If perfection is stagnation, then Heaven is a swamp.

[Gabriel Sionoma]

So much time spent in thought. The faint notions of a smile, locked and caged behind soft disarray. Even as the clouds drifted over the stormy coast, he knew the sun truly desired to break through. But turmoil pressed on amidst hard winds, rolling grey clouds and bringing the sea to a steady rumble.

There was a weight, a gravity to this circumstance, that he couldn't seem to measure. And kind words were only getting him so far. Even so, he was struck by a sense of culpability for the situation. He knew he hadn't caused it and he knew that he had helped in removing her from the turbulence of the wedding. But that might have been the end of whatever results lingered, following his attempts at comfort. And now they stood rudderless in a sea of black, prevailing winds leaving them to wander.

"You are..." His vision narrowed, knowing that a jagged and slippery outcropping laid beneath each word he uttered. A single misstep and he could fall, flailing into this steady squall. For a moment, he thought that might not be so bad. A return to center. Though he stood in revelation of the fact that he didn't even truly know himself, let alone her origin or the story that preceded the sounds of her footsteps in a nick nack shop. He had spent so much time finding himself, between Sulon and Annaj, that he had not fully considered the conflicted presence that rested within her. The signs were there and he wore the scars in remembrance, but that was a far cry from internalizing what changes were occurring.

His fingers dropped from the scales to gingerly caress the silken gloves, now free from her fingers. Just a second ago, these were the shrouds that masked her communication. And now they stood lifeless, revealing instead the delicate and deadly appendages that rested beneath. And he wondered when her hands were pressed against him, if that made her silent or all the louder. "...A mystery to me." He admitted it, free of shame or guilt. "I know so much and so little about you."

There was an inherent irritation in not being able to give her something more, something beyond his own perspective. Her search for self was something that he couldn't do for her, no matter how much he desired it. "You are my friend. My..."

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"You are..."

If there was a center to this metaphorical squall Cerusia certainly felt it was her. A feeling of stillness finally settled upon her, brought about by something ... something about the man standing before her. Ever since their first meeting there had been a peculiarity about him in the way his presence seemed to calm that which constantly vied within her. Forgetting the instances in when he actively created holes in which that rage could escape, in doing nothing but simply speaking she felt the tumult wane.

"...a mystery to me."

To simmer beneath the surface. Her eyes turned from his face to the fabric of his suit jacket, lingering over the area where she could sense his heart beating. Her brow tightened.

"I know so much and so little about you."

Thoughts turned to what small conversations they'd shared. Exchanges spent mostly of him speaking and her listening. Cera did not resent those moments, as she had come to find she rather liked the sound of his voice and the manner in which he spoke. He was speaking carefully now, though she recalled some moments where his candid nature got the best of him.

"You are my friend. My..."

Waiting on those last words that wouldn't manifest, the woman released a slow breath. If it was trepidation she sensed at completing his thoughts the once masterful empath could only guess. Those powers had been claimed by the part of her trapped in the holocron, along with so many other things she could not regain. Fear had not been one of them, but in this moment she held no fear. Not like what might, perhaps, be driving Gabe to hold his tongue. He had years of neglect and abandonment to feed his fears.

Cera had only what she'd made of this life so far, all of which had now been swept away by floods and destroyed by war.

Except for Gabe.

Strangely one of the only remaining constants in her life.

She shifted closer, fingers abandoning the silken gloves to lightly grasp at the hem of his jacket. Looking back to his face she held but one simple, silent question on her own.

Only a friend?

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

It may have been trepidation that stilled his tongue. The fear that what he wanted may not have been reflected in those eyes that stared back at him. He had known the impression of failed desire and the time it took for a broken heart to mend. And despite what wounds he suffered, throughout the expanse of his life, it all felt like distant memories. Cursory steps, leading to a swamp in a distant planet and the lapping shore that stood beyond it.

He was a thing of contradictions. Direct in all matters but love, where it most counted. He could have stated that what she was was everything he wanted. But the bite of disappointment, the allure of the silence that replaced it, seemed to stifle the words in his throat. And despite what he might have expected, the expression on her face was anything but.

The way she gripped his lapel, leaving the burden of the silken gloves entirely in his hands. The way she looked up to him, expecting something beyond the words he offered. Her words, her very thoughts, were shown through the luminescence of a rose afire. Irises of a particular intensity, yet softened by an internal expression. Where words failed, he realized that they may have never been needed.

Leaning forward, he offered a kiss that spoke to the understatement that the term 'friend' provided. Absent any of those gestures of moving her hair or tracing the line of her jaw, his hands looked for the bits of black fragment that rested against her abdomen, forming in the shape of an x in the foreground of tapestry gold. Pulling her towards him, he was reminded of revelations in the lightning filled night.

The way her nails cut skin and the way they moved through the braids of his hair, scratching at his scalp.

The way those eyes bore a hole through him before the full moon and now, how they healed him with every other glance.

He couldn't claim her, as she wasn't someone that could be controlled or contained. But as he spoke to her beyond the words he couldn't utter, he'd readily admit it. That as they stood among the stars, he knew what he was. He was entirely hers.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

For the few moments Cera stood there in limbo, wondering just what it was that kept this man from a distant moon returning to the humble swamps of Annaj, her fingers loosened at the material of his jacket as if it were made of glass. Paper thin, delicate to the slight of greed or conceit. Hold too strongly and without a willingness to release should it stray, but hold too lightly and without a desire to help it balance - surely whatever it was would shatter.

It was not the man she deemed so fragile, though perhaps she wasn't so far off base. It was the unknown of want and need. Without really knowing either she was simply a hurricane adrift across the sea, furious and untethered, driven by the whims of ever changing currents and tides. Cera knew for certain she did not want to drift anymore. She wanted to belong, to have a purpose and a home. A place of familiarity and comfort. Often she wondered if she would ever find it.

Then it leaned down and enveloped her in a kiss. She greeted it with an overwhelming sense of grief that seemed to become saturated by blossoming relief. Holding firmly to his jacket as he drew her in, the fragile nature of the intangible strengthening, hurricane met shore where its fury became quelled by persistent warmth and stoic dunes. Waves pushing inwards along open routes, fingers shifted to flow beneath the outer layer of material civility. Though the storm may have accepted the strength of the land, the two of them would yet weather internalized chaos.

The surge was slow but powerful, bearing upon the man with intent to strip away his formalities layer by layer. The first of which was pressed off his shoulders by the insistence of two hands. Jacket crumpled to floor before fingers moved to the tie at his neck, all the while the exchange that had started as a simple unspoken word grew into a silently simmering conversation.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

His shoulders arched forward as his arms pulled back slightly. With little to no resistance, his jacket fell to the cold floor beneath them. He didn't really care about it. As much as that dress wasn't her, this suit wasn't him. He was for the clank of armor or the shuffle of tanned leathers and naturally dyed cloth. This was something beyond him, a bit of finery only valuable in it's utility to find her. He would happily be the man in rapture, striding out into the sea of her, stripping away all the unnecessary possessions that might weigh him down. A coat, a...

The clip-on tie gave way to her request. Loosening from his collar, he looked down before frowning. He recalled looking at himself in the mirror, on Annaj and Kuat, thinking that it looked just as good as the real thing.

He might have spoke, if he had the inclination. He might have made up some excuse about he had so little time for preparation, how the rental company on Annaj was bare bones. How he was even surprised that they could fit him properly. Or how surprised he was that they had a tailor but no actual legitimate ties. But he didn't really care. He had more pressing issues to deal with.

The table, like all tables, seemed the perfect height. With a gentle lift, hands gripping her at the waist, he moved her to sitting on the table with little regard to whether she actually wanted to be there. It may have just been instinct or auto pilot, but he was distracted. In all honesty, he couldn't really sort out how to go about this dress. It didn't look like there were any zippers or buckles or anything.

Did they just paint the dress on?!?

Half tempted to make use of his skill in shatterpoint, he considered finding the weakest seam and ripping her free from the mirage of this dress. This wasn't her. What she was, it rested beneath the delicate black and gold fabrics. Narrowing his eyes, his frustration was nuanced but apparent.

A simmering conversation might quickly turn into pleading, desire freed from the dams of uncertainty. Released from such restriction, he found that he suddenly needed her more than air.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Klik.

A pause, Cera pulled away in mild surprise at the response of the tie. Man and woman looked upon it, mirrored reactions with the same apparent level of being taken-aback by the thing. She blinked at it, given no extended amount of time to pay it much thought beyond what she thought she had expected and what she'd ended up with. It ran a strange congruence to her present life in general, something she'd likely come to realize at another time.

The tie landed somewhere on the floor, near the discarded jacket, witness to the pair as they migrated away. As Gabe attempted and failed to find the mechanics of her wardrobe. Ringlets of gold chirped against the table surface as metal skirt slid across the edge. The man had reached an impasse with hands and eyes unable to detect the means to further shed the layers. Cera braced against the growing sense of need expressed into the exchange and retracted her hands from the buttons of his shirt now half undone. Her fingers found the golden plates at her left shoulder and pulled, tugging the crossed section free by means of hidden snaps. The plating split at the spine and the joining layer of saffron material at her waist easily came undone by a discrete zipper beneath. The overpiece pulled away then over her right arm and with Gabe's encouragement landed with a chiming clatter of metal somewhere out of reach.

What was left was a simple sectioned suit of fitted black, similar in nature to a body glove. A top - now sleeveless with the removal of the arm-length gloves, and leggings. With the removal of the outer layer a zipper along the spine of the top could be found. Her own hands returned to the buttons of his vest, unfastening them without haste and then returning to his shirt. All manner of story exposed in chapters of scar tissue and black ink glyphs. Cera re-read them through touch; fingers traipsing over molded flesh she recalled seeing under the flash of a storm and the waning sun on the shore.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

It was like a puzzle of bent metal, twisted in just the right fashion to cause dissolution. But without doing it himself, being there only to pull the pieces away from her or watch as they slid from the table to the floor, he was left feeling like he couldn't replicate. The way entangled breath filled the empty ship, modified with the delicate clatter of golden rings and plates, seemed to distract him from his own failings. And he was caught, once more, by the duality of the being that existed before him. The way she moved to pull all the pieces away that separated them, like stones of a weakly fortified wall, seemed to be so at odds with other moments that filled their past. Between the rare events where they drew close, it felt as if days and weeks were spent refortifying that wall.

How he wished it was made of sand. Easily moved by the slightest wind, rolling tide, or rain. It seemed to be a reoccurring trend that they chose to appreciate each other only in moments of tragedy or trauma. Be it a great storm or the falling empire around them. Perhaps it was the rarity that gave him such appreciation, such ability to overcome the darkness he felt resting deep beneath pale skin and rose tinted eyes. Though, to say he didn't seek the longevity of this interaction would be an outright lie. The passing moments, the scarcity of such touch, drew breath and threatened to claim it.

When she was rid of everything but a top and leggings of black, her hands moved to make small work of his shirt. Like the rains herself, she proceeded to cleanse him of these things that hid his true nature and unfortunate past. The scars, the ink of a tribe to which he had no belonging, were all shared markings only pressed on the flesh through the cloning process. Though he had wasted no time upon reception of autonomy, ripped from the clutches of calamity. He took to risk and the threat of harm with no thought towards his own well being. But among all the scars that were newly minted across his tanned skin, there was one set of which he was particularly fond.

As her hands moved over the annals of of his life, drifting across his chest, his hands lifted up to stop her. And where they stopped were the scars he obtained when he failed to understand her in the backdrop of a gentle shore. Those markings of her nails, quick to cause pain or comfort, weren't something that he regretted or mourned. They were a striking reminder of how far they had come, both of them, in their journey to understand one another. And while it often felt akin to a boat adrift in a deep sea, he was beyond enthralled that he wasn't aboard this ship alone.

He lifted one of her hands, moving from his chest to his cheek for a guided caress. To feel the warmth of her touch, so close that his own breath seem to reflect from it, he would happily disrupt the ensuing rhythm. It was a slow nuzzle to slow time, to drag out this interaction for a particular hope. A hope that when these moments had passed, there would be nothing left of that barrier to rebuild.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

If she had her way those scars would not be there to remind her of that moment on the beach. Gabe may have found a fondness for them in his own way but Cera found them to be nothing more than a glaring sign of her instability. It would always be this way, it seemed, and she felt no less disgusted in herself now than she had then.

No more in control either.

Stens and blodwyne had dulled the torrent during her stay on Kuat but it was a state of being she resented. Reliant upon outside means to find any sort of calm, of peace, and yet without it she could hardly contain the primal urges of bloodshed amidst the sea of peoples she held no care for. Not even the woman who had brought her back. Especially not the woman who had brought her back.

But on Annaj, in that little swamp town of Ikkermill, she had found some semblance of humanity within her. There were people in that town she cared for and a place she might've called home were it still standing. The swamps had been her medicine and for the first time since she left them she felt truly homesick for them. She missed the sounds and smells, the feel of creaking floorboards beneath bare feet. She lamented the loss of the shop and her feline companion. She felt concerned over the wellbeing of Sitka and Ern.

She missed the beach and its warm sand, something the brush of a certain man's beard mixed with his breath beneath her fingers almost seemed to replicate. Cera turned a sober gaze upwards as Gabe nuzzled into her hand, pressing her palm against his face with his own in a moment of need. Was it hurt she was feeling through her skin? Pain and regret? Loneliness? Though these powers resided with the part of her within the holocron it was almost unmistakable the sentiments spoken, no-screamed by the lines of his expression and the intensity of his grasp. Abandonment and neglect were things this part of her knew intimately well.

The things that, ultimately, drove her to such fierce means of independence. To strengthen the self in order to never be subject to the whim of those things again.

Part of her wanted to tell him the same, to insist he didn't need this or her. The part of her that knew the suffering of reliance.

But another part of her, the part that recognized the beauty in no longer being alone, kept her from doing so.

Cera shifted her other hand out from behind his at his chest and lifted it upwards to the opposite side of his face. Nails that had previously cause both pain and pleasure gently drifted over his cheek, fingerpads brushing across brow and pushing loose strands of silver away. She studied him, silent as always, though her lips broke apart for a breath that would have invigorated unspoken thoughts. So many things she could say to him if she was able and the disappointment in lacking that voice was evident in the fall of her own expression. The points of her fangs disappeared behind lips pressed by internalized emotion against his own.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Eye lids closed over hazel orbs as her hands drew warmth from his cheeks. The way they meandered over scarred skin, moving strands of age across his closed vision, it built upon a form of comfort he hadn't know for as long as he could remember. The sort of sensation he expected from returning home, receding from the cold rain to a small stone shelter in the swamp. Aisles filled with items and darkened except for the low hanging moon in the dark nights sky. The way the temperature would shift, cold and dreary outside to the sudden ambiance of affection within. All the rooms dark but a single vestibule, filled with a brightly burning fire place and her. The way her shadow danced across the floor, face darkened by the light of the fire with eyes of bright pink cutting through the distance that separated them. A place where his soul felt bare, cut free from any devices or attempts to hide it, so that she might know it in full.

If he concentrated, he could even hear the rain. Hear the crackle of the fire, the way the water smacked across the shingles and drip dropped down to the windows. It was a certain myopia that made him forget Maud and Destin and Ava, Jacen and the Alliance, only to see Cera standing at the end of a very long tunnel. In a place that felt like home, swelled with all the imperfections and faults that could keep a handy man busy. No more storms, no more floods, just an existence that persisted and grew despite the defiance of the world around them.

Their meetings had been one of continuous woe, struggle and hardship as constant as the rains that seemed to follow them. But it didn't mean that it had to define them. There was more to this life than just longing for what they might never have. Beyond any doubt he might carry, he knew it was worth the meager hope he could offer. He wasn't sure he knew what he wanted, whether he desired the dichotomy of existing in two places at once, but he knew he wanted to be with her. For whatever time was available for proffered bliss.

His hands had drifted from hers, finding the seam that separated her top from her leggings. And as he opened his eyes, he caught that expression of discussion, absent any words. He longed for her breath and her words. That when her hands were occupied and pressed against him, he could still talk with her, know what thoughts crossed her mind. There was so much he wanted to tell her, wanted to hear her utter, and until he learned to pierce the mental barrier that separated them, it felt all too quiet. Silence filled the void, once more, as she reminded him of this curse or mute ailment that he couldn't understand. Yet he was happy to not pry, content to simply want. With the white of her fangs hidden, for now, he leaned forward to press his lips against hers. His hands moved from her hips to her waist to the sides of her ribs, slowly rolling the top with it.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

How much more easily now it was to slip beneath the waves of commotion and mingle with the warm sand. Hesitation giving way to comfort, desire. There was a finer depth of acceptance and strange understanding there now, even for all the confusion and unanswered questions between the two. Hours bled away into streaking stars, salted flesh and the warm gusts of breath; at times a maelstrom of need, at others a subdued and wandering breeze across the dunes.

It dissipated into the darkness of a steady calm where the fury of the storm gave way to the stillness of a sated, pacified sea.

A restful, deep sleep - void of dreams and visions.



In the long hours following the solitude of the ship and the starry expanse beyond, something else awoke.

A sudden pinging of metal as something clattered against the floor. A glow of brilliant gold in the dark flooded the room, waning and growing back and forth as if to the rhythm of breathing. The Alethiometer's casing unhinged, the front plate sat open while on its face the myriad hands slowly turned and danced about of their own accord.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

The ship hummed a quiet melody of its own. Stars streamed by in the dark of space, slipping by in time with the seconds that passed between navigating the storm and resting on peaceful sands. He had found sleep and with it too, a dreamless slumber. One of the few times, if he could recall it, where he wasn't lucidly reminded of the actions of his past.

Stirring from his sleep, honey brown eyes wearily opened to the sharp sound of metal against metal. At first, he was content to assume it was nothing but the ship rattling in hyperdrive. Though if he was more thoughtful, that sort of thing should have concerned him just as much as the foreign sound in the room. Just as he moved to find Cera sleeping in the sheets, a vibrant glow filled the room and cascaded across the floor. Banded coloring moved to a pulsating hum. As he sat up, he shielded his eyes, allowing adjustment to identify the shadowy figure of the holocron at the epicenter of the light.

With a slow movement from the bed, he paced over to the item and lifted it in hand. Running a hand through his hair, he recalled the adventure and frustration of trying to speak the language of this item. Pulling up a chair, he sat with the item pressed against his chest. Blinking slowly, he watched in quiet illumination.

[member="Cerusia Shamalain"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Unlike most things of its nature, the holocron was warm to the touch and issued pulses within the Force like a heartbeat. The illuminated face continued to breath. In his grasp the needles swayed, listless with what appeared to be indecision, mirroring the man's fatigue and lingering frustration. They circled and spun, slowly coming to a halt at what would have been 12 on a normal clockface.

The glass casing glowed brighter, the exuded energy ringing soundlessly over the Force and then...

Hello Gabriel.

A low, honey-smooth voice of a woman spoke into his mind, a tone that carried with it ages of a life long spent and passed.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He blinked slowly, sure that he heard someone said hello. A woman, voice soothing and originating from the interior of his mind. Eyes drifted upwards, to the threshold between ceiling and viewscreen to the exterior of the ship.

"Hel..." He stopped, remembering that Cera was still asleep. Was he still asleep?

Hello...who are you?

This wouldn't be the first time he had spoken to the voices in his head. Admittedly, events before this were under far more severe circumstance.

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

I am Lady Reticea.

The Alethiometer warmed noticeably in his hands, illumination fluttering like a candle in tandem with the voice inside his head. The needles had begun to spin again, moving slowly clockwise and counter without stopping.

You know me as Cerusia Shamalain.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Yeah?

He looked down at the item, warmth resonating from the metal. Motion obvious, even to the touch, as the needles spun back and forth. Looking back up where the sound resonated in his mind, one hand left the holocron to send a thumb in the direction of Cera's sleeping form.

Then who's lying in that bed back there?

Maybe it was the sleepiness that was giving him the sass. But he couldn't seem to entirely hone in on the presence. And given the deceptive abilities of the Darkside and the danger they had just left on Kuat, he couldn't be sure of anything.

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

She...

is me.

We are two parts of one whole, torn apart at the closing of our previous life.


The indicated woman on the bed continued to sleep soundlessly.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Previous life...something he could relate to.

But why stay separate?

He spun in his chair, cause it was a spinny chair. Not all the way around, just enough to indicate wondering.

Assuming I believe this...why dont you recombine? She's trapped in a life that she doesnt seem to understand.

He didnt know if he was mad or simply having trouble understanding. Whether that was the sleep or the confusing circumstance, that remained to be determined.

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

There are few entities in this galaxy with the power to heal shattered souls. I am not one of them - not before and not now.

Even if I was, the risk of failure is high. The delicate nature of the sorceries holding me within this holocron notwithstanding, she is not stable enough to accept all that she was before in that body, in one mind.

It would break her.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

​Which entities?

​Who could heal her...heal you?

The last thing he wanted was the destruction of the Cera he had known, the one lying soundless between the sheets. He wondered where the line was drawn between the two. Since he met Cera, had their experiences deviated? How much did the Holocron know about him?

​At the end of the day, it would be her choice to pursue it.

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

The names I know of this power are ancient, from the time before the plague. The one who made this holocron and tried but failed to save me no longer can fix what is broken.

I cannot know who could heal us - so was I bound to this artifact, so I remain. All that was resides within your hands, all that could be sleeps on that bed.

What could be ... I admit a great envy of the life and self she could become, free of the memories I hold. There is pain in not knowing, certainly, but that can be overcome. What resides here I feel is far worse than growing and becoming again. The great regrets and sorrows of a lifetime that cannot be undone ...