If perfection is stagnation, then Heaven is a swamp.

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He rolled his head over, blocking his face, as the injector came hurling at him. It splashed against the water, that was the entirety of his attention towards it. Empty and floating, it had done its job, but that didn't stop Gabe from returning that same searing expression. He may have been on the ground, brain rattled around in the can, but given the depth of the wound, the bacta wouldn't solve all of her woes. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that he was a bit irked, muddy imprint of her fist leaving a dent against his face. Maybe he had responded a tad bit hastily.

Sitting up, he breathed a sigh as he spit a bit more blood out. He was pretty confident if he attempted to speak, it would be drowned out by some atrocious lisp. The sort that didn't interest him, his ego was a bit bruised as it was. After all, it wasn't every day that he was decked for trying to help someone. Standing up, he looked towards her, the evident frustration in her presence, the micro expression of pain, even in the midst of her leg obviously bothering her. But he could have sworn that he felt her power, running through the woods like some beacon. And yet here she stood, unable to help this beast.

He opened his eyes wide, rolling his jaw as if to jolt himself back awake. Clawing from eye to jaw, he flicked away a dollop of mud and approached the sinkhole. Kneeling, he kept his distance from the fiery temper taken corporeal form, and tilted his head. Again, he fought the urge to speak, swallowing blood as he gave his tongue rest with an attempt at idleness.

You're stuck pretty good. Don't worry, I'll get you out.

Sticking his hand outward, he wrapped his presence around the tusk cat. He recalled its form, running through the swamp, and how it lazily took shelter next to the shop. Memory that helped with visualization, as he tightened his grip around it. Enough to hold it, to lift it, without suffocating it. It was a more delicate concept than most gave credit. Lifting his hand upward, slowly, the tusk cat drifted upward. In the void where it once sat, sinking, the hole filled with seeping brown ground water. As it exited the sink hole, Gabe gesticulated to the side, allowing it to maneuver beyond the hole to solid ground. Where he then released his force grip on the creature, retracting the force back into him with the curl of an open hand into a fist.

He hadn't realized it, but he was holding his breath. Releasing it with a slow exhale, he glanced back towards Cera, eyes drifting towards her wound. It was looking better, at the very least.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

She was relieved to watch the man work the creature free and he did not, for his efforts, receive any form of physical abuse. Cera remained where she had been kneeling and slowly dropped herself to the ground completely as the bulk of the saturated cat slowly rose from the murky pit. The leg wound smarted in twinges and waves, a throng of pain that would have floored a normal human being. The woman seethed at it, glancing down to the gaping bolt hole and blinking away the sudden visions of her daughter's mutilated form sitting in a bacta tank while the winds of Korriban threw sand at the manor windows.

Were it not for the glimmer of her lightsaber hilt from the crook of tangled roots she might've degenerated into another fit of memory-borne hallucinations. With a wince and a huff of breath the woman slowly picked herself up to her good leg and hobbled over to retrieve the weapon. Wasn't until she reached around to her back to reach for her bag that she realized the weight of it was missing.

Purple eyes grew wide.

Mmmmrrroooooaaaaaauuuuuuuh. Said the tuskcat, the sound reverberating through the trees like thunder as it took a moment to rest wearily on solid ground. It, too, had open and bleeding blasterbolt wounds but like most animals it took them in stride. A chuff was given to Gabriel before the cat's attentions moved to a nearby pool of water where it crawled to for a drink, sides heaving from the exertion.

Cera, meanwhile, had begun to frantically look about, stumbling and tripping as she searched for any sign of her bag. The floating corpse of her first victim drew her attention and she dropped into waist-deep water to wade after it, snatching at the cleaved torso and turning it over. Nothing. She turned, twisted, eyes scouring the water's surface. Where was it?!

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Radiant orchid dimmed at a revelation, the sort that Gabe didn't understand. The way she moved around, the way it was catalyzed by some realization of something not on her back, after lifting the weapon, he couldn't understand. Bearing his teeth, turning as she moved, he looked towards the tusk cat lapping at the stagnate water. Something he had done just moments ago.

Palming his jaw, moving it and rubbing the soreness of his cheek, he walked quietly behind the woman. Not taken to the sort of hysteria, now laid threadbare, he looked towards the cleaved body and how she tossed it aside. Wading through the water, he jutted out his jaw as he approached the corpse, pressing hand against the portion of the body that remained with the head. Lips blue, eyes bloodshot, an expression of fear. A life spent in a vessel, from childhood, picked up from the outer colonies and raised to know nothing but thievery and sacking. His life was a tree, grown in far too narrow a place, condemned to pruning that now left his soul departing the inner core.

Fixing his eyes towards the woman, his hand rested on the mans forehead as he shook his own. There was nothing that could be done. As Ava had told him, he was no Jedi. This wasn't an act he could decry, not when he had gone after Sith with the very same intent. And it wasn't until this point that he realized how lost the woman must be, muted to a world and victim to it's fancies. Not that she would be victim, that much was clear. But misfortune finds all, even the strong.

Wading out to the water, wound forming bruise upon flesh and blood in mouth quickly forgotten, he tried to discern the origin of her angst. With a hand on the shoulder, presence exuding a calming nature in the touch of Annulum Ignis against dampened clothes. Of course, he was prepared for another hit, but he hoped she would relent.

Cera, what is wrong?

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Cera's free hand was in her hair, pressing it back from her forehead as her eyes searched hopelessly through the murk of the water. She knew it wouldn't be visible, but the need to search was a strong, inherent one. What was in her stolen bag was not something she needed to physically see to know - didn't need eyes to feel the connection of the soul.

It was gone. Her holocron was gone along with the translations of the Aing-Tii and Taurannik Codexes and the journal copy of Rave Merrill's lightside alchemy notes. All her most valuable projects taken, just like that. Kep would be furious.

There came a hand on her shoulder and the curious sensation of cold, of snow, of far-away places.

Then there came his voice in her mind.

She peeled away from his touch as the vision of two young boys playing in the snow flashed before her inner eye. Cera remembered the pain of her leg then as she attempted to put weight on it and stumbled off to the side, waving away any further assistance from Gabe. Didn't need those images of his in her head, her own broken memories were difficult enough. Wincing, a slow hobble back to the tangle of cypress roots where she sat herself down again with a hiss of a sigh. Behind her the tuskcat was licking the bolt wound on its back haunch.

A wavering gaze wandered out to the distant trees where, now that her mind was no longer distracted by her search, she could feel the faint and ebbing tug of the presence of her holocron getting away from her. Her eyes fell upon Gabe and with a second, hopeless sigh she lifted her hands to sign two words to him.

Compass.

Books.

There was no telling if he would understand and after only a moment she shook her head in defeat of hoping he might.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

The recoil from his touch was unexpected. He might have preferred her hitting him. Incapable of understanding what was going on in her mind, he suddenly felt a like mindedness to Matsu Xiangu, attempting to pierce the impenetrable mind of two souls tied together. And how it had allured her, that dreadful beast and the antics of two beings hell bent on destruction. But here, it didn't seem as something entirely on purpose. As if a furrowed brow might truly communicate frustration.

He wondered what might cause such disarray for someone who seemed particularly indifferent, at least in so much that she couldn't vocalize her thoughts. But with the silence wince escaping lips, in response to her wound, he was starting to realize that she might be truly incapable of sound. He wondered what could cause such a thing, to allow her nothing more than seething hiss in light of agony.

Narrowing his eyes as she gestured to him, he couldn't make out the signla for compass. It was something beyond him, he returned a curious expression and shook his head. Until she signaled, hands held together and then opening. As if a book lied between her palms. Scratching his hair line, he came out of the water, brown swamp flowing out from his pants. He eyed her wound, the aggravation and lack of use in her hobble. Sniffing, he looked towards the water line on the cypress knees behind her and knelt next to her. His finger dragged across the green moss, scraping it from the bark, as he looked down towards the wound. It was healing, but it still bled well enough. Bacta wasn't a miracle drug, after all.

He thought back to the house, to searching for her in the alchemy room, the study, and armory. Everything gone, including her holocron, which normally sat upon velvet pillow. The item that looked like a compass, that held great meaning to her. She would have taken that with her in attempt to evade the attackers. Shaking his head, he balled the moss up and flattened it between his fingers, water pushing out, as he pressed it against her wound gingerly. Scraping more moss away from the pneumatophore, he repeated the process, careful to not cause undue pain, careful to pay attention to her fists and where they might land. Such tactic could replicate gauze for the time being, facilitating natural sterilization until they could get her proper medical treatment.

She was grieving for her loss, that was apparent, but not all things were lost.

Before I left town, I told the locals to inform Ayrou sector of a One Sith attack. The brigands will not escape with your holocron. We will get it back.

He'd hope she would realize that with such a call in, the nearby spaceports would be shut down for the time being. Defenses raised. Import and export halted for the time being.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

There was a desire to slap his hand away as he brought the moss to wound but Cera thought better of it as she noted the methodical, purposeful manner in which he'd chosen to use it. Seemed he knew something of natural medicinal remedies. The woman a scholar was familiar with the notion but vastly uninformed in the ways of swampland herbs and fungi. The woman sat in tense silence as he tended to her, feeling no hint of regret for her previous assault of him despite the glaring bruise on the side of his face.

She looked away, off in the direction of where that intangible and fading pull directed her. Invisible strings tied to her heart going wispy like an untethered spiderweb. Gabriel's words sounded through her thoughts and for a moment she closed her eyes at the feeling that came with it. A feeling of home - something that was familiar and foreign to her in this lifetime. This swamp had become her place of residence but it was not her home. Where was home, then?

Cera supposed it didn't matter anymore.

Eyes of bitter rose found his face again, the subtle nuances of tension settled visibly on her own.


The trudge back through the swamp was a slow one. Gabriel lead the way on the speeder, weapons at ready for any straggling Pirates while Cera sat at the back of the limping tuskcat. They passed beyond the clearing of the shop where it sat still smoldering - the sorriest state it had ever been in. Onwards, then, along the hidden path back into the small town where an Inn served as the only local lodging for miles around. They weren't keen on the tuskcat's presence but agreed to let it stay out in an old speeder shed.

Cera communicated with the Innkeeper by way of written note and convinced her to rent two rooms on Kep's tab. Gabriel wouldn't be able to fly out with security measures in place nor did he seem want to stay the night in his ship. Cera had no argument for this - she did not particularly care for ships either. After learning of the fire at the shop the Innkeeper offered to send her son to fetch supplies for them. Kep had done his job to keep relations good with the townsfolk, it seemed.

"Had my husbands rifle ready when I heard those pirates land," said the Innkeep whose name they learned was Sitka, "they didn't get any further than the front door. Here are your keys."

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

The Star Viper was a bit more cozy than what they were looking for, a bed and some change for nights adrift in space. He had enjoyed the luxury of that, traveling back and forth between Annaj and Sulon. But the Inn was suitable, given the recent embargo, and having taken the time to pick the last remaining bits of worth at the shop, he felt sufficiently satisfied with the look of the place. Having picked up some goods from the Star Viper, he was prepared for however long this might take. His mind towards getting in contact with the local enforcement, help steer them in the right direction. They weren't One Sith, these pirates, but they all dressed the same. Some sort of creed or another, nameless faces in a swamp, finding vengeance in whatever form it came.

Watching as Cera wrote down the instructions and secured them two rooms, he had to admit he wasn't entirely comfortable separating from her. After all, he knew so little about her, he wasn't convinced that this attack wasn't personal. Especially with the way they made a b-line for her shop, how they knew where it was. He had taken to chewing on a poultice combination of sphagnum and bacta, he was feeling a bit better but not enough to forget the impact of her knuckles against his face. Or more importantly, the taste of mud afterwards. He wasn't in a place to press his luck.

Smiling at the woman as she described her stand and her husbands gun, Gabe gave a smile and nod, grabbing a set of the keys and making it down the hallway with a haggard step. He ached a bit, not more than usual after a fight, but he smelled of earth and blood. Or maybe it was the blood in his mouth that tainted the senses.

The rooms were next to each other and as his keys pressed against the lock, he ticked his tongue and looked towards Cera. Reaching into his satchel, he approached her and narrowed his eyes, rummaging through the bag. The clank of bottles gave way to his intent as he withdrew and grolsch of that dark fluid. The sort that he knew as blood, the smell at that table. He had done some research in his time away from Annaj, reading about species that thrived on it. He could only assume it was the case with her. Handing it to her, he breathed in quietly, chewing on the poultice. He had intent to have a go at a bottle of whiskey, stowed away in the Star Viper for situations just like these. Perhaps it'd make his tongue and face feel better. He doubted it.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

The intent to wash the bog from her body was a strong one. Cera was exceedingly aware of the stench lingering with her and the discomfort of clothing saturated by mud and muck. She'd have to hose the cat down, eventually, after tending to its wounds, but that wasn't going to happen until after a very good night's sleep in a measurably more modern setting.

She was halfway in the door of her own room when she felt his gaze and paused to glance the approach with a thinly raised and questioning brow. Glass clinking, bottle produced, world-weary violets did a slow double take from the offering to his face and back again. A hand with bruised knuckles reached to accept, giving the grolsch a cursory look before turning back to him.

Gratitude. It was nothing more than a flicker of a smile, the faint softening along her brow. Her night would go vastly better now, all things considered. Cera folded the bottle into the crook of her arm and turned to head into her room with a short glance back before closing the door.


A gentle knock, the turn of the knob, creak of the door. Footsteps.

"Let me wash those clothes for you," Sitka's muffled voice within the room a little more than an hour later, "I figured you've lost most of your things in the cabin fire. Brought you something to wear for the evening. ...it's no trouble at all. Kep told me I'd likely see you at some point. Thought you might be lonely out there, come into town for some company."

A pause.

"My husband's seen you and your cat in town, said you never spoke a word, made your orders by notepaper. Figured maybe you were mute. One of my sisters was born deaf, so I learned how to sign when I was a child. She died ten years ago...I'm a bit rusty now. What are you doing, living out in those swamps all on your own?"

A longer pause.

"Have you?"

A thoughtful sound.

"Sometimes...where did you get your cat, by the by? Aren't they native to Naboo? ... your sister? Strange gift. Wouldn't think a creature like that would do well in a swamp but what do I know. I'm just an Innkeeper," Sitka gave a stiff chuckle, the self-deprecating kind, "are you hungry? Need anything? ...sure I've got books. What'do ya like? Got some good romance novels, those lusty types like from Diamora Nadena. Ever read The Jedi and the Assassin?" A laugh with a good pitch of humor as footsteps sounded again, "I'll bring you a few things. Let me check on your fellow-friend first."

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He pointed to the items. Nodding to the vendor.

"How much?"

"You take out some of those pirates?"

Gabe sniffed in, narrowing his eyes. Giving a nod, begrudgingly, the man respond with a smile and a clap.

"Free of charge. Please, its the least we could do."

Bagging up the items into metal bins, the man took Gabes hand in his and thanked him again. It was one of the few locations that hadn't been burned in this particular section of the food district, but it was kind of the man to show appreciation. Unnecessary, but kind. Gabe took the metal tins, still hot to the touch, and placed them in his satchel. The very same he had used to ferry off what few items remained at the shop.

He walked quietly back to the Inn, taking in a visual estimation of the damage. It wasn't as extensive as he first though, though billowing smoke has the added affect of dramatization. People's lives were ruined, not likely to ever be the same, all because of raiders and villains. It was a narrative far older than he. And yet, people were still kind, even to those they might perceive as outsiders. Stepping into the inn, he kicked his feet at the door and scrapped his boots off. Walking into the lobby, he pressed his hands towards the fireplace and warmed himself for a moment. He had taken a shower but he felt uneasy with the way things had gone in the swamp, the way Cera struck him. Not just with her fist, but her glances, he couldn't shake the feeling. The feeling that this felt more normal to him than the drama or entanglement of Sullust and the Galactic Alliance. He missed Ava and the kids, but with Stali around and the kids growing up, it was better to not confuse them. 1 mother and 2 fathers was 1 father too much.

Stepping back down the hallway, he greeted the old woman as she exited his room.

"Oi. Sorry to intrude, I was just gathering up linens for cleaning."
"Oh, I appreciate that." His tongue was feeling a bit better.
She gave him a shrewd smile. "You look tired, maybe you should rest."
He returned the smile, scratching his beard. "This is how I always look." That was a lie, he was pretty exhausted. But restless at the same time.
"Well, is that so?" She laughed. "Your friend is all freshened up, quite chatty actually."
"Chatty?"
"Oh, you know..." She laughed and waved him off, strolling back down the hall. "Dinner is in a couple hours!"

He turned and exhaled, feeling the clank of the whiskey bottle against the food tins. Steamed rice, vegetables, roasted meat in a wine sauce. A feast for kings by all rights. He turned towards her door and lifted his hand. Hesitating, he tapped with an extended knuckle.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

A simple shirt, some loosely fitted soft-knit pants of dark navy, hand-woven shawl. Comfortable clothes that would not require a specific size to fit right. Cera shrugged into the shawl, pulling damp hair back into a messy high-knot. She was barefoot but that mattered little - the carpeting of the room was plush enough. Some time was spent perusing the knick-knacks decorating the otherwise bare shelves and tabletops within the room; little pieces of someone else's life to give that homey, lived-in feel. Cera could appreciate the effort and picked up what looked to be a tauntaun carved from quartz from a nearby shelf just as there came a knock at the door.

It opened moments later and what looked out were eyes the color of pink rose, softened significantly from their sharp gleam in the swamps. Cera stared at the exhausted man, soundlessly curious, until he quietly asked to come in. There was a moment of stray confusion, but not for the request. She'd become so accustomed to people entering the shop at all hours of the day where her room in the higher floor had become her only retreat for privacy. Even Kep knew not to disturb her peace after she'd retreated upstairs.

A soft sigh, a mild smile, a nod. Cera stepped back and opened the door fully to let him in.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Eyes of caramel lifted from the floor, finding a more delicate sense than what he had experienced in the swamp. A sort of deceit, or maybe just a shift. A capability to relax in this circumstance, removed from the weight of the previous situation. A welcome change, one he greeted with a returned smile as he stepped in. He looked around the room, the door shutting behind him, as he took in the homely nature of the inn. Each room was apparently different, if the difference between their two rooms was standard. His was filled with more rustic pieces of craft, home made baskets and lacquered driftwood. Figurines made of door hardware and tall stands of wood, made by hand.

Pulling a chair out from the small round table, he sat down and reached into the satchel. Pulling out two heated metal containers, he placed one on the opposite side of the table and motioned for her to sit. Pulling out utensils, he figured she was likely hungry, given the circumstance of the day. Hunger had a tendency to creep up out of nowhere when adrenaline was concerned.

Opening his container, he looked at the meal of steaming white rice, assorted vegetables, and a piece of sizzling roast. The juices were soaking into the rice, adding a particular aroma to the room. Sticking his fork into the mound, he placed his hand against his mouth, looking towards the woman and the clothes that didn't seem to quite fit. Maybe the confusion from her came from his constant breach of her privacy, or maybe it was his quickness to return, despite the gash in his tongue and the former sting of her touch. He had been wounded far worse in the past, though from such a being, he wasn't sure.

"Do you have siblings, Cera?" He had one and if anything about this day reminded him of that man, it was the swamp and reckless abandon of life. It wasn't that he cared about the pirates that laid dead in the swamp, quite the opposite. He felt very little and that worried him. The fact that he put her well-being so far above those who stood in his way, it gave him pause and concern. Concern that despite everything he's done to prove otherwise, he may not be all that different from Reverance.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

It was not that she wasn't used to kind gestures or hospitality, but those efforts she'd known recently had been largely served by family alone. Dissero's visits were always welcome - the man brought a curious humor and humbleness wherever he went. He was full of interesting information and while not immediately cognizant of certain needs it never took more than a short request or reminder to put him in the right direction. Amorella she had met only twice and for as young as the woman was she conducted herself as though she'd experienced just as many, if not more years of life than Cera had herself. There was a strange quality to her demeanor - unsettling in just how much like their mother she really was with her perceptive intuition and ability to somehow know things.

She'd known what that tuskcat would mean to Cera. What it would do for her. It's unobtrusive companionship had been a substantial weight to helping balance the woman out where sentient interaction had only served to tip the scales and not in a good way. Cera wondered, briefly while Gabriel moved to the small table and began pulling things from his bag, how the cat was doing. Perhaps she would pay it a visit after the moon had risen if they were graced with another clear night.

Hesitation was given to the gesture from Gabe, a slow glance falling on the offered meal. There were so few instances in her life where she could recall generosity and care such as this being given without ulterior motives. Such were the days of living among Sith and their fellow dark creatures. It was part of the reason Cerusia kept to herself, shut out all those except the ones that mattered. Gabe had no reason to be so kind - wasn't even a shop for him to barter for supplies from anymore and she'd been nothing but prickly to him in the past several hours.

With a tug on the shawl at her shoulders the woman slowly moved to take the seat and closer inspect what he'd brought for this meal. It was difficult to say if she was truly hungry, but the smell of the food did something for her, though she couldn't be sure if it was hunger or a delayed feeling of gratitude. Fork in hand, it hovered over the tin only to pause as words broke the silence.

"Do you have siblings, Cera?"

Eyes flickered to his face and for the briefest of moments she considered not answering. Instead she nodded and lifted her free hand to indicate she had two siblings. One sister, she indicated with a pointer finger that drew a line from the top of her hairline down, signifying long hair. One brother, another pointer finger that moved to her jawline, thumb and fore drawing down along her chin like a beard.

It was possible she had more but if she did they had not been brought forth and introduced to her yet. Just as well, Cera wasn't sure she could really handle too much at once. She was still not convinced this wasn't all just a bad nightmare that Chaos was forcing her to live through and that none of it was real.

Cera took a quiet bite of food and chewed slowly, watching the man to see if he understood.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He locked eyes with her as she signed, telling of her siblings. He responded with a warm smile. The form of communication was odd yet not entirely jarring. He was accustomed to shifting eyes, the ability to look away and depend on sound for communication. But with her, it all depended on him watching, a sort of interaction that had quickly broken the ice early in the relationship. The silence wasn't the uncomfortable sort.

Pressing his rice into a mound, he picked it at absentmindedly, until he was sure she was finished with the description. "Two siblings, a sister and a brother?" He lifted the tone questioningly, but for some reason, this was far clearer than her former attempts to sign. Or perhaps he was adapting to this form of conversation. Picking up the wine soaked rice dollop, he chewed quietly as he looked around the room once more. His story was far easier to explain through memories, he imagined hers was as well. But the way she reacted to his grasp, the recoil, he doubted she desired anything of that kind. She didn't seem entirely curious.

"I have a brother as well...a twin." He pointed at his face with the fork, gesturing towards the similarities in their appearance. "It's gotten me a good deal of heartache in the past years." He sniffed, pulling the knife across the roast. The meat, seared on the outside, sizzled in response and practically fell apart. Tensing his jaw, he laid the knife down. "And before that, nothing. Because we shared the same body. Until he transferred me to this clone body, maiming it for the resemblance." That wasn't true, his life was mired in misery. But that wasn't for this discussion.

He turned his free hand over, revealing his forearm in the yellow ambient light of the room. Pressing his fork against his skin, he highlighted the tattoos of his heritage and the scars that riddled the flesh. Looking up towards her, he gauged her interest. Indifference or the like, he narrowed his eyes as he slowly pulled his arm away from the table and dipped into the bag. Not the whiskey. He pulled a homemade growler of mead from the satchel, two small metal cups, and sat it down on the table. Popping the top, he cracked his neck as he stuck the fork in the meat and poured a small bit for each of them.

"Are you the middle child?"

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

There can an expression of bated confusion as the man explained the ...situation with his purported twin brother. It was a strange one to say the least and, Cera recalled, briefly touched upon many months ago during one of his visits to the shop. She remembered the name Reverence given as she quietly pieced together his sought-after weapon. Remembered not thinking much of it. Reverence was not a name that meant anything to her - she was not current on the galactic timeline. In fact she was several hundred years behind.

The though of catching up was a daunting task indeed.

But the idea of body-hopping couldn't phase her as much as the actual ordeal had. Cera tried not to think about it and distracted herself not entirely successfully with her meal.

Another question.

She had to ponder how best to answer him. The motions she had used previously to sign her response was not galactic standard basic, but simply galactic standard symbolism at its most basic. Hand gestures that anyone might understand if they watched carefully enough. The woman shook her head and lifted her hand, indicating the number one with her pointer finger again before pointing to herself. A questioning gaze was given to him as if to say do I look like a middle child?

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"First born?" He nodded, licking his lips as he pushed the mead in front of her. He wasn't actually sure whether she could drink it or whether she could only drink blood. He was incredibly ignorant to not only her species, but the specifics of her origins in general. Something he doubted would be remedied with a game of twenty questions. Baby steps, as it were. Lifting his own cup to his lips, he took in the scent of honey and ginger and alcohol, sipping. This batch wasn't nearly as strong as what he had given Sparks, though the taste of ginger was still well pronounced. The expression of curiosity, of wondering the origin of his question, was missed.

Setting down the drink, he winced and looked towards the clear bottle, still relatively full. "I was the first born as well. My brother had been nearly consumed by my body in the womb. Except for a head and pair of eyes, here..." He pointed towards his shoulder, his old body carrying the wound from childhood. "Parents had him removed." He clipped his hands together, anxiously lifting from the grip to scratch the back of his neck. "They called it parasitism. They did their best but the damage took." He smiled, somewhat surprised, as he lifted his eyes from the table to the woman. Pausing, he wondered if she really cared or if Kep had cared when Gabe told him. Or if Chev had cared at all about his sordid history and the damages of his life. It didn't really seem like enough to cause a difference.

Maybe he felt better telling her, so that she might know what she was dealing with or with whom she was keeping company. Or maybe he just wanted someone to talk to, absent expectation. Or maybe if he just spoke it aloud, it would remind him that he wasn't his brother.

"The difference between me and Reverance is that...if he would have seen the village burning, he would have helped add kindling. Just to see what the ashes might look like afterwards." She seemed to be ignorant of the politics of the universe, as far as Reverance and the One Sith were concerned. That was maybe better for Gabe, as any who had known of Reverance immediately assumed Gabe guilty of the same crimes. It was refreshing to be absent that burden, to feel simplicity in a small Inn on Annaj.

Scratching his beard, he shook his head with a laugh and scooted his bin back towards him, looking back towards her. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. For some reason, it's important for me that you know..." He scooped up some vegetables and took a small bite, thinking over the phone call he had with the chief from Ayrou sector before picking up dinner.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

For his gracious offer of the mead the woman gave it no attention. Her lack of interest in it would serve as no direct answer to whether or not she couldn't drink it, or wouldn't. She did, however, partake in the meal while he talked about his twin, attempting not to seem too put-off by this strange idea of a parasitic thing living within him. Or was it he that was the parasite? A question better left unasked, unanswered. For his troubles she was grateful he was not his brother.

Who knew what sort of responses a man like that would draw out of her, in this state. Nothing good she was sure.

She felt she could relate in some strange way. This new body of hers still felt so ... unnatural. It wasn't like her original that had seen the weathering of hundreds of years, carried and birthed three children, loved two men, hated and scorned one. Cera could remember that sting of pain from striking her first husband after discovering his dalliance with another Sith Mistress. It was a sting she favored for years to follow, one she remembered with a cold fondness. This body didn't know it. It was as if someone had put a barrier between herself and the life she'd once lived that kept her from truly experiencing her past.

With a wane smile towards his last words Cera curled her fingers on her right hand, the very same hand that had struck Immortus so long ago had also been the one to assault Gabe. Not an encounter she would remember in the same way - likely she would come to regret it, be frustrated by it. A memory that would serve only as a reminder for her utter lack of control over the vying entities of her own soul. At least the bruising on her hand could and had healed.

Sighing, she took another bite and chewed thoughtfully, mind lingering back her holocron. She couldn't feel a pull towards it anymore and this made her very uneasy. What if the pirate had managed a way off-world? What if she never got it back? It was part of her, inextricably. Would she be able to maintain balance without it? Would she feel it pass from hand to hand - the violation of those unworthy of its use imprinting their wants upon her soul out of greed?

A frustrated pinch of brow stole her expression and she shook it away, turning from her plate to reach for a notepad and pen given to her by Sitka to make a list of things she would need until Kep arrived to straighten this situation out. Cera didn't want to think about the theft, loss, death and destruction - doing so would only take her places she didn't want to go in her head. Instead she attempted to think of another topic to discuss... as much as they could discuss anything together. After several long moments of indecision she drew two lines across the paper and then two more crossing perpendicular and placed an X at the center square before passing it across to Gabriel.

An exasperated, lip-pulling sigh followed with a half-smirk somewhere mixed in.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Every expression, ever attempt to communicate, he saw it. But what little he could do with it, he felt his hands bound for the barrier between them. Frustration, grievance, but not indifference. Maybe she did care. And while he didn't show it, his mind was stuck on the idea of getting her holocron back. It was impossible to determine the depth of her imbuement into the item, but he knew the wealth that one could offer. The very possibility of it, the fact that he could sense her simply by touching the thing, it told him more than he needed to know. If he were her, that would be his singular thought. The item, the books, the most valuable portions of the shop all bundled into one satchel.

At first, he would admit, he thought she was going to offer a question or an answer. Some form of response, similar to the chicken scratch she offered to Sitka. But what turned on the table, he couldn't help but laugh. A facial shrug, as if to acquiesce to the futility of turning away such a challenge. After all, he'd been punched in the face, his ego could only take so much bruising for the woman. Cracking his neck, he took the notepad in hand, pencil in the other, and hovered over the diagram. Placing the marking edge down, he hovered over the bottom right corner. Looking towards Cera, he looked back down towards the notepad and shook his head. Raising his eyebrow, he drew a circle in the left corner box and mentally patted himself on the back. The likes of which were displayed on his face.

Sliding the notepad back over, he held the writing device in between thumb and index, for her to take.

He could have broken the silence about the call, told her all about the details he provided for the Chief. The crest of dual blasters on the back, black cowls and red goggles, riding broken down swoop bikes with chromed plating and electrum lined exhaust. He could have told her that he had pulled strings from his position as sheriff of Sulon, offered favors in return for increased vigilance, payable upon return of items. And he could have told her that the Chief's mother was killed by a gang of pirates three years ago, making this task as personal for him as it was for Cera. But that wouldn't stop the feeling of loss or change the fact that when she turned over, she wouldn't feel the item nearby. A mother who loses her child only feels comfort when they're returned to loving arms. He imagined this might be a similar situation.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Something about his smile, the coarseness of his laugh, that made the tension of their situation crumble just a little bit. Cera appreciated the good humor of the man as he took the tablet and pen and hovered over where to play his mark. She bit her lip, one set of double fangs peeking out as she watched, and calmly took the proffered pen to mark her next spot. An X in the bottom right corner.

​

​

O | _ | _
_ | X | _
_ | _ | X


[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Ahh, he knew this one. It was a tough battle, winning a game going second. The best he could do is try to not lose, how he felt about this day in general. Watching her think, sharpened canines pressing out from her lips, he took a sip from the mead and inhaled, watching her intently. With a tilt of the head, he appreciated the change in demeanor, as if she were managing to forget the misfortune for the moment at hand.

Taking the offered notepad back, he clicked the pen cap against his cheek. Click clack, clack click. Looking back to her, he pursed out his lips and chuckled quietly. Feigning defeat. An O in the bottom left corner.


O | _ | _
_ | X | _
O | | X

[member="Cerusia Darke"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Hn.

Admittedly she was not someone very capable of holding a straight face - something her daughter inherited and rolled with. Though while Desdemona had never once cared what anyone thought of her or her particular reactions to anything, Cerusia was a bit more mindful of these things. Did that mean she had a good poker face? Not really, no.

Magenta eyes narrowed on the man, unconvinced he wasn't at least aware of the strategy to the game. But, with a sharp curve of a brow, she was also not convinced to give up the gambit. Pen back in hand, a tilt of her head, a waspish half smile, she put down an X at the left edge.

O | _ | _
X | X | _
O | _ | X