If perfection is stagnation, then Heaven is a swamp.

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He clicked across the datapad, scratching the side of his head. Reading through the old reports and news articles, he scanned the major events. Land slides reported from the rains, sloughing off into the swamps. Some major impact on flora and fauna, local universities were investigating reports of the weather event having impacts on the migration of birds due to decrease in availability of food stock. Seems there was even a grant in the works for it, awarded to a professor from the human province, west of the ayrou sector. Gabe couldn't make out the name but the mention of a mud slide caught his eye.

Deaths of numerous families and the destruction of small towns, it seemed this place had been lucky in that regard. While the shop had been set on fire and the skeletal remains washed out deep into the swamp, the Inn remained. And the grocery remained, and small houses and other buildings stood all the same. But the destruction of a school, far from here, gave him a measure of disappointment. That if he were more vigilant, more capable, he may have been able to help save the lives of those who had used it as an evacuation point. The law enforcement, the government, they should have all done more. Science was far enough along to prevent this sort of catastrophe.

It was mere moments into his thoughts and readings that he sensed the presence, the same sort that guided him through the swamp. It felt more refined now, more focused. But it was that same powerful aura, the sort that drew memories like vivid scents and the feel of a warm embrace. It was a fond recollection, despite the melancholy world that spiraled out of control around them.

Pressing out from his table, he left the room with the bag on the bed and the room in the same sort of odd motley that he had come to appreciate. Catching just a glimpse of that brown hair, just the slightest hint of auburn, he paused and leaned against the wall that marked the threshold between the lobby and hallway. He watched her sign to Sitka, catching every other word for the moment and with the provided time, enough to get the gist of it. He smiled as the woman failed to recall his name. As least she got the beard and braids right.

"Sulon is doing fairly well with agriculture this season. I should have thought about it, I could have brought some of our stores..."

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Cera blinked. Beardy one with the braids? Her smirk persisted, she supposed that was one way to describe the man. Her hands began to sign the letters: G A B-

"Sulon is doing fairly well with agriculture this season. I should have thought about it, I could have brought some of our stores..."

Rose colored eyes turned to glimpse the man in question leaning against the wall in the hallway and Cera felt a smile grow unbidden on her lips. She stared at him momentarily as the sensation of his aura finally became clear before looking away in mild embarrassment.

Sitka eyed the two, smirking, before shrugging her shoulders, "Woulda, coulda, shoulda don't help me now, Gab. We'll make due like always. Besides, your foreign produce would probably give Ern the runs, sensitive man that he is," the woman snickered and glanced over at Cera as she went back to unloading supplies, "oh go, git with you. Out, shoo! I can handle this..."

Hands lifted in surrender to the old woman's commands Cera scooted out of the kitchen and into the hall, giving a shrug to Gabe at the sudden change of plans. Sitka wasn't often want to ask for help despite her arthritis and physical limitations - it had taken Cera nearly a week to convince her to let her help around the house. She'd settled into the routine of it and was used to knowing her way about her day but Gabe's presence had caught her unprepared.

Truth be told she hadn't expected him to come back and was not unsure of what to make of the present situation. Cera's smile faded as she signed a short somewhat awkward hello to him, aware he didn't understand but floundering with how else to greet him.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He returned the smile, if even for the moment, before looking back to Sitka. "Nothing a little roughage can't sort out." He quickly turned his attention back to Cera as she moved away from the kitchen and into the hallway. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought Sitka was forcing them together. And with a cross of his arms, he breathed out slowly as Cera shrugged and then signed to him. The frustration in the language barrier between them was unknowingly dissolved away with time and injury. Her still being unaware of it, he tilted his head with a drop of his hands.

Despite having spent an abundance of time learning for this moment,and the ones he'd hope would follow, he'd be lying if he told her he wasn't a bit gun shy about it. He could fight with the best of them, wage war for the Alliance, and act as Sheriff for the entirety of Baron's Hed, which seemed to extend all the way to Annaj. But there was something about trying to sign to someone he had never had a full conversation with, not without mediator of pen or Sitka, that put his stomach in knots. He swallowed his pride with a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation. He couldn't help but think of her nails as she moved to say hello, drifting aimlessly through the braids of his hair.

Lifting his hand to his head, he mimicked her gesture of hello before dropping his hands to chest level. "Hi." Balling his hands into loose fists, he pressed them together at the fingers. Right thumb facing him, left thumb facing her, he rotated his right hand towards her before transitioning into a pointed gesture of the index finger. "How are you?"

Maybe his gestures were a bit robotic. He had learned from a protocol droid, after all. And with the slow healing of the new scars over his hands, the severed tendons, he was hoping he didn't muck that up too bad.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

She was staring again but for all the world she could not help it. He was acting... strangely, to say the least and as he himself floundered with his own greeting she wondered if he was attempting to give her bad news. What that sort of bad news could possibly be she couldn't say - it's not like anything he did was really related to her own life. For all she knew their intimate encounter had simply been a fling.

Would be easier that way, she'd told herself before, not to think of it strongly.

With the shop gone what reason did he have to return? As a matter of fact, the woman's eyes narrowed as he lifted his hands, why was he here?

And then he signed back. [Hi. How are you?] The movements were fraught with robotic jitters, precise and proper as though someone had taught him to sign in Ye Old Basic, but the message remained the same. She felt her jaw go slack for the briefest of moments and her own hand came up to sign back [What?] with a mark of expressed disbelief. Cera took a step closer, [When did you learn?]

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He caught the narrowing of her eyes, ever expressive. He just assumed that was her response to him attempting to sign. And evidently, it was enough to get the message through as she stepped closer. The way she signed out 'what' made him think back on their time together, wondering whether she had said it before. He'd gauge that she had. He was good at provoking that sort of response.

Tilting his head, he watched her hands as she moved through the next expression. While his photographic memory was capable of storing all the information he needed for this, the processing wasn't as in tune. He realized it would take time and practice, a more organic form of learning. Lifting his fingers to his scalp, he scratched his head as he sorted through the phrase. Smiling, he then moved on to the next step, wondering whether it was worth even signing. Instead, he pushed his hands out to her, showing first the palms and then the tops of his hands. Where the metal bars had pushed through muscles and ligaments and tendons, pinning him to the stone within the mountain of Lujo. It was always a mountain. Or some really tall building.

"I was injured, after I left last time. I used sign language as therapy because I wanted to talk to you." He lifted his right hand, pressing a finger against his chest. Then to his chin. And then to her. [I missed you.]

He hadn't really taken the time to talk about his failure on Lujo or how he led so many of the Galactic Alliance into a trap, one he had seen but was too hell bent to avoid. And how it felt to have the darkside pushed into him, to have opposing magnets pressed against one another. Or how he was, once again, dependent on others for help. The turn around had been faster than his injury from Dromund Kaas but in its own way, the impacts felt more profound, despite how he tried to avoid it or deny it. But more than that, even sitting back in his chair in the sheriffs office, he realized just how much he missed his trips to Annaj. His trips to see her.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Something about the scars and marks on his hands that triggered a succession of memories through the woman's mind. Though her eyes studied the healing injuries her thoughts were clouded by visions of a young girl not much older than 16 collapsed and nearly buried beneath the sands of a dune-covered planet. There had been a manor further beyond hidden in the shadow of a massive ridge and built into the base of a rise of stone. Centuries old, she couldn't recall who had originally built or owned it, but she remembered it being hers. Being home.

She remembered bringing the girl there and cleaning her wounds - lightsaber burns and a fatal stabbing through the lower ribs. How her skin had shone under the lights of the dining hall table, pulled taught over bony limbs chorded by what little brawn remained. Hair the color of a raven's feathers, eyes that shone like dull turquoise stone.

Cera's expression fell as she struggled to hold on to those memories as they drifted like sand through the cracks of her mind, the name of the young girl just there within reach and yet escaping her grasp just a breath later.

Her face ... so painfully familiar. Why couldn't she remember the name?

[I missed you.]

The woman's eyes dropped in uncertainty, the frustration of her elusive memory evident in the faint line of tension within her brow. Cera lifted a hand to rub at her neck, feeling the weight of this rather sudden memory recall sink into her shoulders. Why did these visions only ever happen around him? They were distressing and yet... and yet they were relieving, in some indiscernible way. Her gaze found him again, wandering over the remnants of bare sincerity of his expression and the acute vulnerable awkwardness of his posture. Endearing as much as it was offputting. Cera felt herself at odds again but smiled despite this.

He missed her...

She imagined Kep would have a few choice words on the subject - Kep.

Urgently that same gaze widened in remembrance. She may not have thought he would return but Kep had an inkling he might. He'd left something for the man and to him she signed as such rather quickly, moving to step past him through the hall and back through the inn to her own room. There she stooped down by a wooden chest and pulled it open, sifting through folded clothing to a briefcase at the bottom. A moment later Cera stood again with a book in her hands and turned to meet Gabe wherever he may be - having followed her or waited behind.

[The agreement, is it signed?]

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He caught every other sign in quick succession, more fixed on the expressions painting her face as she looked upon his injuries. And how she looked upon him following his admission. He wasn't able to get a good read, a thick mixture of emotions clouded his perception of the response. There was a smile there but it felt at odds, the type that might have concealed other feelings and thoughts.

"From Kep?" He saw he sign out the name while rushing past him. He, of course, followed as she moved into her room and stooped next to the wooden chest. It felt old, similar to the Inn, and must have been a part of the room he didn't appreciate last time around. But the way she moved through it, she really had taken to the Inn as her home. And as she stood, she had a book and began to sign. His eyes drifted from hers down to her hands, though they remained at chest height where she signed in reference to the agreement. He understood immediately and responded with a narrowing of his eyes, a slight frown if she looked hard enough. That wasn't why he was here.

Lifting his right hand, balled into a fist, he motioned up and down. [Yes].

Pressing the flat of his hand upon the top of the book, he slid the other beneath the binding and withdrew it from her grip. Setting it down gently on the bed, he left a lingering gaze on the old relic for a fleeting moment. A lot of work had been put into that, a lot of time and care, and he appreciated that. He was willing to sell his goods to this unnamed figure for the sake of Ankarres species, though he wouldn't lie that the extra bit of change for house repairs was a keen motivator as well. The truth of the matter was that until Cera had brought it up, he had forgotten entirely about the signed document as is. The electronic copy that rested on his datapad in his room, jammed in the duffel bag. Turning back towards her, he meticulously studied her complexion. The slight changes, the freckling, caught his attention as he recalled the way lightning revealed it in flashes. Like fluid memory held together in photographs.

"You never answered my question..." He spoke with a warm smile, despite the sobering fact that he knew Tulla was missing. It was something he'd let her bring up if she wanted to. "How are you?"

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

Waiting a beat, Cera blinked at the man and his answer, watching the book leave her grasp. It was one of the few things Kep had insisted on her not reading. He'd not put it in a locked box or anything of the sort, figuring she was trustworthy enough, but he had made it perfectly clear that the secrets contained within were important to a great many people. It was best that only a few minds knew them or anything involving the contents of that notebook.

Tempting as it had been she'd tucked it away deep within this very chest - one that she moved to reach into again to retrieve yet another box from the bottom.

"You never answered my question..."

Rosey eyes looked up as she tugged the second box free from the contents of the chest. Cera paused, taking a moment to think back to just what question it was-

"How are you?"

-and turned a wary gaze back up at him. That hideous question of questions. One of the few she truly loathed answering. It was never a simple answer to give and yet somehow it always seemed to be given in the fewest words possible. How was she? Lost. Lonely. Bored. Angry. Confused. An intellectual suffering from a lack of useful things to do that might challenge her mind and help reopen the pathways to her memories that still refused to give ... except for these strange instances while in his presence. Frustrated.

Hungry.

Pushing to stand Cera brushed lint from the old box's polished surface and held it up to Gabe. The contents of this she was quite familiar: various crystals, mostly, as well as some curious old Jal-Shey imbued garments. She handed it off to him, watching after it while attempting to come up with an answer.

[I am...]

She began to sign though her hands dropped moments later, at a loss for words to communicate. They wavered through the air, searching for the next thought, and where it failed to come forth she absently pawed at her hair.

[I am waiting for a train,] they began again, slow as she somehow plucked the recollection of a quote from a book read likely hundreds of years ago, [a train that will take me far away. I know where I hope this train will take me but I can't know for sure. But it doesn't matter. Why doesn't it matter?]

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

She was intent on handing off items to him. Things that didn't concern him in this moment. With a concerned expression, he took the box from her and placed it roughly atop the book. Crystals and the like, it didn't really matter. He cared more about her answer to the question because, despite how she acted with Sitka and tending to the Inn and taking care of groceries, she had always seemed out of sorts in this place. She moved through the swamp gracefully enough but the way she appeared in the shop, it always struck him as someone tending to something that wasn't truly theirs.

​His eyes moved to hers as she wavered, watching quietly as she attempted to translate thoughts into expressions. And then she began, his eyes following her movement as he slowly became accustomed to this form of conversation. It wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be, though he appreciated the excuse for his glances to linger. After she was done, he let out a sigh. He wasn't the smartest person she had ever met, likely not even in the top percentile, and riddles weren't his strong point. Pushing the book and box towards the other side of the bed, he sat down, pressing a finger across his brow.

"It does matter, Cera. It matters very much." He patted the spot next to him, for her to sit down if she chose to. His gaze moved from the floor to her, fixating on the uncertainty and irritation he felt in her presence. It should have been obvious now that he wasn't looking for a vocal answer from her, just an easier read on her aura. One that reached beyond the shock of the realization that he could now sign.

"I don't really know what to say about any of that except that...well, if there is somewhere you need to be, I want to help you get there." There was an innocent sincerity in his tone, a willingness to help her figure out what her purpose was. As long as he had known her, however short that may have been in the span of their long lives, he had grown to care for her. Even if she thought she might be rid of him, he had no mind for simplifying complicated situations. "Where is it that you want to go? That's so far away?" A literal interpretation of the phrase, it seemed it was the best he could do at the time.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Cerusia Shamalain]

An edge grew within her expression that was not lacking in a cruel sense of incredulity.

No, of course he would not understand. How could he truly when he could no sooner understand her? How are you? The question replayed in before her mind's eye, garnering nothing but sudden and unbidden ire. It was the last drop to the pool of disturbed waters settled behind her carefully yet tenuously crafted dam and she felt it all come surging forward through the cracks, the heat setting her blood to boil, her muscles to tense.

You're waiting for a train, she remembered the novel well now, a train that will take you far away.

Living in a dream world. Living but not really belonging. Living without living because somewhere, someplace, your real life sat in limbo. Her real life, she recalled with clenched teeth, had long since expired. This life was a lie, a fabrication, a playbook montage of marionettes with someone holding her strings. It was a realization she'd come to learn over the past several months though for some reason the full scope of it hadn't hit her until just now and poor Gabe was left with the resulting deluge in the form of some very vehement empathetic waves.

Soft rose-violet churned to bitter yellow-red.

You know you hope where this train will take you, but you can't know for sure.

Somewhere down the hall Sitka yelped after the sound of shattered glass.

She wanted to go home but frankly ... Cera had no idea where home was. She couldn't remember.

And it doesn't matter. Why doesn't it matter?

Because home was a place lost ages ago to the nightmare of a plague and the devastation of loss. Home was a place that no longer existed. It was a place she could no longer go, not in this life.

With a single step taken with the controlled movement of a coiled viper Cera presented the open doorway of her room to him and pointedly broke eye contact with him. She didn't want to sit, she didn't want to talk, she wanted him out before she did something she regretted.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He watched as she moved, as she churned. He could feel just how wrong his answer was but for every misstep he might have taken, he couldn't help but shake his head. Not because he didn't want to be here or because he regretted the trip. Just that he might have expected their interaction to be different this time around. With his attempts to learn to communicate with her, he would have expected things to go much smoother. But with the tools to understand her, it only clarified the certainty that he didn't really know her. With every blank stare and glance, he felt the existence of thoughts and memories without ever truly perceiving it.

His fingers traced the hard ridge of a scar at the center of his palm. It was angular and defined, an obscene memory of another misstep. "I was staked to the interior of a mountain by my enemy, left for dead or maybe shame. Maybe both. Before I was pulled down, I had dreams of my children and my wife. They're dead now, killed by my brother in my youth." Hundreds of years ago, the dust of that life still settles from time to time. Standing up, he stretched, cracking his knuckles in curled fists. "I was carried out of there, fleeting bits of consciousness interspersed with pain and regret. Not for that moment. But for the moments I might not get." Leaving the items on the bed, he stood and approached the open door. He felt he could have studied the hallway interior for ages.

"I didn't come back to Annaj for those items or that agreement." He let out a quiet sigh, feeling the tensing of his jaw properly reflecting his frustration. Lifting his hands, he slowly signed. [I just wanted to see you.] He didn't understand her riddle about trains but if he had to guess, it was a statement of listlessness. Of being in a place she didn't belong. That she had somewhere to be but couldn't recall where. He could understand it but he couldn't understand the need to dance around the notion.

Exiting the room, he walked slowly down the hall before finding his room. Slipping the key in, he entered and shut the door behind him. Considering the idea of leaving, he kicked his boots off and sat on his bed. The sun was starting to split the array of clouds, bouncing against particles of dust suspended in the room. When it came to battle, he was often a fan of the hasty decision. The heart makes the choice and the mind offers resistance. But in matters of life, he preferred a clear head and time to think beyond the spontaneity of the hearts desire.

"Waiting for a train..." He whispered quietly as he closed his eyes, focusing on the ankarres wood hidden in the duffel bag next to him.

[member="Cerusia Darke"]​

 

[Dissero]

"She's not here, is she."
"Noh, she's not here. Flew the coop a couple hours ago, off to who knows where. Not the first time either."

Dissero sighed as he stood in the front living room just within the Inn entryway staring down at Old Man Ern sitting in his chair smoking his pipe, holonews flimsi in his lap.

"How you doing Ern?" the Archivist said after a few minutes of silent thought, smiling faintly from behind a beard now neatly kempt.
"Can't complain," said Ern in reply.
"Sitka said you've been having some memory issues, trouble recalling things?"
"Don' knoh what you're talkin' about, Buck. I'm sharp as a whip. Don't listen to the Old Lady. She likes to make things up to keep herself entertained."
A stifled laugh, his hand lifted to pass through his hair, "Right. Where is she anyway?"
"In the kitchen making supper. Same thing you probably ate last time you were here," Ern looked up from the Daily, droll smirk pinching the pipe in his lips. He gave a wink and puffed out a smokey cloud.

Dull tamping of footfalls followed him down the hall interspersed by the creaking of old wooden floorboards. Dissero paused at the threshold of a lounge where an antiquated holoprojector spilled a recorded children's show at the far end. Unrecognizable faces glanced his way. A nod from a woman who sat with a teacup in her hand. The children paid him no mind. He moved on to the kitchen.

"Hello Old Lady," the greeting was low as he moved forward to gently take a jar from her struggling hands to winch it open.
"Hello Young Man, was wondering when you'd be stopping by again. She's-"
"Not here," he smiled, nodding, "Ern told me. Any idea where she went?"
"Haven't a clue. She goes off on walks frequently enough and she always comes back. I reckon she'll return for dinner. Are you hungry?"
"For your cooking, I'm always hungry."
"You always know the right answer."
"My mother taught me well."
Sitka cackled, "Help me with this pot, Young Man."
Clank, "I brought something for you. For Ern, actually."
"Oh? That's kind of you. What is it?"
"For his headaches," Dissero set a tin box on the counter and opened it.
"I don't think a box of dirt is going to help with his headaches."
"It's not dirt, it's ground up leaves of a plant from Honoghr. My friend is a native and he specializes in herbal medicinal remedies. He made this mixture for Ern, to help with mental function and ease his headaches."
"Sounds like a bunch of hocus pocus. What's he do, smoke it?"
"It's meant to be taken as tea," Dissero grinned, "but it might work that way too."
Another throaty cackle, "Oh good, one more thing I can tell him to stuff in his pipe when he's bellyaching about my cooking."

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Hands moved from his lap to the bag, slowly unzipping the length of it. Pressing fingers in, he extracted a wooden box and placed it in his lap. The box by itself was nothing special, though he had taken to carving the corners down to rounded edges. A job currently unfinished and relatively unimportant, simply another task to pass the time. Pressing his thumbs into the divots, he opened the box to the groaning sound reminiscent of a jewelry case, complimented with the slight stretch of interior felt within. On the inner lining, a small brass compass sat. Pulling it out by the chain, he closed the box and placed it back in the bag.

Somewhere between his hand and his lap, the item hung by the metal cord, gently twirling. He had taken multiple opportunities, either in transit or at the homestead, to impart feelings into the modified object. The Ankarres, while typically used for healing, was an excellent medium for this form of imbuement. He recalled looking for Avalore on Arkania, how easy it would have been to simply have an object that could have pointed him in her general direction. It was convenient, at the time, that she wore the ring he had crafted for his children. A beacon of sorts, he wondered how difficult it would be to create an object that might replicate that in a more visual manner. A compass made sense. But as he pulled the item into his hand and opened it, the rose simply spun in the glass. Seems he didn't have the hang of it quite yet.

Pushing it back together, he placed the compass over his neck and stood away from the bed. Grabbing a jacket, he decided he could use some fresh air before heading back out into orbit. With the door shut behind him and locked, the hallways provided brief moments of idle movement before finding the old man looking at him down the length of a pipe.

"Where ya off to?"
"Need to get some fresh air." Gabe pointed towards the door, stretching his neck. "The flight here was a bit stuffy."
"I hear ya." He stood, waving his pipe back down the hallway. "Fore you go, you might want to know that her brother is here."
"Sitka's?"

That got a good laugh from the old man, almost enough for him to double over. Gabe simply smiled, waiting for the punch line.

"God's no. Can only take one of 'er. No room in this village fo more of 'er ilk."
"Then who?"
"Cera's. Of course."

Gabe offered an expression that might have accompanied some sort of oratory response, but he was too busy looking back down the hall. "Down that way?" He threw a thumb up as he turned back to Em.

"Yep. Just rolled through. In the kitchen with Sitka, I imagine. "
"Thanks."

Turning back on his heel, he walked back through the inn towards his new destination. Moving through the lounge, he found the kitchen. Sitka and a man he didn't recognize. Just earlier enough to hear the tale end of the conversation as he leaned against the threshold.

"Too sensitive for Sulon produce but you're gonna have him smoking Kholm-grass..." He offered a warm smile, well aware that it wasn't actually Kholm-grass. Not unless the intent was to make Em more sick. Crossing his arms, he looked from the man back to Sitka.

[member="Dissero"]​

 

[Dissero]

Dissero blinked at the man, brow lofted, and then looked back to his gift, "It's not Kholm-grass..."
"I know it isn't," Sitka smirked, pulling herself up a small step-stool to reach to a high shelf for salt, "doesn't smell like it at all."
"How do you even..."

Sitka grinned, "Young Man, Braids; Braids, Young Man."

The second brow lifted to join the first as he turned to greet [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] with an extended hand, blue eyes drifting to the- "Braids, got it. Nice to meet you."

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"Gab to braids in the span of a day." He spoke with a smile as he approached the figure. "Not too shabby."

Extending out his hand to meet the other, he shook. "Young man? Brother to Cera, I can only assume that's an ironic title." Couldn't be too terribly young, unless there was an impressive age gap between siblings. "I'm Gabe."

He found the response to the grass somewhat charming, akin to how he would have let the comment roll of him. Not entirely defensive but almost comical in the way he reassured Sitka, who evidently had no need for it. "Definitely not Kholm-grass."

[member="Dissero"]​

 

[Dissero]

"You're moving up in the world," Sitka chuckled.

A smirk from the Alchemist, "Dissero," he replied in kind, "and I guess that depends on who's calling me Young Man."

"He's just a baby," Sitka said over her shoulder.

"Cera's my ...older sister. You a friend of her's then?" blue eyes scaled the man's form briefly - the two of them weren't far off in stature, Dissero being only two inches taller. Gabe seemed a man of warrior stock, judging by his build and the various visible scars. Di felt the raised texture of calloused hands in the shake, noting that he could feel that at all. His own from forging had since healed during his break from the forge to take care of his growing family.

"You boys want some caffe? Kettle's still hot."

"I'll take a cup."

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He gave Sitka a warm smile, knowing enough of her sense of humor to appreciate the nickname, before turning back to Dissero.

"Friend?" He shrugged as he crossed his arms. "I'd like to think so. But I have trouble reading her." Maybe they were friends, maybe not. He wasn't entirely sure. And she wasn't exactly forthcoming on the matter as it was, which seemed to fall fairly inline with her tendencies. Not necessarily hot and cold, it ran much deeper than that. A sort of instability that he couldn't seem to grasp.

Looking back to Sitka, he nodded, though his preference was tea with a bit of honey. "Caffe sounds nice. So, Dissero..." He brought honey brown eyes back on the mysterious figure, though he wasn't exactly mysterious looking. Just simply someone the old warrior didn't know. "You here for Cera or do you have other reasons for visiting Annaj?" Just a bit of small talk, while they waited for their caffe.

[member="Dissero"]
​

 

[Dissero]

"Hard to read when you can't understand the language, eh?" Di said with a wilting smile. Seemed he might understand a bit of that issue himself, judging by the strain of his glance, the furrow of his brow. The man turned to the old woman as she slowly shifted down the step stool. He grunted lightly, "I'll get it old woman, you just stick to dinner."

"Don't you tell me what to do."

The pair poked and prodded one another for a few minutes before Dissero produced two mugs of caffe and moved to take a seat at the table in the dining room.

"I'm here for Cera," he said, slowly turning his mug while he let its contents cool, "to check in, make sure she's doing alright. Every since the floods she's been a bit on edge I suppose. Have you known her long?"

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"I've learned a bit of sign but I'm still working out the kinks..." He motioned with his hand, insinuating a so-so understanding of the language. But his failure to understand the woman went far beyond their ability to communicate.

Taking a mug, he followed behind and pulled out a chair. "She seemed... Happy. Though still anxious. Losing Tulla probably hasn't been easy for her."

Sitting down, he turned his head back to Sitka, spying her moving about with a carafe, before turning back to Dissero. Cradling the mug, he sniffed as he thought. "Uhh, a while now. Several months before the flood. Though whether I know her is still up for debate. We met at the shop. I originally came to Annaj to ascertain some alchemy materials."

Honest to a fault, it never occurred to him that he shouldnt tell every person he met about his habits. But it was Ceras brother, felt almost like family at this point.

[member="Dissero"]

 

[Dissero]

"Shop?" Dissero quirked a brow, "Oh you mean the cabin in the swamp. Yeah, she was at home there. I don't imagine this is..." he looked around the dining room, "quite the same."

"She thinks Tulla is still alive. I have my doubts," the man itched at his chin, "felt terrible about not being able to get in here during the flood. The whole sector was shut down, couldn't get a ship in if I tried. Not to mention I was halfway across the galaxy when the incident with the cabin happened. My timing is nothing if not terrible, but I understand she had some help."

"Been meaning to thank whoever that was..." the man smirked and took a slow sip of his caffe.