Foolish to Think

[Verie Lacroix]

"Do we need to talk about this?"

Verie was at the wheel of the airspeeder, which was in one hand slightly unusual since she rarely drove herself, and in the other slightly illegal since she was not licensed to operate such a vehicle. She was zooming in the lanes about Kuat City, weaving in and out of traffic and exceeding the speed limit. It was all highly irregular. "No," Verie answered Travers, glancing sidelong at him in the passenger seat before turning her attention back to the drive.


"Because we're going about twenty over." Verie didn't answer, instead throttling forward, cranking it up to twenty-five. The speeder's intake whined, then settled into a purr. "And that guy we landed with? That wasn't the same guy we departed with."

"Yes it is," Verie answered, her face stony and her voice glacial. Travers tried to object again, but Verie said: "Yes, it is. This isn't something we're going to discuss. I just need you to trust me on that. If you can't trust me, then you just tell me where to drop you off." He was silent, glancing at her briefly before looking out the window. After several moments, he asked her where they were going. Verie pointed out the window; in the distance, the residential district loomed. "See that tall one? That's where we're going."

"Do you live there?"

"Not for several years. But I do own it," she said, throttling forward on the speeder's yoke. "I didn't realize but my mother bought it, bit by bit, floor by floor, until the owner finally relented and let her purchase it. That was the renovation that was done on it... oh, five years ago? We lived in the penthouse but my mother redid the entire building."

"You own a building?"

Verie flushed. She was not used to being independently wealthy. "My mother left it to my brother in her will. Unfortunately my brother died months before she did, and I was the beneficiary of his estate, so I inherited it." They were approaching the private landing pad at the penthouse and Verie keyed her code into the transmitter. A protocol droid came tottering out as she brought the speeder in to land. Unsealing the doors, she slipped out, turning to see whether any police were on their way. Apparently they had been undetected.

"Mistress Verie, is that you? Oh my stars!"

"All right, B-85?"

"Quite well, Mistress. Is there any luggage?"

"Yes." She opened the boot and then said, "Mr. Travers and I will be in the drawing room. Can you bring tea when you've finished there?" Verie led the way, feeling rather self-conscious. It was the first time she'd had a friend over to the family homestead. "You've been very helpful to me, Travers, and I confess that I rather like you. You're a good and honest man. Just the kind of man that I trust to look after my interests."

"Are you offering me a job?"

"Obviously," Verie said impatiently, gesturing towards a settee. She sat in an armchair opposite, and a painting of her mother glared icily down from above the mantle. "You're from here and you're very smart, but because of our bizarre gender politics you haven't been able to distinguish yourself. I would like to give you an opportunity."

"What are we talking about?"

"I'd like you to manage my affairs while I'm away from Kuat. You'll have an flat here -- one of the nicer ones, of course -- and a stipend. You'll manage my portfolio and be free to pursue whatever your interests are. I'll pay you, obviously, and as long as your interests don't interfere with mine I don't foresee a problem." She spread her hands as if to say that's the offer, at the same moment B-95 walked in carrying a tray of tea. As she poured, Travers asked her why she was being so forthcoming; after all, they had only known one another a few weeks. Verie handed him his teacup. "We've been through something extraordinary together. I feel like I can trust you. And if I can't..." She lifted her teacup to her lips and lofted her brows at him, then allowed a roguish wink.

As they talked out the details, Verie wondered how [member="Dissero"] was faring; when they had parted, she thought there was something about the schoolboy going to see the headmaster about him, but she could have been imagining it. She was anxious to be reunited with him again, even after such a short time.

 

[Dissero]

"Concentrate, child."

Dissero was naught but a pile of ashen-faced self on the floor of the chamber, winded and suffering very obvious agony. The blues of his eyes, pale and icy, flashed momentarily before being overtaken by the whites. He'd collapsed at the first attempt, and for whatever reason had the distinct and tangible flashback of the first time he'd read the Spellbook. His throat felt tight, his mind on fire, but his soul...

His soul was straining against a divine feeling of being pulled in several directions at once. Though he'd always reckoned himself to be made of strong stock, he'd never yet been tested against the likes of his Elder.

Dissero groaned loudly and pressed his hands against the carved stone floor beneath him.

"Get up. You're not finished yet."

She always spoke with the greatest of conviction and confidence. This both worried him at the prospect of enduring further agony and gave him a swelling of pride, even if ever so slight. With a great deal of effort he managed to finally sit up again and resume his meditative position, eyes settling back on the woman who was his mother, his first and forever mentor in these dark dealings. She was how he rarely ever witnessed; a monolith of arcane knowledge and skill, the light of her power radiating forth in a quiet, seething crimson glow. A savage beauty, equally enthralling and terrifying to behold.

He only hoped that one day he might see Verie in the same light.

She didn't inquire to his readiness - one always had to be ready.


~~~~~

Several hours later.

Piercing green eyes watched him in the reflections of the full-length tailor's mirrors. About him several attendants buzzed, taking measurements, presenting swatches and fabric lengths. At the pursing of the Queen's lips an entire book of matched colors and patterns was whisked away with great fervor.

Exhausted beyond the point of any contention, Dissero stood a willing pin-cushion for the seamstress and his mother's gaze.

"Those," said the Queen as several new books were brought to her, "from your father's collection."

"I'm to dress in greys, then?"

"Not that father..." she intoned, an answer that made him glance around warily. None of the attendants raised a brow or even looked as though they'd registered the comment. There was a strange haze in the room that seemed to suddenly dissipate.

"Like it or not," the Queen continued, "his style suits you. You cannot wear black forever."

"Going to dress me for my wedding, too?"

"Until I am satisfied you are capable of dressing yourself for anything but a funeral, then yes," Lorelei's gaze flickered over him pointedly, "is this something I need to consider?"

No sense in trying to keep anything from the woman, "The potential is greater than ever."

"Well then, this is news. You've been quite busy, have you? Not still the Lacroix..."

He gave her a pointed look of his own.

"Amadeus, I stand by words the day I named your sister heiress over you,"

"As if that makes any difference. Kuat doesn't want to see Amadeus on the throne. Kuat doesn't want Amadeus period."

"Well, not the part of Kuat that really matters. But the old bloods, the few that remain, were quite eager to see Salvador's son take the throne. They loved your father, and their clout should not be ignored."

"Are you saying you want to change your mind then?"

"Do you want me to change my mind?"

"No."

"It is still her."

"Yes."

Lorelei watched him, eyes narrowing, "You stand to gain-"

"Nothing," he said quietly, "nothing but exactly what I want."

"I see ... "

"I'm not staying. We're leaving in a few days, when she's ready. What is all this about."

"This will be your suit for the upcoming Hapan Masquerade."

"...the what?"

"Tragically I won't be able to go, so you and Lacroix will attend in my stead. Do be sure to send my condolences to the Queen Mother. Oh, and find yourself a mask. I'm sure you have something hideous in your collection to choose from."


~~~~


Later that evening Dissero arrived at Verie's new home shorn, clean shaven, dressed to the tens as he typically always was while here at court. The color had returned to his face as well as the glint to his eyes. He seemed whole again, though perhaps looked a little tired. There was no longer any trace of the Jedi to him.

"Hello," he greeted her, his voice a bit more rassp than usual, and offered her a lovely bouqet of flowers contained in some very expensive and exotic porcelain vase, "nice building you got here." Smirk.

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie was dressed simply, in a cranberry sweater and a black, loose-fitting, knee-length skirt. She always managed to look under-dressed next to [member="Dissero"], she noted with a twinge of self-consciousness as she went to greet him at the entry. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek and accepted the flowers graciously. "Thank you, they're beautiful." She leaned over the bouquet and inhaled their fragrance before putting her free hand against his now-smooth cheek and kissing him again. "Thank you. But then I've said that, haven't I? I know just where to put this. Ah, if you want, you can go into the drawing room, have B-85 pour you a drink. Mother never approved of drinking in there so naturally we're doing it."

After taking the flowers into her bedroom suite and depositing them on the side table, where their perfume would linger through the evening, Verie returned and rejoined Dissero. B-85 had made himself scarce, so they were quite alone. "Are you all right... Merovign?" she asked quietly as she went to the bar cart and began to fix herself something. "Granted you look a lot better than the last time I saw you, but I was hoping you might get some rest." Verie mixed a little citrus with a little vodka and a little grenadine. "What are you drinking?"

 

[Dissero]

Freshly minted and tailored jacket hung on the only obvious coatrack around, Dissero quietly perused the homestead with a lazy stride. Charcoal hued and faintly pinstriped matching vest and slacks, silvered dress shirt, deep navy tie with silver embroidery of the Darke family crest, shoes shined. He was terribly overdressed, but a Prince didn't often travel through the realm of his peoples and his aristocracy looking anything less than grand. Especially when he had a family image to uphold and a reputation to maintain.

He cared little for the charade anymore and would have much rather arrived in comfort.

There was a picture frame in his hand by the time Verie returned and he glanced to her as she swept back in. A doleful sort of smile settled into his expression at the sound of her voice speaking his true name and he slowly turned to set the picture back down.

"Nothing - nothing for me, thank you. And I do feel better," hands in his pockets, one closing around an item he gently cleared his throat though this did nothing for the rumbling tone, "I am better now."

He looked to her, nodding his head slowly, "But I do intend to rest. With you. Is that alright?"

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie looked down at her cocktail and stirred it lightly before taking a sip and then setting it down on the bar. She walked over to where he was standing and picked up the picture frame he had been holding. It held a picture of a six-year-old Verie, two front teeth missing, in an amateurish ballet pose. Her thumb stroked the brushed nickle of the frame and she felt a pang of sadness for a moment. She had never known her mother to keep photographs, but there they were in black and white, one framed photograph of Verie and one of Sante in a pressed and fresh cadet's uniform. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. "I didn't know she kept these," Verie murmured thoughtfully before she set the frame down and brushed a non-existent speck of dust off the frame housing Sante's photo. "Parents do have a way of surprising us, don't they?" she asked before taking running her hand up his back to his shoulders, stroking lightly.

"Of course you're more than welcome to stay here. As long as you like." She squeezed his shoulder gently "There are... five? five guest bedrooms, I think," she said, rolling her eyes back as she tried to remember. It had been awhile. "Each has a bath ensuite and a call so you can be..." Verie's voice trailed off and she squeezed her eyes closed, sighing internally at her own stupidity. "...looked after. Or you can stay in my room." She paused, wishing for all the world she still had that drink in her hand. "With me."

She released her grasp on his shoulder and went back to the bar cart, helping herself to a palmful of dried berries. "Whatever will make you the most comfortable. My home is your home - of course you knew that already."

[member="Dissero"]

 

[Dissero]

"Wherever you are," his voice sounded and he was there, at her back, without any sound of approach at all, "is where I am most comfortable."

Snaking his arms around her middle, Dissero leaned down to nuzzle his face into her neck. Scent, warmth, presence - everything about Verie was familiar and comfortable, and for just a few moments he squeezed her tightly as the remnants of how much he'd missed her slipped to the forefront of his mind. How many nights had he spent thinking about her? Worrying about her? Worry about them?

For a long time he'd feared the worst: that he'd destroyed all chances of a future between them.

He sighed into her hair and kissed at her ear beneath it, "I know we've only just got back," his voice rumbled low, "and I won't press you if you have things needing taken care of, but I'd like to leave soon."

A pause, his hands gently kneaded her sides, "I want to show you my home and introduce you to ... my associates."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie closed her eyes and allowed herself to lean back lightly so that her back was pressed to [member="Dissero"]'s chest. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Whatever anxiety she had been seized with melted away. This felt good - it felt right - and damn the consequences. It might be a dangerous life, but it would be a life, which is more than she could say for anything she had experienced so far. She folded her arms around his so that her fingers lay over the backs of his hands. "There is nothing keeping me here," Verie told him. "I have never felt a strong connection to Kuat, particularly, and I have asked Travers to manage my affairs for me while I am offworld. I trust him to do the right thing, but of course I'll be monitoring things remotely."

She turned her head and kisses his jaw lightly. "This is all to say that I am ready to go whenever you are. Say the word and I'll pack a bag. B-85 can close the flat himself, he doesn't need any instruction from me." She paused and let her fingers trace invisible patterns on the back of his hands lightly. "Shall I give the instruction? I am as eager to begin as you are. And I meant what I said about my continuing my training. Do you still want me as a student?"

 

[Dissero]

I want you, he thought but did not say. Instead the man squeezed her again and mentally reminded himself that there was a delicate balance to maintain now. She would be his student and as such, he needed to be capable of instructing her without distraction. These things, these wants and desires, they would have to wait until he was sure she could handle the life he would lead her through.

Her safety was of utmost importance to him.

"Yes," he answered finally, "and yes."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"I promised you answers, Ve," they were sitting in her ship, all packed and on their way to what Verie would learn was the territories of the Fringe Confederation. Eventually. That's what he would get to, anyway.

"Now's the time for your questions."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie drew her legs up underneath her in her chair, tucking her feet underneath her bottom as she reclined into a more comfortable position. She cupped a mug of tea in her hands, enjoying the mild scent of the tea vapors. She supposed she ought to be delicate here, to tread lightly, but she confessed to herself that she was endlessly curious about his situation, and just what were those marks that she had seen on his person. Her fingers clenched around the tea for a moment before she cleared her throat and took a sip of her drink.

"I am curious about how you came to be in the situation you were in," said Verie quietly. She found herself phrasing things rather more carefully than she anticipated doing. Verie felt that there had settled a somewhat businesslike distance between them in her head. "And... what is that," she asked, gesturing vaguely to his torso area, her eyes dropping down to her tea to avoid looking at @Dissero. Why did she feel she was overstepping the mark?

 

[Dissero]

A question he'd expected. Two, actually. Dissero regarded the woman unsmiling, a grave sort of expression overtaking his features. He supposed in his mind, somewhere in a distant reality he'd managed to keep all these unsavory things from Verie's knowledge. To her, he was but an Archivist and Archeologist, traipsing the galaxy in search of innocent and inconsequential history, never once putting a toe out of place.

A good man.

An honest man.

He frowned. This was not that reality, and it could never be. Not now that she had seen and knew so much.

"They're not easy questions to answer and I think the answers will only raise more questions, but..." a low sigh passed between lightly clenched teeth, "I'll do my best."

"The easiest answer to give you, Verie, is that I am a Sith, or rather - I was."

This point was made bluntly and with some vacant form of disdain to his tone. He reached up and began to unbotton his shirt, only just enough to make visible the Tree emblem branded into the skin of his chest, now blackened with Darkside corruption, the branches and roots having spread over the years as he delved deeper into the Darkside and its powers.

"I was raised and trained under the tenents of those who would be considered Darkside Masters. This," he said, placing a hand on the branding, "is the mark of my finished Apprenticeship. It's the emblem of the Order my Masters ruled, a mark given to every student that passes their Knighthood trials. It is a mark of darkness, of Darkside accomplishment and corruption, and over the years as I have grown in power it has spread. This-" his fingers moved to indicate a blackened handprint over his heart, "is a Blood Trail mark left upon me by a very powerful Sith Dreadlady, a student of one of my former Masters. That's a very long story and it's not relative to your question, so we'll save it for another time. This-" he indicated the darkened scarring around his neck, "is what the tabloids have always said. A birth mark. Umbilical cord wrapped around my neck during the birthing process. What they don't know is that this was due to a curse placed upon my family line hundreds of years ago by a Sith Master. My mother died giving birth to me, which damaged the curse but did not fully break it. It's another long, complicated story I'll tell you another time. The rest that you have seen are scars from various trials and ...adventures, all with their own stories to tell. For now, they're not relevant."

"Do you have any more questions on that subject, or shall I continue?"

He might be too far gone to be considered a good man anymore, but he could at least still be an honest one.

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie chewed the inside of her cheek, giving her a pursed-lip look as she took in what he was telling her. That he was, or had been, a Sith came as no blinding shock to her. The locket alone had given her some indication. She lifted her tea to her mouth and took another drink before stirring it lightly and watching the bubbles and tea leaves swirl peacefully inside the ceramic. She did have a question, but she was unsure how to broach it in this instance. Honesty was the order of the day, so she said: "I'm not sure I have the right to ask, but this ... this curse? Is it something you expect to effect your own children, if you have them?"

"Apart from that I have no questions. Please continue."

She took another sip of her tea before setting the drink down on the arm of her chair, watching him intently as he spoke. She could watch him speak all day, even if it was just to read the holocomm book.

[member="Dissero"]

 

[Dissero]

The man rebuttoned his shirt but made no effort to redo his tie.

"It is a curse that has plagued my family for hundreds of years. I am the first descendant to not be fully affected by it and it does not affect my sister at all. I can't say for sure if it is something I would pass on or not, given the broken nature of it."

There was an underlying subject here that perhaps his mind had jumped to prematurely, but it seemed inappropriate to bring it up. His own wants were clear to him where they were concerned with Verie. He'd known for a very long time exactly what future he saw with her, but breaching that subject was not something he felt right doing.

Not now and likely not for a long time.

When she quieted and asked nothing further, he took another deep breath and continued on.

"Some things you know about me are true, but you are not aware of the extent. I am an Archivist, and some would say a very accomplished one. But my talents extend beyond just knowledge - I have for many years been a Collector of Force Artifacts, ancient tomes, scrolls, and knowledge. Many of them are based in the Darkside, but not everything I tender is. My first Master gave me the task of scouring the galaxy for her own personal pieces, scattered across the various planets she had visited and ruled upon over her lifetime. She willed them to me as my reward for successfully retrieving them, so began my collection and grew my interest in the occult, arcane, and historical."

"I have a natural affinity for Sith Sorcery and am more capable of finding, retrieving, and handling the artifacts than most. This ability and my growing knowledge garnered the interest of many Sith Lords, including Empress Desmius during the time of The Sith Empire. It was she that named me the Master of Vaults and gave to me the planet Rudrig to govern. She tasked me to build the Sith Empire a new, bigger, more fortified archives and vaults there, where upon completion I transferred everything from the original hold on the capital, Dromund Kaas. You came in several months after everything was finalized, when my station there was set and the eye of the Empress was no longer upon me. I had hoped, at the time, that the college there would interest you enough to stay - which it did - and then I would reveal to you what I am now. I tried, but the Clockwork Rebellion disrupted everything. You knew I was capable of using the Force, but you had no idea the path I followed. I was ... terrified to tell you. In fact, I'd never been so scared of doing anything in my life."

His blue eyes never wavered from Verie, but he did not give her time to comment or question.

"When I left, when I sent you that letter and package with the cloak, Empress Desmius was no longer in control. A new Emperor had risen, and he had tasked me and my then mentor with a new project while at the same time stripping me of my title and honors. There was ... a great deal of unrest in the Empire, and where there is unrest, there is instability, and there is sure to be war. This is a fundamental flaw of the Sith, and part of the reason why I say that I was one, not that I am."

"Alongside my mentor, I orchestrated the heist of the entirety of the Sith Archives and Vaults. We took everything, down to the last scrap of parchment. I made some very powerful enemies that day and I nearly paid the ultimate price. This is why I could not bring you with me. We moved quickly to disappear, and we managed it quite effectively. Those months where you had no word of me we were in hiding, biding our time, planning out next move. I joined my mentor in a mission to disseminate the information we'd stolen, to sow seeds of chaos, and also to spoil the scent trail the Empire's Mercs and Acolytes on us. We set up the Great Holocron Auction at Contruum and watched as everything devolved into mayhem. My mentor died that day, and afterwards I remained in hiding."

"I maintain the remainder of the trove, but there were some vital pieces missing that I required for a project I had been working on with him for some time. Pieces that were under the watch and care of the Jedi, and this is where Jedi Master Brom Burnside comes in. That Locket is a piece I spent three years hunting down - as you know, it gives the wielder the power to take on the identity of another person. Flawlessly, if fulfilled in complete. By the time I learned of the whereabouts of the artifacts I needed, Burnside had been hot on my trail for months. He sniffed me out on Corellia while I was digging for information and followed me home. Somehow...somehow he got the jump on me, on my own ship. We fought and in the end I killed him," Dissero's level gaze had grown stoney, "and seeing the opportunity I took his soul into the locket, into me, to assume his identity and infiltrate the Jedi Order."

"The Brom Burnside you met is the real man. In a time of weakness he'd managed to take over my mind and maintained that control for too long. What you have to understand, Verie, is that Locket was forged by Darkside Sorcery eons ago. Anything of such creation always has a drawback, always has a way to overcome the user. That Locket steals the memories of the host, draws upon their spirit until they can no longer remember who they are. With Burnside in control and unable to understand what was happening, I forgot myself and eventually ... he began to forget, too. We were two people in a single body losing ourselves to madness, incapable of discerning the memories and realities of one from the other. Incapable of remembering the truth ... until Brom followed a memory to Honoghr and you showed up."

The rest of the story Verie knew. Dissero's gaze finally fell from her, drifting off along the floor, "I have since rectified the problem. Containing him within my mind wasn't a solution - he was a very powerful Jedi and could have taken over again. I visited my first Master on Kuat, a very old and very powerful Sorceress, and had her remove his soul from me."

From his pocket Dissero withdrew the crystal within which the Jedi's soul was now contained, "He holds no power over me anymore."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie stood up and paced away from the chair, eager to put some distance between herself and the Jedi Master that was trapped inside that little crystal. What kind of person was she dealing with, exactly? What kind of person did these kinds of things, carried souls around, with them or in little crystals? She turned away, facing the viewport but not looking out. She stared at the corner where the bulkhead met the deckplates, her dark eyes thoughtful.

This complicated things. She loved [member="Dissero"], of that she had no question, so much that it gave her a stomachache if she dwelled on it too long; and she felt she had proved herself reasonably up to the task of finding a place in his world, at least in terms of her commitment and tenacity. But there seemed an element of underhandedness and cruelty inherent in the dealings of the Sith. The casual way he spoke about sowing the seeds of chaos chilled her to the bone. It seemed impossible that he should not understand that that chaos might have led to hundreds of deaths, thousands of disruptions, and yet the way he spoke of it did not lead her to believe that this was of any consequence to him.

"You will forgive my foolish ignorance, I hope, when I ask," Verie said without turning back to Dissero, a harsh edge to her voice that she hadn't summoned, but couldn't quite suppress. "What will become of the soul of Master Burnside? Is he to languish forever inside that crystal? Is he --" She fell silent and shook her head, putting her hand to her mouth. She was hopelessly out of her depth here, and she was sure they both knew it.

 

[Dissero]

"If it is true, then the man we both seek was responsible for not only the heist of the Sith Empire's archives, but was also part of the destruction of the star at Osarian and the loss of all those lives; the Great Holocron Auction at Contruum that resulted in chaos, death, and the proliferation of darkside knowledge throughout the galaxy; and numerous other murders since then. Now other than what I personally witnessed, there's no direct evidence to link him to anything. It's all based on conjecture and a lot of solid leads. Many people left the trail after the confirmed death of Sith Master Velok at the hands of the Jedi, but I never believed he had worked alone."

Perhaps Verie might recall the words spoken to her by that fateful Jedi Master. With the words of Dissero speaking truths to her, would she begin to piece together the puzzle Burnside had labored over? Perhaps, now that she questioned the stock of trust and respect she held for Dissero, she might come to understand just why Brom Burnside had so passionately sung the man's demons aloud.

Dissero watched her carefully, unmoving in his seat, breathing steady though his heart pounded painfully in his chest.

Don't turn away from me, Ve, this is why I need you here.

These are my monsters. These are my demons. You've got to know them to know all of me. You can't be afraid of them or they'll consume you.

Thoughts left unexpressed. Why? He wasn't sure.

The man looked to the crystal in his hand, it's dark violet color gleaming with contained power. He frowned, brow knitting upwards as he considered the item, "It is a precious thing, a crystal containing the soul of another, for an Alchemist such as myself. We use them in our projects as power sources - and this one is quite powerful. It could do great things ... he could live on, eternal, within the hilt of a blade or around the neck of a Lord. People in my world would pay a great deal for the power this crystal offers."

A pained frown creased his face, "That is the fate he would find were it up to me. But you have become entangled in this, too much to deny you a say," his eyes traveled back to Ve where she stood, huddled in her insecurities and doubts.

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

"So he was telling the truth about you," Verie said quietly, finally turning to face him again. "Those horrible things he said you had done? It was all true." This was more statement than question now, and Verie couldn't help but feel let down. She had defended [member="Dissero"] with a conviction that she felt, at the time, with every fiber of her being. Chaos. Death. Genocide, even. It was unspeakable, and yet it had to be spoken - the circumstances demanded it. "The disaster at Osarian. All those people..."

She took a breath and slowly walked back over to her seat, standing behind it and bracing her hands up on the back of her chair. "I believe you can see that I am having a difficult time reconciling what I know of you with what he said. What you've as good as admitted. You might even say I'm overwhelmed by it." She paused and dropped her head down to look into the empty chair.

"You'll have to admit it is rather a lot to take in," Verie said quietly, stretching her neck this way and that. "I don't know what to say. Other than that if you anticipate my education resulting in my engaging in anything like the activities described... well, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed." She looked up at him, her eyes stony and a touch resentful.

 

[Dissero]

He said nothing. He did nothing.

There was nothing to say or do to defend himself. He was guilty of everything she had heard and knew, guilty of every life lost and taken. Perhaps he might not have been a major player in many things, but he'd certainly helped and he'd never once raised issue about the potential of life lost. In those days his humanity had worn thin.

Velok had a way of romanticizing the darkness that was just too hard to deny.

The Archivist's gaze hardened at what may have been perceived to be a challenge from the young Lacroix, though a short half-smirk won out, "I don't make an effort of setting myself up for disappointment."

"What you do with the things I teach you is your choice to make, Ve. My efforts are made in order to give you the ability to carve your own path."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

She turned away again, momentarily incensed at the look he had given her. Where he found the brass ones to give her a stony look she would never know. "Give me the circumstances," she told him, still facing away from him. Verie needed to get to the bottom of this; she had refused in the days before to believe that [member="Dissero"] had been capable of such unspeakable acts. That veil had been lifted from her eyes, but another, less gauzy, slightly more translucent remained. She turned back to face him and put her hands on her hips.

"Don't tell me there are no circumstances," Verie insisted. "Because I know you a little. Enough to find it exceptionally unlikely that you would wake up one morning and instead of craving waffles for breakfast you said I want to wreak as much havoc in the galaxy as possible just because I can and damn the torpedos. So... what was it?" Verie spread her hands before her and fixed him with an icy stare reminiscent of her mother. "There has to be something."

Verie picked up her tea and looked over the rim of her cup at him expectantly. "You have to give me something," she said as firmly as she could muster for what was essentially pleading.

 

[Dissero]

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man offered dryly, looking down as he moved to replace the Soul Gem within his pocket and dug around for something new. A moment later he withdrew a silver tin, the Darke family crest engraved upon the face where at the center a crimson stone gleamed surrounded by carved onyx. Producing a cigarette, he tamped it out and next withdrew a lighter.

Pinching the cigarette in his lips, he managed a half-grin as he lit up, "I still enjoy waffles in the morning. Make pretty good ones, too. With fresh fruit. You'll see."

Short inhale, hold, long and slow exhale. Dissero sat in a faint plume of blue smoke, the light scent of cool herb lingering in his nose. He didn't often revisit this habit, as it caused him to feel far too alike his blood father, but in tense situations such as this one it helped him clear his thoughts. Gave him something to do other than overthink. Verie would likely never know just how anxious she made him sometimes.

"The circumstances are that you were never made aware of the things that I do when I'm away. I've lived two lives for as long as I can remember. On Kuat, in the public eye, I was Prince Amadeus; spoiled but charming, or so the tabloids claimed, aspiring Archivist. What did they tell you that I did while I was away? Private tutoring at the galaxy's best colleges and institutions? Not far from the truth at some points - I held a long mentorship with a man known as Lord [member="Tirdarius"], a former student of my first Master, and undoubtedly one of this galaxy's finest Archivists."

Another slow breath released a second plume of smoke, his blue gaze had lost the glint of coldness she'd seen before, "The rest? Let's just say all those rumors you heard about how horrible Sith Lords are to their Apprentices are mostly true. It wasn't something that suddenly happened to me, it was ingrained into me from a very young age - this disposition to the what the common people refer as the darkside of the Force. I'm gifted in it, Verie, and some of the greatest Sith Lords and Masters I've worked with have remarked on my talents as such. But it's not just a skill one has and maintains, after a while it becomes an addiction. It's worse than Spice, and I would know, I was addicted to that, too."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

The job that had begun before Verie left [member="Dissero"]'s side the first time, those months and months ago, was now being completed with a precision and subtlety that Verie didn't understand. It was done, slowly and methodically, almost before her eyes, so that she could see each crack in her heart begin as a tiny fissure before she felt the blow to her chest. In the cold, gray days that would follow, she would observe that letting the blow fall by degrees had been the mercy that kept it from killing her. Had it happened all at once, she was sure she wouldn't have survived it. The thought gave her no solace then, and wouldn't for some time, but at least she lived to tell the tale.

First her cheeks flamed as he mocked her with references to waffles, then her blood ran cold at the brevity that he gave his actions. The death and suffering he had caused seemed nothing to him, nothing but a jest, something to smirk about in a smoky lounge over cocktails. And his commentary on her ignorance of his world was cutting because of its accuracy. She was an outsider, to both the aristocracy of birth and the aristocracy of the Force. She knew next to nothing about what she had signed up for, had only allowed herself to be swept up in the warm fuzzies that had come from being in his presence. Enigma had been replaced with harsh reality, and affection and revulsion battled for supremacy behind her eyes as they stared sightlessly at him.

He seemed to be telling her that she had lied to Brom Burnside in her insistence that he was innocent and failing that, that he could be redeemed. Her stomach turned at the realization and she finally realized that she was gawking at him like a fool. She looked away, down and to the left and finally sucked in a breath of air, having been breathless for long enough for spots to dance across her vision. She glanced down into her teacup and then carried it to her desk, where she set it down and stood looking down at the empty calendar on the desk. Finally, she said simply, "I don't know what to say." It was a confession, to herself as well as to him, but she didn't bother turning to face him again. She didn't want to look at him just then. Numbly, she repeated herself: "I -- I don't know what to say."

 

[Dissero]

These were the moments he hated the most.

He'd take pain, he'd take torture, he'd take humiliation. He'd take any of that over this; watching the center of his affections crumble under the weight of all these secrets. The man frowned, lifting his free hand to his neck where his pulse currently beat rampantly beneath the surface. He felt for all the galaxy thin and frail, made of glass, and not the alchemical kind.

I'm losing you...

In the last hour the distance between them had grown to proportions he wasn't willing to endure - the metaphysical, the emotional distance now was worse than the physical distance between them a year ago. If he was honest with himself he was drowning here, incapable of swimming such waters. He'd never before fought so hard for something like this. What was he supposed to do? Frown deepening, jaw growing tight, heart racing, he looked around for an answer, an idea, and nothing presented itself.

"I don't either," the admission came suddenly, following which he slowly rose from his seat, putting out his cigarette in the empty drink glass nearby. The deft tamping of his boots was the only sound of movement as he sought to close that distance by any means.

"I've spent so much time thinking about this conversation, dreading it, running from it, Ve-" the man moved to gently place his hands on her upper arms, leaning in if she did not immediately recoil or brush him away. If he could get close enough surely she'd feel how frantic his heartbeat was.

"I've never known much fear," though his voice was level it did hold an audible tension, "I want you to know that I'm currently terrified."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]