Ready, Steady, Burn it.

[Loske Treicolt]

“You can do that?” Mark that as two healers she knew now, between Avalore and this dude. “I’d like to see, thank you.”


Loske’s expression melted into a medley of surprise and whatever measure of empathy she could extend. Lips curved into small ‘o’ shape, and the onomatopoeia followed suit. A destroyed homeworld was the ticket for bleeding heart Matson.

“Oh.” She stared awkwardly for a moment, resting her hands on the knot of her jackets arms tied around her hips. Gaze travelled over the heap on the gurney, and a listless expression took over. Morality seemed so hard an understanding for some to achieve.

And then she chuckled at the obvious olive branch to her request.

Meanwhile, the media folk were dissatisfied with the lack of a show they’d received from both the race victor, and the two Force users. There was no cocky speech, and no duel. That made for poor ratings. And thus, they cleared from the circle in the pit and into the stands of spectators. The conversation of most had turned to discussing how the credits would exchange hands based on the bets made.

“Hey, Miss. Sato!” A final interjection was made by a youthful boy with scruffy hair and tawny skin. He lifted a data pad up to eye level before explaining himself while the blonde kiffar turned to acknowledge him. “The winner’s lot goes to you —- sorry it took so long. If you could just put your thumb in, if it matches what you registered with the credits can go straight to your account.” As Loske did what she was told, the boy continued. “They almost gave the win to the next racer, since you crossed the finish with a bike different than the one you registered with.” He shrugged, and Loske handed the pad back to him.

“Glad that didn’t happen.”

“Right? Then that whole spectacle would have been for nothing! That was super rad. Definitely betting on you next time.”

She smiled her appreciation and the kid marked the transaction as closed. “Uh, we’re also clearing all the folks from this pit. We gotta sweep up all the confetti and repair the track before tomorrow’s race.” His face turned apologetic.

“That’s fine, my clean up is less now I’m leaving without a bike.” The pilot joked, and turned to the Jedi serendipity had now decided she’d spend some time with. “After you, huntsman.”

 

[Placeholder 0128]

"I can, to a degree. I can't fix internal organs or anything too complex, but my father taught me a good deal about fixing up the more minor stuff," he found himself smiling at the memory of his progenitor. For all the evils his father had wrought near the end of his life, Cyril had been an inherently good person at heart. "Let's find a spot where we won't be disturbed. Breaking of one's concentration while they're manipulating the cells in someone else's body rarely turns out well for either party."

He paused, his gaze following the blonde's over toward the Nikto. He felt no hatred toward Agraush, only pity. The alien had only been a cog in the machine that had shattered Ession - the blame lay at the feet of those who piloted that machine. Even still, Agraush was a particularly dangerous individual, and it would be a lie to say that Cedric did not take great satisfaction in seeing a Sith Lord brought so low as to be at the mercy of mortal doctors.

The Jedi Master held his tongue as the child approached the two of them. He found himself smiling with a hint of amusement at the exchange; the mind of a child was a pure thing, and Ms. Sato dealt with it with grace.

"Thank you for the trouble friend," Cedric added as the exchange ended, his voice full of warmth. He offered the boy a credit chip as the child went on his way: he'd use it better than Cedric ever could.

For a few moments, Cedric walked in silence. It might have seemed awkward to most, but he welcomed the momentary peace. The cacophony of the race had sent his sense spinning for most of the day. It was only after they had cleared the track that he finally spoke.

"You had a good race, far better than most," he sounded amused, "That isn't a terrible surprise given your affinity. From your reaction I take it you weren't aware of your connection to the Living Force?" He lofted a brow, honest curiosity plain in his tone.

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

She nodded at the suggestion to keep concentrated when doing anything that could have a direct affect on someone else.

They joined the bustle of bodies. “Do you need a whole damp cave scenario, or some other moody aesthetic?” The ideas Loske had about Jedi were obviously very dramatic and built off stories and partially injected memories. “Or can we hang out under the bleachers.”

He then complimented her race score. It was then she remembered that he’d probably been watching the whole thing, before it ended in that massive crescendo. “Thank you.”

[Approximately a full 45 seconds better than the rest of the entrants. Including the time lost to the interference]. Frank interjected. [She’s done better].

“I’m not usually having to kick, pow, punch while driving.” Loske commented, both as an explanation to [member="Cedric Grayson"] and an irritation to Frank’s challenge.

[Still, a marvel you can drive without your co-pilot on your vehicle.]

Loske rolled her eyes.

“He’s used to being in an X-Wing and pretending his numbers are better than mine. That’s why we keep winning—- our full time job is flight.” Loske responded, dissuading the suggestion of her Force connection. She’d had too many terrible instances with The Force to ever think she could use it as a tool, or it be a friend of hers. She’d even considered drugs once or twice, but that would ruin her piloting career. “The affinity is with the machine.”

A pause. “Besides, I thought the Force was in every living thing - so wouldn’t that mean you can read or inject yourself into anyone’s mind?”

For a split second, she looked horrified. “Are you reading my thoughts right now?”

 

[Placeholder 0128]

"The bleachers are aesthetic enough," Cedric chuckled as he led her to the place in question. Detritus was scattered about from the uncaring crowds, and the scents of a few hundred beings' various bodily fluids congealed together to create a particularly intoxicating, if not unpleasant, aroma. It was about as far as one could get from a mystical cave or a magic grove, but it would serve their purposes just fine.

"I'd like to see this better," Cedric mused, choosing to side with the droid mostly because he found it funny. "The affinity may be with the machine, and I don't mean to discount your own abilities or the time you've put into mastering them - it's only that I can feel the empyrean responding to you, whether you're aware of it or not. It's often the case with force sensitives. They tend to be prodigies in whatever they set their minds to." He continued, evidently keen on not dropping the force sensitive nonsense.

The Jedi cleared out a space beneath the bleachers, sat on his knees, and indicated for Loske to do the same. "You're correct, the Force is in all living things, and I can see the minds of most beings. That being said, I went into yours because you're akin to a beacon. I envision the force as a vast endless ocean full of possibility and purpose. In that ocean, I see people as various things: islands, storms, whatever suits who they are. You're one of those islands, and I a see a hurricane hovering above you. That's why I picked you out over anyone else - why I assumed you might have been a Jedi."

He gestured for her to extend her wounded limbs so that he might inspect them. "And no, I'm not reading your thoughts. You'd probably be able to tell if I was, and it takes a good bit of effort on my part for it to be pretty obvious when I'm doing it. Most Jedi won't ever do so without being given permission first. It violates a person's privacy, and we aren't very keen on doing that without consent."

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Loske wrinkled her nose when they entered the space, ducking beneath a cross beam and avoiding a discarded cup. Another one crunched beneath the sole of her boot. Meanwhile, all sorts of sounds were coming from Frank’s underfoot. He couldn’t afford to step so cautiously, only whirr around to bypass certain areas.

Somewhere nearby, there were a few straggling patrons— slurring out a conversation recounting the events of the race. They were really only detectable as murmuring ambiance.

This was a strange situation, Loske reflected. Minutes ago, she’d been on the race track, now she was under the bleachers about to get patched up by a stranger. Maybe she should get his name before this happened... so at least she’d have someone to blame if something went horribly wrong.

“Stick around kid, and we’ll go places.” The pilot smirked, reciting an old proverb when [member="Cedric Grayson"] allied with her AI-based bot. An obvious glint highlighted in her gaze, driven by any sort of competition. She pocketed that for next time she wanted support from the stands. The effort put into piloting was certainly there, she took it seriously, but she was a natural. Solely because she’d been manufactured as such; she had that advantage over any contender on any field. However, in the pursuit for a perfect mirror, her personal Frankenstein’s had made several hours; hence the traumatic banishment of any Force wielding memories.

“A hurricane or.... tempest.” She grinned broadly at her own suggestion. “Sounds dangerous, shouldn’t it be sunnier?”

[Hurricane sounds accurate to me.] Frank interjected, unhelpfully. [Class 6 at least.]

Loske ignored him, and took a seat across from the samaritan. “So an island and a storm. Does that mean I’m perceived as dangerous?”

She crossed her legs, and went to unzip her boots — that had been her first area of anguish. “I uh, would usually say something about the smell of feet but I think charred flesh and our current surroundings with nullify anything my socks didn’t catch.” She rolled up the cuffs of her pants too, for the first time seeing the streaks of purple and black that ran up her otherwise tanned skin. She frowned. It looked like lightning bruises. The colours were richer on her shins and calves, than of her outstretched arms.

 

[Placeholder 0128]

The Jedi snickered at her proverb.

Cedric always enjoyed discussing the force. It was one of his greater passions, as it ought to be for any Jedi worth their salt. Often he had dreamed of retiring away to teach in his golden years, but that was a hope for a far off time. The galaxy knew far too much chaos to hang up the lightsaber and retire.

Still, he could relish in the rare few moments when he could spread his understanding out in the field. "It is dangerous, absolutely." He explained, "The Force is a realm of self-perception. All beings envision it in different ways. A mortal body simply can't perceive the Force for its true nature, so we all understand it in relation to ourselves. Someone else may see the sun. As for myself, let's just say I've dealt with far too many ill-fated students to see anything other than dangerous potential in an untrained force sensitive."

His brow furrowed as he eyed the wounds. They looked about as he had imagined they would - it would be a simple thing to will the flesh back into a healthy state. "That's no reflection on you, of course. You're an island, islands are generally a benevolent symbol. Agraush, that Nikto you fought, I see him as a column of lava. Volatile and violent." He explained as he removed his gloves and set them aside.

His hands hovered over the electric burns, his eyes drifting shut as he delved into the realm of the empyrean. He envisioned himself, then Ms. Sato. From there, he delved into a focus that could only be achieved by advanced medical equipment. He saw the damage the burns had inflicted on the cellular level, observed the blackened tears and canyons carved through the very structure of her limbs.

Once observed, Cedric willed those cells he deemed too damaged to be repaired into matter so tiny it would be rendered insubstantial via telekinesis. The empyrean's energies flowed through his fingertips and into the cells themselves, allowing them to multiply at rates so fast as to be visible to the human eye. The sight of one's flesh seemingly rejuvenating and regrowing likely wasn't the most pleasant, however. Neither was the sensation of burning, scratching, and tingling that came with the regrowth of organic tissue. Cedric's method of mending wounds was neither pleasant or complex, but it was efficient when it came to dealing with flesh wounds.

The entire process would take nearly an hour to complete, and Cedric was a silent unmovable statue for its entirety.

"They still smell pretty bad, if I'm being honest," Cedric mumbled as returned to reality, his eyes flickering as he looked down to examine his work.

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“He sucks.” Loske agreed about the reference to who she could only assume was the niKto. Now she had a name, Agraush. She nodded tightly.

Someone should have warned her about the time commitment to flesh resurrection. The blonde pilot had never sat still that long....ever. Even when she was airborn, she was maneuvering joysticks or switching controls here and there. She’d never had a situation where her life support was extinguished and she’d had to maintain constant stillness to preserve herself. She’d heard stories about that, and about ten minutes into this awkwardly silent treatment, she’d decided to imagine this as practice for that very scenario.

At about an hour, she ached. Her muscles were quivering, but she’d been staring with transfixed interest at the change that happened on her epidermis. It was like magic. What had been scars, rescinded into nothingness and she looked as untouched as when she’d started the race, if not better. Dang, son.

She breathed out a ‘wow’ of awe as she flexed her fingers, looking at her palm then the back of her hand. Then, she stretched out her legs and flexed her feet. She noticed his gaze and gave a special ankle and wrist rotation combo, accompanied by jazz hands “Whatcha think?”

When [member="Cedric Grayson"] commented on the smell, She lifted her eyes and levelled her gaze at him with vague irritation. Lips drawn into a thin line. “You could have been silent rather than honest...” she muttered, giving space for where his name might have been.

With a shake of her head, to roll any of the abashment aside, she gathered her socks and shoes and went back to covering her soles. “I can’t believe we just did that and I don’t even know your name.”

Her entire physical looked like it was on pause, searching for something to do. She decided to extend her hand for an awkward handshake “Thank you.”

 

[Placeholder 0128]

It had been a very long time since Cedric had called upon the empyrean to heal a wound, and he had forgotten just how much it took out of him. When he rose to stretch his legs, he found himself hit with a few moments of vertigo. An immediate weakness in his limbs followed - it felt as if he had drank far too much the night prior, without the headache. Not wanting to seem weak, he concentrated on standing still one he was finally steady on his feet.

"He certainly wasn't the best person," Cedric agreed. He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he observed the wholly healed wounds. What had once been bruised and ruined tissue was healthy flesh once more. He'd forgotten the feeling of pride that accompanied using such an ability to its fullest; it was always better to use the Force to build rather than to destroy, after all. "Looks a lot better than I expected. I'm a little out of practice - I was getting a bit worried we might have to call over the medics," his words dripped with good-natured sarcasm. One could only expect such a reply when they utilized hands of the jazzy variety.

"If it makes you feel better, I've smelled far worse," he added: his brow furrowed, "Not...feet. I don't go around smelling feet." Cedric just shook his head.

"My name's Cedric Grayson," he returned the awkward handshake, "It's not a problem. I should have dealt with Agraush before you ever had to. It'd be out of line to leave you high and dry."

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Loske’s mind was a flurry of questions. Most of them laddering into how someone could accomplish what had been done. She smirked at him when he suggested the medics would have to be called over, but bacta patches couldn’t erase wounds as if they’d never existed. Loske was now unburnt, the first of her name.

[member="Cedric Grayson"].

The name shouldn’t have meant anything, but when he spoke it as he connected with her hand, her synapses fired and her expression became vacant. A whirl of suggestive memories, fragmented at best. Smoke and green, Tython. A voice, accented like her own, speaking outward to a silhouette and casting him with responsibility. The memory was not hers, so she had no idea what it meant other than this person had some interaction with her mother before. Or someone close to him.

“Grayson..” she repeated quietly and pulled her hand away. Was he related to her mom? Everything the archives indicated, was that Kiskla Grayson was an only child. Were they relatives of another sort? Was her family bigger, and growing? Her face lit at the idea that this kindred guy had some sort of relationship to her. A big family was all she wanted, after being alone for so long.

Maybe his story about his homeworld would help fill in the gaps.

“You said, I’m sorry if this is painful for you, you don’t have to answer; you said you were chasing that NiKto, Argaush, because he was part of destroying your homeworld. Where was your home?”

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Loske’s mind was a flurry of questions. Most of them laddering into how someone could accomplish what had been done. She smirked at him when he suggested the medics would have to be called over, but bacta patches couldn’t erase wounds as if they’d never existed. Loske was now unburnt, the first of her name.

[member="Cedric Grayson"].

The name shouldn’t have meant anything, but when he spoke it as he connected with her hand, her synapses fired and her expression became vacant. A whirl of suggestive memories, fragmented at best. Smoke and green, Tython. A voice, accented like her own, speaking outward to a silhouette and casting him with responsibility. The memory was not hers, so she had no idea what it meant other than this person had some interaction with her mother before. Or someone close to him.

“Grayson..” she repeated quietly and pulled her hand away. Was he related to her mom? Everything the archives indicated, was that Kiskla Grayson was an only child. Were they relatives of another sort? Was her family bigger, and growing? Her face lit at the idea that this kindred guy had some sort of relationship to her. A big family was all she wanted, after being alone for so long.

Maybe his story about his homeworld would help fill in the gaps.

“You said, I’m sorry if this is painful for you, you don’t have to answer; you said you were chasing that NiKto, Argaush, because he was part of destroying your homeworld. Where was your home?”

 

[Placeholder 0128]

Very few beings ever asked about Ession, but Cedric was not so guarded as to keep the tale hidden either. something within the empyrean had changed, and he'd since that shift manifest physically in the look of Ms. Sato's eye. She'd recognized something - and then she put the object of her surprise into words. Cedric fought the natural urge to furrow his brow. The Graysons had a complicated history with most of the galaxy, and he was unsure as to what the name meant to her.

"The planet was called Ession," his arms folded about his chest reflexively, "It was on the edge of the galaxy, somewhere near Sith space. We were about half the size of Coruscant, and served as something of a base of operations for many Jedi in the far reaches. After the Republic fell we gave rise to our own star empire. That empire accepted men and women of every creed: eventually the Sith within our ranks betrayed us. Our empire fell in the chaos, and the Sith Emperor ordered Ession to be scourged of life. They were systematic about it, efficient. the cities were glassed, the people marched into death camps. Shows you the imperial mercy the Sith proselytize so much in their propaganda." Cedric let out a low, bitter chuckle. He'd gone on and given a brief history, but he supposed he'd answered her initial question so he was allowed that much.

"Does my name mean something to you?" He asked, brow lofted.

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

She found herself half covering her mouth while the misfortune of Ession’s civilians entered the story. She’d never heard of the planet, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. The only planets she ever knew of were operative, either divulged in debriefings or in hyperspace calculations - the galaxy was vast and full of unknowns.

“Your last name does..” Loske answered truthfully.

In the background, Frank was preparing a spiel in case his mistress couldn’t articulate.

“My mom’s maiden name was Grayson, I wonder if we’re related but nothing in her files ever suggested she had any extended family or anything.”

She’d never talked about who she was related to in the Jedi community. Too much stigma... but this guy could be a cousin!

“Kiskla Grayson, ever had any family reunions together?”

 

[Placeholder 0128]

Cedric regarded her in silence, his brow furrowing as she spoke of her mother's maiden name. At first, his thoughts were scouring the branches of his family tree. He knew of no Grayson women with the right age-range to have mothered a daughter in Miss Sato's age range. His sister had been killed long before she could have ever mothered a child, and the only other woman in recent memory was his grandmother.

Cedric began to mistake Miss Sato for his missing aunt just as she spoke her mother's name. His mind came to an instant stop, chilled for a moment.

This was Kiskla Grayson's child. This was the spawn of the woman that had set his father down the path of damnation. This was the cause of his family's fall. The Jedi's features hardened for a moment, just long enough for someone to notice, before he adopted a mask of diplomacy.

"I know of Kiskla Grayson. I'm not certain of a relation. My grandmother told me that there was a possibility our families might have come from the same origin, but the facts aren't clear." He replied honestly. Whatever accusations Cedric might have had for Miss Sato, she was not responsible for her mother's actions, just as he was not responsible for his father's.

"She and my father were members of the Jedi Order at the same time: they served together." A bit of a stretch, but the truth. "He was a Knight when she was Grandmaster, if I recall."

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Maybe it was from hanging out with Amea recently, but she did detect the flicker of his facade. Not a Lorridian, she couldn't unearth the truth behind the reaction, but there was something there. Something attached to her mother's name, and [member="Cedric Grayson"]'s history. He didn't seem keen to continue, and he'd indulged her curiosities enough but Loske was vying to understand her family. She held on to the thought that if she’d been raised like a true daughter, she may know these things without having to beg for tales from strangers.

Loske nodded dutifully, mildly crestfallen that she didn't for sure have a larger family at the ready for an impromptu barbecue.

“I’m assuming, by your reaction, they were decidedly not close. From what I’ve read, there are a lot of opinions around her leadership.” A pause, the need to defend blossoming in her chest “But then, that’s of all leaders, isn’t it?”

She didn’t even have a relationship with her maternal blood, and here she was trying to seek information and defend it at the same time. Bleeding heart.

"In another timeline, maybe we'd have had the same last name too, Cedric." She gave a grin and a wink.

"My name’s actually Matson, by the way. Loske Matson. Blue Sato is my racing alias." Blue was a nickname and callsign, earned with pride from Rogue Squadron - not for skill, but on a jovial evening when everyone had been more focused on camaraderie and reverie than targets in the sky. The friendship behind it meant more to her than star fighter merit.

 

[Placeholder 0128]

The records of Kiskla Grayson that Cedric had poured over as a child were clear in his mind now. The Essonians of the Grand Temple had not painted the Grandmaster in a very good light, but then that was to be expected given her relationship with their leader. She had been one of several dozen Jedi that Cedric had been instructed to study in his early years - his father had wanted the boy to learn from the mistakes of those that had come before, and learn Cedric had.

Even still, Miss Sato seemed a decent enough woman. Cedric was a testament to the idea that children did not become their parents, and it was likely that Sato was too.

"Not particularly," he replied plainly, "My father made mistakes when he joined the Order. He took the Jedi ideals close to heart, and his in doing so distanced himself from the council your mother led. This was back during the old war with the One Sith, before the Republic collapsed. My father was involved with the siege of Ossus, and after seeing that there was no hope for victory, struck a deal with the Sith. He gave them a holocron they had come to claim, and in return they left without spilling anymore blood."

He'd read the tale many times, and heard it spoken just as much. It came to the fore of his mind with a tinge of nostalgia that almost felt misplaced. "After that he presented himself before the council, and was given the mission of retrieving the holocron, or to leave the order in its entirety. That started him down an...unpleasant path," Cedric's nose wrinkled with distaste, and he chose to hold his tongue. There was nothing more he was willing to divulge of the matter.

His darkened demeanor lightened somewhat Miss Sato revealed herself to be an entirely different individual. "I had a bit of a hunch that may have been a moniker," he cracked a thin smile, his tone amused, "It's good to meet you officially, Loske," he snickered.

"Tell me though, I'm curious," he paused for a moment, "You have the force, as your mother did. Why haven't you taken down the Jedi path? It's in your blood, just as it is in mine."

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Eyebrows rose at the explanation. "I see..." As much as she'd tried to know all the stories of her lineage, some slipped through the cracks, and of course the bias she consumed content in was different than [member="Cedric Grayson"]s it seemed. "Well let's hope this meeting between offspring doesn't doom you too, mister Grayson." She offered a wink, as if the gesture was as impactful as a handshake between representatives of opposing councils.

He then refused to let the whole Force Sensitive thing go, and she couldn't contain her groan and disinterested eye roll. "It's not, actually." Loske countered, folding her arms and beginning to take steps that would take them away from the encirclement of debris and unappealing smells. And in a smaller voice "it's a bit more than just blood."

One arm extended, and she flexed her fingers, looking at the back of her hand and gently rotating to the palm. The observation of her narrow phalanges was in part still a marvel at the sorcery he had demonstrated in eliminating her scars, and partly to see if sparks would start to dance at her fingertips. His incessant pestering at her affinity with the metaphysical was beginning to draw in transparent, faded memories from a life before her cognitive awakening.

The reality of it was, Loske could not remember her time in the lab. The trigger of her traumatic outburst which had caused the scientists to suppress any curiosity, inkling or other inherent notion to pursue The Force from her consciousness. Any intentions of them making her a Force Warrior were supplanted with accelerated piloting skills. The rest of her memories, skills, injected techniques were not necessarily removed, but buried deep, deep down. To the untouchable level; behind trauma.

She refolded her hand and offered a passive shrug, looking sidelong at him as she walked in the general direction of the medical tent, where they could be reacquainted eventually with his Sith. She was obviously reticent on the subject. "The Jedi path isn't for me. No funky powers, and a path too narrow for me."

She blinked, a voice that sounded aged and associated to a broken memory manifested for her, as if reassuring her decision to not pursue any sort of dedication to an ancient order.

LORD ASHMEDEI
These lives and this blood are on your hands and the hands of those like you. I told you that even in some twisted form of victory, the Sith would never let you win. I told you they were willing to go much farther than you were...and that a head-on fight was pathetically pointless.

"Wouldn't the first choice not be alignment or allegiance, but choosing whether or not someone should use their abilities at all?"

 

[Placeholder 0128]

"There are more than a few things that have damned me for eternity already. Adding on another one won't make much of a difference," he fired back, his tone sitting on a knife's edge between humor and utter seriousness.

It was nice to get away from the garbage. Cedric had gone noseblind to it - he had a talent for thriving in places most would consider dumps. Even still, he welcomed the rather mundane scents that accompanied the rest of the city. Most of the crowds had dispersed while they had their healing session, so the pathways leading out of the stadium were relatively open. The Jedi took let Loske take the lead, walking down one of the path toward the medical tent as he listened to her reasoning for her rejection of the Jedi.

A brow was raised.

"Well I'd say the Force is more than blood for all of us, truly," he remarked, completely missing whatever context clues she might have been throwing his way. He parted his lips to offer a counterpoint when she spoke of the Jedi path being a narrow fixture, but elected to hold his tongue. In Loske, he saw potential. If she had an ounce of the power her mother had commanded, she would make a great asset to the free people of the galaxy.

Such thoughts brought forgotten ambitions to the fore of Cedric's mind. A new Jedi Order, one trained on his tenants, sharpened in their beliefs by his experiences. Jedi that stood above and apart all the pretenders that picked up a lightsaber and dared to call themselves protectors of the innocent without an ounce of the mind to effectively do so.

He buried those ambitions as he always did, but they lingered evermore in the back of his mind.

"That's a good point," he admitted, "But to that, I would pose a question that most others would chastise me for. Do you not think that your abilities give you a certain responsibility?" He asked, coming to a halt just outside the tent. "There are trillions of beings in the galaxy. Of those trillions, only a few thousand are touched by the Force. Of those, I could roughly estimate that more than half have fallen down the path to corruption. That leaves maybe a two thousand or so individuals with a connection to the living Force and a conscience. You are one of those dwindling number, a rarity."

He paused, brow furrowing, his voice growing deathly serious. The stare he gave her bore the weight of the very stars themselves. "A wise man once said that all it takes for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing. The Sith have slaughtered their way across the stars. They kill worlds, and the Jedi are too few in number to stop them. On top of that, many of the handful that still live lack the conviction to try and stop them. So many have given up..."

Cedric shook his head. "I don't think you're the type to just stand by, Loske, or am I wrong?"

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

"I'm wounded, here we are talking about me making a difference and yet..." she gestured emptily at the air between them at his rejection of the theoretical she had winked about.

She listened with feigned patience, but real interest with the intensity that he spoke. There was conviction with each syllable, and the integrity he seemed to inherently feel. The zeal was tangibly intrinsic to this Jedi fellow, [member="Cedric Grayson"]. "I hear you, this is a reality. I'm doing what I can where I can. If you're doing something helpful, I'll help you too."

A heavy sigh elapsed, and she tented her fingers and pointed them toward him like an arrowhead. "But you're not hearing me.

I cannot. use. the. Force."

She enunciated each syllable heavily, meeting his own gaze. "I hope I've proved to this point that does not limit my usefulness, however."

 

[Placeholder 0128]

The entire concept just didn't jive with Cedric.

He could feel Loske like a tempest within the empyrean. The Force swirled about her just as it did him, though it was raw and untamed in its nature. He simply could not conceive that she couldn't command it as naturally as he had as a child, let alone now in adulthood. His weighty expression quickly faded to one of confusion, though he cast aside that mask for an expression of neutrality as soon as he noticed it.

"I don't understand," he replied plainly, "I've never come across an individual who the Force responded to so vehemently, yet could not use it. But...you know yourself better than I do," he held his hands up in defeat. "If nothing else that means you have a great destiny, at the least. The empyrean is only ever attracted to non-force users that have a purpose ahead of them." He reached up to scratch at his bare scalp, evidently not expecting this turn of events in the least, and perhaps a little embarrassed.

"I apologize for confusing your lack of connection to the Force with apathy," he bowed his head slightly, his apology utterly sincere. "I have a bad habit of jumping to conclusions. Personal flaw." He shrugged, "Would you like to check on our Nikto friend?"

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

"Consider me a passive receiver to it then, but not a wielder." Her intensity softened when [member="Cedric Grayson"] backed down from the subject, and she reached out to touch his arm as an olive branch, with a lazy smile "It's okay, at least you're backing down now. You'd make a great public relations specialist for me.." The limp grin hardened, slyness creeping into its curve.

She knew as much of herself as she was allowed to know. She'd really only been in the real galaxy for two years -- and prior to that, exercised for several in a quarantined control.

Fingernails dragged against the back of her neck, letting her fingers find their way to her blonde tresses and twisting the ends thoughtfully before giving a loose shrug and dropping her hands "You lead the way, he's more your buddy than mine."