If perfection is stagnation, then Heaven is a swamp.

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Maybe bit more grunt, a little bit less laugh.

Her movements were just as fast as he expected they would be. Though even with expectation, it didn't save him from the weeping serrated gashes across his chest. That smell of hers, tranquil and calm and sweet, particularly at odds with the inherent and sporadic calamity of her aura. It was jarring, even for the briefest of moments, until she was gone and moving away. Looking up from his laying position, he watched as she paused in tenseness, that same fire as before. Dropping his head back onto the sand, he was coming to terms with the fact that he didn't understand her. It was one helluva learning curve. As she took off, he made no quick attempts to follow.

Lifting from the sand, he pressed his hand against his chest and the shreds of fabric left victim to those nails. Wincing, he pulled away a bloody palm and the feeling of raised edges reacting to pressure. Sucking in air, he looked towards Cera as she moved away. He wouldn't deny, quietly to himself, a sense of comfort he had with the woman. Likely a dangerous thing, considering the benefits now rendered, but he was slowly becoming accustomed to this person he didn't understand. Playing with fire, he wondered at what point the nerves might be burned away, that he might not feel the sting of it's kiss. He wondered if that was something he wanted.

Pressing his foot against the heel of his shoe, he kicked off the boot and followed with the other foot. Pulling off his socks, he pushed off the sand and removed the pieces of the shirt that were left. The sun felt particularly nice today, a contrast to the couple of days he was having. Pressing the wound across the inked and scarred torso, he walked slowly out in the water until he was waist deep. Splashing a bit of the salt on his chest, he tensed his jaw as he back paddled outward, thinking quietly as he watched the woman move towards the holocron location.

Stupid Gabe, stupid.

How quick she went from a laugh to such ferocity. He closed his eyes and floated aimlessly, letting the salt soak in. Maybe he might drift off, not have to worry about apologizing again.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

In the cave the reprieve from the sun was a welcome one. At all times in the daylight did the woman exercise a form of Force protection over herself from the harmful rays. It was tiring for one still so nubile to this life as she, but just as certain as that sun setting and a moon rising in the night sky she knew that eventually it would become second nature.

As automatic as a heartbeat.

Cera paused as she heard the sound of steps through water, glancing shortly to see him wading out into the waves. Scent of copper wafting upwards from beneath nails cause a tick of desire, a twitch of her lips. Fingers clenched and then coiled, forcibly sealing away the allure when there was much more important things to tend to.


The sky was a deep shade of blush when she stepped back out into the fading rays, eyes reflecting the scene as the arch of blazing yellow slowly continued to sink behind the horizon. The stain and aroma of blood lost now in the dirt and sands of the hidden trove inside, she held within her grasp the bag within which her personal affects were nestled. Holding it by the strap she turned her sights to the waters and scanned for the form of Gabe floating out there. Somewhere.


Plip.

Something landed in the water by his head.

Plonk.

On the beach Cera leaned for another handful of sea stones, bag set in the sand, bare feet disappearing under the gentle lap of waves.

Bloop. Plip.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He might have drifted off, the soothing calm of the soft tides rocking him back and forth. The waters surprising salty, the density allowed him to float effortlessly by, blurry eyes opening to see the clouds strolling by. If he squinted, he could see faces looking back at him.

Plonk.

He turned his head as he rolled over in the water, having drifted farther from shore than he first realized. At the distance, he could make out the figure standing in the tide. Bag, and presumably holocron, resting nearby. The shelf was shallow for a long span outwards, allowing him to stand up and reveal more than just a bobbing head in the green and blue shimmers of the ocean. He raised a hand to rub the water from his face just in time to shield his eyes from the splash.

Bloop. Plip.

A smirk formed in response as he dropped his hand into the water. Filled with the left overs of the spongy moss from the swamp, taking from the pocket like lint, fish began to circle him. Yellows and reds and oranges and blues, he looked from the woman down into the crystalline water. A particular fish, a large hawkfish, seemed to linger long past the point of any food being there to conjure it's attention. For a moment, he felt a particular kinship to the creature, a longing to feel some sort of comfort. A combination of aquamarine and sunset red, it circled him and rested motionless in his hand. Looking back at Cera, he grabbed the fish with the force and flung it towards the shore.

It's body glistened and squirmed before smacking the water and cutting across the shallow tides.

Splash.

With a flicker of it's tail and blast of sand, it darted back out into the deeper waters from where it came. Gabe watched quietly before inspecting the reaction on the woman's face. Come out? The waters nice. He lifted his legs from the sand and drifted, rocking forward, as he slowly moved back towards the shore.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

A hairy glance was given to the fish and a recoil that suggested he'd attempted to throw a giant spider or something equally as repulsive at her. Her kind didn't do fish. Ever. Just thinking about the repercussions made her stomach churn. They'd all learned in their childhood and those too stupid to heed the warnings sometimes didn't live to tell the tale. Cerusia wasn't stupid and she also wasn't going for a swim.

The woman turned her sights back on Gabe and shook her head.

Are you kidding? No. Absolutely not.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

No? He gave a shallow laugh as he emerged from the water, claw marks raised across the chest but no longer bleeding. The salt had done it's job even if he couldn't get Cera to come in. He was coming to terms that she wasn't the sort to be pushed into something. A flash of a thought to drag her out into the water was quickly stomped out by the stinging wind and the reminder of what happened just moments ago.

Instead, he gestured a feigned attempt to splash her with water. Pausing at the last moment, he raised an eyebrow slightly, as if anticipating one thing but hoping for something entirely different. Casting a glance towards her bag, he scratched his beard as he sat down in the sand next to his shirt. Flapping the shirt in the slight breeze, the sand free from it, he breathed in as he looked around.

No swimming huh? Not a fan of fish? Her head shake wasn't just a no. It was a hell no. Barring his teeth, he turned the shirt over, trying to figure out if it was inside out or not. Maybe we'll find a pool some other time. Something a bit less...scaly.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

If he'd been anticipating a decidedly nasty glare it was exactly what he got. Cera moved back several steps until she felt the material of her bag at her heels. There she stopped and watched him sink into the sand to play with his freshly tattered shirt. Her brow furrowed at the sight of it, teeth clenching as she looked away from what was yet another sign that she was utterly out of control.

Sinking to sit nearby the woman rubbed at her neck, glancing sidelong as his voice entered her thoughts. A wondering look appeared then, gaze falling to the sand in thought. She couldn't remember if she enjoyed swimming and pressing at her mind brought no standing memories. Water was not something she recalled baring any significance on her life - much of it having been spent in places where it was not naturally available.

The desert wastes of Korriban. The desert cityscapes of Coruscant.

Honoghr had lakes and rivers. Oceans too. Their images were faint in her mind in such a way that it felt as if she were forcing them there instead of actually remembering.

This was frustrating but the warm sand beneath her felt nice. Similar to the presence of his voice in her head - a bit like warm sand.

Cera leaned back, propping herself on her elbows, and stared out at the waves for a moment before finally looking back at Gabe curiously.

We?

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He diverted his attention from her to the ocean, breaking eye contact. Letting out a long breath, he couldn't help but feel slightly frustrated. He wasn't sure what he was doing wrong but he was pretty confident that whatever it was, it wasn't right. Tensing his jaw, his eyes drifted towards the skyline and the ominous grouping of gray clouds long in the distance. Hours away, it seemed, but enough to be of concern. Too bad those clouds weren't there for the fire, there might have been more left of the store front than the stilted remains of shingles and slats, cinder and the like.

Leaning forward, he pulled his knees to his chest and rested his arms along his elbows, yawning. A moment of introspection, realization that he had basically pulled nothing from her glances except the indication that she wasn't too fond of his feigned splashing. And that she looked at him like some wounded animal, or maybe something to once again remind her that she wasn't entirely in control. But then again, who wasn't wounded? Who wasn't just a bit out of control? He surely couldn't claim to be entirely in control, just ask the dented antennae on Taloraan or the scars of lightning across his palm. And Cera was surely wounded, no matter how much she might hide it. Hid it well enough, predatory glances and prudent steps, wounds came in many different forms. And he just hadn't sorted hers out yet. A puzzle without any directions.

He looked back to her, meeting her subtle glance of waning incredulity, before glancing back towards the clouds. Pausing, he looked back towards her and smiled. The sort that might indicate his fortitude for challenges. A few flesh wounds wouldn't get rid of him, and neither would her ability to put herself at arms length.

Cracking his knuckles, he stood up from the sand and put what remained of his shirt back on. Ruffling through his pockets, he jingled the keys in hand before tossing them up and catching them. Flaring his nostrils, he walked quietly into the cavern and started the engine up. Satisfied with the sound of it, he leaned against the back of the vehicle and looked back out towards the shore, towards Cera, arms crossed.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Part of her wanted to stay on the warm sand all night in order to forget about the past few days but her eyes saw the same thing Gabe's did. She could smell the scent of heavy clouds and rain on the air, brought in presently on gentle sea breezes to later shift into ravaging winds. The sands would not be so pleasant then.

Beckoned by the rumbling of the engine Cera got to her feet and brushed herself off, picking up her bag and pulling the shoulder strap over her head. She felt the weight of her holocron on her mind more than on her side, but it was a comforting weight all the same and having it so close gave her a strange sense of clarity she'd been missing all day. Burgundy curls billowing in a strengthening breeze she followed the depressions of Gabe's footsteps in the sand over to the cave and swung onto her seat at his back.

There was a noticeable hesitation in her hands as they sat on her thighs, fingers lightly curling her nails inwards on her palms, now so self-aware it was infuriating.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He sniffed as he scratched his nose, watching her mount the bike. There was a lot in her non verbal communication, enough for him to sense the tensing in her presence. He'd tell her it was a non issue if he thought it would help. Sliding into the seat in front of her, he clicked on the high beams and looked over his shoulder. Waiting for her to grab on before he took off.

Once satisfied, the engine blasted as they cut out of the cavern and back up the tunnel way that led them there in the first place.

~~~​

​

The village was roughly the same as they had left it. Still thrashed from the pirates and brigands, but people were scuttling around to make repairs. Workers carrying lumber, old men and women telling them where to put it or nail it in. Rusted old vessels carrying in materials. All the quiet noise and charm that they had seen before. When they had first arrived, when she had bathed Tulla and walked the beast through the main thoroughfare. Gabe decided to park the vehicle next to the inn, beneath a tin canopy. If it was going to rain, he'd like it nearby in case he needed it.

Cutting the engine off, he stepped off and glanced towards Cera. Leaning over, he pulled his satchel from the saddlebag near her and stepped away with a casual smirk. Before heading back towards the entrance to the Inn. He felt the air change, a drop of rain smacking his arm.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

A wary glance was given upwards as she disembarked after him. The sound of rain was very faint, very distinct ... before it met any sort of physical barrier. Cera could hear the rain in its descent from the skies. It was something like the sound of hundreds of thousands of dying whispers.

The sound of every weary sigh ever made at once, echoing on forever until...

The tinkling of drops upon a tin roof. It made her think of the shop and all the work he'd done, such a waste.


Bag secured in her room Cera ventured out into the rain to check on the tuskcat only to find the shed within which it had been kept naught but splintered wood. The doorframe lay in a dismantled heap speared by the support beam that had kept the shelter standing. Eyes the shade of weary skies looked back and forth, following the trail of large cloven hoofprints along the back yard of the inn and around the building, back out to the main causeway. Any tracks were lost now.

"She headed back towards the swamps," Sitka said as she greeted Cera at the back door with a large towel, "and I wasn't about to try and stop her. Damn thing was on a mission."

Pulling the towel over her shoulders she released it to sign back to the Innkeeper, a deep frown on her face.

"Yeah, me too. Nothing for it now. We'll work on putting up a new shed once the rain passes. Forecast isn't looking too great though."

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He peeled back the brown window curtain, watching quietly as Cera interacted with the elderly woman. Watching her sign, without hearing the discussions, he released the curtain and pressed on the holonet communicator for the local channel.

"Authorities have released very little information in regards to the recent attacks in the small village, East of Ayrou sector. Chief of police has confirmed the apprehension of one suspect and intend to charge him with multiple counts. He has attributed aid from the Galactic Alliance in quickly responding to the attacks.

Spaceport and outgoing flights are still currently locked to atmospheric travel and given the likely storms, will be further restricted as the weather worsens. Rains will be extreme throughput the course of the week, getting progressively worse as this cell movies through the Ayrou Sector. Ayrou Police have called in additional guard forces to respond to what they are anticipating will be a state of emergency. Additional news and related weather will be provided on the hour, by the hour. "

He clicked on the communications device and looked back out the window.

"Hey... Yeah, this is the guy who called you earlier this morning. You haven't already delivered the lumber, have you?" He paused, scratching his forehead as he sat down at the table in his room. Leaning back, he smiled."Oh no, that's fine. Yeah, payment hasn't cleared yet? No no, that's actually convenient. With this storm coming through, I'd prefer it not be sitting out when the storm hits. " He laughed as he pushed a pen back and forth on the uneven slats of the round table. "Yeah, of course. Alright, so delivery can be delayed until after the storms have passed. Perfect. Alright, well I appreciate it. Take care. ."

He put the device down and sighed, standing back up and looking out through the small window. The looming gray and black continued to push towards the small village.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"You want me to what?"

Some time had passed. Cera remained on the porch watching the water fall off the edges of the roofing, listening to the tin-type symphony. There was thunder in the distance but she'd yet to see the flash. The air was far too saturated to feel the energy. She thought of Tulla while she sat alone, brows knotted together by thin lines of muscle. Had she gone back to the store? Back to her home there?

Tea set aside to leave both hands free, she signed the message again, slower.

"No, no," Sitka waved at her dismissively, "I know what you said. But why?"

A firm response, Cera's lips drew thin as her hands carved the words with deliberate edge.

"I get that. Sweetheart, let me tell you something. I've been married for over 50 years," Sitka stood from her chair with a grunt, missing the faint raise of a brow from her silent conversation companion.

Fifty years ... childs play.

"...and they never really understand. But alright, let's get this over with so I can go check on dinner. Full house tonight, the Winnon's lost their entire house to those scumbags."


A knock at Gabe's door, "Mr. Sionoma. A minute if you will." Sitka glanced to Cera and waited for the man to open the door, clearing her throat with a cough once he did, "I've been asked to translate. Go on then, dear."

Primrose watched Gabe in bated silence, the intensity of conflicting thoughts and emotions clear as always. Faint frown weighing in the expression, Cerusia lifted delicate hands to slowly sign the unbidden words needing to be said by someone.

"She says... I'm sorry ... for everything. This was not your quarrel, it was not your home, they were not your things. You did not have to do what you did. You have no obligation to any of it. I have been ungrateful..." Sitka narrowed her eyes, "slow down dear, say it like you mean it."

Cera closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slowly released it to start again.

"She says... I do not ask for forgiveness, I only ask for one thing..."

She opened her eyes again and stared directly into his own.

"...that for however much longer you are here you do not leave me in silence. I have spent my entire life drowning in it and your voice..." Sitka paused, watching Cera look away in what appeared to be sheepishness, "...is like washing ashore to warm sand."

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He blinked slowly as he opened the door, surprised to see Sitka and Cera standing there together. While he had seen them through the window, he couldn't recall them both approaching him in such a manner. Sitka seemed like such a busy body and not too terribly interested in the man. There were always chores to be done, an abundance of scoffs and disbelief turned his way. Which was fine, people were often set in their ways.

Sitka began but he couldn't peel his eyes away from Cera. For the first time, they were having a conversation, the elderly woman's voice vocalizing the words that Cera seemed incapable of uttering. An expression of surprise quickly turned to one of warmth and of concern, having never truly been given a window to the woman's feelings. Honey brown eyes lifted from Cera, a small smile forming, as if to indicate understanding without needing to reassure her.

"You have no need to ask for forgiveness. None is required." He looked towards Sitka and provided her a subtly radiant smile , resting a hand on her shoulder. "Will you excuse Cera and me, I'd like to speak with her alone if I could?"

Quizzical old eyes looked towards the hand before nodding and wiping her hands on her blouse. "Of course. Big dinner tonight, you all welcome to join."

"Thank you."

His eyes followed the woman, an etched expression on his face for the time being, until she disappeared into the lobby. Expression softening, he tilted his head towards Cera as he pushed his door open for her to enter.

"Come in, share a drink with me. I have a notepad. I'll speak as much as you'd like." Just in the background, he could hear a clap of thunder and the following light flash through the now darkened window.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Bewildered was the silent woman at the invitation.

She hadn't come seeking a conversation ... at least that had not been her goal. She'd only felt the pressing need to apologize for her terrible behavior over the last day or so to a man who had been nothing but helpful. Heroic even. Cera had no questions for him at the forefront of her mind. No pressing curiosities.

But the door stood open and she felt that after all this declining the offer would be in poor form. Arms lightly cross, a stray glance back at the receding form of the Innkeep, Cera stepped into his room.

Much like he had done before when entering her own, she paused to take in the peculiar differences between the two. The nuances of theme were all there and she wondered if every room of the Inn was set up in such a way. Did the rooms once belong to other family members and these were the vestiges of their life's colors? The strewn remnants of swampwood and grain were reminiscent of the decor of Honoghr - memories that flashed willingly, vividly in her mind.

Cerusia moved to touch lightly at a piece of carved cypress, distinctly recalling a similar texture of wood used in the temple on that distant jungle planet. She could almost smell the oils they burned at the sacred atrium, taste the bitter teas made by hand, hear the droning of their hymns at prayer. The deeply religious culture of the Noghri was often lost in their infamy of warrior prowess. The intimate details of their life as secret as the rings of trees hidden deep beneath their protective bark.

Mahet. Kefka. Sahti. The names of those dedicated to her family flowed unbidden from the fathoms of her fractured soul and she felt for a moment as though an outside source were feeding these images to her mind. Cera glanced off in the direction of her room, where she could sense the presence of her holocron, before remembering just where she was.

Her eyes landed on a small table towards the far end, mirroring the setup in her own room, and the tablet that sat there folded open, notes visibly scrawled over the surface. With a glance to Gabe she moved to quietly take up the notebook and without so much as a glance to his own writings turned it open to the very last page. She took up the nearby pen and, with a moment of consideration, wrote in three words before holding it out to him.

Ask me anything.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He pushed his hands into his pockets, new pants that were dry. The other pair hung damp in the bathroom, over the curtain rod to the shower. He new shirt showed no evidence of her strike against his chest, simply rows of white buttons clasping black fabric together with sleeves rolled half way up. He watched quietly as she moved through the room, feeling and searching as he had done before. They were quite different, the rooms, as if each were it's own country in the much larger world of the Inn.

Each with it's own culture, each with it's own tone, but still inherently connected by the atmosphere.

After she was finished with what felt like a customary ritual, she took the tablet in hand and wrote, just as he had hoped she would. He could tell this wasn't her plan, that maybe she could get away with some cursory glance before heading back to her room. Or to dinner. Or out looking for Tulla. He had noticed that the beast wasn't in the shelter, he could only assume the notes of concern resided in the well being of the cat.

Sitting down, he squinted as he looked at the tablet, tilting his head at the vague statement. Anything was a grand arena for commentary and with the way his mind worked, that could lead him anywhere. He silently hoped that this wasn't some form of repayment, that because of the deeds he committed, that he had earned some sort of dialogue. It wasn't the case, it wasn't something he could earn. It was simply something she could give, if or when she ever felt the desire to do so. Fortunately for him, he was equipped with an abundance of persistence and a particularly hard head.

Leaning back against the chair, he crossed a leg over another and looked towards the window. "It wasn't my home, my quarrel, or my items. But lack of ownership doesn't negate the fact that I care. Obligation or not, someone I care about was struck with misfortune. I'm not sure I could have lived with myself if I acted any differently. Even having gone through it once, I'd do the same thing again without a second thought." He exhaled as he turned his attention to the notepad but more importantly to her. A slow smile crawled across his face as he realized how afflicted with shortsightedness he might be. "Anything, huh?" He ruffled through his satchel by the leg of the table, pulling out that same bottle. "Can you only drink blood or should I just assume you don't like the look of my mead?"

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Those were the sort of words she supposed she had been expecting from him despite how little she actually knew of the man. He seemed the type to be selfless and she couldn't help but think that she was desperately guilty of stereotyping him. Turns out she wasn't wrong.

Unsmiling, brow knit, she nodded in concession to his words. The galaxy was strangely bereft of selfless people and she knew that her own demeanor did not help this shortage in the least. She was not selfless like he was and it was a fact the woman was becoming more and more aware of the more he was around. Selflessness had been saved for family. It might've extended to friends if she could recall ever having any in her former life but the secluded lifestyle of an Archivist did not a blooming socialite make.

At his question she regarded the bottle with the same wariness she might give to a weapon in his grasp. Cera took up the notebook again with a sigh and wrote down an answer.

Alcohol 2 - 3x potency for my kind.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"Ah." He said with a smile, setting the bottle back down on the floor. "Well at least it wasn't the mead..." His words came out soft spoken and slow, the sound riddled with the rumblings of the storm that was beginning to move above them. It wasn't that he was entirely selfless. In all manner of things, he was naturally a selfish individual. It was the reason that he helped others, it was the reason that he sought out danger. The path for redemption was an inherently selfish thing, though in time, he'd like to think high enough of himself to consider altruism a likely path.

He pressed his hand against the notepad, his index finger moving through the motions of indent of her hand writing. He always found himself at odds with her, not out of fear or the like. But she was an easily underestimated individual, somewhat small in a universe filled with giants and a form that wasn't hard to get lost looking at. But in the same vein, the weight of her strength pushing against parchment, it reminded him of the swamp and going from standing to face down in the mud. It was fascinating to him, strengthened by the fact that he couldn't understand it. He knew people in the universe had strength disproportionate to their body size. But often times, it came with an influx of the force. But in the swamp, he hadn't felt it.

Alcohol 2 - 3x potency for my kind.

He stuck on the last word, moving back and forth as his finger slid across it. "Your kind?" He stopped himself and shook his head, waving slightly. "You don't have to answer that." He furrowed his brow as he gingerly took the pen out of her hand. Pressing down, he began sketching a doodle of his interpretation of her holocron. "How are you? A lots happened in the course of two days."

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

"Your kind?"

Cera felt a knot form in her chest at the prospect of having to answer that. It was ... not something that was easily answered. While her kind were no secret to the galaxy they also were not well-researched for the mere problem that they also were not readily found. Their home planet could not be charted and existed on no known maps of the galaxy while only two races of her people had flown beyond the home nebulae.

Garhans hid well in plain sight unless you knew what to look for.

"You don't have to answer that."

The knot released.

Still standing, the woman lifted both hands, fingers angled perpendicular to her palms, and placed the point of them at her chest, back of wrists cornered towards Gabe, before folding them down with a faint but visible slump of her posture. It was Sign for tired. Dropping her hands with a sigh, she leaned gently pull the pen back from the man to write the word directly beneath her last reply.

Tired.

Eyes trailed to his drawing, pen returned to his waiting hand, she tapped lightly at it with a subtle, questioning tilt of the head.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He squinted his eyes as she signed, expressions he didn't understand. Until she wrote down the translation. Giving it a go, he lifted his hands and pressed his fingers inward, against his chest. With a drop, he looked down towards his hands and back up to Cera. "Tired?" Dropping his hands entirely, he pursed his lips, understanding that she had been through quite a bit. "I am as well." He spoke quietly as he looked towards the bed, sheets and spread ruffled from use the night previously. Sitka had come around to clean things up but his imprint was still there, the slightly disheveled look suited him.

Turning his attention to Cera, he nodded towards the door and stood up. Walking the small distance, he placed his hand on the door knob and paused. Pulling it back, he scratched his lower lip, leaving his hand hanging there in some evident stasis. "Storm is coming, the reports all say it's going to be pretty bad. You should get some rest, we both should."

He had a natural fear of lightning, likely swollen from his engagements with the Sith recently. It wasn't that he existed on some pedestal, absent any fear. Quite the contrary, it was simply a matter of overcoming it. But here, in the Inn, he didn't feel a strong leaning towards the idea of rushing out into the storm. Not like he had on Dromund Kaas, upon the mountain. No, the bed seemed to call to him, promising reprieve from the ache that still bothered his jaw and tongue. Though he managed to avoid any semblance of a lisp in response to that.

He'd likely tell her that she could stay if he wasn't convinced that she might take it wrong. She didn't want silence but there was a lot of space between that and saying the right thing.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Rest did sound good.

"You two finished?" Sitka peeked in through the doorway, "dinner's ready."

Dinner sounded good too.

It was a community dinner - those who had suffered the loss of their homes or living amenities required for a meal corralled around the long table in the dining hall of the Inn. Small town grew tightly-knit bonds between the families and they all shared what felt to be the relationship of a larger family as a whole. A dozen people or so in all, everyone knew everyone else, so naturally the faces of out-of-towners were of interest and a ready topic of conversation.

Gabe received plenty of praise for his help in stopping the criminals. He'd likely be a local hero for years to come.

Cera, however, was given a warmth with a hint of wariness. Whispers of her presence here, of the destruction of the swamp cottage, were spoken over hushed tones and rumors. A curse was mentioned. Sitka did well to deflect the attention and negativity by ribbing the guests with reminders and stories of their own humorous shortcomings.

By the time dinner finished the storm had reached torrential downpour status. Cera returned to her room only to find that a leak in the banked ceiling had left her with a waterlogged mattress.

"Oh, sithspit," Sitka's husband shook his head as he stepped in to inspect the problem, "we're full to capacity, m'fraid. I'll have Si fix up the couch for you, I uh-" he blinked at her as she signed a response back to him and gave a grunt, "sorry, I don't know Sign like she do. Don't worry, we'll get ya set up. Just gather your things. We'll shuffle some people around tomorrow."

She nodded and with a sigh took up her bag and the few remaining items she had to call her own - half full bottle of Blodwyne included.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]