If perfection is stagnation, then Heaven is a swamp.

[Gabriel Sionoma]

It wasn't hard to miss her reluctance to enter the shoreline. She was one to do things when she was ready, that was apparent. Accepting that, Gabe was gaining a certain appreciation for his own absentmindedness and the illusion of patience. He hadn't noticed she wasn't there until she arrived once more, soft foot steps in the sand. He was far too focused on why that stupid shell didn't skip properly.

Everything he had seen in the holonet recordings...it was all a sham.

Looking over to her, he offered an appreciative smile as he took a handful of stones and shells. "These should do..." He feigned confidence where none existed. Beyond the battle he had taken part in, on Manaan, he had never known an ocean before this place. Staring out into the horizon, the slow creep of the sun and the way it reflected forever across the ocean surface, he chucked another shell. It hit another wave, bouncing once. Then twice. The third hop was more of a dive. But the feeling was still unsatisfactory. Like passing an exam by the skin of his teeth.

"My mother was from a desert planet. I was raised with my father on Arkania. I've never really known much beyond snow, forest, and sand." He confessed, not recalling ever speaking to Cera about his childhood past. "But for the brief moments I spent with her, she spoke fondly of the large lakes and oceans she encountered during her travels." He tossed another, slightly rounded stone of slate. It skipped once and ran directly into a small wave. The sound of its submersion was nearly inaudible and without the dark color of its tone, he may have missed the event altogether.

"Perhaps if she would have stuck around more, she could have taken me to a place like this. And taught me to skip stones." He looked quietly over to Cera, reshuffling the shells in his hands. The sound was oddly soothing, like the scrape of chalk against duracrete. The faint sound of children in the distance, drawing cartoons in the street. "Why don't you try? There's enough room for both of us."

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

A flush of quietude stole the woman as he spoke about his past. Not in the way that she made no sounds - this was, of course, a normal state of being - but in the way that both physically, mentally, emotionally, she felt still. His words received her utmost attention, curious as Cera was for the knowledge of this man who shared such similar things with her. Imprisonment, a broken past, pain and loss.

More still she learned of his own family before he was a man grown. It made her think of what sort of child he'd been; a boy with dirt on his knees and tangles in his hair. Had it always been long like it was now? His youth was lost on him, covered by years of hurt, not that she felt this took from an otherwise roguish charm.

She glanced to several more failed attempts at skipping and thought she heard the echoes of boyish laughter in the waves. A man's voice filtered through, distant in the breeze.

It's all about technique...

The thought that she'd never been any good at skipping stones sprouted at the forefront of her mind and cause her to shake her head, smiling. But she'd always been able to find the perfect stones for those who could. Skin pinking under the sun, she turned while brushing hair from her face and stooped to gently peruse the shoreline. A pebble here was too small, a shell there too delicate. But a stone, perfectly rounded yet flattened from the tides found her fingertips in the sand. Cera pulled it free, carefully turning it over and over within her fingers to loosen the grains and get a feel of the shape. More memories flooded in, pieces of puzzles trickling through that made better pictures than stories.

Cera remembered river rocks. During the dry season they lined exposed riverbeds like a sea of softly rounded cobbles. She remembered the stacks of stones littering the trails along the tributaries casting shadows under the moon and marking the way home from the temple.

She remembered a house on the hillside of a valley surrounded by green.

Standing again the woman turned quietly to [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] and presented the perfect rock. Perhaps this one would do the trick.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He watched quietly as she picked through the sand, tossing a single rock in the air repeatedly. It was rough on the edges, sharp even, and had the imprints of fossilized shell in the grey exterior. He recalled picking it up, realizing that it was about as imperfect a shape as there could be for skipping stones. Throwing it into the water, the arch was impressive in how sharp it was, leading to a rippled wake as it failed to bounce a single time.

Narrowing his eyes, entirely without surprise, he looked over to Cera as she stood up from the sand. In her hands was a single flat stone, rounded on the edges, and more small disk than the rock. Taking the rock from her hand, mild touch of fingernail against palm, he looked back out towards the ocean. The waves were choppy but with rhythm, it eased occasionally as the tide receded before the build. Like timing the narrow passage of ship between asteroids, this felt similar in practice. His fingers, not holding the rock, extended out absentmindedly as he timed the incoming flow. And just when it felt right...

He tossed the stone. He hung low on the throw, the release was nearly parallel to the shoreline and almost close enough to touch. Just the slightest kiss of gravity was all that was needed for it to touch the surface. And then again. And again. And again. Five hops, random bounces that couldn't be predicted, led to a trail of circular ripples in the surface of the ocean. Like drops of water, dripped on top of moving glass.

He paused in appreciation of the spectacle, looking over his shoulder at Cera with the slightest hint of a smug smile. He knew it wasn't entirely his doing, far from it. Most of the work goes into finding the right stone, particularly for those lacking in talent. But even an accomplishment that hinges on others is still an accomplishment.

"You've done this before..." He stated, sure of it, as he lazily pointed out towards the water. It wasn't his intent to pry. The past had a way of coming up, always without forcing. Maybe not so much for Cera, the difficulty of communication would likely get in the way of that. But where words failed, her actions left hints, like bread crumbs through the forest.

Clapping his hands together, satisfied, he turned to approach Cera. Slow paces through the sand.

[What do you want to do, now?] He signed the words, easier and more fluid than he had before. The mind was slowly transforming the teachings into something usable. He would talk to her all day, if she wanted, but he wanted to remind that even if she couldn't talk, she could still speak to him.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

The muffled thumps of feet through sand. Cera could hear the sensation of the grains against bare skin, remembering how it felt in her fingers. She'd not removed her boots and, as she stood there, her awareness of the sun was rising right along with it. Before - last time - she'd traveled with her usual garb and kept herself well-shielded form the harmful rays. Today she'd left on a whim and now she could feel the twinge of heat, of pain, on her face and hands and neck.

Once upon a time she'd known a spell of protection against it but for the life of her, lost as it was to the eddies of time, she could not remember the conjuration.

Violet eyes watched the signing hands before her own reached forward to catch them. The briefest of dance re-positioned Gabe between herself and the ocean, his larger stature blocking out the rays of the sunrise. Seemed like the first day in months since she'd arrived that no clouds interfered with the daylight. In the swamp she'd always had the trees for cover. In the town it had always been overcast. Cerusia remembered loving the sunlight in her past life almost as much as she adored the moon.

She also remembered a desert. Vast and endless dunes on an unforgivingly red and ghastly planet. The brightest place of darkness she'd ever come to know: Korriban.

But that memory, as much as she knew its significance to some place and time of her prior life, paled in comparison to withstanding the blistering of her skin on a beach with warm sand.

Cera released his hands slowly, lifting her own to sign back.

[To make new memories.]

And then she slowly leaned up and kissed him.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

In the sun, on the beach with her, far removed from all the woes of the swamp and past moments of tragedy. To make memories amidst such circumstances, he nurtured a heart filled with immediate hope and joy. How different she was now, maneuvering him between her and the sun, compared to the embrace she held towards the moon and the way she held him in contempt just moments prior. He would gladly take this day beneath a beating sun.

Pulling away from that unexpected kiss, he greeted her with a smile.

"With you...nothing would make me happier."

~~~​

​

Whether the trips were getting longer or staying the same, he couldn't quite tell. The travel from Annaj to Sulon and back felt like a typical commute, a thing quickly becoming easy habit. He found ways to bide his time in transit. Stars and planets passed him by in the flick of an eye as he toyed away with trinkets and medallions and hunks of wood. For this trip, he was refining the carving of wood that would mimic the practices of the Geseril. While not entirely fixed on Cera, he couldn't deny that the thought of her presence was inherently tied to the whittling of the scrap of wood. Pulled from the Wroshyr, it was left over from another project he had worked on, though noticeably devoid of the touch of Ankarres.

Opi was teaching him the steady hand, the practice of creating small sculptures despite the tendency of the grain to splinter where it was most inconvenient. In retrospect, using a softer wood would have been more appropriate for his level of expertise. But he wasn't one to tip toe around the tulips. Jumping in feet first was the only way he knew how.

And while he carved, he couldn't help but realize that his feelings were still turning over on each other, happiness tempered by expectation and trends. For every memory he had of Cera filled with joy and warmth, there was another there with the exact opposite emotions.

Turning the figure over, it had the distinct appearance of a child with arms far too long for its body. And slightly wiggly, like rigid noodle left over from dinner and was never put away. Smirking, he placed the figure down as the ship moved into Orbit and he was directed, as he always was, through the sectors and towards the small village he was quickly considering a home away from home.

He landed the Star Viper in the same location as always, a patch of bare ground off in the distance and within view of the small lodge. Stepping down the ramp, he threw his bag over his shoulder, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun. It was then that he spotted the elderly woman, stepping out to water the ground with a bucket of dish waste from the kitchen.

"Sink not working?" He said, trying his best to not sound smug.
"Oh?" Sitka looked over, hand resting on her brow. "Let me guess. Sulon has really good sinks this time of year?"
He let out a chuckle as he shook his head. "You seen - "
"Every time you come around, it's the same ole song and dance. Last time I saw 'er, she was headed for the market. Just like last time."
"Everything alright?" She was grumpier than usual.
With a squint of her eyes, she chewed on her cheek before throwing her hand up and heading towards the door. "Of course I'm not! My sink ain't working!"

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Ern was out in the town square smoking, standing hunched with a cane in one hand and his pipe in the other. Two other men stood with him discussing something quietly, though not in a secretive manner. As Gabe made his way out along the main road of town the old man caught his eye and waved him over with a gentle motion of his pipe-hand.

"Gabe," said Ern simply, amiably, "good to see you. This is Roland and Nic," he indicated each of the younger men, not quite Gabe's age but also not of the juvenile quality either. Adults, for all intents and purposes. Simple adults leading simple lives in this dusty town on Annaj.

"Their family owns the water tower and the lands north of town," Ern went on to explain, "and now they're hoping to install some proper sewer systems around here."

"To help cut down on the flood damages," said Roland, "and get some better irrigation for produce fields to the east."

"You're the one that helped with the Pirates before aren't you?" Nic eyed Gabe, "My Uncle is on the local patrol. Said he was there when you interrogated the suspect."

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Interrogation was a fair word for that, though not by Gabe's doing. When he had originally gone, it was to assist Cera is discerning the whereabouts of her particular trinket. Little did he know that he would likely be saving the man's life. Not that the man was all that deserving - Gabe wasn't the sort to gauge the value of a man's life on a single act. But his act to step in between Cera and the pirate felt more towards the benefit of her and not her intended victim. She had already dirtied her hands in the swamp, splitting a man down the center. There had been enough blood for the day, no reason to complicate things by killing the bandit in the police headquarters.

"Aye, just in the right place at the right time I think." He looked towards Nic, warm enough. "A history in tracking gave me a slight advantage during the questioning, is all." He looked back towards Roland, an inquisitive expression painting his face. "Sewer system huh? That's an odd coincidence. I've spent a good deal of time renovating the duracrete aqua chutes back home for the very same process." Mid way through the thought, he realized he had pointed a thumb over his shoulder, as if home resided somewhere behind him. Slightly embarrassed, he dropped his hand, rubbing a bit of soot from the palm of his hand. Likely from the interior of the Star Viper, he thought. Should work on getting that cleaned up.

"Glad to see you out and about, Ern. Saw Sitka on my way in, she said Cera might be around..." He looked over the group towards the semi active street, on the of chance that he might catch the flash of auburn hair or those discerning rose tinted eyes. "You wouldn't have happened to see here around? I made her something, thought I'd drop it off."

He didn't really make it for Cera. In truth, he probably wouldn't even show her the figurine. With the way she responded to stimuli, force or not, he'd rather not deal with the repercussions of her touching the doll he carved amidst a confusing torrent of emotions - largely centered around her.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"Oh really? You know we've been considering aqua chutes here but we're not entirely sure how well they'll hold up to the rainy seasons, given the variation of tides and water levels-"

"That's nice, Roland, smart boy," Ern smiled pleasantly at the man, "Gabe and I have some things to discuss. I've kept you two from your project long enough."

Roland gave the old man a leery gaze from being cut off but nodded, "Maybe we can catch you before you head out?"

"Now," Ern stamped his cane and hobbled with a persistence to redirect Gabe away from the two fellows, "about my kitchen sink..."

Nic smirked, shrugging at Roland who shook his head. Codgey old coot. They headed off with a casual wave.

"I'm afraid my wife has lead you astray. She's not been dealing with the change well, was rather fond of Miss Cera. Like a daughter, really. But, eh, Cera's not here anymore. Her brother came and picked her up bout two weeks ago. It was... rather sudden. Seemed like a family emergency of some sort. He didn't make it sound like she'd be back."

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He offered a gentle nod to the two as they departed, making a silent reminder to potentially see them before he headed off once more. Though he didn't like the tone that Ern was speaking with, particularly about having matters to discuss. He couldn't recall ever hearing those words from the pipe toting old man. Which, again, just gave him a mixture emotions that failed to present on his stern face.

It was only when the man spouted out the phrase that Gabe came to a slight revelation. He didn't really have a means to contact Cera or Dissero. He had her full name, from letters engraved in the compass. Cerusia Shamalain. But Dissero seemed the sort that if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't. Gabe felt the sinking feeling of a boat, bouncing against the shore without any anchor or line to pylon. At risk of drift.

"Just..." He shook his head. "Up and left, huh?" It was hypocritical of him to feel abandoned, given how often he came and went. But even realization of the sensation doesn't prevent it from lingering. Pursing his bottom lip, he chewed on it as his hand strafed through the salt and pepper beard. He was being selfish and he knew it, automatically thinking of only the matter in reference to himself. But if it was a family emergency, maybe he might be able to help. "He say where they were going or anything like that?"

If there were no clues to follow, then there was simply nothing he could do. Not from here anyway.

Though he was never one to give up. He smiled as he waited for the response, masking any feeling he might have had. He wondered who would take the news better: Sitka or him.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"Noh," Ern shook his head and took a puff on his pipe, "noh he wouldn't talk much about it. Something about their mother. That one never talked much about anything with anyone 'cept Cera. But, eh," brow wrinkling, the old man shifted his pipe to his cane hand and played a careful game of balance with aged and arthritic digits just so that he could itch at the side of his face. The sound was like dry parchment.

"She left a chest here in her old room. I didn't catch much of her signs and Sitka was too beside herself to pay much attention, but I think she meant it for you. I tried to ask the wife about it few times but she's in denial that Cera's even gone." The wrinkles forming on the man's face spoke of concern for his wife. With a slow breath he looked down to his pipe, licked at his lips, and carefully took it back up again with the other hand.

"Don' know what all the fuss is about with Sitka, really. We did just fine before..." but the furrowing of his brow spoke otherwise.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"Yeah, communication doesn't seem to be their strong suit..." Maybe that comment was a bit offhand, given Cera's inability to physically communicate beyond sign language. But it remained the truth in his eyes, how conversation sometimes felt like pulling teeth. Letting out a strong sigh, he scratched his beard as he searched the horizon. While the trip didn't originally feel like a chore, it was certainly starting to feel like a bad idea. He tried to think of what it was like before he had first visited the shop, before he met Cera as she moved like a shadow through the various inventory.

Had he been fine before he met her? The only thing he could recall was the heartache that followed his arrival on Sulon.

Shaking off the thought, he narrowed his eyes towards Ern. "Well, I guess I'll take a look at the chest before I head out." He pointed back towards the lodge. "Is it just in her old room?"

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"Just in her old room," Ern affirmed.



The chest was not a large one by any means and quite plain in nature. Old, for certain, judging by the hand-carved artistry of the corners and how worn they were now. Smoothed from use, Gabriel's innate powers would allow him to see centuries of previous owners from across the galaxy were he to give it any time of perusal. The chest had no special properties save for the contents kept within in. It was not locked.

Within he would find, first and foremost, an envelop sitting on the very top of the things within it bearing his name in scripted handwriting. Inside was an invitation to a wedding on Kuat for a one Amadeus Darke to a Lady Verie Lacroix. There was no note, no further explanation, but it was most certainly meant for Gabe.

Beneath this sat a most remarkable and familiar item: the Alethiometer. Warm to the touch but otherwise ... quiet. Slumbering perhaps. If Gabe by chance happened to open it he would find a small slip of parchment upon which he would find a two sets of crossed lines and a circle drawn at the very center.

Next to it sat another familiar item: a wooden roofing slat from the ruins of the shop.

Beneath these both was a wooden case within which Gabe would find a healthy collection of crystals, a small jar of sand stopped by a cork and a single stone, flat and smoothed by the waves of the sea.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Her old room. How it had felt just weeks before, to simply be her room. An unnecessary sense of loss, stemming from a life of abandonment, reared it's head. And he simply nodded in affirmation. He knew where the room was, no need to be guided.

~~~​

​

His calloused fingers ran over the texture of the wood. It was solid craftsmanship, showing the wear and tear of time. His fingers fell into the grooves of old carvings, worn down from simple use. Memories flowed through, like still frames on fast forward. Too many to tell, too many to separate. Like trying to note the origins of an entire meal, down to every spice and additive, from the simple smell. Flipping up the latch, pocked and scratched from use, he slowly lifted the lid to the sound of wood creaking.

He held the envelope in hand first, turning it over to inspect the paper. Anachronistic, he thought, as much as it was endearing. He had always been a fan of these more trivial things, dating back to a time that preceded most. Setting it down on the bed without opening it, he rummaged through the rest of the items. What could easily be described as the summation of all the components of their relationship, he rubbed his hand through his beard in thought. The Alethiometer was the most remarkable thing, as it served catalyst to an adventure he would never forget. And the raised edges of the scars made by her nails served as secondary reminder. Pressing his fingers against the etchings of the metal, like dragging a nail across elegant jaw line, it snapped open to reveal the parchment held within. And her name. Cerusia Shamalain.

More riddles, more things he didn't understand. But then the roofing tile, the jar, and the flat stone caught his eye and attention. Putting the slip of paper down on the envelope on the bed, he gave each item their due before standing up and lifting the envelope once more. Ripping it open, he pulled the card from the package and read quietly.

You are cordially invited to celebrate the union of​

Sovereign Heir Amadeus Darke to Miss Verie Lacroix of Kuat
on the 9th of Harvesta, Sovereign Palace of Kuat City, Kuat - 3PM

This is a black tie gala event, guests are asked to dress accordingly.
Planetary Access Codes attached. Guests will be provided complementary rooms,
all inclusive, within the Sovereign Palace for the duration of their stay.
No weapons will be permitted on the premises.


Scratching his beard, he contemplated the idea of going to Kuat. His concern fell immediately on the prospect of domain and who controlled that territory. But curiosity and desire would overcome that. Putting all but the slip of paper and invitation back in the box, he sealed it up and lifted it from the floor. Backing against the door, he exited the room to find Em nearby.

"You takin it with ya?"
"You don't mind?"
"No no, it's yours after all."
"I appreciate it and your help."

Gabe smiled as he walked past him.

"You heading out?"
"Yeah, got something I need to attend to."
"Yeah, sure." Em cradled a pipe bowl within his hand. "You leaving for good, then?"

Gabe stopped and sighed. "You won't be rid of me that easy."

With that, he departed the Inn and got back into his ship. With everything stowed, the ship took off into space, as he studied the slip of paper with a curiosity and abundance of time.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Directly following the events of Crownfall: Kuat
Somewhere in space, fleeing the Kuat Sector...



"You have two choices."

The chaos of Kuat had burned into the Palace district as hellfire rained down upon the planet. The day would forever go down in history known as Crownfall - the destruction of the Kuat Drive Yards by the Sith forces of the Omega fleet. Hundreds, if not thousands had lost their lives that day. Amore had gone missing during the frantic moments following her arrival at the palace. Cerusia remembered arriving in a flurry of rising winds and a torrent of falling debris at her back.

"You can stay here and lead these people just as you are sworn to do. Queen Darke of Kuat,"

Regardless of the hundreds of terrified faces she witnessed that day, there was one that burned so deeply into her memory that she would not soon forget it.

"Or you can leave," Pheraella Sanzio was a woman of cutting intellect and questionable morality, but she'd been there to assist in Cerusia's transition to the throne from the very start. Cera could not say if she trusted the woman's judgement, but damn if she didn't place stock in her intuition. Phe had known from the moment she'd met the heir to the throne that her reign would be short and she looked at her with a confidence that made Cera realize how much she truly hated being there, "and abandon this role you were never meant to fulfill."

But it wasn't Pherealla's face she would remember. Not really.

It was the face weighed by confusion and surprise, silvered by his years and lined by his experiences. Standing in the crowd of people within the dining hall, he somehow managed to stare straight through the masses directly at her.


~~~~
She looked up from where she sat as his shadow filled the doorway, turning a gaze of burning orchid from the lines of hyperspace filling the viewport to her right and placing it squarely upon [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] as he moved towards her.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He had gone to that wedding because he had no other leads, no other clues to follow. It was blind hope that guided him to Kuat, married to a stubborn resolve for which he garnered infamy within certain darksider circles. But it was her aura, those surrounding her and how they seemed to part with every elegant step, and the gold shimmer of her dress that drew his eyes through the crowd. Like royalty, like a member of the wedding party. From that moment to the moments that followed, the debris falling from the skies, and the fire descending from space, that thought lingered in his mind.

If she had been royalty, what was she doing stowed away on Annaj?

He did his best to set the ship to cruise control, routed for destination and avoidance. As far as he could tell, they weren't being followed. He was fairly unfamiliar with the ships dash system but when he pressed buttons, nothing exploded. That was a small case for small victories. Content that they were moving away from Kuat and not towards any direct planets, he moved out of the cockpit and back towards where he had left Cera.

Calloused fingers fitted between collar and tie, loosening it to the point of unraveling. As he entered, he caught a look from Cera: the sort of glance he wasn't sure he'd ever see again. Her appearance was unlike anything he had ever seen, at least from those eyes. He was sure, if he thought hard enough, he could recall gala's from Reverance's point of view. But those lurked beneath the haze of time while where he stood, she was the fresh ocean breeze in an otherwise stagnant spaceship. He wasn't sure where to break the silence so he just did his usual thing.

"I...when I was much younger, I was a groomsmen for a friend. We prepared the grooms cake to have an arkanian dragon within it..." He gestured with his hands, signing the word for small. "A baby one. Trained to hop out of the cake at the sound of the wedding bells. Well, midway through the ceremony, the police charge through. The mother had gotten loose and was dive bombing the ceremony. Destroyed the decorations, the cake, ran the whole wedding party off." He sat down next to her, finally pleased with the looseness of the tie. It was obvious that his story couldn't compare to what had occurred on Kuat. Though, just like every time before, it wouldn't keep him from trying.

Stealing a glance off the stars from a nearly transparent view screen, he turned his attention back to Cera. "I understand very little of what happened." It wasn't something he was afraid to admit. He couldn't have been any more of a fish out of water if he tried. "But either way, I'm glad you are safe."

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Always a story to tell. Cerusia's gaze left him as he began to speak out of no desire to ignore him, but merely to listen without the distraction of his appearance. The surprise of a crisp suit on a man she'd seen only in travel garb or workman's cloth was perhaps just as profound as his own reaction of her attire. Kuatian *royal robes of gold and black - a style unto itself and seen in very few other places not of relation. She could not say she liked it; the materials were heavy and restrictive, not at all like the clothing she was used to or even, she recalled in a moment of short visions, what she'd ever worn in a past life.

"I understand very little of what happened."

Thin brows narrowed over closing eyes, the look of a person holding an ache within their head. She'd been inflamed by instinct when the chaos had struck, every fiber of her being strung taught and coiled, radiating the heat of an intangible energy pulling from emotion. Those familiar with the sensation of it might've pinned her for a Darksider and surely, given Gabe's history entangled with it, he would have too. Now in listening to him talk it had begun to lose its edge. Strange how the man felt he was fumbling, but truly he was helping. Cerusia envied him his calm when she felt so close to combustion.

"But either way, I'm glad you're safe."

[I-] her hands were tense, faintly shaking, [did not know if you would come. I am sorry.]


*last set of robes in the image, at the bottom.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Stress and anxiety painted her face. His confusion as to what occurred only strengthened his understanding. He couldn't gauge the worth of that ceremony and he couldn't have known what occurred behind closed doors, the options that she was offered. And the choice that she made.

For all of his past actions and his disdain for his brother, he was empathetic towards those that staggered closer to the darkness, particularly when compared to his compatriots in the Alliance. Perhaps because he had no capability to touch it, that it somehow voided him from judgment, or maybe it was his feelings of the force in general. Being around her, and others who found life somewhere in the middle, offered anchor and weight to the more lofty and idealistic tendencies of the Jedi Marshals. Omai Rhen had tried to instill a strong sense of doubt within Gabe, towards those who used the darkside, but it never seemed to stick.

He had to admit it. The way she appeared was distracting, not only because of her natural allure, but the contrast from her typical appearance. Earthen tones replaced with black and gold, shimmering in the halls of Kuat and the dead of space. With more effort than he'd like to admit, hazel eyes pulled away from her downtrodden expression to her shaky hands. A smile formed, albeit somber, before his calloused fingers moved to scratch the grey of his beard.

"You didn't think you'd be rid of me that easily...did you?" If he had one thing going for him, it was stupid luck and dogged determination. He dismissed the apology with a failure to acknowledge it. There was no need for that here.

"I've tackled far worse than grand weddings to find what I'm looking for..." By now, it should have been apparent that the alethiometer was either nearby or on his person. He was thankful he hadn't forgotten it on the Star Viper, the very ship he had flown in escape from Selvaris. He quietly hoped it was blown to pieces, laying to rest that sad portion of his life.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"You didn't think you'd be rid of me that easily...did you?"

In truth, Cera didn't know what she thought. From the moment Merovign had arrived at the Inn, informing her it was time to leave to the moment she walked into the Kuatian Palace and saw Gabriel standing there, all conscious stream of thought had been free-flowing. Water through a sieve. As much as she would have hated to describe the last several weeks in such a way - the days had become a blur. She had been, as much as it felt more than anything, running on auto pilot. Water pushed from its normal route, flowing simply as the terrain demanded, perhaps too willing to be a product of her environment rather than the other way around.

These things she wanted to tell him. Not out of need but simply out of desire to stop the flow, to find some form of level ground where she might pool and rest and settle. But it didn't feel like the place or the time, Cera felt yet that even with him here now she was not yet at a place where this stasis could be achieved. Downhill. Everything still felt so very steeply downhill.

"I've tackled far worse than grand weddings to find what I'm looking for..."

Hands slowly recalled, her eyes moved back to his face and for a brief moment the faint traces of a smile could be felt upon her own. The expression was fleeting as her gaze fell and eyes closed. Cerusia slowly stood from her seat to the gentle chorus of her metallic dressings and lifted a hand to her hairline, delicate fingers tracing the golden halo there. A crown upon her head never once desired. She gripped it with her fingertips and tugged it free, pulling the long lengths of mahogany loose from its corded wrap.

It was cast aside to her seat with as much care and reverence as a discarded piece of trash. All the power of the great Kuatian Empire could have been at her beck and call, yet all she could think about was a run-down inn on a backwater planet and a burnt down hobble in a swamp. Warm sand.

When her eyes opened again they were turned down upon the layers and layers of fabric and gold, fingers tracing over the various ornaments and finery with some semblance of disassociation, confusion. As if she'd awoken in the garb and couldn't remember putting it on. When had this happened? How had she let it go that far? Why hadn't she refused? The inkling of identity had been a strong lure for her. She'd once ruled over Honoghr, Lorelei had said. The honor and skills of a great leader were in her blood, part of her as much as the color of her eyes and the point of her teeth. Seek yourself within the crown.

[This is not me.]

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He had, unfortunately, become accustomed to the expression of internal conflict and confusion that so often monopolized the air around her. Despite what he did, even the ghost of her smile quickly faded in the current. A cobble lodged in the creek, halted by some unseen weight and forced to take stock from unintended position.

She could be so immutable, if she weren't so phased by her prevailing affliction. The sort that had seemed to toss her into a position for which she was neither prepared nor of prominent desire. Hazel eyes studied her mannerisms, moving from her seat to standing position. As she placed the crown down with little care, idle hands lifted them quickly for inspection.

Hardened skin pressed against the rigid gold, the embellished insignia and the plate that allowed it to set softly against temple. It was a delicate mold, the sort that framed her now unraveling hair in just the right light. That even the darkest room, a warm glow would cast an ambiance around her, only further fortifying the suspicions he carried from the moment he first laid eyes on her, roaming a shop of odds and ends. That she was other worldly.

Laying the crown down, burdened with unnecessary tact, he stood as she began signing. His gaze shifted to her hands, sharp nails that brought a myriad of memories to mind. Manicured as the rest of her appearance and sharper than filed steel, he could only smirk at her statement. Because he agreed. While she was breathtaking in current form, he preferred tunics and pants and the frame of her silhouette by the fire. And the way an empty room in a lodge was made all the more whole with her silent presence.

He looked down at her, catching a reflection of himself in the lustrous plates of gold that rested on her shoulder. Against tight fitting black cloth, it drew the eye like ornate designs in tapestry. Fingers reached up, uncertainty in his former predicament replaced with a sense of confidence. Perhaps misplaced, but familiarity and the cold of space animated a rarely shielded desire for proximity. With a tilt of the head, he pinched the beveled edge of the shortest plate between thumb and index.

"Such decorations would make an Arkanian blush..." He teased, not recalling whether that was truly the case when he first found her through all the noise of the build up for ceremony. "This is not you because you are more than any of this."

What any of this was, he still wasn't sure. The dress, the ceremony, the way she seemed so at odds with some unknown expectation. Never was there a more perfect blend of certainty and uncertainty then in the aged hybrid that now stood before her.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"Such decorations would make an Arkanian blush..."

The faintest movement of her head, tilting in contained curiosity at this statement. Cera looked up at his face from within falling curls of mahogany and wondered if she'd ever seen the man blush. If she could recall. The strain of her brow spoke of a mind sifting through images of him, like a hand roving through sand in search of the perfect skipping stone. For a face like his, weathered by years and his own experiences, she had seen the lines of concern and the hard edges of determination; the faint leavening of relief and the curl of humor, of mischief. A recollection of pale exhaustion could be found, the sluggish draw of eyes and mouth not quite the softened edges of a blush. Yet still a flash of silver illuminating the heated stare of desire.

And a day spent in the warmth of the elusive sun, cheeks pinked by the rays but still...

...not quite a blush.

"This is not you because you are more than any of this."

You are more.

Some part of her wanted to smile in response to this. She felt the expression in her mind and perhaps it showed through in the softening of her gaze, but the smile never quite reached her lips. Overridden by doubt and confusion, discontentment and discomfort with her existence. More than ...what? More than who? Still just a husk bearing the name of someone that came before her. Memories that lingered in a limbo of possession - some part hers to claim, and yet too far to keep. A namesake thrust upon her, also not her's to take. She didn't want it. Didn't want any of it. Yet she also did not know what it was she wanted.

Equilibrium, perhaps.

Somber dusky gaze slowly fell to where his hand rested at her shoulder, fingers picking at the scales of gold. Such a simple action that grew in her a malaise of her present state. The confines of the garb imposing upon her the greater limitations of this life. Cera suddenly could not stand the weight of expectations upon her, the restriction of the role created. A place where she knew now she never would have grown beyond the shell. Never could have evolved to something more.

[I don't know what I am.]

Still waiting for that train...

Her gaze turned down to her gloved hands where she began to tug at the silken material, pulling the arm-length piece free and discarding it like molted skin before repeating on the other hand. The chill of space against exposed flesh was both relieving and shocking, but there could be no metamorphosis in life without some discomfort.