Meeting an Old Friend (Sargon)

[Yasha Cadera]

Life getting hectic enough to forget events and dates and times is a new conundrum for me. Sure, I'm used to symbiotically attaching to beings and then waking up days or months later in a new place, but now I'm more myself than I've ever been. Andra or Anders, whichever feels safer.

The Fringe know me as Anders Sivas. High Councillor and effeminate dude. Only [member="Jared Ovmar"] and [member="Coryth Elaris"] know the truth. Still, with all the drama of my election and my poor neck, I never looked back enough to see who got me there.

@Sargon Vinyea. Without that kindly Zabrak buying a down-and-out person a pair of brown combat boots, I never would have made it to the Fringe, let alone get elected and have a life. My own life. Not controlled or manufactured by others, but mine. Just like my boots. So, I hoofed it into my ship the Sumatiyara and headed to Sargon's beloved Governorship planet. My brand new Z1 Admin Droid (Named him Sparkles) chimed up an official invitation for Sargon to meet, and I'm hoping like no get out that it'll be accepted.

This is one bridge I don't want to burn in a million symbiotic lifetimes.

 

[Sargon Vynea]

Beep, just a simple noise on a holocomm, but what it would lead to could be anything but simple. The message was to his pleasant surprise though a social call that didn't reek of business and politics, Anders Sivas. Last time he'd seen the man was a few dozen floors above ground having a 'discussion' with Shorn, ah Shorn knew how to bring the life to a party. He'd been surprised to see the man there, it had been ages since he remembered him from the shoe store, but it gave a bit of a pleasure to know he'd helped someone who helped themselves.

Standing up he sent coordinates to met him at planetside, his home on Bakura, or at least one of two. He moved with the summer sun, it wasn't anything personal against winter, her just loved the feel of summer and the life it brought out. His home though was not what one might expect for a man who'd risen up the ladder to sit on the High Council, Governor of Bakura, and Archon of the Fringe Military. In fact, it was a far distant change from his previous lifestyle in truth. He'd lived for years on military bases even as a governor, simply living in barracks and with the 121st Legion. Now he lived in a forested meadow, his house a simple four rooms, and a landing pad. No city lights to block the sky, just peace a commodity he'd come to finally appreciate.

His cooking left a bit to be desire in truth, so he'd brought some food in from the office instead. His cabinets were pretty bare anyway, mostly being stocked with Iridonian whiskey, strawberry wine from Bakuran vineyards, and military rations. Waiting for Anders to arrive the Zabrak left the food to stay warm, and went into the field to meditate on the Force. His mind cleared he breathed in and relaxed his mind, allowing the Force to flow through him and around him, like wind across the plains. He could hear its voice on the winds, the echos of others in the distance. He no longer chased those voices though, simply waited with patience.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

[member="Sargon Vynea"]'s coordinates chimed in and I lept into the air with the mightiest of fist pumps. "Yes! He wants to see me! Rock it, Bucket! Rock it!" I held up my hand for a high five and got nothing from my bodyguard droid. Gee, I have got to find an AI programmer for Bucket. Would it be so hard to give a bucket of bolts at least enough personality to talk to? Shoving myself in front of the nearest reflective surface, I check my hair and let it hang chin-length around my face, covering the feminine ears as I concentrate over and over until a shimmer comes to my face. Slender girlish features don't change - I'm not that good - but the illusion of a flimsy masculinity appears to the brief glances I'm likely to get.

It's not like Sargon to stare. Shoving a leather jacket over my long sleeve t-shirt, I hoof it to my tiny Naboo Lifter and disembark from the Suma toward Sargon's coordinates. The flight to the surface is a pleasant one: I'm hit with the order and elegance of Bakura, the throngs of people who thankfully are farther off here in the woods. Thank you Sargon for having a place in the woods! I hit the landing pad with the landing of a consummate pilot and grab the bag I thought t-okay my new droid helped me pack. Seems to think itself a burgeoning sommelier and I'm want to let it be what it wants to be, droid or biological.

One last check as the hatch opens, and I rub my brown boots on the backs of my shins, letting the grey cargo trousers take whatever I didn't properly polish off the things. Hope Sargon sees I've taken good care of his gift. "Sargon! Dude, it's been way, way too long. How much trouble have you gotten into since that day on the - what planet were we on? I can never remember the planet, but the boots? Heck yes. How are you, buddy? Can I call you buddy?"

I'm nervous! Shove my hand out for a handshake like a newb in a convention line. There's a waft of confidence in the air, a slip into the calmness of the trees and forest and I stop talking long enough to feel it. The jitters might fade away long enough in a place like this. Fewf I'm glad he didn't want to meet in a city.

 

[Sargon Vynea]

He could feel it about Ander's as he stepped on the planet, the man was abound with energy, but it lacked a calmness, a center of being. Smiling the Zabrak didn't stand or open his eyes he simply patted the ground next to him before speaking. "Sit my friend, breath in the air around you, and enjoy the moment. I remember the boots, and I'm glad you've found good use in them, it was my honor to give them to you, I appreciate the respect you've shown them. As for what you choose to call me, it's fine with me, we are friends are we not?"

Stretching out his senses across the valley the Zabrak left his mind open and clear as he embraced the Force around him letting it guide him where it would. "Can you feel it around you, Anders? Close your eyes, breathe it in and let your mind be filled with it's clarity. Just relax and let the Force guide you, feel the life all around you. Do you know, it was on this very land that I first learned to touch the Force, it showed me a colony of ants. Simply creatures and yet so full of life they left me in awe."

Reaching out with his mind towards him he drew him forward in silence, no pull to it, a simple beckoning to follow as his mind flowed into the dirt with the Force. He found them there as he always did, a new generation, and yet as alive as ever. The shining heart of their colony a young queen, her entire hive's knowledge and numbers at her call, and yet she abused not a one. As his mind touched on her's she flicked for just a moment before recognizing his presence. So small, it would take but the merest of effort to end the entire colony, and yet so much life. "Be calm my friend, and fly with the birds, smell the dew with the deer, and if you feel bold enough there is a family of bear to the west. There is no need to be nervous or anxious among friends, Anders, we each have our place in the living Force, and as these play their role so shall you and I."

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

First thing I do is shove my handshake hand in my pocket and sniff the air. Fresh and clean, just the way a forest likes it. I giggle, clearing my throat to make it more of a chuckle. Yes. Chuckle. "Hey, that's cool." Takes a few extra seconds before I realize [member="Sargon Vynea"] is asking me to sit down and meditate. Calm, relaxation, nature. Is this dude the perfect friend or what? I not so much sit on the ground as I land on it, pulling my knees up to rest my elbows on them and glance around. Nothing but the life of the forest and glen and Sargon. Going to start calling him Sargon the Redeemer. "Friends and boot buddies. These boots were integral, I'll have you know. Got me to the Fringe, and from there well, things happened. A few odd jobs, met some people and then bang! Out of nowhere these boots take me to a podium where there was really tasty pie and I ate it and told people it was really good pie and they should vote for the person who made it and that my name was… and I would… and . . . . got elected. Joined into something bigger. 'Cause of these boots. Guess that means people have you to blame, eh?" I laugh but the sound dies in a contentedness I'm not used to feeling. An empty peace I've not felt since [member="Spencer Jacobs"] found me sitting on a bench on some distant world.

"Calm hasn't been a strong suit, if I'm honest. Still figuring those bits out, finding the calm in.. in… it's hard to be calm on Annaj. I'm talking too much. Do that a lot, need to learn to shut it… like right now." I clamp my mouth shut and my eyes drift too as a slipping hum crawls into my skin and turns inward, dancing along my spine and the nexus points of energy in my body. The whole forest seems to sing with it, allowed to sing as no one was asking anything more of it than that.

Than being, and doing what was to be done. A haggard sigh pushes out of my lungs and my ribcage relaxes visibly. This place would ask no more of me than this. My lips part, I swallow and pull my legs in to a proper lotus position, palms up on my knees. Leaves rustle and still in the trees. The green of the leaves burns pleasantly onto my closed eyelids and for a moment the vibrating strings of my conscious life vibrate in harmony. I feel the trees in their sway and the grass underneath our bodies. Pock marks of animals begin to spark into the image, faded yet and farther off than the green and the diffuse warmth of the sun. Takes a person's breath and steals it in atmospheric bottles. Takes a while for me to speak, but when I do my voice is softer, slower. The words come easier. "The Force's guided me like a storm guides a ship caught in its thrall. Everywhere cacophonies of people and intentions, me skimming the surface without a settling keel or tight sail. Was too young, no one knew to help me. My more intimate introductions weren't moments of calm. But this? This is the Force I like. Something I can bond to without losing soul. . . you're privileged this was your first place of introduction. . . oh! There's a hawk in that tree, how beautiful is that."

The hawk swoops in and lands on the top branch, fluffing its feathered wings and beginning to preen. I see the red in its feathers, the crown of brown tufts and the belly of ivory and sparks of crimson. My face softens, muscles continue untwining.

 

[Sargon Vynea]

With a laugh the Zabrak just nodded before moving his awareness around her, as he did with Spencer he simply sat there for a moment just sending her waves of calm. No emotion, no pushing simply a cool breeze to the mind as he shared his own feeling of the Force around him. Slowly he drew her back away from the soft green fields of Bakura and it's cities. The light of its life forces shining across its surfaces, no greater then the very ant colony below their feet. Slowly he moved still further back, the world of Bakura shrinking to a dot of life as the pattern of the galaxy revealed before them, light and darkness swirling and moving in a constant flux of balance and feeling.

Can you feel it here, its not that we are no more then the ant, but rather the ant is no less then us. Close your eyes and let the Force guide you even here. Feel the warmth of a thousand suns, the movements of the planets as they glide along their journey. It is of this we are all return one day, a part of everything, unified in balance even as fight, in truth we fight only ourselves. It's true in all life, and in ourselves, we are always in contention with our own being, never content to simply be. To find peace is simple, accept all that we are, and accept that we are all one in the living Force. Float in it's waters, until it has taught you what it will. I see but cannot touch, the Force is but the wind to me, and it whispers of it's will, and yet I find peace in this, for it is who I am.

Releasing Ander's presence he simply floated besides him in the Force, a nearby presence simply there to exist and nothing more. His body disappeared to him as the world and his physical sensations faded. He was simply what he had always been, a part of the Force.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The Force is expansive and voluminous, its constancy whirling ever onward as [member="Sargon Vynea"] pulls me deeper and deeper inward. Or is it downward? Toward the ant, and deeper in. The peripheral bothers recede for they lie too large to be identified when one zones in as we have, and I towed learner flounder in the void.

In this void I am left with the creeping feeling that outside of the slim picks of symbiotic bonds past and future made, I am as vacant as an atom devoid of electrons. The Force is the totality of being, and I humble slip am but the absence of many, the absence of fate or design. Yet there are whispers in the wind. Is this what I had been cobbled together to become? An equalized and expressed nerve of the mighty and omnipresent Force, tasked by the over mind with knowing and experiencing the hearts and minds of creations across the span of a galaxy. A reparative vein must bring the flow of blood to an injured part of the body to both cleanse the toxins and bring a new supply of life to the area. From this angle the cacophony of former symbionts pressed indefinitely in the back of my mind are far off stars revolving in infinite space. My mind is open, breathing calm.

'That such small parts can mean so much to the whole… planets in the palm of a hand. I've never seen it like this. Working and beautiful. . . I didn't know it could be like this.' What if my peace wasn't an individual? What if there was no individual beyond the thin veneer? Am I a collective of stars, found conscious by a twist of the Force's mercy or am I just another in an army of confused young people flocking wildly for a chance to find that one or three spots?

Sargon is giving me something precious and tangible yet again. The express of the image colours with a field of stars, all lives I've been in the cacophony of personalities stronger than mine. The flimsy microns of personality I've cobbled together fades further for the infinite embrace of the greater power. Creation, be thy name.

 

[Sargon Vynea]

Slowly he felt Ander's awareness unwind, tension fade as Sargon floated with him inside the Force. Like a leaf he simply floated where the wind pushed him, no longer a thought or ever a purpose to the motions beyond existence itself. In fact this could literally be it, his body could faded into the very earth it rested on and he would not have been more aware of it then he was anything else but the guiding flow of the Force. Visions came and went, voices spoke around him as the Force brought him slowly to and for the ebbing of the wind always whispering in his ear, the whisper of a million voices wrapped in one.

Slowly the rushing of the winds faded away, but the whisper was never far as his awareness floated back into his own body. The absolute calmness of the Force still coursing through him as he felt the blades of grass beneath his hands. Like a newborn he opened his eyes up to the moonlight, the gleam of starlight arrayed before him reminding him of the truth of the Force. He was one with all these things, one yet unique a piece of the puzzle that could not be replaced by any other. "We all have our roles to play, Anders, and yours is important as any. Do you not find it curious something as simple as boots lead you here? That we both walked in on the same store, and our paths crossed? I can feel it in you, I've felt it in a few others before you as well, though not as keenly. You are who you choose to be, Anders, simply make a choice, and no one can ever take it from you."

Standing up the Zabrak smiled at the grass on his pants not even bothering to pretend to shake it off. Giving the man a moment of privacy he left him there in the silence of the field as he set the dinner table, and poured some strawberry wine. Leaving the door open for Ander he sat and waited in patience, whatever the Force had guided him here for he knew Anders would find it. He had faith in him.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Opened in the veil, I see the folds of cosmic radiation & nebulous dust as mutable as the fabrics from Endor, the penthouse on Annaj all of the worlds and peoples muddling together in nebulous array. I've always believed my life was one of absence, there was no grand design nor sense of action on my part. I was but a feather in the storm, brushing against surfaces and taking their essences upon myself to have them torn off sometimes violently, sometimes kindly and I, feeble traveller left with strands which did not rip off clean. What purpose could there be in the mutable? What bliss in constant deconstruction?

My mind drifts to Coryth and her lessons. Her pacifist nature, and I am consumed again by the path laid out. My life has been a wealth of paths, and I have excused all agency by claiming against fault. Sitting on the grass in this glen, [member="Sargon Vynea"]'s words thunder around the atmosphere and down to the cellular level. The scepticism of whether my choices can be taken from me hits the air, I flounder under it as a book under a raincloud. The Force had, in its way, given me a mission to rest within. To activate and cling. Was it not what became of my tempestuous beginnings with [member="Jared Ovmar"]? My hand brushes at my neck, the bruises of [member="Mikhail Shorn"]'s hand had long receded but the imprint remained. The last act of my flippancy was thrown where I was not. Shorn had given me the gift of presence and without his dire influence I wouldn't have gone to Jared for safe haven. Would I have found my Councillor voice?

Patience, mercy and grace. Three presences the Force continued to provide, as yet I still linger in the upper worlds and planetary scales. How better to heal the fractures than with a person who had felt them as if they were their own? Can I yet forgive myself, and thus forgive the myriad others whose lives would shift with the act of grace? Sargon said I was to make my choice and be it. Now in this place, where Jared's spirit is beyond me - untouchable and shut off, where the seat I possess in the High Council is one of Military Affair and I - humble pacifist - am learning, androgynous youth. Make a choice.

I am what one needs me to be, but I must also set boundaries for myself. Perhaps it is for me to be a spirit of reclamation and healing. Am I to wrap these ethereal arms round the worlds in my influence as the humble healer & grace-bringer? My eyes well as I blink and come back to the forest surround. Sargon is in the house, and I feel the instigation yet again of a purpose beyond wayward traveller. I will stay, and I will repair those I can. The rest is a confusing tumult. As I rise, I brush off my clothes and look back to my minuscule Naboo Lifter - smallest ship known to man or beast. . . Ok it fits five. For so many years it was my only home, and there were more than a few times I had to find it again, ending up on a planet in a different system and cherry picking backward. Now it, like me, resides in a larger arena. The lifter resides in the cargo hold of the Sumatiyara, a gift from Jared, and I reside in the Fringe. Rubbing my eyes with my palms, I walk into the house with a much more serene calm than I've been privy.

"Hey. Thanks, I… gonna take a bit to absorb all that. Thanks. How'd you do it? Find all that?"

 

[Sargon Vynea]

"Hey. Thanks, I… gonna take a bit to absorb all that. Thanks. How'd you do it? Find all that?"

With a small chuckle the Zabrak laughed and took a sip of the sweet wine before answering. "Some things you don't find, they are just revealed to you in time. Most of the world is so busy moving and doing they don't realize its going on all around them. Its in the still moments between actions and you have to release yourself to it, and be willing to silence your mind. There are two kinds of users of the Force, those who use it like a tool always in motion sending ripples throughout the galaxy. There are others who meditate on it and wait in silence to hear it's wisdom. I believe I would have been the first, I am a soldier at heart, and action is my byword, but the Force changed all that. I lack the ability for the simplest telekinetic movements, I couldn't even make my own lightsaber if I wanted. What I can do is hear and see through the Force all it would show me, it slowed me down, and made me what I am now."

Nodding to a chair the Zabrak scooped up some food, as he felt through the Force around him. It was more in habit then anything else. The field was about as secure as it got outside of a military base, and was sealed off as a no-fly zone by the 121st, but practice kept a man sharp. He could feel the Force around Ander's but he didn't pry at it, or even press against it leaving the man to his thoughts. His words actually made him run his memories through his head, memories of what almost seemed like another man's life at one point. How the tides had shifted, and where he would end up in the end was anyone's guess.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The Forest calm continues as I walk into the house. Shouldn't be surprised and I'm not. Leave it to [member="Sargon Vynea"] to have his own paradisiacal space within a rather busy planet. Standing in his kitchen, my nerves continue to stay down for the count as the Master on Bakura gives depth to the field of wisdom growing in my bones. "I can't make my own lightsaber either. Can't even throw a punch, to be honest it's pretty funny. Not been long since I started trying to use my powers intentionally. Got tired of being flung round… okay so it might have been hanging from my neck that did it… " I shiver and take a seat, bit of a placid smile on my face as there's food dishing out and wine on the table. The makings of a good night gone great.

"The Force took you for a spin, showed you the peace. Sight. Most folk I know don't stop long enough to tie their shoes. You think I could hear the wisdom of the Force more? Really get into it? I forgot you were in the military, guess I'm the Military Affairs Councillor. Don't know how a pacifist from Naboo could have worked it, but Jared insisted. He wanted me on that chair. Figure I can take a gander at the conditions, put more R&D into defences & bringing soldiers home, but who am I kidding? I did it for Jared and now he's gone."

 

[Sargon Vynea]

A sparkle lit up the Zabrak's eyes as Anders spoke, and he simply ate for a moment letting him get his words out. He simply nodded for a moment once she was finished again taking a long sip of his sweet strawberry wine. "Yes, I'm currently the Archon over all Legions of the Fringe, and the 121st is still under my direct command here on Bakura. Its a difficult job at time but I get it done as best I can. If you think I don't understand your dilemma you're wrong, I've stood on the front lines and felt my brothers die on my orders, their last moments floating in my conscious through the Force, and enemies who don't understand why they had to die. I joined the Fringe running from my own past, and here I found life again. Thats what the Fringe is Anders, the place any man can be remade and gain life anew. It's here that your crimes are forgotten and your past can be left behind for a new life. We're family, and we believe in that family, in each other. It doesn't matter that you came from Naboo, or I came from Iridonia, I'm Fringe now, body and soul, and they've accepted me for all my faults and weaknesses and made something of me. You look at yourself and see weakness, you see the past and what you've done and have failed to do. All I see before me is a man who cares enough to try, a man full of potential if he stopped doubting himself long enough to reach out and do what he felt was right. I don't care what Jared wanted from you on that Council seat. He was a brother to me and I to him, but what he wouldn't want is you trying to live your life based on what he wanted. He wanted you there because he thought you could do something, so tell me Anders Sivas, what do you want to do as the Council of Military Affairs. How can you make life better for the men and women who would die for your right to be free, to be you?"

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The wine hits my tongue and I'm taken by the sweetness, just as I've been taken by the calmness of the forest and the mystical surround here, with [member="Sargon Vynea"]. Why'd I been nervous in the first place? Haven't touched the food yet, still sliding into the chair and propped one elbow up on the tabletop. It'd taken a sincere amount of convincing for Jared to get me to take that Military Seat. What business did a flimsy pacifist have in a seat indicative of warfare and battle? One of my feet rises up to prop up on my chair, I sling my arm around it and stick my forehead on the knee. "I felt a few people die. It was horrible." A shiver rocks my shoulders, I bite the inside of my cheek until it passes and glance back up at Sargon. "Their fear of dying alone was so strong, they hit my mind and I symbiotically attached. Lose myself when that happens, become whatever they need… whatever they are. Held them in my arms, well one I'd been scrambling madly trying to stop the bleeding, but he was gone. As they died the connection continued, until I'd wake up a couple days later in a hospital bed on some planet with a nosebleed and the mother of all headaches."

Sargon continues to hit me in the deep valves of my heart, he's a perceptive man and that's what I needed. Perception and grace. "I'd want to make sure they came home. All of them. To input funds into designing defence based technology and weaponry which disarms the other side, gives our guys a better chance at survival. Biggest thing I can see is learning to end fights quickly. Don't get entrenched, hit, make objectives, get out. Tangling up men and resources in a long haul makes tired victims of us all. Choose our targets, as we have, um, I know there's a disparity between the Forcers and the Non-Forcer soldiers, but maybe there's something to do tactics-wise that could help preserve the people and equipment we've got. Is .. is that stupid? I dunno, still learning and thinking. Getting advice and reading in. The Fringe is my home now and I'll defend it in my way. Heal the wounds and patch bridges."

Live my life. . . what sort of life do I want to live? I'm getting closer to it, and as I tuck in I forget some of the troubles to the fantastic cooking. "MMmh!"

 

[Sargon Vynea]

Watching Anders through the Force Sargon sat silently and let him eat, his mind considering things as he meditated upon her words. Eating in silence he waited till the empath was finished before standing up and walking out of the room for a short moment, when he returned he was holding his phrik shield and warsword. "You doubt yourself, you doubt your own strength, and you doubt your worthiness. Its said in the Legions you don't know a man until you've bleed with him, so come bleed with me, and learn your own strength. I've met other empaths who've had your difficulty, keeping out the voices and emotions of others, some nearly cripplingly so, but until they learned to value who they were they did not rise. You are the only thing holding you down Anders, you give yourself in to others not only out of empathy but a lack of identity. As much as you wish to help, you get to hide from what you see as you, and you see weakness in yourself. Well I see strength, so let us go and find it."

At that point the Zabrak who was usually so open, so passive in the Force hardened his mind, like a fortress it sealed giving the empath not a single thread to grab on. There was no one here in the valley for him to grab onto and feel through, no distractions, just a Zabrak walking through the door into the darkness and himself. Even as he walked through he sent probing touches at his mind, little attacks that did nothing but touch at the surface of his mind, searching for an opening.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The meal is going well, I tuck in and sip my wine, nearly having it come back up. "Ah.. I.. ah… y-you want me t-to… Sargon, I can't fight." My fork clatters into my empty plate and I back into the wall. "Sargon! I can't fight! I've never.. I . . . I d-do-I'm from Naboo, I'm I've…empathy has little to do with it, I couldn't throw a punch to save my life!" My mouth dries and I shake my head wildly, watching his stone-fortified mind cling to the body holding the shield and sword. The very sight of the weapons makes my muscles quake.

"Bleed, fine! Cut me! I can't fight, I've never done it on my own ah, are… are you seri-oh goddess of victory you're serious." I rub my eyes and stand up. "Sargon! I don't know how to fight. I'm a paramedic fine artist, ah.. oh gosh." I look around for something to use, walking into the room [member="Sargon Vynea"] came out of and stand helpless in front of the objects of war. I don't even know what half of them are. I go with a practice sword, 'cause it reminds me of the katana I won in an auction. Might as well learn something through this endeavour.

Even if it's going to get me killed. I try on a shield and it clanks to the ground me with it, I yelp and disentangle myself from it, trying to heave it up to the wall again and it clatters down again. "Ookkay enough of that… ummmm huh." Walking back out to Sargon, I hold the practice sword, it sliding on the ground. To say I'm piddly in the muscle department is to say the grass outside was green. "S-so, ah, h-how do you hold this thing?"

 

[Sargon Vynea]

Turning his side to the empath to narrow his silhouette the Zabrak brought his shield up bracing it against him as he strapped it to his arm. Blade in hand he slowly circled Anders, his mind now making sharp jabs at his mind, nothing damaging, but if he didn't try to defend it would hurt.

"Enough, Anders, I am not Sargon, I am your enemy. Every time you tell me how weak you are i will cut you, everytime you try to ignore your strength I will strike you. Are you afraid to cause pain? You are an artist, and that is good, fighting is an art, a dance between brothers. Fighting isn't about hurting your enemy, its about protecting your brother next to you, will you fall to me so I may kill him as well? I salute your desire for peace, but you cannot have peace with others if you do not have peace with yourself. You are your own enemy Anders, you are your own judge, and if you allow yourself to be you will be your own executioner, will you allow your brothers to suffer so you can disrespect yourself? Let us see why the High Council of the Fringe, Chairman of the Military forces is so afraid to be strong."

Closing his eyes Sargon allowed the force to guide his senses as he attacked in earnest on Ander's mind. His intentions lie ever in one direction, his memories. In truth Sargon could have attempted this on a much more painful level but he had a purpose for this, this was not a fight he could win unless Anders was willing to fight for himself. If he did not hold his body with respect perhaps he would his mind. Like a thousand needles he assaulted Ander's mind searching for openings to push inside, he would defend himself or be laid bare before the Zabrak.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"I don't know what to do!" I wail, my voice flinching into a higher register than may be expected. Holding up the sword, skitter to keep [member="Sargon Vynea"] facing me as he circles. What can I say, I saw it in a movie once. My neck twitches, my eyes shut.

The sword clangs from my hands. I jump, flailing backward and nearly trip on it. Reaching to pick it up is a comedy of errors so vast in ineptitude I end up tripping on the damn thing and falling clean over. Brave, I know. Making a real good impression on the Zabrak while I'm at it, I'm sure. Especially as I skitter-crawl as far away as I can get. He keeps talking about not falling lest my brothers fall. Warrior's words for the warriors to unlock I imagine. What compass in my mental possession brings me to a Northern Star? What grounding can I find in this place, threatened by a friend who is doing what is best.

Inside my mind is a sea of stars. Each star is a former symbiont preserved in their glory and honesty for as long as I may live. I feel him digging, stabbing at my memories and I shake my head hands splayed in front of me. "D-don't." A flash in my mind.

A child with braided hair hugging a tall blonde man, the man is pushing the child's head into the crook of his neck. He's yelling at a screeching feminine voice. The woman grabs the child, who covers its head and screams until both adults stop talking.

A flash. The child is face down in the grass of a wildflower field. The child reaches into the grass and feelings of glorious emptiness cascade around. The man is standing farther off, watching patiently.

A flash. "Andra, promise me! Promise me you won't stay anywhere long. I'll follow you, dear. Daddy loves you. You'll never know who and what you are until you leave Naboo."

A flash. Anders with hundreds of faces, hundreds of names and events. Memories muddled, non-existent but for the perspective of others. Years of no memories but others' views of me, of the collection bad and good of sentient experience'.

My mind reads like an account of the sentient experience, yet few of the memories are mine. Cascades of people living and dying, striving, sulking, sweating, building happiness, grief, seconds of bliss and ages of ignorant dismay reside in the distant stars lining the interior of my mind always at reach, yet never accessible. The memories I've got of the last ten years are fragmented shards. Tattered bits centred around a pair of boots in a shop, Spencer coming to a shell shocked youth on a bench, and Jared in a penthouse apartment. A bottle of wine, a glass taken from masculine fingers. The upturn of his lips shows that he's talking. I slap one hand on my head and grit my teeth. 'Get out of my head.' The image abruptly departs from purview, covered by a field of green.

Sargon is terribly and fantastically right: I am afraid to be strong. I wind the Force around me and push, hoping it'll be strong enough to get Sargon off his train of thought and give me some room to breathe through these mental jabs. Sad to say my telekinesis is about as weak as my muscles, I reach for the sword and cut myself deep - dropping it on the floor as the cut stings. The blood trails back up from the wound and the cut seals. Curato Salva is an art. The only real power I have is will. I stand up and kick the sword away - it slides toward Sargon's feet. One hand up at my temple, fingers curled down my cheek the other is outstretched.

My one and only gift: I reach for Sargon's vacant-to-me mind and meld around it as best I can. Consume the infinite space around it and demand that the weapon and shield in his hands drop to the ground. My telepathic voice reverberates into the walls, the furniture and the willows outside. The voice shudders into the particulates of atoms and reintegrates in the recesses of any nearby living things. 'Drop your weapons.' Vastly potential led, not untrained but confused my will is. Still, I have to try.

Had Sargon not been a force sensitive Master with talent and cause, he would have done exactly what I'd command. Any sentient would, providing they could be telepathically contacted. Any being can be persuaded, any life form can bend. Rocks can fracture and pressure can shift their matrices to finer crystals, if I could call it a talent it's a barely useable one. My eyes flash and I push the extended field of my kaleidoscopic mind around him. "If you were my enemy, I'd be dead already. I've never used a weapon in my life. I've never thrown a punch or kicked anybody and I don't know the first thing. I can fire a blaster, that's about it. I've got nothing. There's no strength here, Sargon. There's nothing but a body and a voice inside it."

Let us indeed see why I fear to be strong, I'd love to know. Perhaps I fear to be strong because I've never been it. A memory flashes in my mind, of the night I took the hands of a Sith Lord and poured forgiveness into the veins. That strength, the strength of openness had paid off. I look around the place for something to throw, something to slow down Sargon's assault.

 

[Sargon Vynea]

The push came at him with enough force to draw him from her mind for a moment, but not enough to blow him off stance. Anders had plenty of talent with the Force, but the blow had come before she forced him from her mind giving him warning. The kid gloves were not off truly though, he wasn't trying to hurt, but build a man up. Unfortunately many times that growth involved some growing pains and breaking of old ideas.

He felt her mind around his as she attempted to attack his will with her own, and his reaction was instant, nearly instinctual. The physical attack that had disconnected him from her wasn't a threat to his focus on the Force, and his defenses were ready as soon as he felt the touch of her mind. A body trained to fight was almost instinctual, there was very little thinking, the body reacts faster without the mind's tendency to think things over. Sargon had trained his mind the same way, and his defenses were well trained. Instantly he let the outer layers of his mine collapse in as he retreated behind another barrier, if Anders made error of following in she'd be locked into his mind, and like a razor his mind would react cutting into her thoughts.

Inside the bubble of the Force he heard her words, but his defenses were layered and at this moment his mind was shielded by all his will. Like a summer storm he could feel the Force all around him, a sweet smell like rain flowing through it. It calmed his mind and heart, clarity through the Force and his mind focused on its flow and no other. If her telepathic attempt at command came at the heart of him to attempt to force him, his lash would be like lightning aimed her center of focus.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

[member="Sargon Vynea"] is the sort of man who doesn't stop fighting until the task at hand is a simpering mess on the floor. Thankfully for me, I'm already a simpering mess on the floor! My pants are bloodied with the cut from my hand (healed) and Sargon is still coming at my thoughts. My mind. My mind.

My mind is not a regular place. I push backward until my back hits the wall. I start looking for something to hold onto. Something heavy or pointy on one end. The sword's the only thing around. That's when the thread in the sweater unravels. The multiple hundreds of symbiotic relationships course through the opening cracks Sargon's been making and the mind itself becomes an assault. My natural biochemistry begins to fire up my mental immune system, splashing against Sargon's intrusions like acid in the rain. Banshee level projective yelling courses through the cracks and I lose the singular piece of my collective personality.

The personae must protect itself. It grabs at the most wicked, degrading, competent, protective killer I've ever had the misfortune to symbiose to. The Throne Breaker, Mikhail Shorn. A greasy grin plasters across my face. My chest heaves and my hand flies out. Pictures fly off the walls, as a telekinetic push shuddered out from my palm before I knew I could focus my telekinetic prowess so viciously.

The sword. "Funny thing about warfare. Y'don't give until you're tired of getting and I'm more of a taken kind of guy." The sword shivers in midair. A piece of my mind is screaming to put it down. To stop. To be Anders. . . but Anders is worthless at defending. One hand goes around my neck, feeling the firebrand of his hand which once had tanked me over the edge of a 200 story building. "St-stop fighting me."

My teeth grit. My hand clenches. The sword vaults with the speed of a missile propelled through the Force at Sargon Vynea. "Stop it, Sargon!" My teeth grit again, as a mystified, guttural laugh burbles up my throat. I can almost see Mikhail gloating right in front of me.