Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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If perfection is stagnation, then Heaven is a swamp.

The dinner was just the sort Gabe had expected from an inn like this. Wooden bowls filled with thick stew, carrots and vegetables slow cooked but still crunchy, heavy in seasoning and an abundance of bread. He was happy with that, the cold from the rain was pushing its way into the inn and the food seemed to be staunchly opposed, providing a bone-deep warmth. He wasn't exactly prepared for any praise and brushed it off, as Cera might expect him to, for just a freak occurrence and simply being in the right place at the right time.

When Gabe heard these little whispers and saw the eyes darting back and forth, at the cost of Cera's comfort, he felt a tinge of relatedness. Knowing all too well the cost of rumors and the benefit of people discussing misfortune as if it was anything but random. Piping up, he commented on the band of villains and how they were well known through Annaj space, not just ayrou sector. And that they've been known to attack smaller villages like this throughout the outer rim because of vulnerability. And when that caught their attention, he shifted towards the polices timely response and how this act will improve their state of being in the future with increased safety.

It seemed he would work in tandem with Sitka.

Gabe stayed behind as other guests, including Cera, had moved back to their rooms. Approaching the main door to a breeze way, he looked out towards the village and blinked slowly. Turning on his holonet capable datapad, he listened quietly and kept the volume low.

"Cell is currently sitting over Ayrou sector, caught between multiple fronts. We anticipate that current rain levels will be persistent for the next few days. For those in more rural low lying areas, please stay safe and stay informed. We expect the Chief to host a press conference in the next few hours. Until then, stay safe and evacuate lower elevation portions of your townships. Avoid rivers, waterbodies, and the like."

He sucked air through his teeth as he moved the curtains from one of the windows, water ponding further into town. It was fortunate this Inn sat so high up.

Walking back to his room, he caught the tail end of the conversation between the old husband and Cera.

"What's going on?"
"Seems the roof has sprung a leak in this room. We're all full up on capacity but we have a couch, should be fine for the night."
"No, I don't think so." No hesitation as he looked at Cera, clutching her belongings and her bottle of wine. She wouldn't sleep in the common place, not with the way the other guests were talking. And with the weather, no telling who might be blamed for this. Curses.
"Well I don't know what to tell you, we're all booked up!"
"I understand. She can sleep in my room. Its too big for just me anyway." He moved just steps down the hall, opening his door and looking quietly towards Cera. The dinner hadn't been the most comfortable situation for her and he could tell that this was another bit of frustrating misfortune. Eyes lifting back to Sitka's husband, Gabe smiled. "We'll take some extra sheets, comforter, and a pillow."

He nodded and moved towards the lobby to fetch the supplies.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
A mild frown was the expression he found on the woman's face. It wasn't a look of displeasure or complaint, but merely one that acknowledged a series of unfortunate events that seemed to revolve around her. It had been a long two days.

It had been an even longer two months.

Cera suddenly remembered what it felt like so long ago to be so emotionally drained and mentally exhausted that it made one's physical being ache. Tension pulling at her brow, the woman watched Sitka's husband head off down the hall before turning to wordlessly follow Gabe back into his room. Her belongings were very few in number and were easily stowed on a chair next to the bedside nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed by the nightstand, elbows on her knees, and rubbed shortly at her eyes where a headache had slowly been forming since the interrogation room earlier that day.

When Sitka's husband returned with the requested items she silently watched after Gabe as he thanked the man and closed the door then turned to start making a bed on the floor. His back to her, Cera blinked after him and waved a hand to get his attention - but he didn't see.

A moment later the pillow from the bed made impact with his back.

He'd turn to see Cera staring pointedly at him. Brow furrowed she waved away his efforts, as if the idea of making him sleep on the ground when the bed was large enough for both were distasteful in the highest degree. She'd been married twice and raised two sons into adulthood. Sharing a bed had become something of a normal thing. If it wasn't a husband then it had been a young child crying from night terrors or suffering growing pains, needing the comfort and presence of their mother. This sleeping on the floor rubbish wasn't something she would abide by. The woman pointed to the other side of the bed before leaning to unlace her boots.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
A crack of thunder smacked in the distance, winds pushing the rain hard against the solitary pane of glass. As the pillow hit him, he slowly turned and caught the pointed expression of the women. Scratching the back of his head, slightly embarrassed at his dated gestures of chivalry or whatever it was he was trying to do, he gave a tilt of his head and a small smile. He wasn't one to argue, especially when it made the difference between sleeping on the floor and sleeping on a semi-comfortable bed.

Standing up, he watched her unlace her boots and turned his attention to the window. The rain was coming down hard but the Inn was old, the sort of construction that seemed to have lasted an eternity. Even the shudders were mounted well, stuck to the siding and bolted down. Sliding the arm mounted data pad off, he unbuttoned his overshirt and put it on the back of the chair. Seems she had decided which side of the bed she was sleeping on, which oddly enough suited him just fine.

Walking back over, boards creaking beneath his weight, he lifted the pillow and tossed it over her head, landing on his side of the bed. With a short step around, he sat down, removing his boots one lace at a time.

"When I arrived at Sulon, a moon of Sullust. They housed me in a prison cell, lava in the background, made a good deal of noise that made it hard to concentrate or sleep. And for sleeping, they had this bed with gray sheets." He turned and laid back on his side of bed, right hand sandwiched between his head and the tossed pillow. His other laid limp at his side, somewhere near the center line. Looking up towards the ceiling, he smirked. "I just remember the color because I didn't sleep it on all too well, bit of a bulge right at mid back. More spring than mattress anyway, ended up sleeping mostly on the floor."

He looked over to her, appreciative. "I'm glad your alright with sharing the bed. Truth be told, I'm not the biggest fan of lightning." The spiraling scars on his left palm, residual damage from Dromund Kaas, had sealed that unease. The reminder from Taloraan didn't help. There was nothing good that could come from it. But it wasn't a fear simply born from a few fights. Prior to his removal from the mercenary group, the very same that had abandoned him on Tattooine, he had been left for dead on Nam Chorios. Forced to fend for himself on minimal supplies, the Mountains of Lightning served to cement his resentment of the phenomenon.

He could still recall searching for a cavern or any form of shelter after crash landing, a mission that had gone terribly wrong. He remembered the movement of the cell across the terrain, across the low valleys, and how when it wasn't hovering over the top of him, it was actually something quite spectacular to look at. A mixture of elegance and power, beauty and risk.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
Gabe's voice mingling with the rumbling of thunder and the creak of floorboards felt quite natural, all things considered. As if it was meant to be there, speaking in tandem with what the world had to offer. Something about the man struck her as universal in the same way that the wind was, or the rain was. As if he were the sort that could be at home anywhere he went. Like he belonged there. Perhaps it was his easy way of going or what had appeared to be an uncomplicated and congenial modus operandi.

Or, perhaps, it was simply that he was both human and humane, in so far as her interactions with him had shown.

Cera supposed that the notion this struck with her, the responses it garnered, were based on the experiences of her life growing up amidst the Sith. Creatures and beings who seemed wholly opposite of everything he represented to her.

Boots off she turned to regard him lounging on the bed, eyes following the lines of intricate tattoos that she hadn't really paid much mind until now. He'd been shirtless back at the shoreline but she'd been far too distracted to notice. Too self-involved to care. But now it was a detail about him she found herself surprised to have missed. There were so many - as if his entire torso and arms were a canvas. Everything, she noted, save from the neck up. Then of course there were the cut marks across his chest from her own doing. Her gaze didn't linger there long, turning instead back up to his face at his admittance of discomfort.

Cera glanced to the window and back again, faintly curious.

An interesting fear. She wondered what it was she feared. Really feared. For certain there was something, but much like a shadow playing in the darkness, it was only a faint recollection of a previous life unwilling to show itself. She stood from the bed and pulled off her jacket and outer shirt to set with her things, leaving a loosely fitted tunic over black leggings. Cera padded across the floor to the table where his notepad remained, took it up and scrawled something on the same page where they had left off. Handing it to him as returned to the bed, she settled down on her side and propped her head up on hand.

Prison?

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
He watched her move to the table and back, removal of jacket not going unnoticed, all mixture of expression in response to him and his indication of fear. Or maybe it was the mention of...

He looked at her as he turned over on his side, mimicing her position, as he looked down at the notepad and furrowed his brow. It wasn't that he wanted to be dishonest with her, in fact, he'd likely excavate whatever skeleton she asked of him. But the way she treated him, even through all the interactions and displays of violence, was comforting in its stark contrast to how the rest of the universe treated him. And he didn't want that change, even though he suspected that it wouldn't. There was fear, even in a courageous being. Especially in the defiance of it.

Giving a smile, he spun the notepad on the comforter to face her once more. Scratching his nose, he sighed, jutting out his jaw in thought.

"One Sith are at war with the Galactic Alliance. My twin, Reverance, is the Wrath of the Dark Lord. His executioner and as close to second in command as possible." Tilting his head, he looked over towards the window. "I went to Sulon because I was led to believe that it was where I would belong, where I would fit in." Laughing, in his own form of self-mockery and naivety, he looked back to meet those inquisitive rose eyes. "They fitted me with a collar and until I proved myself, I was considered an enemy of the Alliance. Some of the members attempted to kill me, as well. But it's not the first time I've lived in a prison..." He let out a breath as he rolled back over on to his back.

Looking down his chest, he pushed the waist band of his pants down just enough to reveal a marking that seemed to clash with the Kiffar insignia, just at the hip. "When I was betrayed on Tattooine, I was sold to a slaver that branded me and put me in the pits to fight. Dark part of my past, though not as dark as others..." He looked towards Cera, curious expression. "Have you never known imprisonment?" In a universe that was rampant with villainy, he wasn't sure which answer would surprise him more.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
There was something entirely unsettling about listening to the man's story and being unfamiliar with all the things she knew she should be. Cerusia was not privy to the galactic events beyond Annaj. She'd been brought to the outskirts of the galaxy and placed in a swamp with very decisive purpose. Because the galaxy at large and taking it all in at once, in this new body, with a fracture soul at war with itself, was in no way the path to proper reintroduction to society.

Not that the entities were lost to her. Sith were and always would be the same. She could understand that having a twin as the forefront of a new Sith empire would be problematic for someone such as him. He failed to say if they were identical, but it was assumed as much, given his imprisonment and the attempts on his life. A curious glance to the revealed branding, her eyes lingered briefly, thoughts momentarily interrupted by visions the name Tattooine brought to mind.

She had been there before - an excavation. The details refused to rise, interrupted again by other thoughts colliding inwards. Cera was grateful for his question at first, as it redirected her mind to forming an answer. Though the answer wasn't exactly something that made her happy.

Her hand reached out to take up the notepad and slowly the letters scrawled out the response.

First marriage.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
He turned back over on his side, reading the note and raising an eyebrow to the answer.

"Your first marriage?" He smiled meekly, empathizing with the circumstance. In his own way, it's how he felt on Sullust, stuck in the midst of a particular Mirialan gallivanting about, using the darkside and roaming the outskirts of the universe with some trigger happy pirate. Or maybe he was a pilot, hard to tell the difference at that point. Pressing his thumb against the imprint of her message, not nearly so inset as in the past, he quietly considered how he could relate to that form of imprisonment.

"Prison seems hardest when you can't see the chains." Knowing he had existed for so long, trapped in his own body, he could understand the idea of a relationship gone awry. Granted, he was too weak to part from his brother and in some circumstances, physically incapable. Siamese twins, without the flesh between them, forever coiled together spiritually and mentally. Well, it seemed like forever wasn't intent on staying.

His elbow buckling beneath him, his head laid against the pillow as he looked up towards Cera. An idle hand, though not entirely without his thought, moved over to brush a stray hair from her face. His gaze shifted from her eyes to the strand of hair and with the distance now, he could smell that same hint of jasmine she had revealed with the revelation of her sharpened teeth. "It can't rain everyday." Not that he believed her situation could be blamed entirely on luck. But it seemed, particularly for the past few days, that misfortune was intent on following her around. "Well, except maybe today." He smiled, knowing that perhaps the timing of that phrase could have been better.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
This was one of those times that Cera desperately wished her memories would not fail her so. She knew for certain that in the wake of her destructive first marriage there had been happiness and warmth. There had been days spent on Honoghr, in the renewed valleys of the jungled-mountains, where the sun had warmed the coldness of a heart frozen in eternal anger for having fallen victim to the devious nature of her husband. To be eventually overcome by a growing relationship with another man. A man whose name she could not even remember, lost amidst the turmoil of the emotional scar left behind, and that deeply unsettled her.

It was the sort of anger that never really left her, even in those years of goodness that now eluded her. It couldn't have, not when it still felt so strong and fresh as if it had all happened yesterday and served now as fuel to the flame that was her uncontrollable mood.

Gabe's ability to relate or at least speak as though he could came as a curious comfort. Made her feel as though she wasn't quite so...

His hand snaked forward, twisting a section of hair round his finger to brush it from her face. Only the hand lingered, gently playing with her hair. Her eyes followed the line of his shoulder along his arm and finally to the hand, tracing the patterns of tattoos along the way by sight alone. Cera leaned her head towards his hand, eyelids sliding shut at the sensation of gentle prickling along her scalp. His words about the rain barely registered and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She didn't care about the rain nor was she afraid of the lightning. If nothing else, she was mere inches away from remembering just what it was that scared her the most.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
The ambiance of the small room seemed to shift. In the periphery, he caught the flash of a bolt of lightning but no sound came. His mind drifted away from the subtle difference between him simply not hearing it and him being too immersed to tell. She had leaned her head forward, commanding a form of acceptance that felt oddly primal in its passing. Fingernails moving slowly across her scalp, through delicate strands of hair, he couldn't recall ever seeing her approach entirely relaxed. Calm, but never fully at ease, which seemed to clash with his own trepidation for the inclement weather. Something else that was slowly passing.

A flashing reminder sent shivers down his spine, recalling the last time he had pulled her away from seated position. And the claw marks that were still raised on his chest. But it wasn't his own fear that would have caused him to pull away, to recoil preemptively. Instead, it would have been the regret that showed in her rose tinted eyes, every time she was reminded of her inability to control herself. An idea that he could sympathize with if not entirely relate to, a unique curse that had afflicted them both.

His hand shifted down from her hair line, pulling his nails gingerly across graceful cheek bone, drifting down across her jaw to gently brush against her neck line. He hadn't recalled ever noticing the faintest show of freckles, almost impossible to see, that extended from cheek to cheek, lightly peppering the bridge of her nose. Fare of skin, the contrast to his own complexion became something he was oddly aware of, especially considering his typical sun bathing hobbies on Sulon. For all the dangers she posed, and he knew them likely to exceed what he had already experienced, she was particularly striking and soft of features. Physically, he knew that all too well, and for the brief exchanges of communication spattered between moments of confusion and miss reading, there was no doubt an impressive mind veiled behind that silence. Something hinted at with gestures he couldn't understand and simple answers to questions that likely deserved far more complex responses.

Finding her scent even stronger and enticing than before, he was suddenly stuck between what he wanted to do and uncertainty in what might evoke a response. Realizing his existence in some form of self-induced limbo, he shifted his head against the pillow, content for the nearness they were now sharing. Eyes meandering upon features he hadn't appreciated until now, to the sound of rain shifting against the window pane.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
Curious, what experiences of the present would draw out visions of the past. A patient mind drifted beneath the sensation of touch, figure still and calm as the flesh of fingertips warmed skin and the scent of this small village's hero filled senses. Cera could feel the ebbing flow of memories slowly rising to the surface. Flashes of a past life filled her mind - one spent on Honoghr.

She was a Governess. The Noghri called her Mal'ary'ush. There had been a man ... Darth Gravis, the eternal Apprentice of her mother sent on his last mission to protect her for all her remaining years. How quickly time had changed his demeanor from a staunch soldier who refused to acknowledge his own feelings to a man who eventually asked for her hand in marriage and fathered two sons.

Cera still couldn't remember his face or those of her sons - his own a mere blip on a timeline that stretched far beyond his own years. She felt the images, foggy though they were, slipping away as Gabe's hand slowly did the same. Her own reached out to lightly clasp at his wrist, eyes slivered open momentarily as she gently pulled it back to her face where she pressed it against the side and nuzzled into the palm.

Difficult to say who was more attuned to the man's heartbeat at that moment. Cera could hear it. Could smell the blood of his veins, sense every pulse, but the need for comfort strongly overrode the primal urge for blood with a jaw drawn tight and a decidedly delicate touch.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
He could recall the last time he was close with another, beyond the simple comfort of proximity and care of friendship, which this hadn't extended far beyond. It was the spark that stirred him from an endless sleep, it was the moment that not only brought life to two sons, but brought life to his very presence. And how important that time had been to him, the significance was simply washed away for fleeting fancies. And the naivety of an old soul clinging to whimsical hope, some fairy tale union that he thought might go just as he had envisioned. He wouldn't deny the dent, the feeling of betrayal that rested somewhere deep within him. A lie, told over dinner, of a place that he might belong.

For a time, he felt sunken deep into the mud, trying as hard as he could to escape it. Escape into idle task. Endeavoring to improve himself, to remind himself that he was better than the hopes he held for himself. It was the draw of the cache, found on Ord Vaug, the draw of the Ankarres wood that brought him to Annaj. But that wasn't his guiding light through the swamp...

Along the micro etchings of Cera's skin, he could feel the wounds that laid deep beneath those reluctant eyes. Stubborn in their resolve, hardened at times to the pain experienced and continually endured. Reflecting back at him, he wondered if that was the draw of her presence so long ago. That amidst everything, the injured might call to each other, no matter how much the wounds had healed. And it wasn't the crutch that seemed to inspire some kinship, but instead perseverance and admiration. Knowing that she dealt with the cruelty of life and thrived, in ways he assumed he had known, gave him the impression of a connection he had only felt in the friendships formed on Sullust and Sulon. And all discovered in silence and exchange of glances, he felt held at a distance. A distance he couldn't abide, despite what consequences it might earn him.

Pressing his free hand into the pillow, he slowly pushed himself away from the pillow to sitting up, to leaning into her. He didn't have her olfactory senses, he didn't have her predatory drive or really even her power. He felt the knowing acceptance of disadvantage, understanding what kept her alive and that particular show of teeth, that she could likely overpower him in a moment. And he was fine with that, in this moment, buzzed by her scent, the subdued sound her breath, and the feeling of her grip against his wrist guiding him.

Tilting his head, his hand drifted down along the flesh of her throat, stopping abruptly at the center of her clavicles, palm resting comfortably still to feel the beat of her heart. Strong, persistent, his visage gave subtle hints of appreciation as his eyes moved from her hair back to the slivered expression of iris. With no intent to pull her, reminded of their moments on the beach, he closed the rest of the distance, desiring simply the warmth of her kiss. Maybe he'd regret that, maybe he wouldn't.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
Tension at the shifting of weight. Expectations. Uncertainty. Cera lingered in her own limbo, warring between the need for safe and the want for close. Eyes remained upon the patterns of his arm, staring intently but not really seeing so much as waiting, inherently sensing the man's movement without looking at him. As his hand drifted down along her neck it created a pressure along the skin that only she could feel.

The choking inability to swallow as it traipsed along her throat before it settled at the top of her chest and pooled beneath it all the air in her lungs, the blood in her own veins. Stillness became her as he leaned in, she trying desperately to cling to his scent of rain and sand and ocean while another part of her honed in on the lifeblood just beneath the surface of his flesh. It felt like eternity before he found her lips.

For a moment she did not move, caught in that sudden flash of fear that had hovered mere inches away only seconds ago. The fear of losing control, of never being able to create close, intimate contact again without bringing harm to others. It was very real and very powerful. He'd feel her breath seize in her chest, the steady consistent thrumming of her heart grow stronger. He'd feel her fingers coil tightly at his wrist, brow knitting, instincts reeling.

Blood.

Flesh.

Feed.

...breathe.

Lungs screaming for air, Cera finally realized it was not his hand that created the pressure there, but her own self. Suddenly aware of this she drew a long, slow breath inwards and filled her airways with his scent. Her grip on his wrist loosened.

...breathe.

Like waves lapping at the shoreline, the sensation of warm sand returned. Cera pressed into it, sliding her hand forward along his arm, exceedingly aware of the edge of her nails, wary of them even as she reached for his ribs, hand curling around his side to pull them closer.

Breathe.

The more she did the more she advanced into his presence. Subtle shifting of balance and body, slow and measured - not made with any hint of fervor or rush but a careful, decisive melding of released muscle tension. Lips that parted finally with a tethered wariness of the lethal fangs concealed within, tentative to test the limits of where a simple taste of blood may lead were she not attentive to not only herself but him as well.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
The briefest of pauses, the clench of his wrist, the stall in breath and that tepid feeling that she might pull away. It gave life to a belief he had held for so long, hidden deep away and forgotten for the future, only to resonate when not desired. The same belief he conjured as a child, eyes looking up towards the sky, watching the contrails of his mothers ship disappear in the Arkanian sky. The same belief he cemented as a man, eyes looking towards the fiery house, where his wife and children burned. And the same belief reborn with new life, looking towards the tattered body of his brother, knowing that he had been thrown away by the very cadaver. That maybe he was broken, not worth keeping, and meant to be alone. It was an idea he had dwelt on, putting himself back together time and time again. And for the moments of betrayal he felt, from being pitched from one body to the weak arms of another, just to fall again. He had questioned his own resolve, wondered if every time he rushed into a fight, that he was looking for something besides victory. Searching for that final loss, to prove to himself that everyone else was right. His mother, his father, Reverance, Chevu...

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was a question he had posed to her, with the press of his lips against hers, accepting her breath as his own. And he couldn't tell now, in her moment of stasis, whether this was her answer. Or if she was merely ignoring it, telling him that the question wasn't worth the wasted breath to reply. And inwardly, he smiled at the latter, thinking that she seemed to lean in that direction, not the sort to shelter him from the truth. To find him momentarily lacking with furrowed brow, for the thoughts of self-pity and doubt that he held deep inside of him, guarded and nestled warmly against chest. And then to replace it with her own warmth.

Thump...thump...thump.

The draw of her breath, the slow allay of her heart rate as she pulled against him. He breathed out, feeling the struggle and settling that resonated through her, a strong wind tempered to a breeze. Fingers tenderly moving across his scar riddled chest, gripping ribs and pulling taut, he embraced the wave of relaxation that came over him. Even as he felt the sharpened edges of her teeth, rows of calamity hidden behind parted lips, he felt the ease he sensed in her moments ago. Leaning back, with once propping hand now guiding across her cheek and to the back of her neck, he leaned back into the pillow. Pulling her with him this time, hand moving from the collar to the small of her back. Nothing sudden, a slow descent, responsive to the nuanced perception of her fear and worries. His answer was plainly stated. That he would trust her, if she would simply let him.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
Feathered hair fell alongside one shoulder - Cera moved with him at the silent request of weighted hands at neck and back. Drowning in that shoreline aroma still lingering in his hair and on his skin, far too inundated by the aura of resolute calm he exuded, it was not thunder she heard overhead but the dull crashing of waves against sand.

Not rain beating against the windowpanes but the rush of the sea.

Not lightning but the gleam of the sun off seaglass.

Her weight settled over his side, one leg moving to mingle with his own, one arm propped while the other slid over the sinew chorded along his front, fingertips tracing the topography of musculature where scars ran as rivers and gorges. She might've wondered to their stories, their origins, were she not so distracted with his lips and taking care of those fangs. The difficulty faced in the growing heat of the exchange in wanting to press further but with such uncertainty as to just how far before crossing the line between sensual and savage.

It wasn't a line she wanted to cross.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
Lips parting against hers in the briefest of smiles, his hand moved to trace the grooves between parted hair lines as he pulled her to him. Grip pressed firmly against her hip, just at the divide between flesh and the band of her leggings, he heard that same thump, maneuvering her from his side to resting on top him. But it wasn't a thump, not like before.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Everything alright? Husband told me about the leak." The sound of the old woman's voice was muffled as the weight of her knocks pushed the door against the inner threshold. Pulling his lips away from Cera, he pressed his nose against hers, letting out a sigh, closing his eyes to catch a full breath.

"Yes, I think we are fine." He tilted his head, brown eyes opening to take in the tint of rose, smell of jessemine and gardenia caressing softly against his senses.
"You sure? Lights been flickering. Storms getting pretty bad."

Was it? He hadn't noticed, the sound of rain and pressing winds a hushed whisper compared to the sound of heartbeats. Unable to discern the difference between his and hers, he simply accepted the steady hum. The embodiment that had taken him this long to truly appreciate.

"Well, let us know if you need anything."

He could just barely hear the acute sound of the old woman leaving, feeling the abrasiveness of her presence fade away, allowing him to refocus his attention back on Cera. Her taste, her warmth, and that resilience and restraint. And how it seemed to be quickly melting away with the embrace between tangled bodies, to the muted sound of the storm over top of them.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Everything alright? Husband told me about the leak..."

"Mehre..." Cera remembered the sound of little feet. Of gentle whimpers from a young boy no more than 6 summers old. His hair a brilliant white flaxen flash, eyes the colors of the darkest Honoghran jungles, slight of frame, quiet and approachable in nature but with a face that spoke of growing pains.

"Rune...what's wrong?" her husband but not the blood father of the boy still cared for him as his own. Cared enough that she remembered never once had there been a hint of annoyance at the boy's presence. Not even while in the midst of ... sharing private moments with herself.

"Fire..." Rune whimpered, cheeks flushed and stained with tears. He rubbed at his arms - the spindly limbs visible outside of his night clothes were angry and red. Cera could feel the heat of his body from where she lay in bed and frowned deeply.

"Hold-hold on, I'll be right there buddy... Cera what do I do?"

A cold soak, was that her voice? How strange it sounded, even for a telepathic tone, even for memories, have the servants bring ice. Do we have any bacta poultice left?

"Nothing since the blockade was put in place. I'll...I'll see what we've got left in my stock for the 62nd. There might be Kolto. Something."

No painkillers.

"I know," having pulled on sweatpants the man left the bed to scoop up the little boy who was trying very desperately to cry quietly but was clearly in a lot of pain.

More little feet.

"Lee?" this one was their son, his son, two years younger with sandy brown hair and a hard steely gaze. The man sighed, leaned to pick up the second boy in his free arm and moved to deposit him on the bed next to her, "Stay with Mehre and keep her company. We'll be back."

Rune quietly cried under the crook of his neck. Cera wondered how long he'd tempered himself in his own bed before finally giving in and making the walk down the hall to their room. Frowning deeply as she collected her youngest child under the covers Cera turned to watch her husband leave the room while uttering comforting words under his breath to the boy in his arms.


Thank you, Jake.

~~~

These were the memories she stayed up sleepless at night trying to recall. Haunted by this mechanical, blank frame of mind she now lived within while still knowing, still feeling there was so much more to what she was. It was knowing a word, a face, a phrase, an event, an entire life but being incapable of producing it from the mind.

Knowing who you were but not being able to prove it. Not even to yourself.

Cera broke from the man's lips, hand pressing at his chest to push back while straddling his middle, eyes of blush staring down at him unblinking. Was it him conjuring these rare visions in her mind? Some power of his she was not yet privvy to? Or was everything simply circumstantial ... coincidence. Fingers traced the line of tattoos across his abdomen in consideration as she slowly leaned to sit up. If he was the source of these flashbacks, for whatever reason, then she fully intended to take advantage of that.

Hands crossing at her hips she took the hem of her shirt and pulled upwards, discarding the tunic to the chair with the rest of her things.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
Her hand pressed against his chest, driving him back into the mattress. And away from her lips. Looking up towards her, curiosity the canvas of his expression, he paused as he watched the shift in her mannerism. Acquiescing to her request for the time being. As if she was seeing a ghost, a full and unwavering stare was focused back towards him, revelation without knowing its full extent. It was in moments like these that he longed for her thoughts, the memories turning over, the motivations that pushed her in his direction. He had already substantiated his own drive, beyond the notions of companionship and acceptance, and he could embrace her in spite his own selfish desires.

And with her pause and shift back, her hands peeled away one of the remaining layers that separated them, tossing it away to the chair. With her hands preoccupied, he leaned forward, gripping her body on both sides with fingers coiled about her rib cage. Perusing firmly against her frame, he pushed his lips against pale flesh, formerly concealed by the removed garment. It wasn't until this point how cognizant he was of the importance of smell and its impact on taste. A fact he was well aware of but seemed oddly compelled now, kissing exposed skin and collar bone, to be reminded through her taste alone.

The lights flickered, just as Sitka said they would, with the loud gusts of wind and sideways rain dinging against the wooden inn. The news had re-affirmed the chance for evacuation, the fear of danger was sending the small town and sector into a gradual disarray. The anxiety was almost palpable. They weren't equipped to handle a small band of pirates without the aid of Gabe and Cera, and now they were being hit with the potential for catastrophic weather events.

His concern would have laid at what was left for Cera here, if that stilted shop would have any remains to build upon. If the downed trees would make clearing impossible, waist deep in bog water, with nothing but the shingles of the roof left, littering trees like heavy leaves dangling from broken branches. If the boardwalk he had once used for access would be there any more and if all of it went south, what would she do? Where would she go? But it was a concern as farsighted as it was fleeting in this moment, one hand moving behind her back as he parted his lips. Pressing his teeth against lithe flesh, a gentle tug accompanied a warm breath as skillful fingers unclasped the strap across her back with a single flick of his fingers. Eyes drifted upwards, to meet hers, as he straightened out his body. To collide with her once more.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
A moon or longer Cera lived with the family at the Inn consisting of Sitka and her husband. People came and went here just as they did at the shop, only here they stayed long enough to grow a familiarity. Cera came to learn their faces - the same people over and over, visiting or passing through for trade, for work, for travel as usual. She made herself useful by helping the older woman with the tasks she could no longer handle on her own. Nothing difficult, just busy work. Cleaning rooms, tending to clients, helping fix meals. With the storm season coming to an end the rains had slowed and now were broken apart with short days of sun and nights of moonlight.

Kep had been among those staying at the Inn but mostly he scoured the swamps in his spare time for the remnants of the shop and what may have survived the flood. Wasn't much, but the shop had been built upon little more than what was left. Wouldn't be long before it was up and running again though she couldn't speak to if she missed the place or not.

The quiet of the swamps had been nice, but she found as time went on that the interaction with people and society was beginning to grow on her. It was tiresome, to be certain, as only Sitka could really communicate well with her, and to do the things she did now without being able to have that connection with others was draining on a mental level she had not quite expected. But, Cera noted with a small smile as she lifted a bag of groceries into her arms at the local grocer and turned to see him sign Thank you, goodbye! to her, apparently she was growing on this little town in the middle of nowhere.

Cera stepped out onto the main road leading through town and looked up into the overcast sky. No sun today and yet no rain. A good sign. With a sigh her feet carried her along the walk, her mind other places far enough away that she missed a group of townsfolk gossiping about a ship touching down at the end of town.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 
The trip seemed a tad bit longer than he recalled. Moments in transit spent working on his signing or working on his carving, he felt he was nearing complete recovery. Dexterity returning to near the same levels that he had before Lujo, though his grip strength was lagging behind. But the carving was helping with that in its own way. The signing, on the other hand, was coming along slowly. He had trouble learning from Dick, largely because Dick was aptly named. Condescending and grating, Gabe was having trouble seeing the signs beneath a filter of red. But now, in the cockpit, he had silence and the simple recordings on the holonet. Enough to piece through it himself, though there was a difference between learning and memorizing. He had the latter down, but the former wasn't as easy. It was a slow recollection that he hoped would pick up with practice.

The way Kep had made it sound, Cera had been doing fine, with the exception of the loss of Tulla. Spending time at that Inn with Sitka, doing force knows what with her free time away from the shop. Unable to communicate with many beyond Sitka, he wondered if she'd have gone stir crazy at this point. Or perhaps she was enjoying her time with people. He hadn't intended to be gone for so long but certain obstacles presented themselves at inopportune times.

The vehicle landed where it normally did, not far from the Inn. It was absent that particular speeder, swept away in the storm. The village was recovering it seemed, puddles lingering where ponds once existed. While the sun was hidden away beneath a curtain of clouds, it felt a bit more tranquil then his last visit. At least for the weather.

He set his duffle bag on the floor at the desk and ringed the bell.

"Yeah yeah...Oh, it's you!" Sitka poked her head out from beneath the desk.
"Yeah, it's me." He smiled as he tilted his head. "What are you doing down there?"
"Oh, just chasing a mouse. Well, trying to sort out where it came from anyway." She wiped her forehead. "You've been gone for some time."
"Yeah, I got a bit hung up with some things."
"Sure. Want your room?"
"Is it available?"

She set the keychain down on the desk and smiled. He returned, picking up the key with the flash of reddened flesh across the top of his palms. He caught her glance down but she didn't make a peep.

"Cera around anywhere?"
"She's out and about."
"Okay."
"I'll tell her you're around."

He tapped the key fab on the desk and smiled. "I appreciate that." Leaning down, he picked up his bag and walked down the hall.

"Dinner at the usual time!"

He waved as he disappeared, heading towards his room.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]
 
The peculiarities of the Force and all the nuances it carried with it was something slowly returning to the woman's senses. Though never having perfected the art of perception using this esoteric power in her previous life, Cerusia had come to find that she was picking up on things now that she never had before. It was a strange revelation, particularly now as she noted the familiar sensation of a presence on her mind while drawing nearer to the Inn.

Nothing more than an inkling now, though. A thought. A passing gut feeling similar to how one felt they were being watched without really knowing. She cut across the street and stepped off the walk and along a path of fresh-laid cobble within a sea of mud. There was little to do for all the rain - stone was their only method of relief from boots sucked into the water-logged earth. The path lead her around the back of the Inn and to the steps leading up to the back deck. Gabe's ship sat somewhere off to the far right, mostly blocked from view by the neighboring building. Cera stepped inside without ceremony, doffed her boots with a toe-to-heel plying and headed into the kitchen.

"There you are, did they have much produce?" Sitka looked up from peeling potatoes, frowning slightly at the reply the woman gave a deep sigh, "Knew I should have put some raised gardens on the back deck. Ah well. We'll make due for now, not like Ern can remember what he ate yesterday anyways and I can't see you complain if I don't look at ya."

A rueful smirk marked Cera's opinion on that particular fact. She began pulling ingredients out of the bag, passing those for the evening meal to the old woman.

"Your friend's back. At least I'll have one mouth to feed that hasn't had this meal for the last week."

A curious glance with a subtle brow loft. Cera lifted a hand to sign several letters.

"No, not Kep ... no not your brother. The beardy one with the braids. What was his name...?"

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]
 

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