath with a frown as the memories of the previous day slowly came flooding back.

"You are here..." she murmured in her lilting Paecean tongue, regarding him with eyes still heavily weighted by sleep.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

As she moved, startled like a wild animal who sensed humans on the approach, he lay still. No sense in making it worse for her. Slowly, he nodded. "Aye. Did you expect me to leave?", he asks, voice heavy with exhaustion.

He'd not gotten anywhere near enough sleep, and his eyes felt like lead. But, instead of closing them, he looked to her for the moment. "Everything alright...?"

 

[Avalore Eden]

"No..." she replied blearily, "but I -" she paused, looking somewhere between lost in fatigue and caught in a headache. The Windtalker released a long breath through her nose, allowing the tensity of her muscles to escape with it. She shifted her legs to her other side, curling to huddle against Sarge. The morning chill wasn't particularly biting, but his warmth was comfortable. In a moment of perhaps not the best judgement and simple, sleepy, innocent trust, Ysan moved to rest her head on the man's torso. Relaxing there, assuming he did not protest, she sighed.

"Yes," she murmured in reply to his second question and shut her eyes. A small smile formed on her lips moments later, "I hear your life song."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Despite being on-edge, and his testosterone levels being sky-high from morning, he avoided any impure thoughts about the woman next to him. Slowly, his arm moved to drape around her shoulders, resting loosely on her in a gentle hold.

"But you...", he ventures slowly, attempting to coax the rest of what she was going to say out of her. Sleepy as he was, puzzling out 'life song' took longer than it should. His heart beat louder than most, but she likely wouldn't realize that. "Indeed. Otherwise... I'd be dead."

 

[Avalore Eden]

"I thought you might leave," the Windtalker uttered in return.

Slowly the pulsing of her own heart reclaimed a rhythm in-tuned with the world. Ysan rested as she was, a dash of a smile pulling her lips at his comment. She wanted to tell him the story of the Songless Ma'tra who gave up her Life Song during the Endless Night to bring light back to the lands and how she lived on in the sun, rising every morning instead to the song of her homeland. Ysan wanted to ask him about the lands beyond the stars and what sorts of people lived there. She wanted to remark on his funny accent and the strange scent of fuel on his clothing. But all these things were minimal, she knew, to what he had come here to do.

After a time she opened her eyes again and turned the stormy gray irises up to look at him. Laying with his arm around her was warm and comforting, but the sky was growing pink with the promise of a new day. When the light touched the valley the Elders would signal their acceptance or denial of their visitor. Ysan didn't want to make him wait. Sighing, she sat up and slowly rose to her feet.

"Come," she offered, "watch with me," and moved to the doorway of her hutt, glancing shortly back at him, before stepping out into the crisp morning air.

Looking across the valley to the eastern peaks of the snow-capped mountains, Ysan readily drank in the sweetness of daybreak. Between the rising teeth of the ridges the brightening sky shifted with pale blues, greens, pinks and oranges as the first infantile beams of gold emblazoned the horizon. A chilled breeze drew across the valley slope, singing through the branches of the trees around her hutt. The Windtalker shivered, hugging her arms around her bare shoulders, and smiled as she felt the warming rays of sunlight drift across the skin of her face.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He was being asked to watch a sunrise. It wasn't something he was used to by any stretch of the imagination, but he stood and nodded slowly. Slipping on his boots, he picks up his cloak and follows her outside to the wondrous pink glow that promised a new day.

Taking the cloak in both hands, he wrapped it around her shoulders and stood just behind her left shoulder as the sun began it's slow crawl not only up and into the sky, but out and across the ground. Already, the chill morning air was suffused with the tentative tendrils of heat that made their way through the atmosphere.

Vaguely, he wondered if she realized what the star actually was or if it was some sort of a religious figure for her. He couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to ruin anything.

"Do you watch every morning?"

 

[Avalore Eden]

The feeling of fabric against her shoulders finally cut the witch's gaze from the rising sun. She glanced down, noticing the ghostly disappearance of portions of her figure, and smiled. Ysan rocked side to side once in a moment of play with the magical cloak before looking back at Sarge.

"Yes," she answered simply, "oh!"

Something caught her eye, "White smoke from the Elder's den. You have been accepted. We must go."

It wouldn't do to keep them waiting, after all. Ysan did not turn back to gather her things, for armor and weapons were not necessary in the Elder's Den. Holding the cloak at her shoulders, she stepped off down the footpath they had taken the night prior, back to the village in the valley.

@[member="Satara Hawk"]
@[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]