If perfection is stagnation, then Heaven is a swamp.

[Gabriel Sionoma]

One didn't have to say anything to show insult. Or anger. Or irritation. They often came in the same form and he was coming to terms with the fact that if they were going to have discourse, it would be through the movement of eyebrows and the purse of lips, thousands words revealed through the eyes. And now, he was suddenly aware that his question had stirred something within her. Maybe she didn't know the answer. Maybe she did and didn't feel he should know it. Or maybe it was simply over the fact that because this item was tied to her, it was inherently a part of her that he nestled between fingers. He didn't particularly like that flare and anger presented behind vibrant eyes, but she was obviously not one to be controlled. Letting out a soft sigh, he shook his head for the naive nature of the question, asking things he had no business knowing.

"Apologies..." He spoke as she turned away. "It's a particularly beautiful curio. It wasn't my intent to intrude." He smiled, not that she would see such a thing, as he made a mental note for that piece of lumber deteoration and exited the armory. Looking for the entrance to the Alchemy room, he found a quiet sleeping place that was once thriving and alive with her in it. No stew cooking, no bubbling contraption or wondering brunette, hair showing just a hint of that fire revealed in moments passing. Finding the velvet pillow he once glanced cradling relic of obvious import, he lifted the gold compass looking object onto the crease and carefully set it back in place. He felt a sigh, not entirely sure if it was the item or sounds escaping his lips as he stood there, watching it, scratching his forehead in idle thought and investigation.

Wiping away residual particles of dust from the gold, he tilted his head as he walked around the room, inspecting the walls with an outstretched hand. The structure was fine, he felt that, though the very spot he had pointed out to Kep was still present in the boards. A spot that needed replacement, he had his work cut out for him. He was starting to suspect the deal was a bit more lopsided than first imagined. Pushing the curtains away from a window, recently cleaned, he spotted a pair of water fowl skittering across the water. "Well, I should probably get back to work..." Her in the room, her not in it, he wasn't sure what he was doing, now talking out loud to himself. Flexing his left hand, the tumble from the roof tweaking a nerve running to his pinky and ring finger, he resigned himself to silence as made his way back out into the main store front, intent on resuming his work.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

She found what she'd been digging for the moment he left the room: a coil of alchemized, braided leather rope, brass-plated durasteel rings fitted every five feet. Clips, hooks, attachment pieces for climbing and tethering of any number of things. Reaching to pull it from the bottom of the crate, the woman paused as she felt the cradling sensation vanish.

A sigh passed through parted lips, she took a moment to blink away the feeling only to stop again at a secondary impression of contact. That brief and gentle brushing of fingers over the casing of the holocron, like a thumb over a cheekbone. Bristling, the silent woman set her brow afurrow again and hoisted the coil of rope from its bed. She made her way back into the shop proper just as the man walked out from the Alchemy lab and met him half way, rope in arms.

Cera held it up and pushed it firmly into his hands with a pointed stare.

If he was insistent on falling off the roof she would have peace of mind he wouldn't fall all the way.

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

His progress outside was abruptly stopped by the woman, a particular intent in her eyes as she locked eyes within him. There was no subtlety in her expression, not like before, the braided leather rope pushed into his hands in its own form of command. It was curious to him, how he was falling into these predicaments for others to have to tend to him. Not that he mind all that much, having lived without anyone knowing he existed, the change was welcomed in the passing years.

Gripping the rope hard, he scanned the material before returning her glance, equipped with a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn't return a thank you or vocal means of appreciation, simply a warm response as he threw the item over his shoulder and walked quietly back out the front door, closing the door behind him.

As he moved back up onto the slick wood, he flung the braided rope around a structurally significant location, altering the spot as he moved across the roof. Strapping it around his chest, he was grateful for it, as the other side of the shop wasn't equipped with a saving porch like the front. Moving more carefully, intent on not having another misstep, he plied slats from their spot and tossed them down to the porch below. With the force, they eventually landed in neat stacks as he revealed the first portion of the rotted wood, over the alcove behind the main storefront. Pulling out a plasma saw, using the force to guide him, he carefully moved forward with removing the whole sheet. Once done, he would lift a flat piece of lumber from the crate carried from town. Securing it with galvanized nails.

He would repeat the process. One area above the armory, one area above the alchemy room. Until the lumber was a motley of well aged timber and pre-treated cedar. Satisfied with the results, he pulled the sealing paper underlayment from the crate and ran it along the top, securing the boards and sealing it for secondary damage against water and moisture. With adhesive, the seal vacuumed against the boards and he nailed it down, proceeding with the shingles from the box. Wooden, treated for corrosion and moisture, he completed the work with relative ease. Pleased with the fact that it was done, prior to the oncoming deluge, he hopped down from the store front roof, clapping his hands free of the dust and debris.

He couldn't help it, he was pleased with the work. The wood tone of the shingles added a nice rustic affect to the storefront which, by his calculations, could use an assortment of additional repairs. Siding and interior wall work, for starters. Pulling the harness back down, he cleaned up the remaining shingles, throwing them back into the crate, before entering back into the shop.

"Well...it's done." He looked around, braided rope in hand. "I need to get the dolly back to town before they charge me for a second day." Without the force, it can take days for a crew to install roofing. But given the small size of the place, his ability to encounter problems before getting to them, it had gone smoother than he had expected. Well, except for the fall that started the day.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Evening had settled in by the time he re-entered the store. In the back Alchemy lab the fireplace roared and sparked - a spit with a roast slowly turning on it filling the store with a smokey, sweet smell. Cerusia sat at her table, finally able to get back to her own work now that his job was done. The necessary noise for fixing a roof was not conducive to translations of ancient script text to basic - the Aing'Tii codex her present project for the next foreseeable weeks.

She stood from her seat, pressing the quill into the roll of parchment and moved out to meet him where he stood. From inside there was little change to notice, but rest assured she would know just how good of a craftsman he was when the rain started. When he offered the rope back to her she shook her head and pressed it back to him. It was a useful item to have and certainly he was the sort to put it to use, if what he said about his own home was true. Besides, no one came in asking for alchemized rope - it was a niche product that she noted had not been sold or restocked since the store opened. If nothing else it would give Dissero something to do.

A motion towards the meal cooking over the fire: an invitation to eat as so far as she knew, he had not since arriving in town.

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

A shake of her head. He smiled and nodded, appreciating the gesture. He could likely use it for his homestead, repairs were always needing to be made and he had his mind set on a new pair of floodlights on the outside of one of the high lofts. Truth be told, he was just as likely to use it on someone else's house, often bartering work for goods as he had done here. Though he may have had ulterior motives for originally making the offer, having the credit means to purchase the wan-shen, he appreciated the opportunity here to continually hone his skills.

Looking towards the fire where she gestured, he smiled, suddenly aware that he was in fact pretty hungry. Having not eaten since first arriving in the market place, the smell of it brought a hushed growl from his stomach. Looking back to her, he tilted his head slightly. He wondered if she got lonely out here by herself, without Kep around to keep her company. He had spoken of intent to leave her to tend to the shop and as far as he could tell, the place was in better shape than when Gabe had first seen the shop. But when the sun went down and there was nothing but the sound of frogs calling to mates, insects scratching legs against one another, and the calls of fowl in the distance, he wondered what she thought about. On one hand, he envied the silence of such things, knowing that a cozy place like this could offer its own form of serenity and peace. But on the other hand, he knew he would miss Ava and the children, the friends he had made.

He had spent his life in constant company, he wasn't sure he could now go without it for too long.

The pause for thought, he met her gaze and agreed with his own silent expression, setting the rope down on counter top before proceeding back to the room holding the fire. The smell of the leg on a spit, the sound of fat hitting the flames, it felt inviting. And just then, a drop hit the glass window he gazed out of earlier. And then another, until the downpour came upon the house as it had always threatened. Blackened cloud, the sound was even different from before. Like a new shuttle with a new smell, this house had a new sound of its own. Not far from the smack of drops against tin, but dull whisper in comparison, he scanned the roof and waited to see if his work maintained integrity.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Loneliness. Not a disease of this particular woman. She'd spent most her life in the silence of oneness. Even after marriage. Even after motherhood. She preferred it that way, having never really known the pleasantries of anything else. The solitude of quiet was a hallmark of the Shamalain bloodline. Theirs was a family historied by the infamous lack of spoken word. At least...it had been.

With an easy sigh Cerusia followed slowly after him, allowing the man to find a comfortable spot before assuming the role of what now amounted to hostess. Only he stopped short of finding a chair just at the sound of rain. She heard it, too, but at first thought nothing of it. Rain was a common thing here, as she had come to find, and for the most part its song was always the same.

Except for when it wasn't.

Cera paused too, body falling still as a statue while her own eyes slowly panned along the shadows of the ceiling above. It was a different sound. A gentle staccato to what had once been a tinning tune. She thought that perhaps she rather preferred this new sound - far more harmonious with the feel of quietude within the cabin. What more - no leaks. So far.

The woman looked askance at her guest, faint smirk forming at the edges of her lips. She reached to pat him gently on the arm as if to say good job before pressing by to set the table with plates and pull their meal from the spit. The carving knife offered to him while she produced two separate bottles: one clear as crystal containing water, the other a black glass concealing within a sort of drink he'd likely never come across in this life or the last.

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

A job well done, a pat on the arm and a smirk. He blinked steadily, drawing eyes from the ceiling to her as she moved away. He merely looked on, the briefest slackjaw expression as he laughed quietly, shaking his head to the delivery of the sizzling limb on plate. Good boy.

Wiping his hands on available cloth, he took the offered tools. His arms felt heavy from the days work, tense from wielding crow bar and hammer when the force was busy somewhere else. It was a good sort of ache, the new resilience and sound of the roof indicative of a day well spent. In harmony with idle task, improving the surroundings for himself or someone else, he couldn't really be happier in another circumstance. It was the same reason he took to farming back on Sulon, the same reason he took to bartering and the like. Money was a simple thing to come by, but the camaraderie of trade and services built relationships beyond meager exchange. And the roof sounded quite pleasant.

Pulling the carving knife across the cracking skin, the two pronged elongated fork pushed in as leverage, as he sawed against the moist meat. Cera had done well, he was quickly convinced he couldn't do better given the size of the fireplace and the tasks at hand. His kitchen had been crafted of a far different circumstance, specialty devices and fancy cooking counter tops to cook things to a particular fashion. But he couldn't deny a fleeting animal calling, the smell of smoke and the flake of carbon with charred flesh against direct fire. There was a certain nuanced appreciation he held for the simplicity of such format, eyes drifting along the cuts with a warm glow.

Lifting a generous serving over to her plate, he went to carve his own piece, placing it on top of the plate. Despite the risk of drying out the meat with open fire, it was obviously tender and juicy. But he wasn't prepared to take to seat quite yet. Walking over to the fire, he placed his left hand near, flexing his fingers. Even through the work of the day, he could still feel the fingers tense with every open and close, the glimmer of the Annulum Ignis upon tingling ring finger. Maybe the days work had exacerbated it, but he didn't think so. Feeling satisfied with the heat and the smoke, the sound of cinder above the chimney where rain met smoke and heat, he turned back to the table to find the two bottles. One clear, one not so much.

Sitting down, he sniffed and scratched the underside of his beard, as his other hand scratched at the glass of the black fluid with a slow titled expression. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he looked back to the woman and her customary silence. He'd ask her what was in it, but she'd likely not answer. Or she'd get mad he asked, intensity of her eyes enough to draw his away. So he settled for expected silence, lifting a piece of the meat to his mouth. He wondered if he could show thankfulness in simple expression, as she had done, absent words time and time again.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Quiet, but not. The sound of a crackling fire healthy in the hearth, the sizzle of cooked meat on the table, the rain on the roof, a soft howl of wind beyond the windows. In the distance the chuffing calls of the tuskcat echoed through the gale. The scrape of wooden chair against wooden floor, floorboards long since lost the luster and gleam of a waxed coating - so rough were they it was likely they'd never seen a true finish in their lives.

Cera gently took hold of the black bottle, tutting at the man with the remnants of that same ghosted smirk from before. A simple motion of a delicate finger indicated that particular bottle was not for him, and it curled back to tap at her chest - it was for her, apparently. Her smile persisted, vague as the lines were to show it. She pulled down two glasses and uncorked the bottled water, pouring a measure for him before exchanging the bottles to serve herself a glass of that deep-hued liquid. It had a nature of a dark and mellowed red wine - similar pungent smell too. But this was not the smell of grapes or fruits, it was distinctly the smell of something else entirely. An earthy aroma that left the sting of metallic tang in the nose and on the tongue. Heady. Strong. Sickeningly rich to most. With a curious air of the arcane - a sense about the drink that otherwordly powers had gone into its crafting, if one were attuned enough to such things to sense it.

She took a drink and licked the remnant of color from her lips before moving to cut into her dinner and take a bite, pointed tips of her teeth briefly peeking out.

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He looked on, quietly rolling a chunk of meat between molars, as she uncorked her bottle of mysterious fluid. With very little attenuation, he could hardly grasp the hue of red in the low lighting of the crackling fire. But just the reflection of orange embers shimmered a curtain across a narrow strip of table, more shadow than anything else. His eyes drifted down to it, a certain focus and zone overtook him as his nostrils flared. On Sulon, he had taken to cleaning his own meat. Either from farming or from fellow provided, he had butchered his own livestook and stored meat in the cellar beneath the house. His preference for his own butchered animal was rare cooked, scorched on the outside and bloody within. Such a method maintained the integrity of the meat, giving the meal full character in the profile of juices and flavor. And a large portion of taste was smell, even when it was cascading through the lofty appeal of sizzling leg.

People had many means of characterizing the smell of blood. Some thought it smelled of copper, antiquated currency in a bag. Others might perceive it as ruddy or mineral and earthen. Gabriel accepted that it could come any many forms, though metallic was alright part of it. And in some cases, it smelled like galvanized nails in the rain. He had come to terms with the fact that everything tasted different, everything smelled different. Old blood, new blood, old meat, new meat. Everything had character and between all the smells in the room, he could only capture notes. But he did so with a look towards the woman, a furrowing of his brow with clasped hands, quietly acknowledging why that specific bottle wasn't for him.

Beyond the blood, it had presence. An odd presence, a containment or some sort of aura that felt inherently tied to it. It didn't necessarily feel dark sided or malevolent and with the way she licked her lips, the way she kept it in the bottle like that and so particularly withheld, he landed on appreciation. The way a hunter might stop after the kill, thanking a beast for its offering, before cleaning the meat from the carcass. He couldn't place why she would hold such elation or need for it, he had only ever known such consumption in the body of another. For the pleasure of drawing life and consuming, entirely sadistic in purpose. It put him at a disadvantage, a curious place of knowing only the past, but assuming the best.

Breathing in slowly, watching her quietly, he took a sip from of water to wash down the rest of the meat before taking another bite. It was an odd thing, to be comfortable in such silence, despite the lack of it. Ambiance of the room, the slow trickle from the outside as day had shifted to night, it all added to the picture, likes dabs of paint upon canvas. All creating an environment that most would toss away for the lack of significance, in constant need of stimulation.

He shook his head in thought, cutting into the meat. Setting down the utensils, he wiped his mouth with the cloth. "I'm sorry for asking the age of your item..." He hadn't understood its importance until given the day to think about it. It was part of her, tied to her, and he knew that from the moment he set it down on the pillow, absent its weight in his hands. "I've never held anything quite like it. It was as if I could hear a beating pulse against my finger tips. But I couldn't appreciate that until I was on the roof, soft sound replaced with the echo of hammer against nails." He smiled softly as he leaned back against the chair. "Thank you for letting me see it."

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

A soft glance given to the man in response to his words, Cera chewed quietly on a piece of meat, watching him with consideration. Was not very often the words I'm sorry were uttered, and in her long span of life there were very few instances she could recall them ever being said by a man. What she could recall were countless instances where those words had been needed, been necessary, but were purposefully withheld.

She recalled a grand galactic ball, being on the arm of Gren Skylark for the lack of her own husband who, as it turned out, arrived with his Mistress and Apprentice on his own arm.

Her expression tightened at this sudden memory coming back to her. Lately these sorts of visions had flooded her daily routine and were working very hard to make things difficult. [member="Gabriel Sionoma"]'s company, however, seemed to have a dulling effect upon them. Might've been his quaint, amiable nature that did it.

Cera looked briefly to her holocron nestled off to the side by the windowsill, gleaming in the light of the fire, and then back to Gabe. A quiet sigh followed that pressed a look of wane appreciation for his words into a pale smile. She dipped her head once in silent thanks and took another bite.

This was how their dinner filled the remainder of his visit. A dialogue of words both spoken and not that could fully appreciate the song of his hard work.



"Smugglers, Pirates," said a resident of the local town several weeks later as Gabe arrived to several plumes of black smoke rising from the small business buildings as the fires were put out and damage assessed. They'd swooped down nearly an hour ago and ransacked the town. Several had been left injured but were being tended to. What with Annaj no longer under the close watch and guard of the Fringe Confederation these sorts of attacks were becoming an issue.

"They headed out into the swamp on swoop bikes and in their ship, same way you and that woman always go," said the man who owned the shop where Gabe had previously rented the dolly from, "hope she's alright."

Smoke in the far distance over the tree tops of the swamp. Dark smoke.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

The trip back to Sulon had been a quiet one, a time for thought and internalization. Specks of dusty and the white strobe lights of stars passing by, just to give way to home. He hadn't recalled why he said he would return or maybe he never did quite utter such intent. But he knew, leaving the storefront, that he would. If only for the cooking.


The ramp descended to the smell of smoke lifting in the sky. And the not the sort he was looking for, a more violent and unfortunate kind that made silent whispers of what had occurred many moments past. A local approached him, face covered in sweat and the stain of ash on face, waving his hand and speaking slowly. Pirates, smugglers, he heard, as his eyes turned towards a trail and the cut down foliage in the once lightly tread path. Baring his teeth, he walked back up the ramp and pressed a button across the entry way. A speeder bike descended from the belly of the Star Viper, hovering over the ground with idle power. Throwing on his flack vest, he pulled a longblaster from a locker along with Roecnar, his lightsaber, and a GLX firelance.

Stepping back down the ramp, he loaded the weapons into the saddle holsters and looked back towards the resident.

"You sure about where they were headed?"
"Sure!" The man nodded and pointed out towards the swamp. Gabe looked over, confirming again it was the route.
"Get your local authorities to call up Ayrou sector, tell them you're being attack by mercenaries, likely One Sith."
"How do you know they are One Sith?"
"I don't."

He pulled on the throttle and with a sickening squeal, the speeder kicked out from the alcove and cut across the water. Pressing against the data pad on his arm, he inputed the directions and locked the throttle in as the steering took over. He wasn't riding a dolly this time, nor was he on foot, and he had more purpose than the simple wandering and obtainment of items. The vehicles used had cut down forest and trees, burning a path through the woods, as the wake still showed signs of the path.

But there was no need for true tracking, even beneath the wail of his bike, he could hear the call of a ship above. He could feel the bend of the trees now, the way they bowed beneath the pressure and gales. Honing in on the long open thoroughfare that would lead towards the building, the storefront came into view. He pulled the longblaster from holster, loaded energy packs, set to stun and took aim. Breathing in slowly, he watched as the men descended from the ship and across the boardwalk, leading towards the house. Squeezing the trigger three times, he peppered one pirate, knocking him into the water with convulsions. Another pause, he caught one climbing the stairs and sent him to the boards with a pull of the trigger. There were more on top, the door open and off the hinges.

Too close now. He flipped the sight down and aimed the barrel towards the opening in the ship, letting off several auto fire rounds as he strafed beneath, wake of water following behind. Men fell from the platform, drops of fat rain smacking against the boardwalk and water alike. Gabe raced path the shop, cutting on a bend of meandering trees, as they fired stray shots towards him. He took over control just in time to cut it, skittering fire behind, as he spun and aimed towards the back of the shop. He could smell fire again. Hopefully Cera wasn't in there, hopefully she was out hunting or whatever it was she did in her spare time, away from the shop.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Flames burst from the upper floor windows as a metal box came sailing through, landing in the swamp waters with a gush of water and immediately sinking to the bottom. Bodies moved about inside, creating from within a cacophony of chaos. As Gabe rounded the far end of the spindle-stilted shop he'd see the den for the tuskcat empty but this strappings left behind and strewn about the wooden slats. Must have left in a hurry. Cera was nowhere to be seen.

They were heaving arms, bags, and crates full of items from the shop as the fire spread. The ship above rotated, firing off turbolaser shots towards [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] to keep him at bay.

In the distance, beyond the shop's clearing, the sound of swoops blazing along the waters roared dully through the trees interlaced with blasterbolt fire and the occasional explosion. They were chasing something ... or someone.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Brown eyes flicked from the surface of the water, just in time for sight to work in tandem with sound, the explosion resonating outwards. A chest of wood splashed against the surface of the water, contrails of smoke following in the whistling wake as men scurried out from the building. He bared his teeth, those left unmoved by his initial efforts seem to carry an indifference to his attempts. But it wasn't his concern, his vision drifting towards the shelter of the tuskcat. He had spent some time with Cera, but not enough to know for sure that the absence of the beast would confirm her absence as well. He shook away the thoughts that she rested somewhere within the folds of growing soot and cinder.

Hand struck out from swoop bike, intent on forcing the swamp against the house, swallowing the fires and brigands whole. But where his focus tripped up was against the inclement notions of danger, a metal barrel bearing down on him, turbolaser blasts hitting the scum and water in his recent path, now disturbed. Cutting left, another smacked against the grime as he reached up with telekinesis. Not to crush, not to hamper the bolts or barrel, but to simple deactivate a gear within the rotary turning system at the base of the laser. With a crimp, folding back teeth of a cog, he rotated the barrel just as it blasted, sending the shot through the nose of the gunship. Metal and wires and fires leaped out from flying carcass, raining debris upon those beneath it and upon boardwalk. Alarms and sensors went haywire as the ship tilted over, crashing wing first into swamp. The wave and impact shot out in 360 degrees, sending a shock towards the stilts of the shop and trees against the forest line.

Squinting, he powered on the swoop bike at full speed towards the house, firing off cover fire until the barrel turned red hot. Loading another pack in, he dipped the weapon in the water and continued, coming up over the wave to find the half submerged walk way that preceded the structure. Parking near the forest line, he looked towards the shop and the men stranded there in their attempts to rob this place of it's goods. Running forward, the rancor tooth hilt ignited in a snap hiss of solidified blood. Just in time to flick away three bolts, sent towards the sky line. Time was of the essence, the fire would soon overtake the shop and Cera was nowhere to be found. And with that in mind, he was upon the first pirate. Dropping his goods and showing a weapon for display, Gabe cleaved the barrel from the frame and force pushed the disarmed man hard into the stairs. Out cold, his eyes drifted upwards as he slowed his pace to a walk, prepared for what fight awaited him.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

The sensation of adrenaline in such a new body was not something Cerusia was prepared for. Topped by super-human senses and reflexes, she felt as though somewhere between gathering the priceless valuables in a bag, blasting her way out of the shop and making her escape with an unstrapped tuskcat she must have torn a hole in the fabric of space and time.

Rosy eyes electrified by the pressing of blood through her veins were wide as the tree limbs whipped by. The sounds of blaster bolts were thunder in her ears and the movement of the cat beneath her, the heat rising from over-exerted muscles as it struggled to escape through the swamps on unknown paths, the world swirled in ebbing pools of hellfire around her. Cerusia gripped the leather collar and tried for the third time to keep from slipping from the pelt of the cat that was growing continually more saturated by the swamp waters. Eventually the cat's stride broke the hidden crust of a sinkhole and the pair of them blundered in.

The tuskcat wailed as a bolt struck its left haunch, struggling with great sweeps of clawed limbs to find solid ground to hold. Unwilling to be dragged down with it, Cera climbed from its back and pulled herself up by the low branches of a nearby tree. With two swoopbikes in hot pursuit she pulled from her bag the only weapon at her disposal: an ancient lightsaber hilt plated in beskar, a Tree of Life symbol emblazoned over the gleam. She'd not used it once since her return and though the hilt felt foreign in these fingers it resonated with deep familiarity within her soul. Jaw set, the woman brushed long mud-slicked tendrils from her face and ignited the blade.

The familiar hum of energy accompanied a bright magenta glow.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

From the explosion and presumed careening of those within to the swamp waters below, there were only three pirates left. Making attempt at scavenging, they stepped over their unconscious friend on the stairs to find Gabe standing quietly, waiting for them. Lightsaber held in low guard, his left hand hanging aloft and gesturing for them to come towards him.

"Leave what you currently carry. Be on your way."

Between the splash of the turbolasers, the sweat, and the spray of water from the swoop bike, the warrior was drenched. Once again. But he was equipped with a certain expression, the sort that might indicate he could back up his request. But pirates weren't necessarily burdened with the intelligence to see it as truth, instead discerning unintended bluff. The first charged him, an upward swing and fan of the blade sent his arm into the water below. He followed quickly after, Gabe snatching a satchel from his hand before the tumble. Setting it down, his eye twitched as he looked towards the other two. They promptly set the goods down on the stairs and ran past him, tripping along the boardwalk as they moved. He gave them a look that suggested trouble if they returned, considering they were the only ones to make it out unscathed. They should consider themselves fortunate.

Extinguishing the blade, he ran up the stairs and pushed open the door. Char and fire was spreading through the building, though the roofing shingles were holding up. That flame retardant seal was worth it! Back on track, he ran into the building and found center point within the structure. Breathing in, he held out his hand, he concentrated the force into his palm. A small whirlwind, soon to be unleashed with minimal destructive power, it shot out through the windows and door, evacuating the oxygen momentarily, to stifle what flames remained. Truth be told, he had considered dousing the place in water just moments prior, but feared damage to the structure would be more than what could be repaired.

As the last flames gasped their final breaths, he flipped the counter top over and ran into the alchemy room. Then into the armory. Then into back alcove. She wasn't there. Good. Breathing in a bit of a relief, he stepped back out onto the porch. Those men were long gone, his swoop still idle against the boardwalk. He considered, just for a moment, yelling to see if he could get her attention. But he thought better of it, recalling the times he had wandered through the woods himself. It hadn't been the house that got him back to the place, it had been her. Her presence.

Rubbing his beard, flicking away some of the water, he wrung his hands together before stepping down the stairs and mounting the swoop bike. Making sure the weapons were loaded, he powered on full throttle and blasted off into swamps. He didn't really know where he was going but just like before, he had the feeling he didn't need to.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

A single blaster bolt screamed through the air and Cera, in a moment of what felt like instinctive reaction, lifted her blade to deflect only to send it kareening towards the tuskcat. Her eyes widened as it grazed the creature's neck, resulting in another yowl. The wrenching of her chest in momentary grief of the pain told her all she needed to know about just exactly how much she'd grown attatched to the beast.

She decided not to do that again.

How long since last she held this weapon? Her fingers curled ever more tightly around the hilt, attempting to recall the feel of it in her grasp. It had been a swamp then, too. Her mind was foggy but like before she could see images of it in the gloom. A dark place with pockets devoid of the Force.

The swoopbike closed in and another shot came towards her, this time she dodged and made to leap towards the ground, a wayward slash at the machinery sending it flying into the waters, launching its rider several feet away.

Myrkyr.

The tuskcat bellowed, sinking deeper, still incapable of freeing itself from the sludge.

A man bathed in the Darkside, [member="Darth Immortus"] or as she remembered with vivid clarity of his long black hair and sharp features, Hayt. How long ago...

The Pirate waded out of the waters and for a moment he was nothing but a spectre of her first husband grinning proudly over a slain sarlaac. Cerusia felt that cold anger towards his likeness grip her veins as further images of her flashed within her mind. Saelia Santori. That hapless wretch.

Over five hundred years ago.

She reached out and grasped the man with growing tendrils of vehement energies coiling his figure, constricting his lifeforce, squeezing the air from his lungs. How dare he make such a fool of her. How dare he lie. That mockery of a marriage, of a family, cast aside at his flippant whim only to grow jealousy as she attempted to move on. How dare he deny her the life she deserved.

Face turning a putrid shade of purple-green, the Pirate struggled as his feet left the ground. Dark red oozed from nostrils, eyes, ears, mouth.

Cold embittered fury took her entire body with trembles. I will not be chained. Through the Force she hauled the man forward and with single decisive flourish cleaved him in two. A second later the man on the second speeder skated around behind her and fired a blaster at her leg, dropping the woman in a silent wail of agony, lightsaber extinguished. The last thing she saw as she looked up was the butt-end of his rifle flying at her head.

He took her bag, his buddy's gun, and got the hell out of dodge muttering something about fething Sith.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Air fluttered past him as he twisted the handle, the engine roaring through the swamp. His eyes didn't focus, staring off into the distance, as he felt the faint pulse of something far away and exceptionally close. And like an ear held to the gong, prior to it's striking, he heard the passage of an aura across the metal. And then the strike, the inflection of power as the woman used the force. A dark presence, one of anger and suffering, he cut hard to the right and flew down a foraging corridor. The front of the swoop bike ripped at branches and overhanging vines, snapping them free and cleaving the limbs to fall to the wet ground below. This was an area he hadn't been to before and yet, he didn't feel lost.

The sound of the tuskcat was the first thing he heard, which was good, as the emotional presence had died back down into a soft whisper. But more than enough, as the trees cleared from dog hair pine growth into old cypress knees and long standing canopies. Even the swamp felt old, particularly in this place. Gabe hadn't arrived in time to see the man leave, but that wasn't his concern. Items could be returned, reckoning could be delivered, but not from the dead. Parking the vehicle across the mud flats, he jumped off and ran to her, lying on her side and presumed unconscious. His eyes drifted to the beast, stuck firmly in the mud, and he tilted his head as if to implant a sense of ease. Stop struggling, you'll only make it worse. Placing his fingers against her throat, he felt a pulse, strong and thumping. But the forming welt across her hair line, slick with mud, indicated a strike from a weapon.

"Cera..." He placed his hand beneath her neck as she turned over, trying his best to stabilize her in case of damage to the spine. Feeling along the back of her neck, he didn't feel anything out of sorts. Reaching behind him, he placed his fingers in the near by water and pushed her hair from her face, pressing away the streaks of mud with the water. Eyes lifting from her, the smell of death on the air, he spotted the dead body, or what remained of it. Bearing his teeth, he shook any worry away for the immediate concern of her well being. He had bacta injections but he was always concerned about allergies, she seemed stable enough to not need it for the time being. "Come on, Cera..."

The tuskcat let out what sounded like a whine and purr, married together, and Gabe shifted his view back to her. This would be the first time he had ever known her, absent those eyes staring back at him quietly. Scraping away another piece of mud from her forehead, he suddenly missed her noisy silence.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Hazey eyes slowly split open, roving the image of swamp canopy and face swimming above, pupils shrinking and enlarging as they struggled to focus. Cera was foggily aware someone was crouched over her, holding her head up to the pounding of pain in her temple. A strained breath loosed from her lungs in return as the woman attempted to move, eyes rolling at the immediate rush of feeling from her leg.

There was a gaping blaster bolt wound just above her left knee freely pooling blood in the mud beneath her. Cera's jaw gaped in a silent cry, the searing agony bringing with it a wave of dawning clarity at her current situation. She still wasn't seeing quite straight, but her heart was now hammering adrenaline into her veins. Cera struggled again to sit up, one tremoring hand bracing against her upper leg.

The tuskcat began to struggle again, chuffing with a rising sense of alert.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He couldn't help an expression of relief, as terrible a gambler as was possible, as he saw her eyes open. They were responsive but recognition wasn't there, to be expected after being hit hard across the side of head. He pulled his hand away from her face, not intent on smothering her, and her expression changed. One of silence but all the more telling. Pain. He knew that feeling, that sense, all too well. And like her, having trouble to communicate, he could relate. As she struggled to sit up, he helped her as he could, watching her hand drift down to her leg.

Brown and red, small ravines forming in the mud, he narrowed his eyes as he straightened his back. "Cera, I can help..." As deftly as a gunslinger pulling a weapon from the hip, the bacta injection was out of the flack jacket pocket and the cap was between his teeth, metal shine of the needle reflecting in the moving shimmer of sun. Without hesitation, thought towards her wound overpowered by any allergy that she might have, he plunged the item into her leg and pushed the plunger down.

Stars. Blackness. And earthy taste.

Opening his eyes, he lifted his head from the mud and winced. Gripping into the mud, he pulled himself along to the shelf where the swamp deepened. Placing his hand into the water, he pulled fingers back and pressed them into his mouth. Hand shaking, he moved his head as he pulled his fingers out, covered in blood. Leaning over the water, he spit out blood into the green film and stared into a reflection. Scraping his tongue against his teeth, he felt the gash and the blood trickle out, feeling his mouth with the taste of iron and earth. Slapping water against his face, he scooped some into his mouth and spit out more red before rolling over on to his back. Letting out a sigh, he tried to discern what had happened, looking through the broken canopy of leaves and limbs.

Tilting his head up, now he remembered. Pirates, Cera, wound, bacta. Laying his head back down, he swallowed hard and winced again, a sudden rush of pain across one side of his face.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

The reaction to the bacta shot was instantaneous and brutal. A balled, mud-covered fist met the man's face with all the adrenaline-fueled power of a woman whose strength was minimally double that of what it should be on any given day. He toppled like a freshly-felled tree and she moved in clumsy, pain-stricken movements to get to her feet. The injured leg was proven to be a massive burden. Cera leaned her weight against the surface of a nearby cypress trunk and clasped her hand around the protruding syringe in her leg.

The resulting hiss that hit her teeth as she yanked the thing out cut through the din of the otherwise quiet swamp. She threw it aside, mildly off-put by the gentle plunk as it hit the water near Gabe's head where it bobbed for several moments before floating off serenely.

Haggard breathing was the tune of pain while the bacta worked its wonders beneath the surface of her skin. The flow of blood had slowed, clotted, but the wound was still fresh and still debilitating. Blaster bolts were quite unforgiving in that way. Violet eyes pale from the ordeal slowly found focus on the man and lingered over his face for a good, long while. He was not spared the searing glare that came with the gaze but she made no further attempt to assault him either. They moved on, eventually, to the form of the tuskcat as it struggled to get her in its own sight against the weight of the muck and it was to the beast that she hobbled. Stilt-legged, Cera used the overhanging branches to balance before dropping gracelessly to her good knee at the edge of the sinkpool. There she reached out to the creature, gingerly placing her hand upon its mud-slicked maw, wincing at the transfer of fright and pain received at the touch.

That alchemized rope sure would come in handy right about now.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]